Monday, September 01, 2003

What a whirlwind weekend! Friday I drove to Stevenson, WA which is forty miles east of Portland, on the Columbia River, where my friends Kika, Parker, Hibikina, Julie, Ben, and (sometimes) Ericka live, on a scenic piece of property above the river. They're building a house and I helped frame a wall on Friday afternoon. I suck as a carpenter, you should know, but it felt good to be working with my hands again. Kika fed me delicious, scavenged food from the wild, her garden, and dumpsters. I slept outside under a sleeping bag that night and woke up at 4:30 to a train-whistle. I couldn't go back to sleep so I walked around and stretched for a couple hours until everyone else was up. We had blackberry pie and coffee for breakfast and started bending nails by 8:30. Eight hours later we needed a break so we skinny-dipped in the Columbia and from there I drove to Portland for the 7:00 show. "JOE" made it all the way, like he always does, but as we pulled up to the curb I hit it a little hard and popped the right, front tire. I put the spare on and walked into the yard where the thing was happening. A gypsyesque band called Schicky Gnarowitz was playing, and food was abundant. The yard was huge for a city environment and the people were eclectic and there was a bicycle-powered smoothie-maker and I was excited to be part of this scene. I played for about an hour-and-a-half to a mostly warm response. The warmest came from a fifty-something Native American fellow named Demus who appeared to be either extremely freaked-out or else wildly drunk or both. He came half way through my set and started jamming along on his out of tune guitar. A lot of the crowd got annoyed and vacated the area. I, too, was a little thrown off but decided to play off his energy and see what happened. He acted ecstaticly towards my music and kept yelling stuff and thrashing on his guitar. After the show we palled around and drank smoothies until eventually he drifted north on MLK Jr. boulevard. My friend, Vanessa, took a polaroid of us which I put on the fridge. Demus is from the Warm Springs Reservation and had just gotten dropped off by some buddies who were drinking too heavily for his comfort. He was trying to get back on the Interstate going east so as to eventually end up at Cascade Locks where he could do some salmon fishing. At times he would slip into his Native tongue. He introduced himself as: Demus, son of Lomen, grandson of Kalama, and great grandson of Tek.

After the party was completely over I went to Vanessa and Montana's house and slept soundly. In the morning I visited with Vanessa and Bill, ate cereal, and drove home on the spare tire. Before leaving, though, I accidentally filled the tub with cold water and had to take a brisk, refreshing plunge 'n' scrub. This gave me the energy I needed for my business meeting with Victoria, from Pile Driving Records in Vancouver, WA. Victoria's advice to me was to become an intern for an independent hip hop label not on the West Coast-- maybe New York, maybe in the South. She told me of some labels to approach to try to work for gratis until I can make myself indispensable as a supporter of them and their roster. "The sooner the better", she says... She included that I need to spend a lot more time with black people if I'm serious about becoming a rap star.

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