Sandman's Journal

Reggae riddims emanate from cousin Jeff's pickup. Sidewalk blossoms fill my senses. Greetings from Fullerton, CA, where the weather is sublime, no doubt.*

Today is my first day of rest and recreation since January 18th. In review:

Jan. 29
Left Ashland and crossed into Cali. Drank directly from the headwaters of the Sacramento. Rolled to Chico for a smokin' five-band gig at Monstro's Pizza. The four other acts were all good (Louis T. Wermann, Mykee Ramen, Aubrey Debauchery and the Puke Boots, and Ol' Yeller).

Jan. 30
Instead of staying in Chico, I decided to drive nine hours to L.A. I pulled off I-5 near Merced and took an hour-long nap. Assumed an awkward position sleeping across the console and against the stick shift, and threw my back out. I couldn't move at all for forty minutes. I feared I would have to call 911 for help, but eventually, somehow, I was able to continue south.

At 4:30 p.m., I received a buzz cut from a barber named Orlando G. Gomez. In ten minutes I changed from whiskey-bent Bocephus into pill-poppin' Hank, Sr.--no more beard, no more 'stache, and no more shag mullet.

At 9 p.m. I performed with Calvin Johnson at Pitzer College. A fresh band called Moses Campbell played first.

Jan. 31
Slept two hours at Pitzer College. Drove to the LAX Airport with Calvin. Left Calvin with car. Flew to Elko, Nevada. Joined my parents there at the Thunderbird Hotel. Napped. Ate Mexican food. Watched the legendary Ian Tyson perform. Waited around 'til midnight . . .

Feb. 1
Shortly after midnight, I took the stage at the G Three Bar Theater and opened up for Corb Lund and the Hurtin' Albertans. The audience consisted of hard-drinking north Nevada cow people and curious tourists. The buckaroos may or may not have enjoyed my progressive stylings, but they listened and applauded. Only a few walked out. I think they mostly wanted to two-step, and that's what Corb was there for. The Western Folklife Center staff appreciated me, so there's a chance I'll be invited to the 26th Annual National Cowboy Poetry Gathering next year.

Fell asleep at 3:30 a.m. and awoke four hours later. Dad and I had hot springs on our minds, and there was no time to waste. To our good fortune, we stumbled across an obscure concrete basin filled with clean, 102-degree water on the outskirts of Elko next to the river. The air temp was crisp, the sky was blue, the tub was deep. From time to time a train would blow by. A hobo's paradise.

At 1 p.m. I had a date with the lovely Tamara K., Programs Coordinator for the Western Folklife Center. She took me to a surprisingly good Chinese restaurant, then we ventured into the country for an after-Cowboy Poetry Gathering powwow. We hiked, snacked, and watched Super Bowl XLIII. Then she drove me to the Elko airport, and I flew back to Los Angeles via Salt Lake City.

Feb. 2
From the LA airport I took a bus and then train downtown to find my car and Calvin. He was playing a show at The Smell. After the show we stayed at his friend Dave's house.

In the morning, I dropped Calvin off somewhere (can't remember where). He was heading north on a train bound for Santa Cruz.

Now, I'm purt' near caught up. I guess the only thing left to mention is that last night's gig at Gypsy Lounge and the one before that at Dipiazza's were two of the weakest shows of my life. I'm suffering from a mysterious case of the missing mojo.

What it comes down to is this: I need rest.

Today I got some. Thanks, cousin Jeff, for the Japanese lunch, and Brad and Jo for the Italian supper. Love you guys.

*Sublime is Long Beach's most famous band, and No Doubt is Fullerton/Anaheim's most famous band.