Sandman's Journal

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.