Thanks to Erika Anderson, Needles & Pens, Sarah Utter, James Squeaky, and Spencer Moody for booking these shows.
1. BAY AREA
After two successful shows in San Francisco and Oakland, we spent the morning driving around Berkeley. I tried, hard, to keep my mouth shut RE: The Hippie Problem. Then we went to a health food eatery with this sign out front:
Apparently the staff asks the question of the day to all of their patrons, although there were sufficient bad vibes coming from our table to excuse us from this part of the process. I found the opposite of this sign in San Francisco;
Stan or Stav either owns this truck or decided to spray paint on it. Either way, it makes a bold political statement where other vehicle doors are strangely silent.
2. POLITICAL RALLY
In Klamath Falls, OR, we attended a sidewalk political rally for Democratic senatorial candidate Jeff Merkley. Before the rally could get underway, a sullen young man – a bona fide Klamath Falls punk rocker – parked himself at a table in front of the proceedings, buried his head in apparent despair, and treated us all to the crack of his ass. Merkley is a pro; you’d simply never have guessed that anything was amiss.
This was the first small town political rally I’d ever attended. Merkley addressed the modest crowd in much the same manner I found myself addressing my own slightly more modest crowds later in the trip, and he delivered on the politician mannerisms. He did the Clintonesque thumb point, and rolled his sleeves at mid-forearm, not elbow. His overly caffeinated Michael J Foxish personal assistant actually did clutch a clipboard and sport a canvas, shoulder-slung briefcase, oblivious to cultural stereotypes. Merkley said a lot of good stuff about renewable energy and ending the war. Occasionally, surprised citizens would pass on the sidewalk and give a funny sort of sideways-glancing smile, unsure if they were witnessing a sales demonstration or street performance.
I have rocky relations with this city. We ate an enjoyable lunch with Sam Ott and Joe Preston, and former Alarmist frontman James Squeaky hosted a first-class speaking and dulcimer concert in his living room. But all of this citywide good will had already been squandered earlier in the trip, by the SE Powell Blvd. Motel 6, where two different dudes elected to piss off the balcony directly above us. Another draw.
I’d convinced myself, on the drive north, that I’d gotten the day wrong and screwed up the show. Since I’ve been trying hard to not punch myself in the face whenever Tara’s in the car, I had to do a lot of serious thinking about the mistakes I’ve made and what possible extreme corrective remedies might help me get my shit together this late in the game. Consequently, I don’t remember much about my set, being high on serotonin or whatever chemicals the brains squirts into itself when one is told that they have not screwed up the show and that everything is fine.
In Olympia, we pulled up in front of the venue to find the words “poop butt” scrawled under my name on one of Sarah Utter’s flyers.
Later, we stayed at Sarah & Justin’s house in the woods. It was an obscenity of rural splendor. Here’s the view from their back deck.
Later, driving home, it dawned on me that I kind of preferred walking around in nature to slogging through a 1,100 mile corridor of interchangeable KFCs, Dennys, and Jiffy Lubes. Like Stan or Stav's truck says, F.U. to all of us.