One of the best and unplanned benefits of being in COLD GIN were the outlandish rumors. Oh, we heard it all. We experienced the original Psycho Circus, over and over and over.

Among the things we would get asked going from town to town...

Man, the things we did for accuracy. In response to the last question, "the weezie" was a ritual Jaime had to endure every gig. Being a fair haired boy, we needed him to become a Cat Man. He got the darkened look with a spray-on hair dye he found at the Hollywood Toy Store. The poor man had to apply this shellac, suffer through the set, then dunk his head in a tub of water at the end of the show to remove it. If you look carefully at live photos of Jaime, you can see the shiny black rivulets running down his face paint, tormenting him.

But the show must go on.

Before one gig in San Luis Obispo, we lost a crew member. Driving back from the hotel, the cops pulled us over. Ant and I were seated on the floor of our rented cargo van, with Jaime riding shotgun and crew member Johnny in the driver's seat. The cop told us our back light was out, we explained it was a rental, oh, that's ok, cool, you guys are COLD GIN?, I'm going to the show later, blah blah blah, and he was ready to set us free when his dispatcher told him about Johnny's past.

When we had stopped, the cop went through his routine and Johnny told the officer his license wasn't on him (we later found it and a bulging bag of weed purposely left under the driver's seat - big points to Johnny for quick thinking). Our beleaguered tech's excuse was: "it's at the hotel, uh, on the side of the road, or whatever". While they asked him to get out of the van and elaborate, my job was to report on his legal progress as the officer spoke to him in another corner of the parking lot. Here's a glimpse as to how the event was relayed:

"OK, they're talking to him. He's raising his hands in the air in protest. OK, he did it again. It looks like he cannot believe whatever they're telling him. OK, he's turning around. Uh, he's now being handcuffed and put in the back of the cruiser. Oh, boy, here's comes the arresting officer. Now what?"

Jaime thought I was kidding, but when the cop showed up at the window and told us Johnny was going with them to the hoosegow due to an outstanding warrant, we were on our own. We did the gig, sans Johnny. We then headed back to the hotel, sans weed.

The next morning, while enjoying our free continental breakfast, an old 60's hit played over the dining room PA: Bobby Hebb's Sunny. Saint and I found this too good to pass up and started performing our own version, with a nod to last night's arrest.

Johnny...don't you tell the cops that you got some weed.

Johnny...a tech in jail is something that we don't need.

Now you ride with the cops, and you're heading to jail.

And if you do drop the soap, you best cover your tail.

Johnny, what can you do, they got you...

With each verse we'd go up, modulating like the original version. It provided an unending set of lyrical possibilities and we kept it up through the whole meal. We finished guffawing and headed towards the van. Once in, we got our bearings and the singing started again.

Jaime and I became inspired with each passing minute, and carried on for about forty miles until we noticed Tommy was slumped over the wheel. As our designated driver, Bison was laughing so hard he had no muscle control, and was in danger of running off the road and ending our careers.

"STOP! STOP IT YOU GUYS, BEFORE I KILL US ALL..."

It wasn't a threat, it was the truth. He was laughing so hard, his eyes were completely teared up. A folded in half driver isn't really a safe way to travel at 75 miles an hour, so Jaime and I realized that to stay on this planet we had to stop the music. At least for the moment. We'd drop "Johnny" into soundchecks, dinners, and phone calls whenever we got the chance. And when Johnny returned from his time in stir, it would start all over again.