I AM THE UGLY AMERICAN

Jet lag is not conducive to thriftiness.
I'm sitting in a Mercure hotel room in Brussels. I have overpacked. The flimsy baggage cart that I purchased at Target is buckling under the weight of my bags. I need to begin jettisoning immediately. The first thing that will have to go is the accordion and all of my pedals and cables. This will be followed immediately by the jawharps. As a result, I will need to change mediums for this tour. I'm going to choreograph a solo dance piece to commemorate the victims of Hurricane Katrina. I will be accompanied solely by hand-held tape recorder. Although I have never danced before, I imagine that it will come fairly naturally and I think I should have a solid act by the time I get to Ghent. The press will herald me as a genius and women will throw themselves at my lithe and graceful dancer's body which should well developed within a few days due to the rigorous training that I will begin after I finish smoking the rest of this pack of cigarettes. Due to the violent, emotional nature of the choreography, the hotel room will most likely reduced to rubble before the 17 euro continental breakfast is served, but I'm certain that I will not be held financially responsible for the damages because I believe the owners of the Mercure hotel chain to be great supporters of the artistic process. They will waive the bill for the damages and send a string of expensive escort girls up to my room who will demand to be showered in my urine. Everything will be paid for and I will never have to work again.
I had a 6 hour layover in Philly last night, so I left the airport and had dinner with Gillian and David Chadwick of Ex Reverie/Golden Ball fame. I love these people. We had a lot of laughs and they didn't seem to mind my disjointed, sleep deprived rants, despite the fact that I rarely allowed them to get a word in edgewise.
Afterwards I went back to being treated like a criminal and being moved around like cattle. I did everything that I possibly could have done wrong at the passport control desk. I was nervous, I stuttered, I had no information about the people we were staying with and I kept changing my answers. Miraculously, they allowed me to enter the EU sans cavity search, but they needed to see a credit card to prove that I had a job and a place to live.
Tomorrow I'll have to find Micah and the club and deal with my packing troubles, but tonight is all about overpriced food, porn and hopefully sleep. I really need to sleep.