I found three sets of very vintage 1977 Star Wars pajamas at a yard sale. I was planning to silk-screen my logo on them, but Nerviz recommends against it. He says they might each be worth $50 or more. However, I searched the internet and can't find a price for them anywhere. Does anyone know anything about this matter? I'm trying to pay off some debtors this month. How about a Sports Illustrated with Michael Jordan and Sam Perkins on the cover from around 1982 when Jordan played college basketball for North Carolina State? Baseball card prices have plummeted--I probably couldn't get much for those. I have twenty-three Hesston National Finals Rodeo buckles dating from 1981 until this year, but it seems they have depreciated too (besides they are too nostalgic to let go of). What can I sell? What can I sell? How about some Sandman pillow cases, or maybe a cd or two! My new one, Sandman Live and Suspicious! is perhaps my best yet. Write me at rappincowboy@hotmail.com.

A friend of mine, Carrie, killed herself this Summer. I just received a beautiful, close-up picture of her face in the mail from her ex-husband. Crazy sad.

As for me, I'm just busy packing and preparing--and sleeping at Nina's while she's gone. I use the hot tub nightly underneath the drizzly drab sky and smile at my good fortune: aliveness!

I'm luckier than some. Make that most. I hope I never take this for granted.

Happy 6th day of Chanukah 2004. Dreidels, menorahs, and latkas, oh yeah! I missed Nina's party on Friday. Are there any Jews in North Dakota? I think Bob Dylan lived briefly in Fargo once. I love Jewish culture. I love culture in general. I love colors. I love lights. I love horses. Just 'cause I'm moving to North Dakota doesn't mean I'll be trading in latkas for lefse or my "oy veys" for "uffdas". I will have my yulekaka and eat it too. Think--Hy Burstein or even Broncho Billy. Palestinians, too, have been known to inhabit North Dakota. My parents have a 75-yr-old neighbor named Yassir Yabetch'ya.

So anyway, this weekend of performing was another financial bust. Being as strapped for cash as I've been creates a vicious cycle where instead of being able to appreciate the pure poetry of being able to play new places and meet new people, I guage my enjoyment of the show on how much money I make or how many cds I sell. In turn I get more desperate and choose to play worse shows. That said, I expected to make at least $400 and instead got $40. That means that, after booking expenses, gasoline, automobile wear-and-tear, eating out, and time lost doing jobs that could pay even minimum wage, I lost my damn shorts. I can't take this impoverished lifestyle anymore. I hate myself and everyone in the music business!!! We are idiots. And the worst part is that I'm actually doing better than most; at least I don't have to split my $40 between other bandmates.

As an exercise, though, I'll take off my poverty-goggles and recount the weekend from a gentler perspective. The first show, in Bellingham, got canceled due to a heroine-smoking soundman who unexplicably decided that he wanted to go home early. Somehow we got talked into playing a free show at someone's house. Fifty people crammed into this person's living room and watched the Lucky Devil Girly Show with me singing and rapping in between numbers. It was spectacular, truth be told. The audience was enthralled. Beautiful naked women and beer and nachos and a rapping cowboy from Xanadu. We made the universe a better place to live for a small moment in time. I crashed at my friend Nic's and drove to Seattle in the morning.

In Seattle I met up with my cousin, Kirby, and his wife Megan. They were shopping for Persian rugs downtown and I joined them for a couple hours. Next I met up with my friend, Heidi, for enchiladas. Then I played the show at the Tractor Tavern. Another lady-pal, Kerry, came and brought her friends. My performance that night was shaky, but fine. The crowd responded as generously as ever, and some danced throughout the set. The Jesus Chords were solid and magnificent. The burlesquers gave it their ALL (HOT!). Howlin' Hobbit and Local 360 warmed it up and nailed it down. Baby Gramps was there. At the end of the show the Girlies dragged me up on stage and made me be Santa Clause and hand out toys. They had very nice pasties and glitter. When I got home at 4 a.m. I looked in the mirror and saw that I had bright red lipstick on my forehead. "I have made it," I said to myself. "I am the Senator of Rock and Roll. Can I please get a job at Wal-Mart now."

What can I say in fifteen minutes? I'm sort of on a mini tour of the Northwest right now. In an hour I play at 3B Tavern in Bellingham. Tomorrow I'll finally play the Tractor Tavern which, amazingly, I've never been to. Many people over the years have told me that the Tractor is the place I need to play.

I killed time today shopping at thrift stores. Value Village had its Ten-Year-Anniversary-Blowout Sale today--everything was half off--so I bought eighty-five pillow cases. I also found some holiday gifts, a "live" Jackson 5 casette-tape, a couple t-shirts, and a Robin Hood vhs-tape starring Errol Flynn from 1938.

I've slowly been letting people know that I'm moving away from the Northwest. It's a sad topic of discussion that I don't enjoy. I'd rather slip away into the soggy, foggy dew and just pretend that I'm on another long tour...and will return. Maybe I will. God knows.

Back in Olympia, again! Two mornings ago I was in Minnesota. Yesterday morning it was North Dakota. This morning, Montana. Now here. Uffda. There is a lot to catch up on, but not now at 4 a.m.

Greetings from Underwood, MN. I played a house-show last night and a Unitarian church this morning. My parents drove me out here. We didn't quite make it all the way without their station wagon's engine overheating and throwing a rod. Fortunately we were only thirty minutes out, so we made it to the show in time. There's a chance the engine's still salvageable--we'll find out tomorrow. If not, we'll have to rent a car or take a bus back to Killdeer, ND. Then I have to drive back to Olympia for a show on Thursday. 319 Joe is waiting patiently in the stable.

More about the shows later. I earned $275.00 total for both, plus $280.00 more in merchandise!

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

Sandman and Friends Bring Hip-Hopera to the Capitol Theater New Year’s Eve

Olympia, WA, December 31, 2004 --For a sexy and subversive way to celebrate New Year’s Eve, get on down to the Capitol Theater to see A Year in the Life of Slippery Goodstuff, a punk-rock-country-rap musical by Chris “Sandman” Sand and Nerviz Productions. This is the first Olympia performance of the play, which was originally performed at the Minneapolis Fringe Fest last summer. Also featured will be Log Hog, the Lucky Devil Girly Show, DJ Whistle Punk, and a 21-and-over beer garden. Parental discretion advised.

The musical follows the trail of an average joe who loses his memory and recreates himself as a Western-themed rapping porn star named "Slippery Goodstuff." After many sexual misadventures, Slippery starts a highly profitable network marketing company called Supersperm, Inc. He continues womanizing until he hits a wall during an encounter with a rap outlaw named Cindy Wonderful. . .and her girlfriend, Sarah Adorable. Shocked and awed by Cindy and Sarah's fierce sexuality, Slippery has a revelation about the meaning of true sexiness. In a stunning turn of events, he remembers the painful experience that triggered his amnesia; stops lying about his wealth, stamina, and exaggerated size; and ends his ultimately unprofitable quest to screw the planet.

Reviewing the “Slippery Goodstuff” soundtrack, released in 2003, Spokesman-Review journalist Isamu Jordan wrote, “It’s a lot more 2Pac than 2 Live Crew, cowboy hat and all. Sandman is socially and politically conscious and overflowing with toilet talk. . . . As far as the Northwest goes, no one [else] has had a compatible marriage between hip-hop and country since Sir-Mix-A-Lot's 'Square Dance Rap’.”

A Year in the Life of Slippery Goodstuff can be seen at the Capitol Theater, 206 5th Avenue, downtown Olympia, on December 31st. Doors Open at 8:30 p.m. $7 ($5 for Olympia Film Society members).

###

I know the word "moral" has been abused lately and all, but that doesn't mean that it's lost its meaning. We can't throw the baby out with the bathwater in regards to abortion (again, no pun intended), women's rights, or economic justice for all. There are real reasons why certain issues are controversial. For instance, today I wonder if it is wrong to keep reminding ourselves that we are ruled by abusive, dictatorial-leaning villains? I just can't imagine any great humanitarian condoning the actions (and inactions) of the United States of America in regards to our illegal war upon the country of Iraq. Over 100,000 Iraqi civilians have been killed since we invaded. Just last month 135 good US soldiers died. For what? 9/11? Hubris and apathy have destroyed us. We're part of it. A country's greatness is intrinsically tied to its honesty and integrity, right?

We've been running on fumes for a while now. We just don't know how to refill the gas tank. And stealing Iraq's oil isn't the right answer. In fact, oil/gas should not even be part of the equation. We need brain-power, heart-power, wind-power, sun-power. Gun powder is so 1851. Oil is so 1984. Been there, killed that. Give me a North Dakota pancake supper, anyday. That's where the real change lies. Have faith in that--not in Mussolini's tough-guy tea parties.

The cold continues. The sniffly nose kind with occasional sneezings and coughs. I'm figuring lots of things out, though. Kind of. Rock Ridge Records does want to sign me. My friend Jack Norton does think it would be a good career decision to move to Minneapolis or St. Paul this winter. Ike Reilly does want me to open up for his band in February. My friends in Olympia do want to support me while I'm there with odd jobs and couches to sleep on. My grandpa does want to teach me to train horses. My parents do want to support me in any ways they can (I already knew this). I do want to grab life by the horns, wrestle it to the ground, and tie a knot in its tail. I do want to delve deeper into cowboy poetry. I do want to write a book of some sort someday. I do want to record about fifty unrecorded raps, and at least one collection of children's songs. I could go on and on. Basically, the knots that life have tied in my tail are finally loosening. I feel a small weight lifted. It's a tentative thing, though, this shedding of skin. There's no telling how close we are to the morning until we actually see the first fractal of light reflected off a pigeon's tiny pizzle.

The flyer for the Slippery Goodstuff play is done. 'Twas created by the genius, Nashville-to-Olympia artist, Giles O'Dell. If you'd wish to see it please leave your email under the "comments" section of this blog, and I'll send it to you. It will amaze you.

Dad and I came down with colds and stayed home today. We worked on cleaning 319 Joe's carburetor this afternoon, and somehow the whole engine block caught fire! Dad ran inside the house, grabbed the fire extinguisher, and sprayed the flames out. Some wires and tubes melted, but it seems to run okay still.

I've reached a financial crisis and will very likely be defaulting on my credit card debt starting this month. Ouch! I'm becoming a back-to-the-lander by default (no pun intended). I'm ashamed that it's come to this. After my next five shows, though, I should be able to pay off all my friends, which is more important to me than Visa. I suppose if I had more integrity, I'd immediately cancel all 2005 shows and get a wage-earning job. It's confusing. Either way I'll have to find a job, but hopefully one with flexibility.

Brrrrr... it was friggin' frigid this morning on the mountain. My fingers got frostbitten many years ago, so now it's especially painful when I have to use them in sub-freezing temperatures. The wind-chill factor sucked. I was glad when we moved inside to stack straw bales. Tomorrow will be warmer. Exterior carpentry is a gruesome, winter, North Dakota occupation--and it's not even winter yet!

Actually, though, I love it here. My parents are good to me.

Computers have been scarce these last three days. I feel journalistically negligent. We're back from Spearfish in one piece--well fed and contented. Tomorrow I start working off parental debts again, here in Killdeer. Or maybe I can talk them into giving me one more day off to recover from the vacation. It'll be Sunday, after all.

To sum up the Thanksgiving Holiday... the relatives and I played board games, sang songs, drove around, ate, lounged about in our socks, and conversed. My three-year-old cousin/niece, Hannah Joy, has a little crush on me which tickled everyone, especially me. She and I spent some quality time hunting for vicious dinosaurs and reading fairy-tales. Her little sister, Liljana, who's walking everywhere now, was more interested in the cats and ice-cream.

Also, this weekend, I acquired two new cowboy hats. The first I found at Salvation Army in downtown Spearfish. Gramps paid the two bucks for it. The second Uncle Josh gave me (after disapproving of the appearance of the first). It's one of his old team-roping hats, but it's still in good shape. Both are panama-woven Bailey's. And they both fit! It's typically hard for me to find size seven-and-a-halves anywhere, but in one day I got two.

Lastly, 319 Joe is back in my world. I drove him five hours today, enroute to NoDak, with Mom in the passenger seat. He stalled in a K-Mart parking lot at one point and gave me a scare, but after twenty minutes of cajoling, he finally caught spark and gallantly galloped home.

Crazy times. I just returned to Killdeer, ND, this evening on the Amtrak Empire Builder. Tomorrow I'll cram into a car with G & G and my parents and we'll head to Spearfish, SD, for three days of Thanksgiving festivities with my aunts and uncles and cousins and such. Perhaps I will find some time to gamble in Deadwood, hike through the Black Hills, or get into a knife fight in Sturgis. Sadly, Mom chopped my thick mullet off tonight, and I fear my strength has been decreased. I look like a plucked Butterball! More like a plucked duck, probably.

The train-ride was cozy. Trisha drove me to the station yesterday. We ate crepes and piroushkies at Pike's Place Market, prior to departure. I left the VW pickup at Madrona Autoworks in Olympia. I'm so done with that ugly piece of beige crap. I gave the mechanic the title, so perhaps the four-month curse (which conceivably commenced the day I got it) has been lifted. Or at least shifted to another sorry sucker, trucker, plucked-duck motherscratcher.

And, tomorrow, to make the prophecy/poetry complete (see my astrologer's prediction from the November 16th post), I will be reunited with 319 Joe, whom I parked in Spearfish two months ago before hitch-hiking to Denver, where I then flew to the East Coast to start my tour with my pal Stephan Said (pronounced Si-eed). Aka Stephan Smith.

I think I'm shedding my skin. Like a cobra. I want to disappear until Spring. Or fly South. Like a goose.

Tomorrow I'll take a train back to North Dakota, which is a start. My heart hurts and I don't know why.

First, the good news. An East Coast record label, Rock Ridge, wants to work with me. They have some amount of money to promote and distribute (and officially release) the new Sandman Live and Suspicious! CD. How much money I'm not sure, but surely over $5000. I'll keep you informed as knowledge becomes revealed on that front.

The bad news-- someone jacked the battery and starter out of my bio-diesel pickup, while I was on tour, which ups the mechanic's fee to over $500 to get it running again. I pray it's worth the trouble.

Today is filled with uninteresting, yet pleasant, chores. My goal is to get the VW pickup running before Friday.

Another tour has come full circle. My feet touched down on Olympia soil yesterday after a twenty-three hour train-ride from Williston, ND. Actually, I missed the train in Williston by a minute and had to have my parents drive me to Wolf Point, MT, at 80 mph, in order to catch up with it. (Wolf Point is 150 miles away from Williston.) It is a powerless sensation see that line of boxcars picking up speed. We managed to beat the train to Wolf Point by only five minutes. I was on copwatch for most of the chase-- binoculars firmly affixed.

The train-ride itself was good. I read a couple hundred pages of the Illuminatus trilogy. Jonah "Blandow" Carpenter picked me up in Seattle, along with Alex Stevens who had arrived the day before. Jonah found $30 on the ground outside the train-yard and treated Alex and me to breakfast with it. I puttered around Olympia, yesterday afternoon, and then spent last night at Nina's.

Now it's Tuesday, and it's raining. My morale is still searching for a toehold on Life's mildewed climbing-wall. However, check this-- my astrologist, Melissa Mooncat, has this to say:

"Took a peak at your stars and a BIG JUPITERIAN UPSWING Is just around the corner! By JOVE! November 24th has Jupiter (EXPAND, Adventure, Seek out your TRUTH, Travel) moving into your house of LEO! (CREATING, shining like the SUN, performing, being in front of 'God and EVERYBODY!'...)."

I will wait until then to make any drastic life decisions. That's what's going on for me, though-- I feel like I need to figure out so much right now. Where to live? What job to apply for? What kind of music to write and focus on? If I had money, and time to kill, I would hire Nerviz to help produce my next hip-hop project-- Sand Pan! However, I realize that I'm sort of gray-haired to continue trying to build a lucrative career as the next, great underground rapper. That might sound cynical, but I doubt 17-year-old kids-- the ones who predominantly support rap (or punk) music-- would fully relate to my twisted tale of a Pagan demigod who blows dollar bills out his butt. Actually, now that I frame it that way, 17-year-olds might be the ones who'll appreciate it the most. See? I've just spun myself in a perfect circle, and I'm back to square one. The geometry of catatonia! (Henry Miller wrote, "More obscene than anything is inertia. More blasphemous than the bloodiest oath is paralysis.") The boldest move I could make right now would be to tap into the Big, Friendly Folk circuit. I'd focus mostly on learning a bunch more cowboy-poems and country songs to supplement my folk-rap set. To the middle-aged crowd I'm a breath of fresh air; they see me as young and savvy and safe. I'm a bridge to their children's generation and they don't mind paying me fairly. This would be a saner life for me, but not as exhilarating and fantastically creative as writing layered, Tom Robbins-like, hip-hoperas. Not making money, though, is grinding my country confidence into the ground. I suppose I can always return to my bizarro rap rhythms when I can afford that luxury. I forget, sometimes, that there's no rush.

Last night my parents noticed my low spirits. After prying out the reasons for my dejection they encouraged me to not forfeit the train-ride home, but rather to use it and take care of vital business back in Olympia for a few days. I finally agreed that this would be a smart thing to do. Afterall, a train-ride alone will cure almost any ill-- pure meditation and easy rollin' bliss. It leaves early tomorrow morning from Williston, so I need to start packing now.

p.s. Mom baked an apple pie, tonight, as a sort of goodbye treat, and it totally rocked.

Depression. The job I wanted in Olympia has been gotten by someone else. I was planning to take a train there tomorrow morning, but now I must forfeit my ticket. I don't know what to do now. I am completely out of money. I am in debt to friends, family, and institutions. I'm really bummed.

11:11...

Today while working on the mountain, I was given pause while pounding nails with Grandpa's red hammer. The handle is made from a smooth branch he found. Then he painted it red and affixed to it a sixteen-ounce hammer-head. It felt very good in my right hand. Grandpa's best saying, in my opinion, is:

"Anything worth painting, is worth painting red."

It's true. His house is red, his tool-shed is red, his axes are red, his tractor is red, his barn, of course, is red, and his hammer is red. I could go on and on. The siding that I've been putting up, even though it's not his house, will soon be painted this same color red.

I used to think that I was the next Bob Dylan. I always wondered where I might find my Woody Guthrie/mentor figure. I recently realized I'm not Bob Dylan or even close. My lineage is luckier, though, for my own Grandpa is my "Woody Guthrie." He's no folk-singer, or famous personality. He's just a chivalrous and humble horseman who likes to paint things red for some reason. He's sure to be the first person elected to my own, personal "Sandman Hall of Fame." Well, he might have to be elected as the second, now that I think about it. My other Grandpa--Grandpa Herak--will probably be first (he died in 1987). There was, perhaps, never a gentler Croation-farmer Soul than he.

Tonight Grandpa, Grandma, and Aunt Olga came over to play Whist. The women-folk gave me and Grandpa a firm flogging at the table. Afterwords Gramps bequeathed to me his old, wool jacket. You can guess what color it is.

Other Grandpa facts:

1. He was a WWII war hero, who still despises all wars, since he knows first-hand how brutal, classist, and mostly unnecessary they are.

2. His mom died shortly after giving birth to him eighty-five years ago.

3. He was a full-time sheepherder as a young boy.

4. He boxed in college. That's how his nose got flattened.

(Coming soon... "Grandma facts.")

To see photo links to the eighteen people whom some say I look like, scroll down three posts.

Last night I had dinner with Grandma and Grandpa. They gave me a beautiful "ranch" quilt they made twelve years ago when I was about to get married to Marie. They saved it for eight years and were going to gift me with it when I was supposed to marry Nina. I guess they realized that I might be a bachelor for life. It's seriously the finest quilt I've ever seen.

Suspicious? It's worth pondering...

As Willie sez: "Let's raise up our glasses against evil forces. Whiskey for my men, and beer for my horses."

Today is a day of self-reflection. My mom asked me to sort through a box of photos and newspaper articles she's been collecting over the last thirty-three years, of yours truly, and there were hundreds! Eighty-five percent of them were embarrassing to look at, but some were eye-opening. For instance, I forgot how buff I was in my late teens, or how doe-eyed and awkward I looked in my early teens. I forgot how curly and blonde I was at age three, and how bearded and stern I looked in my mid-twenties. Images of me with ex-girlfriends, cousins, classmates. A clip-out, quarter-page salute in the Ronan Pioneer to the Future Farmers of America, with my picture underscored with-- "Sheep." Other images painted me as a hippy, a mountain man, a tennis player, a baseball card enthusiast, a beach bum, a firefighter. I was a sweet boy, a lonely adolescent, an angry collegiate, a failed homeowner/fiance, a re-determined musician-poet. Ick! The stages of life are messy and indescribable. I think it would be a worthy experiment to hide all traces of my past and start again with merely a corn-cob pipe and type-writer. I could record essays about dirt or water-- or mud when they combine!!! I mean, why should I wait?

If the hundred-year-life is trisected then I will be middle-aged in two months. Today, then, I decide to live to be two-hundred. I can't grow up yet (nor maybe ever)!!! My parents will be alarmed, but it's not their fault, 'cause see, well, Capricorns grow in reverse of other zodiac signs. When I turn sixty-six I promise to examine the consequences of my decision, and, if deemed appropriate, renegotiate my life-span.

Lots of people tell me that I look like someone they know. Below is a short list of the more famous ones (with the number of times people have mentioned it in parentheses):

1. Michael Keaton (7)
2. JFK, Jr. (1)
3. Dudley Moore (1)
4. Hugh Grant (1)
5. Woody Guthrie (3)
6. Jakob Dylan (2)
7. The first drummer for Styx (1)
8. Neil Young (1)
9. Tom Hanks (2)
10. Jerry Seinfeld (1)
11. Charles Manson (4)
12. Jesus Christ (1)
13. Elvis Presley (2)
14. Peter O'Toole (1)
15. Paul McCartney (1)
16. Matthew McConaughey (2)
17. Lou Reed (1)

Comments? Click below-- it's easy!

While working on the mountain today, a gray wind broke the spell of the morning sun's gay promise. It got too cold and I was glad when work was through. At five-thirty G & G picked my parents and me up and drove us to Grassy Butte for a chili feed.

Whoever says that North Dakota doesn't have any culture should come out to a Grassy Butte chili feed and observe the locals as they auction off gooseberry pies to the grinning oil rig workers and elderly ranch ladies. Grassy Butte probably only has fifty residents, but it's obvious that each one of 'em has deep-cut culture and soul.

By the way, I found out last night that I have a job interview in Olympia next Monday. I'd better buy my train ticket tonight. If I don't get that job I'm trying for there, I'll take the next Empire Maker back here that I can. If I do get it, well, then I'm outta here for a good long while.

Today was unseasonably warm here in Killdeer, and windy; my dad and I got a lot done. Again, the beauty of Killdeer Mountain inspires awe. I want my friends to come out and witness it, 'cause words cannot relay what I see daily. I've spent over twenty years visiting this land--riding horses through it and digging holes on it--and my brain still spins each time the day-moon rollerblades over the south eighty.

Killdeer Mountain is like a grassy, prehistoric bridge that connects North Dakota with infinity. The rattlesnakes are asleep until Spring, and the beaver are probably hibernating, too.

I four-wheeled around some after the work was done.

I went to the chiropractor today in Dickinson. Before that, though, my dad gave me a muscle relaxant so I'd be pliable. It really worked, 'cause I'm still loose as a goose. I only worked a couple hours when we returned in the afternoon. Chainsawed down a couple trees in the back yard. Then my folks and I walked to the Buckskin for margaritas, chips and salsa. Must sleep now. Very tired. Goooodnighmndabbbd...

I had trouble sleeping last night. Around 6 a.m. I turned on the television to learn that John Kerry had lost Ohio. I ate some oatmeal and drove to the mountain with my dad to put some siding on the north wall. The Killdeer Mountain is less a mountain than a series of bluffs and buttes shoved up against a river of meandering badlands. The scenery is truly astonishing from atop my parents' roof. The golden hills and gullies are hyper clear in the crisp, morning air. They make me think of African grasslands. It's hard to believe that we are the only humans for miles and miles around as we hammer and measure and cut and drill. We move slowly.

(My parents are watching West Wing now, and I can't concentrate to write more...)

Ok, I'll try. So, the Evangelicals beat the Slackers. Karl Rove says that four million more Evangelicals voted this year than last election. The Catholic Church has joined ranks, too. Heartland Republicans don't seem to relish abortions and gay marriages (or New Englanders). These aren't the core values of the Democratic Party, either, of course. Somehow, though, "tolerant" has become synonymous with "immoral."

WWWRW?! (What would Will Rogers write?)

I wish I knew. Here are a couple of his quotes from yesteryear, though:

"People talk peace. But men give their life's work to war. It won't stop 'til there is as much brains and scientific study put to aid peace as there is to promote war."

"We will never have true civilization until we have learned to recognize the rights of others."

Today was my day to recuperate. Dad and I went to the Buckskin Bar for $1 beer and 10-cent buffalo wings. Killdeer, ND, is very desolate and quiet, with wide streets. Maybe five hundred people live here. I guess, all in all, it's a typical prairie community. Lots of Norwegians, Germans, and Russians. I'm hoping to find a weekly poker game somewhere. There's a pro bull rider/country singer named Benny Paulson, who I'm planning to swap tunes with one of these days. I may end up doing some sort of show at the Buckskin in a couple Fridays. But mostly I'll just be working with my dad up on the mountain as we attempt to make progress on building the house. I suppose Sundays will be a church-going affair with my grandparents. I'm actually real happy to be here for the next few weeks. It'll be good for my head and heart and body and soul.

PS-- Don't forgit to vote. Nov. 2nd!!!!