Hello World, how's it hangin'? The tour is over, and Olympia is sweltering. First, though, before I say anything more, let's give a hand to 319 JOE: The little Suburu that could. After 10,000 miles, more or less, s/he sounds and runs better than ever. I must also give thanks to the Virgin Mother Mary on her Birthbed for guiding me all the way home without any fender benders or even a speeding ticket. This latter detail is actually crucial as I lost my driver's license during the first show of the tour in Vancouver, B.C. The miracles were daily and this odyssey was not unlke the great Ulysee's (sp.?) or perhaps, Don Quixote's or even Frodo Baggins'. Dragons, maidens, innkeepers, hobbits, wizards, naked mermaids, horned goat-people, angel dust... (kidding.)
Oh, it's good to be back though... and not. Olympia's much more temperate than when I left. I cleared the cobwebs out of the Jack Shack and moved in four days ago. Squirrels frolic on the mossy roof and ferns lick my ample windows. Fat flies die daily. Most welcomlingly of all I received a two-page write-up in the Olympian with a big picture of my pale, sad face w/ firecracker danglingly limply from lip. This followed a previous full-page write-up with same image in the rad Spokane weekly; The Local Planet, promoting a show I did there. My press-kit is not so sparse now. Both interviews shown a flattering light unlike a review I came across in an online rag called The Nerve (March issue) which claimed I had no vocal range and that some of my songs were embarrasingly dorky. The final sentence went something like, "Not an exceptionally terrible release." I still don't know how to take that. They also called me "a little white kid" or something like that which I actually don't mind so much.
Yesterday, my pal Christian took me boating. We motored around Squaxin Island, got yelled at by some tribal members for peeing on their island (damn), pulled into Boston Harbor for a lunch of smoked salmon, and then cruised home. The water was so clear and the Olympic mountains loomed high: paradise for sure. I sunburned my shins, though, of all places. Shin cancer?
Speaking of cancer, last night I played a benefit show at the Capitol Theatre for breast cancer research. Other acts included Jim Page, Scream Club, Betsy Holt, and Andras Jones. I sold over $200 in CDs! In fact, it's a shame I didn't bring any more because I basically sold out. Carl Dexter joined me on the stage and we ripped through some rarities like, "Out of Place" and "Olympia's the Capitol (of Rock and Roll)". He played bass, electric guitar, and acoustic guitar on "Love's Hangover Sale". Right now my house mate, Kristina, has invited me to go swimming. I'd better go, I suppose. Life is hard here in Olytown during the Summer. To be honest, though, I am looking for a job-- and soon! I've lost $35 from atrophied poker skills since I've returned to the tables. The shame... my tour profits have been annihilated.
p.s. Stay closely tuned. I plan to recount the last three weeks of tour in detail (as suits the myth-building process).
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