Fri., Dec. 26, 1997, Porter, IN, Leroy's -- Definitely the SMOKIEST club to date, even rivaling what I used to think was the smokiest bar in the Northwest, Cascade Tavern. But Leroy's takes the (choke) cake. After loading in and setting up, I moseyed to the bar end of the long, narrow room, which sports a slight upgrade. As I traversed the grade, my alarm grew as I noticed not one person in the place was NOT smoking! Either this is a flashback to the sixties, or everyone in here is in rehab... The further I got up the grade the more the smoke continued to build into a crescendo of billows, and by the time I got to the bar, some 60 feet, I literally couldn't breathe. I stepped outside into 23 degrees with about a 5-below windchill, but it was certainly better than in there! I wondered how I was going to make it through the night engaged in the somewhat aerobic activity of drumming, and meditated on the detoxing I'd be doing over the next few days. Luckily, the stage was next to the back door, which I covertly cracked an inch--enough to let some of the noxious fumes escape so I could get some breathing room. I struggled to get my attention off my physical well-being for a minute to concentrate on playin' dem drums, and then the feedback started. I had a few concerns about the sound man, who kept telling me the PA "isn't my rig, man. (The rig's owner) called me a few hours ago to do this gig." And it showed. A persistent 2K ring was pissing Joanna off, along with an irritating mike shock. The only thing around at the moment was a napkin to strap around the thing for lip protection, and that blew out after the first song. Finally someone provided a bandana, but the feedback continued right up till break time. Despite all this, the crowd was very enthused about the band, and that made up for a lot. Ooops, time out...I digress...we had an opening act I must mention, David Short, who brought out an assortment of guitars including a very nice steel top slide guitar. He was an able guitarist, but his voice was wimpy and, well, just plain white. Sorry, I'm grumpy tonight...part of the detox no doubt. Anyway, Mr. Feedback, er...the soundman, fiddled with some knobs and I told him to just put kick drum and vocals in my blaring monitor and turn the damn thing down. The second set was much improved, and I could finally settle down and play some fucking music.