Posters, pink eye and cropdusting (oh my!)

A few of the Subsidies spent last Saturday afternoon doing a little promotion work for our upcoming Halloween show at Tiff's in St. Paul.

This started out with a little poster plastering around St. Thomas and Macalaster. Since our posters weren't approved by the Office of Propoganda at these schools, they were probably torn down seconds after we left. Communists!

After jaunting around the two campuses for a while, we then headed to Tiff's for a quick burger and beer. Tiff's has your standard bar fare, but as far as standard bar fare goes, they rank pretty high. The black and bleu burger is dynamite. And well, beer is always delicious.

From Tiff's we stopped at a near-by wine shop, as they were having one of their bigger sales of the year. Now, she will deny the hell out of this, but someone at the wine shop, quite possibly our bass player Laura, had a serious gastro-intestinal disorder and was cropdusting the shit (pun intended) out of the place. It was awful. The bandit was dropping clouds all over the place, and they were so potent that you could actually feel the texture of the gas. Seriously, who the hell goes to a relatively sophisticated wine shop and shits themselves? Walmart, yes, but a wine shop? About a quick $200 later, we all bolted for fresh air.

Our final stop was at one of these party shops that was freakin' packed with Halloween costume goons. It was great that we found this place, as according to them, they were the Official Halloween Headquarters. What are the chances that we found THE official Halloween store? My goal for this adventure in commerce was to find a foam-skull head to dress up my amp for Tiff's. Despite being at the Official Halloween HQ, there were only 3-4 rows of halloween crap, and most of it was Sexy Nurse or Naughty Plumber costumes. My favorite was the naughty Raggedy Anne costume. I don't remember her being that slutty, but I could be wrong.

Fear not. I found my skull.

My favorite part of the day was when we were checking out, and the mother in front of me kept rubbing the eyeball of her young daughter. The mother said with concern, "Boy, that's really pink." She then rested her pink-eye laden hands all over the checkout counter, including the one pen available to sign your checkcard receipt. I frantically dug through my pockets to dig up cash, as I surely wasn't going to touch anything. Thankfully, I found just enough cash. And no pink-eye. Yet.