The Story Of My Fucking Life

One-nineteen: Tour Diary volume four

Posted by ilbebe on June 1, 2012

Sunday, January 7, 2001. Elvis’ birthday! This must portend well for a rockin’ show tonight…

Got back to Eugene at 12:45. [Yes, the brilliant routing of our tour schedule had us going from Portland back south to Eugene before continuing north to Washington and British Columbia. The aforementioned fact that for some ridiculous reason (were we worried about over-saturating the Eugene market?) we couldn’t get a show in Eugene on Friday and also that gas costs money made me very pissed about our return to Eugene. At least it was nice having one night in PDX without K and K2 around, though this did not result in me getting laid, as I’d hoped for. I think it may have been the phonebook reading that may have sunk my ship…] Hung around, I changed clothes for the first time-still no shower however. [This may also have contributed to my inability to shake any action. Big maybe, though, Portland chicks dig dirty…] Went to Guitar Center w/O and Tig, Tig and I make mood music on a keyboard and get turned down by sales clerks twice. Heard a tape of Tig’s band Ahisma on the way back- ferocious. [Tig had an amazing way with words, and he reserved the term ‘ferocious’ for only the most intensely amazing things, such as “taking a crap on acid”. That is an actual Tig quote- “Taking a crap on acid- ferocious.” He doled out at least two dozen of highly quotable pearls of wisdom such as this per day. His band was supposed to be named Ahimsa, after the ancient Indian notion and practice of doing no harm, but a simple misspelling made their name Ahisma. How metal is that? God I miss Tig.

Frantically attempted to make CDs from the tape we recorded at Tig’s house, wound up burning exactly one. [It’s comical to think back to this afternoon and how we spent like two fucking hours trying to figure out how to hook up a four-track to a computer for transfer. Ah, primates in action…] Although we did make quite a few covers… Got to the show exactly on time for once, which should have told us something was amiss. [We also didn’t get lost- double ominous whammy] Basement ceiling height was 6’4″, making things pretty cozy for O and I. [O was like two inches taller than me, and I’m 6’4″]

I couldn’t find O’s tom apparatus [piece of drum hardware], which sucked. Battery in R’s tuner died, which left the tuning scene sketchy. We started at 6:45, show was ‘asposedta start at six. First song was okay, but R broke his high E. Asked audience for Beaverton jokes during string change break. Crickets, except for O groaning at my “juvenille” sense of humor. [Look man, you just had a fucking kid with yr ex. Bravo, grown-up.*] I fell out of tune during this time. Two minutes into Vendetta Rhyde [second song of the set, ten minutes long], G loses his A string. Fuck. Turns out okay, just a little weak. Another string change break, I fall out of tune again. Skip Jenny. [The third song of the set was called “Dark Side of the Jenny”, in reference to our friend JB. Shout out!] Distant Son [fourth and last song] turns out pretty well, but I feel like crap and throw guitar to ground. Three minutes later, I decide the evening’s poor performance is all the guitar’s fault, and it needs to die. [ELVIS!] I throw it across the basement, then take it outside and throw it up in the air a few times. It winds up in four pieces, not bad.

Much complaining and philosophizing occurs, I contemplate murder/suicide. R disappears. O and Tig go for beer, G and I watch the next band, the Residuals. They’re really good; low-fi, quiet, slow, impassioned. I wish I was the Residuals. They’re also pretty damn nice guys. I want to marry the Residuals.

O and Tig return, we decide to smash a TV in the alley.

O: “We need a bat.”

Tig: “No, no bat. Uh, but there’s dog shit on the side or- battery acid!”

Tig takes off running. The TV is not smashed. Another, earlier exchange:

O: “I’ve been having problems, you know, I’ve just been a dickhead.”

Tig: “Yeah, but you’ve always had that problem.”

G and I go for Thai food as O and Tig go out in search of R. Fried ice cream. Talked to a girl about monster trucks. Eventually wind up back at Tig’s around 10:30. Stoning occurs, and Tig gives a lecture on the virtues of pot smoking:

“It’s– marijuana.”

That was his statement after a pause of almost a minute, wherein he was trying to surmise his feelings on the topic. [Tig for President 2016!] Tig also recalls how he and O used to stick their fingers up each other’s butts. “The five o’clock goose” His view on Portland: “That city has really nice lighting- I just like the way its lit.” Two-minute knee-drum solo. Sleep.

I do not sleep well. Awake at 11, go back to O’s parents house for lunch. K2 is awesome. [See? I’m not a monster.] Lunch is tasty, we hit the road to Olympia at 12:30. O’s Mom, Sally, has these words in farewell: “Take care of my Landon!” [Ah, always the charmer of the middle-aged, that’s me.] I am such a quimby. I’m in the grass seed capital of the world again. Owen denies the finger in the asshole story.

Warm rain on train tracks.

[Notes at bottom of page]

Skamania County, Wa/Dike Access Road/La Push, Wa/Humptulip, WA/Headquarters Road/Vader, WA/Tumwater, WA/Budd’s Cove on Puget Sound, west of Oly

Elysium Street in Eugene


*It really should be noted that O and I are on great terms nowadays, and now that I’ve grown up a bit I can tell you that I’m happy that K2 is around. O has turned out to be a great Dad, and I couldn’t be happier for him. However, the circumstances of this trip had me really upset about K2’s existence…flash forward to Issaquah Motel 6 babycide jokes…heh…I’m going to hell.


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