The beginning part of this article describes my travels through San Antonio to Houston - for the concert review of Morrissey in Sugar Land, please scroll down.
San Antonio
The air in San Antonio is humid and sticks to my skin as soon as I leave air conditioning’s reprieve. While not exactly rain, a delicate mist dances in the air. I haul my overstuffed suitcase up the stairs to our hotel, which is a Cuba-meets-Goth kitschy space adjacent to the venue. Our room has a massive 50’s style refrigerator, which is basically an overpriced “maxi” bar, overlooked by a print from brothel shock flick Zona Roja.
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| Photo by mischievousnose on Instagram |
San Antonio
The air in San Antonio is humid and sticks to my skin as soon as I leave air conditioning’s reprieve. While not exactly rain, a delicate mist dances in the air. I haul my overstuffed suitcase up the stairs to our hotel, which is a Cuba-meets-Goth kitschy space adjacent to the venue. Our room has a massive 50’s style refrigerator, which is basically an overpriced “maxi” bar, overlooked by a print from brothel shock flick Zona Roja.
We are still worried
the following night's show might not happen, but decide to make the
best of San Antonio and go to a nearby Mexican vegan restaurant. The walls are adorned with a mish-mash of knick-knacks that range from vintage photographs to plastic flowers and animals to Christmas light strands; yet somehow all components fit together like a dream. I'm particularly drawn towards an ornate devotional shrine to Our Lady of Guadalupe, with its gilded candles, calaveras, and tiny mirrors. Over black bean empanadas and jalapeño-infused tequila, it's hard to hear anyone speak because a local thrash metal band is performing at the other end of the joint. Although that's not exactly my first choice for music, I like it here.
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| La Botanica |
We make it an early night because I want to queue first thing in the morning. I am number 5 on the list, and even though it's all still uncertain... typical pessimistic me is, for once, taking a back seat. Having a chance to see Morrissey keeps me hopeful, and I'm having a good time with friends from all over the world.
Near the venue there's a river walk lined with emerald weeping palms and broad-leafed banana plants. However, I'm more fascinated by a massive Texas mallard that has taken up residence on a rock next to a tiny sunbathing turtle; if there is a duck pond I will find it. Also while queuing I meet a couple of Texan artists who have sketched and painted Morrissey, one of whom has been a fan since Smiths days. Just as the afternoon sun is burning high overhead, the news arrives that the show tonight is cancelled. Morrissey's health is the most important thing, and I hope he is starting to feel better.
I shed a few tears into my travel hairdryer that evening, but my inner cheerleader reminds me there are still two more dates ahead, and they just might still happen. Sorrows have learned to swim, but that doesn't stop me from indulging in a few too many Mojitos downstairs at the impossibly dark Havana-style bar, lit only by electric candelabras and blood red tea lights. The place looks more like a velvety Vampiric funeral home than anything else.
There's not a chance I can get an early night this time. Hotel room neighbours blast horrendous Chris Brown dance remixes and shriek, squeal, and click their high heels. I let a few glasses of red wine and a vegan cupcake distract from such unpleasant stimuli - and THEN...
I'm suddenly very glad I'm still awake. There has been a last minute venue change to the The Smart Financial Centre in Sugar Land - and we can upgrade our tickets. Frantically, with my clouded fingers and mind competing for sloppiness, I somehow clumsily thumb through my wallet, grab a credit card, and fill out my info on the browser. I snag second row seats.
Now I'm the one shrieking and squealing - and - snapped somewhat out of the lulling blur of the evening's drinks, my eyes widen as I realize my other friends staying in the hotel are fast asleep and will probably miss getting tickets by the time they wake up. Drunkenly, I stumble across the hall wearing pajama bottoms and a tank top and knock on the heavy mahogany door - "TOUR NEWS" ... I add, "It's not bad." I have to do this a second time, and end up clacking down the hotel's hardwood stairs and having to apologetically beg a looming security guard to help me find out my friend's room number.
It's time to drive to Houston...
We make a quick stop at the Alamo, but I am mostly interested in visiting a painted church in the tiny town of Praha. Located somewhere between San Antonio and Houston, Praha was settled by Czech immigrants in the 19th century and holds the hapless distinction of being the US town with the highest ratio of deaths to population in World War II.
Our detour off the sprawling highway takes us through a couple of small towns, and I am struck by the binary class division afflicting certain parts of the United States. The poor are very poor, and some houses appear not much larger than garden sheds, with peeling boards and sunken, decaying porches. At times the sole sign of life is a musty air conditioner attached to a dusty bedroom window. Often, the only pristine item in any given yard is a gently waving American flag. Having already passed a number of billboards advertising local gun shows and bible verses, I can't help but wonder how many of these people may have voted for the current president, a man that runs beauty pageants and failed casinos, and lives in a golden penthouse. The only thing that makes sense is that nothing makes sense. The rich must profit and get richer...and the poor...?
Waves of heat slam like hazy walls as I climb out of our air conditioned car. Sadly, St. Mary's Church of the Assumption is closed for Easter, so we are unable to view its sky blue muralled interior. Instead, we walk towards the cemetery; its spindly wrought iron gates are lettered in Czech and howl a rusty creak as we open them.
Recent graves, to those from well over a century ago are covered with fresh flowers. On one baby's grave a little white ceramic lamb sits with folded limbs. There is a slight wind and a few loosened flowers wander through the tombstones in the breeze. It's calming here, which would have confused me as a child because graveyards used to freak me out - but now I understand the peacefulness of such places. I am drawn to some statues posed around a crucifix in the middle of the cemetery, and as I walk in their direction, past a certain plot, I feel a strange sensation along my right ankle and lower leg. It's not dissimilar to the warm wind that wraps around my limbs and I assume I'm probably just being a little insane. However, something about it is different; I'm curious because it almost feels like a gentle magnetic tug. I decide to walk back and forth again - and I feel the same sensation a second time; it's like a soothing caress down to my bone. My friends think I'm crazy - and maybe I am... but the feeling sticks with me and I wonder what could have caused it.
On the drive back towards the highway, there is a group of chocolate and caramel-coloured cows grazing in a lush field smattered with daisies, and we stop and take pictures. I run across the road with my camera to take photos, but unfortunately for me, the cows are far more interested in one of my friends and walk away from me: I'm being cow-snubbed. Funnily enough, there is a lone donkey chilling out with the cows. When we pile back into the car, the cows line up along the fence and watch us curiously. Perhaps they don't get many visitors.
We finally arrive at our hotel, situated right on the outskirts of Houston. The day keeps getting stranger, as the view from our hotel room is nothing short of bizarre, at least to me. The 3rd floor room overlooks a house with a small yard, in the centre of which stands a bald mannequin. Lording blankly over the garden, the mannequin is about the height of a 10 year old child, and is wearing denim overalls. Presumably it's a scarecrow, but it's also pretty darn creepy.
Sugar Land Concert
The day of the concert I'm invited out for drinks at a Tiki Bar before the show. It is completely out of character for me to drink before a concert (I usually save that for after) but I can't resist checking this place out. The Tiki Bar is located in an unimpressive and rather run-down, spray-paint tagged strip mall not far from our hotel.
Inside, the place is far more impressive, and as my eyes adjust from the late-afternoon Texan sun to the lowered lights of the bar, I am greeted by a deliciously tacky Elvis-chic atmosphere. I can't tell if it's all actually 1950's vintage Hawaiian decor or if it's replicated, but it's cool: a shaggy grass hut hangs over rum bottles at the bar, and the walls are covered with busty mermaids, velvet paintings, and Polynesian artifacts.
I order a menacingly tall blue Hawaii topped with a pineapple wedge and a fuchsia orchid. I half-worry that it will give me a blue tongue for the concert, which might be a tad embarrassing as I sing along. I plunge into my drink and risk it anyway. I do, however, pass on the Great White shark attack drink, which includes pomegranate "blood", complete with a cigar-smoking banana dolphin. One drink is enough for now - and makes me just the right amount of giggly.
Arriving in Sugar Land a couple of hours before doors, a long line is already visible, coiling all the way around the side of the brand-new venue. Uh oh. I am not used to showing up so late... and we still must pick up our upgraded tickets at the will call booth.
The tickets are still not ready, and there are multiple security line-ups we must pass before even entering to the second line for our tickets. Strangely, some of us in the golden circle end up in the wrong line up, and only a portion of concertgoers are allowed past security to the box office, with moments to go before doors. My eyes scan through the sea of cool quiffed kids in World Peace t's, pin curled girls in cardigans, and yellow-vested venue security staff. The sea of people becomes a blur as I realize at least a few hundred people must be in front of me... my hopes of a spot on barrier start to dissolve, and I worry if I will even make it to my second row seat as masses of people bust through the stories-high glass venue doors.
Oh sh*t.
The box office is a harried, frazzled stress-out, as there is only one line-up and several of the people in front of me seem to have bought their tickets from scalpers, or have the wrong id, or credit card... or something. When I finally make it to the front of the line - I snatch my tickets and dash through the lobby in my houndstooth ballet flats and skirt, past the beer drinkers and merch buyers, and weave my way to the line-up headed down to orchestra level.
An elderly security guard manning the entrance places his palm up and says he must first re-secure the door jam, and my eyes nearly burst out of my head. He fiddles with the little yellow rubber triangle for what seems like hours, and then I'm finally wristbanded to go down to my seat. I walk steadily down the carpeted stairs to the floor, and then, as I make the last panic dash to the barrier, I bail over a leaning row of chairs, short skirt and all. I'm embarrassed, but I can take it, because I've attained a front row spot - phew!
I realize I'm shaking a bit and am half giggling, half teary as I chat with a friend beside me. I lean on the rail - my favourite place on earth - and await the pre-show videos.
L.U.V.
Morrissey appears on stage wearing a navy blue shirt, intricately embroidered with beige and brown thread, and the band is wearing "Fuck Trump" shirts. Moz holds an index finger in the air, as if to test the atmosphere, and as the audience rumbles and roars, the first guitar chords of How Soon Is Now? resound in a rhythmic dance with flashing white strobe lights.
Morrissey seems to be in really great spirits and chats with us a lot between songs. At one point during the show, he explains that in Tucson, his voice "finally broke, which happens to all adolescents." This elicits giggles and shouts, and one thing is for sure: his voice definitely isn't broken tonight: he looks and sounds fantastic.
I'm giddy and can't stop cheering - somehow through the previous cancellations, the last minute venue change, the frantic panic at doors - this is happening! I can't imagine that towering Blue Hawaii is still in my system, but I'm positively euphoric. I'm essentially front row centre - and, in between songs -slipping into a rare sliver of silence, I feel bold: I look up at Moz, and yell out... "I LOVE YOU!" ... and - he hears me!
He scrunches up his nose and eyebrows in a playful way... and, looking out into the audience, he says, "What?"
I can't help but giggle even more.
Jack the Ripper's opening guitars helicopter-chop dramatically through the venue, and heady fog pours into the pit; we swat at the clouds like playful cats. Morrissey's iconic quiffed silhouette emerges, and rosaries dangle and sway from his torso to the flow of the music. We stretch our arms out in response to his outstretched arms - oh, how we'd love to crash into them.
Boz and Jesse move forward through the smoky clouds for a dual guitar solo, and notes descend scales to create a wailing tension, underneath which lies the driving bass and drums of the rhythm section. The scales ascend towards the main riff of the song, and the guitarists move back into the foggy depths of the stage.
Setlist (Via Setlist FM):
1. How Soon Is Now?
2. Suedehead
3. Alma Matters
4. Speedway
5. Everyday Is Like Sunday
6. Istanbul
7. World Peace Is None Of Your Business
8. Jack The Ripper
9. Ouija Board, Ouija Board
10. The Bullfighter Dies
11. There Is A Light That Never Goes Out
12. First Of The Gang To Die
13. Ganglord
14. Kiss Me A Lot
15. You're The One For Me, Fatty
16. Shoplifters of The World Unite
17. When Last I Spoke To Carol
18. Let Me Kiss You
Encore:
Judy Is A Punk
My heart soars as I get to see There Is A Light That Never Goes Out live for the first time - a song that lyrically captures love's layers of sadness, beauty, and even a dash of humour simultaneously. Morrissey takes such complex emotions, and words them in such a way everything makes sense.Time can be merely an instant - and yet time somehow also fuses us together for eternity.
At another point during the concert, my friend, who wrote of her adventures during 2015's South American tour in her book, I Will See You In Far Off Places, is given the microphone. She is standing beside me, front row centre. Moz looks down and says, "Do you have something you'd like to say?" and stretches the microphone down towards the pit. For a brief moment, I think he might be asking me: my heart lurches, my eyes widen - and I wonder what to say - when I want to say so many things about how much I love him and his music...
Shyness...
He passes the mic to my friend.
I hug her after she speaks to him - it's the first time Morrissey has handed her the microphone - and we can hardly contain our excitement.
For Let Me Kiss You, Morrissey walks out wearing a canary yellow shirt I recognize from photos of the Mexican tour. From the pictures I couldn't exactly discern the pattern, was it floral?... But now I'm here in person, and can see it's speckled with tiny green palm trees, which reminds me of our trip to the Tiki Bar a few hours earlier. I love this shirt and part of me really wants it, and another part hopes it doesn't get all shredded to bits because it's so awesome. That said, if it comes my way, I'm going to pounce for a piece.
"But then... you open your eyes, and you see someone that you physically despise..." Morrissey tears the shirt open and the buttons fling off like pearls from a strand. He wipes the shirt across his glistening torso and face and flings it into the audience - all yellow sleeves and fluttering fabric. Momentarily, it seems to hang mid-air directly over my head - but alas, it flies too far back - and lands in about 3rd row. There's a scuffle, but miraculously, I find out later that one guy gets the entire shirt.
Then, for one last song, the band launches into a smashing cover of Ramone's Judy, and then, it's all over.
.... Or.... at least until tomorrow.
*all photos are my own unless otherwise specified
There's not a chance I can get an early night this time. Hotel room neighbours blast horrendous Chris Brown dance remixes and shriek, squeal, and click their high heels. I let a few glasses of red wine and a vegan cupcake distract from such unpleasant stimuli - and THEN...
I'm suddenly very glad I'm still awake. There has been a last minute venue change to the The Smart Financial Centre in Sugar Land - and we can upgrade our tickets. Frantically, with my clouded fingers and mind competing for sloppiness, I somehow clumsily thumb through my wallet, grab a credit card, and fill out my info on the browser. I snag second row seats.
Now I'm the one shrieking and squealing - and - snapped somewhat out of the lulling blur of the evening's drinks, my eyes widen as I realize my other friends staying in the hotel are fast asleep and will probably miss getting tickets by the time they wake up. Drunkenly, I stumble across the hall wearing pajama bottoms and a tank top and knock on the heavy mahogany door - "TOUR NEWS" ... I add, "It's not bad." I have to do this a second time, and end up clacking down the hotel's hardwood stairs and having to apologetically beg a looming security guard to help me find out my friend's room number.
***
It's time to drive to Houston...
We make a quick stop at the Alamo, but I am mostly interested in visiting a painted church in the tiny town of Praha. Located somewhere between San Antonio and Houston, Praha was settled by Czech immigrants in the 19th century and holds the hapless distinction of being the US town with the highest ratio of deaths to population in World War II.
Our detour off the sprawling highway takes us through a couple of small towns, and I am struck by the binary class division afflicting certain parts of the United States. The poor are very poor, and some houses appear not much larger than garden sheds, with peeling boards and sunken, decaying porches. At times the sole sign of life is a musty air conditioner attached to a dusty bedroom window. Often, the only pristine item in any given yard is a gently waving American flag. Having already passed a number of billboards advertising local gun shows and bible verses, I can't help but wonder how many of these people may have voted for the current president, a man that runs beauty pageants and failed casinos, and lives in a golden penthouse. The only thing that makes sense is that nothing makes sense. The rich must profit and get richer...and the poor...?
Waves of heat slam like hazy walls as I climb out of our air conditioned car. Sadly, St. Mary's Church of the Assumption is closed for Easter, so we are unable to view its sky blue muralled interior. Instead, we walk towards the cemetery; its spindly wrought iron gates are lettered in Czech and howl a rusty creak as we open them.
 |
| Cemetry Gates |
Recent graves, to those from well over a century ago are covered with fresh flowers. On one baby's grave a little white ceramic lamb sits with folded limbs. There is a slight wind and a few loosened flowers wander through the tombstones in the breeze. It's calming here, which would have confused me as a child because graveyards used to freak me out - but now I understand the peacefulness of such places. I am drawn to some statues posed around a crucifix in the middle of the cemetery, and as I walk in their direction, past a certain plot, I feel a strange sensation along my right ankle and lower leg. It's not dissimilar to the warm wind that wraps around my limbs and I assume I'm probably just being a little insane. However, something about it is different; I'm curious because it almost feels like a gentle magnetic tug. I decide to walk back and forth again - and I feel the same sensation a second time; it's like a soothing caress down to my bone. My friends think I'm crazy - and maybe I am... but the feeling sticks with me and I wonder what could have caused it.
 |
On the drive back towards the highway, there is a group of chocolate and caramel-coloured cows grazing in a lush field smattered with daisies, and we stop and take pictures. I run across the road with my camera to take photos, but unfortunately for me, the cows are far more interested in one of my friends and walk away from me: I'm being cow-snubbed. Funnily enough, there is a lone donkey chilling out with the cows. When we pile back into the car, the cows line up along the fence and watch us curiously. Perhaps they don't get many visitors.
We finally arrive at our hotel, situated right on the outskirts of Houston. The day keeps getting stranger, as the view from our hotel room is nothing short of bizarre, at least to me. The 3rd floor room overlooks a house with a small yard, in the centre of which stands a bald mannequin. Lording blankly over the garden, the mannequin is about the height of a 10 year old child, and is wearing denim overalls. Presumably it's a scarecrow, but it's also pretty darn creepy.
 |
| Creepy Houston Mannequin |
***
Sugar Land Concert
The day of the concert I'm invited out for drinks at a Tiki Bar before the show. It is completely out of character for me to drink before a concert (I usually save that for after) but I can't resist checking this place out. The Tiki Bar is located in an unimpressive and rather run-down, spray-paint tagged strip mall not far from our hotel.
Inside, the place is far more impressive, and as my eyes adjust from the late-afternoon Texan sun to the lowered lights of the bar, I am greeted by a deliciously tacky Elvis-chic atmosphere. I can't tell if it's all actually 1950's vintage Hawaiian decor or if it's replicated, but it's cool: a shaggy grass hut hangs over rum bottles at the bar, and the walls are covered with busty mermaids, velvet paintings, and Polynesian artifacts.
I order a menacingly tall blue Hawaii topped with a pineapple wedge and a fuchsia orchid. I half-worry that it will give me a blue tongue for the concert, which might be a tad embarrassing as I sing along. I plunge into my drink and risk it anyway. I do, however, pass on the Great White shark attack drink, which includes pomegranate "blood", complete with a cigar-smoking banana dolphin. One drink is enough for now - and makes me just the right amount of giggly.
Arriving in Sugar Land a couple of hours before doors, a long line is already visible, coiling all the way around the side of the brand-new venue. Uh oh. I am not used to showing up so late... and we still must pick up our upgraded tickets at the will call booth.
The tickets are still not ready, and there are multiple security line-ups we must pass before even entering to the second line for our tickets. Strangely, some of us in the golden circle end up in the wrong line up, and only a portion of concertgoers are allowed past security to the box office, with moments to go before doors. My eyes scan through the sea of cool quiffed kids in World Peace t's, pin curled girls in cardigans, and yellow-vested venue security staff. The sea of people becomes a blur as I realize at least a few hundred people must be in front of me... my hopes of a spot on barrier start to dissolve, and I worry if I will even make it to my second row seat as masses of people bust through the stories-high glass venue doors.
Oh sh*t.
The box office is a harried, frazzled stress-out, as there is only one line-up and several of the people in front of me seem to have bought their tickets from scalpers, or have the wrong id, or credit card... or something. When I finally make it to the front of the line - I snatch my tickets and dash through the lobby in my houndstooth ballet flats and skirt, past the beer drinkers and merch buyers, and weave my way to the line-up headed down to orchestra level.
An elderly security guard manning the entrance places his palm up and says he must first re-secure the door jam, and my eyes nearly burst out of my head. He fiddles with the little yellow rubber triangle for what seems like hours, and then I'm finally wristbanded to go down to my seat. I walk steadily down the carpeted stairs to the floor, and then, as I make the last panic dash to the barrier, I bail over a leaning row of chairs, short skirt and all. I'm embarrassed, but I can take it, because I've attained a front row spot - phew!
I realize I'm shaking a bit and am half giggling, half teary as I chat with a friend beside me. I lean on the rail - my favourite place on earth - and await the pre-show videos.
L.U.V.
Morrissey appears on stage wearing a navy blue shirt, intricately embroidered with beige and brown thread, and the band is wearing "Fuck Trump" shirts. Moz holds an index finger in the air, as if to test the atmosphere, and as the audience rumbles and roars, the first guitar chords of How Soon Is Now? resound in a rhythmic dance with flashing white strobe lights.
 |
| Photo by Marco Torres |
Morrissey seems to be in really great spirits and chats with us a lot between songs. At one point during the show, he explains that in Tucson, his voice "finally broke, which happens to all adolescents." This elicits giggles and shouts, and one thing is for sure: his voice definitely isn't broken tonight: he looks and sounds fantastic.
I'm giddy and can't stop cheering - somehow through the previous cancellations, the last minute venue change, the frantic panic at doors - this is happening! I can't imagine that towering Blue Hawaii is still in my system, but I'm positively euphoric. I'm essentially front row centre - and, in between songs -slipping into a rare sliver of silence, I feel bold: I look up at Moz, and yell out... "I LOVE YOU!" ... and - he hears me!
He scrunches up his nose and eyebrows in a playful way... and, looking out into the audience, he says, "What?"
I can't help but giggle even more.
Jack the Ripper's opening guitars helicopter-chop dramatically through the venue, and heady fog pours into the pit; we swat at the clouds like playful cats. Morrissey's iconic quiffed silhouette emerges, and rosaries dangle and sway from his torso to the flow of the music. We stretch our arms out in response to his outstretched arms - oh, how we'd love to crash into them.
Boz and Jesse move forward through the smoky clouds for a dual guitar solo, and notes descend scales to create a wailing tension, underneath which lies the driving bass and drums of the rhythm section. The scales ascend towards the main riff of the song, and the guitarists move back into the foggy depths of the stage.
 |
| Photo by mischievousnose on Instagram |
Setlist (Via Setlist FM):
1. How Soon Is Now?
2. Suedehead
3. Alma Matters
4. Speedway
5. Everyday Is Like Sunday
6. Istanbul
7. World Peace Is None Of Your Business
8. Jack The Ripper
9. Ouija Board, Ouija Board
10. The Bullfighter Dies
11. There Is A Light That Never Goes Out
12. First Of The Gang To Die
13. Ganglord
14. Kiss Me A Lot
15. You're The One For Me, Fatty
16. Shoplifters of The World Unite
17. When Last I Spoke To Carol
18. Let Me Kiss You
Encore:
Judy Is A Punk
 |
| Photo by mischievousnose on Instagram |
My heart soars as I get to see There Is A Light That Never Goes Out live for the first time - a song that lyrically captures love's layers of sadness, beauty, and even a dash of humour simultaneously. Morrissey takes such complex emotions, and words them in such a way everything makes sense.Time can be merely an instant - and yet time somehow also fuses us together for eternity.
At another point during the concert, my friend, who wrote of her adventures during 2015's South American tour in her book, I Will See You In Far Off Places, is given the microphone. She is standing beside me, front row centre. Moz looks down and says, "Do you have something you'd like to say?" and stretches the microphone down towards the pit. For a brief moment, I think he might be asking me: my heart lurches, my eyes widen - and I wonder what to say - when I want to say so many things about how much I love him and his music...
Shyness...
He passes the mic to my friend.
I hug her after she speaks to him - it's the first time Morrissey has handed her the microphone - and we can hardly contain our excitement.
For Let Me Kiss You, Morrissey walks out wearing a canary yellow shirt I recognize from photos of the Mexican tour. From the pictures I couldn't exactly discern the pattern, was it floral?... But now I'm here in person, and can see it's speckled with tiny green palm trees, which reminds me of our trip to the Tiki Bar a few hours earlier. I love this shirt and part of me really wants it, and another part hopes it doesn't get all shredded to bits because it's so awesome. That said, if it comes my way, I'm going to pounce for a piece.
"But then... you open your eyes, and you see someone that you physically despise..." Morrissey tears the shirt open and the buttons fling off like pearls from a strand. He wipes the shirt across his glistening torso and face and flings it into the audience - all yellow sleeves and fluttering fabric. Momentarily, it seems to hang mid-air directly over my head - but alas, it flies too far back - and lands in about 3rd row. There's a scuffle, but miraculously, I find out later that one guy gets the entire shirt.
Then, for one last song, the band launches into a smashing cover of Ramone's Judy, and then, it's all over.
.... Or.... at least until tomorrow.
*all photos are my own unless otherwise specified
How do you get on a list? Viva Vegan Moz. vegantownusa.wordpress.com
ReplyDeleteHey it's really easy just show up at the venue (usually very early in the morning, or in certain places like California the night before the show) and if you camp out you can be on the list. Lots of nice people and it's actually really fun to queue :)
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