Report.
What a short strange trip it's been. Finally I was able to get out of squareass Siskiyou County for a spell...to pick up The Artist Formerly Known As Trish (who has just flown in from North Carolina). AND to spend some time with uberAgent Joey Nova. Normally, Joe and myself would have been half way through a four day whiskey jag by now. But we are to old to drink in such excess. And Joe has finally got himself a girlfriend...who I like (especially since she yelled "Cunty Cunts" at some rather obnoxious girls who were yelling at me from their parked car). So last Saturday we went to see D.'s band...and Forie's...and Jason's...and Mike's (The Harrington Saints)at the Gilman. Aren't we a little old for the Gilman. No! And there was Patrick (who is building a boat and sailing to Mexico to remove himself from Operation Mindfuck America). And there was Damon. And D. has a girlfriend now (somehow) that is so much cooler than he is. I told her about the Hank Williams tattoo I'm-a-gonnna get...and now SHE wants a Hank Williams tattoo. And also playing were The Lucky Stiffs (featuring one Tones Bones formerly of BUrnside). And Those Unknown (featuring of course Working Class Bill and NOW Joe Carr!) and another band that I can't for the life remember the name of with Gabe from Tsunami Bomb and Chris formerly of my favorite of all my mates' bands, Shut Up Donny. So it was like this big weird semi old guy punk reunion. And none of us really expected to see the others of us...which, of course made it cool. And I haven't been to the Gilman honestly since they opened the Pyramid brewery. And Pyramid ale tastes way way way better on tap than in the bottle. AND Garren Hitchcock Hanon and Kim actually drove all the way down from Skeezy-Ass Clear Lake (with two students from Garren's class). It was just a weird and semi-magical night. Without, by the way, all the fake punk posing that keeps me away from almost everything. Then we met Trish and Other Rachel at the stupid fucking Zeitgeist in San Francisco. How ironic: "Zeitgeist"...spirit of the age. And there are a bunch of so-called punks watching the fucking football playoffs. It just seems people are more into being seen than actually doing anything these days. Which, of course, makes me think back to Other Rachel who admittedly is "selling out". ANd then last night...so one certain Agent/friend of mine could hang out with his girlfriend who he never gets to see (it's a long story that I've been listening to for three days now)...I decided to give them some space and drink a few pints at Jasper O' Farrels in Sebastapol. If you want to know how I feel about Sebastapol, you need merely consult "Who Do They Think They're Fooling..." in the Unfathomable Misc. section on this here website. Some fairly decent Reggae band was playing so I drank several pints. And I waited for one Joey Nova to come pick me up in the frigid fucking air while I was standing around on the street (after the bars closed) looking like a male prostitute. Anyway...snapshot-snapshot. Now I will torture Joey Nova with Lorne Greene sings songs of the Ponderosa. As ever, your Ballad of Yreka, F.E.L.I.X.

¶ 10:00 AM   

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