Happy Halloween! I'm so happy that November 2nd is almost here-- "trick or treat?" indeed. It's a good question... I don't know if our nation can handle too many more tricks or treats, though. What we need is a good, ol' fashioned ass-whuppin' from Muhammed Ali (or Marlon Brando circa The Wild One). We need a dentist with steady hands and a tomahawk. Candyman needs a faith-based cavity search by George Orwell. Hitler needs a moustache vasectomy and a feces-proof copy of Dante's Inferno. It's gonna hit the fan, right? Mosh through the marsh, or whatever. Massive creativity is almost upon us, and it will be an absurd scene when the bats start coming out of their caves to piss on our toupees.

My fourth major tour of 2004 is over, and I am at my parents' place in Killdeer, North Dakota. I owe a lot of people money and I will be working here for the next four weeks in order to start paying off some debts. Tomorrow I will recount the final days of my travels with Stephan Said (aka Stephan Smith).

It's Madison, WI again-- my fourth show here in half a year! I was pretty sick last time, though, so hopefully tonight will redeem my last visit. Ivan Okay, whom I toured w/ last Spring, set this show up. He'll also be playing, so I'm pretty pleased about that. I'm at the University of Wisconsin library right now. Earlier today, John Kerry was on campus stumping with Bruce Springsteen, who played a couple songs. Stephan and I missed it.

Yesterday was cool. I got to be on a panel called Peace, Patriotism, and Dissent: Democracy in the Balance at Harper College. I performed "Scapegoat Song" and got to talk a little about the role scapegoating plays in regards to imperialism and murder-- currently and historically. How whimsical, eh?! Jeepers, I'm ready for a vacation in Oahu... I think we all are. This election season is a soul-sucker. I'm seriously considering only singing Bobby McFerrin's "Don't Worry, Be Happy" tonight and then offering free erotic massages to whomever buys a pillow case or cd.

P.S. Eminem's new anti-war video is online: http://www.gnn.tv/content/emosh_hi.html. For better or worse, he's our generation's Bob Dylan. I'm filled with both admiration and loathing. He wears his RAGE like a chainsaw head-band and bleeds jewels into my father's salad. It takes hours to separate the chopped onions from the diamonds. I wish I had his money.

All's well in Chicago. Madison tomorrow. I'm too rushed to write more. Red Sox 3 games to zero over the Cardinals...

Nana and Lauris hooked it up! They set up a great show at the Wonderland Club in DC tonight. It was the best show yet, financially. I'll write more soon.

"She wins who calls herself beautiful and challenges the world to change to truly see her."

Naomi Wolf, The Beauty Myth

Yesterday was Love Your Body Day. Today is Dehypnotize Your Brain Day. Easier said than done; everybody around me looks like they're marching blank-faced into the red eye of the apocalypse. It's freaky.

What's so funny about Global Justice?!

On further thought, it's probably just me. A dip in a cool, mountain lake would do me good right about now. Tonight it's Baltimore, then back to DC where I anticipate a great, lively, fun-filled fiesta at the Wonderland Club! My friends, Nana and Lauris, have collaborated on making this show a good one. They are kind and generous with their time.

My mom turned 59 yesterday. Happy birthday, Mom, and all my love.

My homepage tour-dates have been impossible to update for the last three weeks-- the blogger routing is inexplicably failing to link any updates. Sorry about the confusion.

Here's a temporary itinerary for the next few days:

Oct. 21, Thurs., Washington, DC @ The Electric Maid, 8 pm. $10. Address: 228 Carrol Ave.

Oct. 22, Fri., Baltimore @ Mojo Room, 9:30 pm, $6. (410) 325-7427.

Oct. 23, Sat., Washington, DC @ The Wonderland (1101 Keny St. NW) pass-the-hat.

Stephan and I will be doing an in-store performance at Revolution Records in DC at 4 pm on Saturday too. That address is 4215 Connecticut Ave. NW.

Greetings from Richmond, VA. I've never been here, and look forward to exploring the back-alleys and assorted dumpsters. My meager money has expired but the next few shows should earn me great rewards.

My mom, sensing my mild depression, wrote me these words:

"Sing because you love to sing, Chris. Sing for yourself and those of us who delight in your humane and lyrical spirit. Nothing else really matters. Love, Mom."

She's a treasure. And so is my dad who lent me $1000 to manufacture my "Live" cd! And so are my friends around the country who lift up my spirits and feed my stomach and help me set up shows and let me sleep on their beds or sofas. And so are my housemates back in Oly who are letting me stay living there even though I can never pay rent on time, and I eat their food, and make lewd comments about them or their girlfriends (just kidding).

Ok, time to eat some lunch-type food.

I'm in Virginia now. Tonight's show in Maryland got cancelled. Last night's gig in Philly was a catastrophic flop. Oy vey.

On the bright side, I'm really enjoying getting to know Stephan Smith. We've had a lot of time to talk during the last twenty-four hours. His life story is one of the most fascinating ones I've ever heard.

I'm at an expensive internet cafe in New York. I've had to spend a lot of money here with taxis, tolls, and trains. And sadly I'm not earning much in return at my scattered shows. The three shows here were weird; they've made me question my worth as a troubador. Tonight's gig was the best, I think. Only nine people were there but I finally got to meet Stephan Smith who'll I'll be touring with. He's a great, talented guy and we bonded immediately. Tomorrow we drive to Philadelphia and then roll down the Eastern Seaboard.

The show last night was crowded-- 150 people. They had to turn away another fifty. The majority of the people were there for Mirah and were probably glad when I finally finished my lengthy set. There was a mild pillow case buying frenzy, but ultimately I didn't do very good on merch sales considering there were so many people.

The baseball game is on-- Yankees are killing the Red Sox. I run out of time in thirty seconds. Bye!

I just drove Chris Chandler's car to Manhattan from Boston.

The show last night was unexpectedly crowded, considering that the Presidential debates were going on and the Red Sox were playing the Yankees again. My friends, Nima, Amanda and Asghar, are to thank for bringing out at least twenty of their friends. The night opened with the punk legend Pete Cassani doing a set without his band, the Peasants. Then I played. I invited Nima up for the second half of my set so he could beatbox and rap with me. He even backed me up on guitar for a rendition of "When the Cyclone Struck." The highlight, though, was trading verses with Nima during "Persian Den of Sin." Nima is of Persian heritage (aka Iranian) and he has a great rap he wrote about being as such. After each of my verses he'd bust a verse of his own while I, then, beatboxed for him. I think we blew some people's minds!! Serious. Chris Chandler and Jo Smith ended the evening with their mad, lyrical, musical collage of inspired genius. They, too, blew some minds. This is nothing new to Chandler who's been doing this for sixteen years. Check out his website: www.chrischandler.org. His a giant amongst rambling troubadors like myself.

Last night I left my casio rapman in a woman's car who drove me back to Amanda and Nima's... Oops-- gotta run. I'll finish the story later.

I played the feature set of an open mic at Club Passim in Cambridge tonight. Unfortunately, I was a little off my game. Perhaps it was because of the intense lights in my eyes and too crisp sound on the stage. Maybe it was because I'm at the beginning of a tour and a little rusty. Maybe my hair-cut, a thick mullet, scared the crowd and I took their fear personally. Maybe it was because the Red Sox were losing to the Yankees, while I was singing, and thus the crowd's anxious morale disquieted me. Or what I propose to be the reason-- I had to follow a crummy comedian who kept making shark jokes. I didn't know how to realign the vibe of the sad audience, after that.

Tomorrow, I have a feeling, will go much better.

Now I'm in Orford, New Hampshire, but I'll be eating dinner in Vermont. I'm getting the whole New England package! The leaves are, perhaps, even more vibrant here than in Maine.

The show last night went great. It was organized by my pal, and Doug's son, Owen Money. His band is called the Saviours and they rock hard-- country and punk. My sweet friend of ten years, Senayit Tomlinson, also performed. She plays a 12-string and writes the prettiest rock ballads you've ever heard. She's why I'm in New Hampshire right now. She and her partner, Jeff, are house-sitting her parent's 200-yr.-old cottage and 100-acre horse habitat. One of the horses, Andy, has a butt-rash that Senayit has to doctor daily. Tomorrow she and Jeff will drive me to Boston for the first of two shows at Passim.

Doug chauffered me around scenic Maine today. We drove many miles in search of the colorful leaves of Autumn in New England... and we found 'em! Orange, red, and yellow foilage clustered amongst groves of peeling white Birch and mossy Pine. We came upon cheeky chipmunks, wild turkeys and coyotes... clear rivers, big lakes, and quaint hamlets. And the weather was warm and sunny.

Then we watched the debates-- Kerry vs. Bush. The news channel said it was a draw, which didn't seem quite right.

I think I will start documenting my song lyrics in preparation for a book of them by Christmas. To view them go here. I've only got one down so far, though.

Greetings from Newcastle, Maine. I made it. Doug drove three hours to Boston to pick me up at 5:30 in the morning (and then back)-- that's a friend! We ate breakfast in Portsmouth and then toured Kennebunkport and witnessed the magestic, ocean-front mansions of the Bushes. They own the prettiest little peninsula/island/isthmus or whatever it is that sticks out into the rocky, lobster-friendly waters of southern Maine. The weather is warm, here, but with a hint of frostiness, too.

Going back in time... 319 Joe did well, getting me to Spearfish, SD, where I met up with my aunt and uncle, Ken and Christi, who drove me to their ranch in Longmont Colorado. Ken was a professional rodeoer (team roping) for nine years before becoming a horse veterinarian. He let me borrow his red, canvas rope bag to haul and consolidate my scattered boxes of cds for the plane ride. I finally got to meet my cute, little 1st-cousin-once-removed, Lilliana, who is one-yr-old. She and her sister, Hanna (age 4 1/2), are the daughters of my cousin Kelly Sue and her husband Alex. Good times. Good people. Good split pea soup.

Rhetorical question: Is talking in detail about relatives on a web-journal, the blog equivalent of forcing the Culligan Man to look through your stack of polaroids from last week's family reunion?

Today I was soaking in some Idaho hot springs with my dad. Tomorrow (Monday) I will commute the lengthy state of Montana and Wyoming on my way to Spearfish, South Dakota. Tuesday I will drive to Denver, CO with my aunt and uncle. Wednesday I will fly to Boston, MA. Thursday I will drive to Portland, Maine with my pal Doug. And then the "real" tour begins.

Yep, this next month will be filled with much trans-American traveling.

St. Christopher, pray for us.

Mother Mary, pray for us.

319 JOE, yr a good little car.

The weather is crisp and sunny in Missoula, Montana. The leaves are yellow and orange. Grandma is feeling better, except she sees "two of everything".

I want to hike somewhere. Or soak in some hot springs in Idaho.

Build a Better Bush.

Grandma's doin' better. I hung out with her all afternoon. She's a little delirious, still-- she insisted that she saw a concert of mine on cable last night. Maybe she's got me confused with Kanye West or something. That's cool.

I'm trying to get a job maintaining trails when I return to Olympia. Thus, I've been digging up pertinent job info to put on a resume, such as...

Fire Suppression: Malheur Helitack Rappel Crew.

Carpenter: Sunrise Construction.

Outdoor Guide: University of Montana.

This is boring to do.

I stayed overnight with my grandma Sunday night and awoke to her coughing and choking on blood. Her white sheets and pillows were drenched, and she seemed to be slightly delusional. I called my mom and we got her to the emergency room (via ambulance). For the next twelve hours she continuously spit up large mouthfuls of coagulated blood-- it made me really woozy. Fortunately, she's recovering now at the intensive care ward in Missoula. I'll drive down there tomorrow to see her. The doctors think that somehow the Parkinson's Disease pills she's been on for the last couple of weeks have wreaked havoc on her fragile system. Poor little, tough Grandma.

I'm in Montana now. Left Olympia yesterday at 4 p.m. and drove ten hours here. This afternoon I spent time with Grandma and massaged her feet and legs. She just moved into an assisted living center and I can tell that she's scared she might be on the verge of death or something. I think she's just a little ill from some bad drugs she took recently. She needs a physical therapist, though, to help get her body working properly again. I'll try to rub her feet and legs every day this week and encourage her to drink lots of water.

I drove her to the Charlo Viking High School Varsity game at 7:30-- she was dizzy but managed to hang in there until the end of the game, which happened to be an exciting one! Bo, my first cousin, is the team's quarterback, and he threw two touchdowns and ran for a third. They beat Noxon 20-14. Jake, Bo's younger brother, also made an appearance. He's a freshman, though, so he only gets a few minutes.

I'm staying at my friends', Tom and Karin's, house tonight. Karin and I were ruminating on the bewildering ill-mysticism of Dubya and the Neocons. This nation is being hypnotized by something. What, what, what we ask... Perhaps fear-- that tragic unmagic anti-aphrodesiac? Perhaps psychic exhaustion from killjoy occupations? The debts we incrue and the stresses that ensue? Guilt from centuries of racist rationalizations? Unacknowledged antisemitism? Internalized loathing? Unexamined inferiority complexes? The preference of the quick-fix (pills, scapegoats, murder) over counseling/meditation/flower essences? Television without vision? Clogged arteries, chakras, airwaves? Ingrained imperialism? Time-released amnesia? Christianity minus the mulleted Jew who liked to raise hell with arrogant Empire Makers? I mean, wtf?

Who are these fugly architects of war? These wizardly channel-changers? These cowardly corporate clowns? These maniacal, suburban bloggaholics?

...they are you and I, of course, and we're as much to blame as the sheistiest hypocrite hypnotist in Washington if we don't figure something out soon, soon, soon--

and do it with joy, joy, joy--

and make it last, last, last--

and remember, remember, remember--

that life is cool, cool, cool--

and so are wee, wee, wee!

...All the way home.

(On the count of "three" you will climb out of your sleeping bag and march to the local convenience store for coffee and a banana.)

The new cd has arrived! "Joe" and I drove down to Portland to pick 'em up-- hot off the press-- little plastic biscuits of rhythm and melody.

Yes, Sandman Live and Suspicious! has arrived and is available for purchase. Already, a Chicago label, who Andras gave a pre-copy to, has shown interest in re-releasing it come January. I can't call this a "bidding war" yet, because they're the first financially stable label to get one, but it's a comforting sign that this cd has legs.
--------------------------
I just wrote this poem. I call it...

Gift Horse

Walk on, little soldiers; march forth into the battleground of sound. Raise your thousand soul-axes. March forward. Fight hard, little John Kerrys and Theresa Heinzes. Shoot straight.

Fear not, slender Davids. Goliath is a fake, and an Outlaw!! Slay him with your sharpened pens, your heavy rhymes, your pounding couplets. Dig trenches and dump in them the remains of all regrets, half-steps, and vain sensitivities.

Bite the head off of the Sidewinder and make drool of its dreary oil. Spit it out and pack mud into its broken mouth. Heal it. Piss on your cracked feet. Walk a mile, barefoot, on burnt turf. Bow to Ichiro Suzuki, Barry Bonds, Michael Moore, Molly Ivins-- and return to me with frizzled hair and sunburnt brow.

Sleep with the lover you love. Make love; be love; see love; seek love; freak love. Keep walking, love. And don't ever forget to thank love. Its teeth are long, strong, green, and powerful. Like a horse from God (fierce and kindly). Without reins, without bridle, and without bit.

I leave Olympia in two days. I'd better make some more pillow cases.

And by the way, 319 JOE (my car) made it all the way up to Canada and back without the clutch destructing. Thanks again, Joe. If I make some money on this next tour I'll treat you real nice and get you a new one.

Greetings from British Columbia. Sydney and I spent the day in Vancouver-- China Town mostly. I bought lots of different kinds of candy. Chinese sweets are way different than the American kind. They're more fruity; no chocolate. Sydney bought a dried iguana on a stick and some bottles of ginseng/royal jelly, and some tea. We ran into Giles O'Dell, and Cindy and Sarah (of Scream Club) on Commercial Avenue when we were searching for a good Ethiopian restaurant. They were returning to Olympia, after playing three shows in three days.

Now Syd and I are back at her half-brother's place in Langley. We'll amble back to my beloved, tragic USA tomorrow.

I could crush a Hummer with one of these.

Happy Rosh Hashanah!! (The Jewish New Year).

I dug dirt, operated a jackhammer, and ran a chainsaw, today, for seven hours. Tomorrow will be my last day at that jobsite, since we're almost done. Then I'll drive to Canada for an evening or two with Sydney, return, and prepare for my ten-week journey to Montana, North Dakota, the East Coast, the South, the Midwest, and then North Dakota, and finally Montana again. I'll move back to Olympia in late November and search for another job and prepare for another tour.

My back's gettin' strong. Feels good. After trenchin' for the first half of the day I went to Johnny's and helped shovel goat manure. He's building a big compost oven. There might not be anymore work for me until Saturday.

Tonight I'm having dinner with Sydney and her girls.

As I mentioned before, I left my cell phone charger on San Juan Island. Instead of worrying about it and waiting to get it mailed to me, I went to the mall last night and picked up a new, fancy flip-top celly. I'd just fulfilled my two-year obligation to Verizon which meant I got a free, new one. It's sleek, sexy, and silver. My old one was bulky and grey.

Today was a good day. I dug many square yards of dirt and had good conversations with fellow laborers. We tore out two stumps. It hardly rained at all. And I found a nice package in the mail when I got home.

This package contains fifty compilation cds from the "Musicians to Oust Bush" project. I may have mentioned this before but Utah Phillips, Greg Brown, Andras Jones, Stephan Smith, and myself all have song contributions along with a dozen others. If you'd like one of these cds leave a comment underneath this journal entry w/ your name and address. You're welcome to send a couple dollars to help with shipping expenses, but I'm not allowed to sell and make a profit on them. (If you order one of my new Sandman Live and Suspicious! cds then I'll toss a M.O.B. compilation cd in there, upon request.) The goal is to get these compilations into the hands of as many people who would appreciate and play them as possible. Radio deejays are especially encouraged to solicit. I must admit that I'm a little embarrassed by my cheesy two-year-old recording of "Scapegoat Song", but other people's songs are really top-notch and worth hearing. Utah Phillip's two spoken word pieces are particularly sweet.

If you want a copy let me know. And in the case you wish to send one or two greenback dollars to help with shipping costs, my mailing address is: Chris Sand / 105 N. Sherman / Olympia, WA 98502.

I'm too tired to write. I just dug trench for eight hours in the rain.

Mud is heavier than dirt and it sticks to the shovel. Nasty duty. I'll be shoveling mud all week if my back can take it.

This weekend I played three shows at a tavern in Friday Harbor which is a small town on San Juan Island. These shows are a lot of work because I have to play close to fifty songs to football-watching tourists who don't always appreciate my performances. One guy made a scene about how he wished I'd "shut the hell up." Other people, though, loved it. For example, a table of five middle-aged women tipped me $50-- they liked my bravado. Here's another highlight-- after I rapped "Honky from Montana" (which mentions that I'm from Charlo, Montana) a woman from the small crowd exclaimed, "I'm from Charlo, too!!" She's close friends with my uncles John and Tom. Only about three-hundred people live in Charlo. Her name's Lori Foust.

A big bummer from the trip was that the bar owner and I hadn't communicated adequately. He thought he was paying me $50 per show and I was sure it was going to be $100. He gave me what I requested but said he can't afford to bring me back next weekend.

Then I left my cell-phone charger on the island, as well as the book I was reading and $40. Oy vey. Oh, I should mention that the hostel I stayed at is incredibly cool. If you're ever on San Juan Island you can't go wrong at the Juniper Lane Guest House. My good friend Juniper runs it. It's high-class, yet affordable and cozy.

I'd better hit the hay now.

I'm back to diggin' holes. I'll tell you more tomorrow after I'm done with my shift at Epic Landscape.