Missed It By That Much

Nothing is ever easy in my world - I know that all too well. So I've learned to just roll with things, and never let things get to me that much. But I'm getting tired of the roller coaster. Here's a recap of my latest ride.

I thought that in the week leading up to my most recent trip to Nevada, Dirty Joe would have a pair of one-night gigs that would give me enough money for that trip. But then they both fell through. Desperately in need of money, I called up my father.

I need to digress here for a minute. My relationship with my father has never been all that great. He left my mother when I was ten or eleven years old (it's not really so bad that I don't remember when), scarcely paid the child-support payments the divorce demanded (walking away from it on my eighteenth birthday still owing my mother over US$30,000), then often used my sister and I to get back at our mother for whatever slights he felt had occurred - never mind that he was the one who'd done wrong in the first place. My mother still hates him. In fact, when Joy and I got married, it was the first time they'd been in the same room at the same time since the divorce. Trust me on this, the pictures they were in, the tension was so thick, a chainsaw couldn't cut it.

Well, he recently retired from a career as a bus driver - a career he took after getting fired from the job his father had gotten for him (for trying to undermine his boss) - and he took it upon himself to offer me whatever help I needed. Sometimes, it was surprising me in Reno or Las Vegas and tossing a little money my way, or offering to buy a canopy for my truck (which I declined - why buy a $850 canopy for a $200 truck?), always without asking if I actually needed it. Sometimes it was just asking for a little help on the boat he'd bought, which I'd always agreed to with vigor. But this last time, which I'll admit was a last-minute crash-job brought about by the cancelled gigs, his mood was very different. He decided to give me an addict-intervention speech!

WTF?

Yes, your dear author is apparently some sort of addict - addicted to what, pray tell? Driving all night? Shitty food? No sex? Yes, driving back and forth to gigs eats up all my money, I know that full well. But I didn't necessarily move back to Washington for myself, folks. I did it for Joy - her health, her well-being. I knew that I'd have to deal with the consequences of the move as it pertained to my career, but still this wasn't quite what I expected. He told me that he felt that I 'hadn't quite hit rock-bottom yet', which almost got him punched out. Do you really want to know what 'rock-bottom' is for me? It'll be the day of Joy's funeral, that's what it'll be for me. I was deeply offended, but eventually given the money I needed. I guess Mom's still right - my dad is still an ass. The recovering alcoholic (still recovering, too - what about the beer you had with lunch with me and Cousin Eddy in Carson City? Hmmmm?) basically calling the de facto straightedge guy the addict? He can keep his fucking money, and his fucking boat, and his stupid, useless fucking AA meetings (swapping one addiction for another, IMHO), and stick them up his ass sideways. I need a father, not a father-confessor tut-tutting me from on high about my questionable career choices. I'm sure he wants what's best for me, but telling me that I can turn my life around and the whole 'I-know-you're-smart-enough-to-do-whatever-you-want' speech doesn't have the effect it used to. To the teenage me, it was 'tough love'. To the 42 year-old me, it's condescension.

Sorry about the sidetrack, back on topic. The thing is, there's just as many ups as there are downs with this roller coaster that I'm on. Now that I had the gas money, I ran Joy to Tacoma, so she could go with her mother to her family's campout on the Bumping River, about 20 miles east of Chinook Pass. More on that later. As I was driving down to Tacoma, and Joy was napping, I got a call from a friend of mine that shall remain anonymous. This friend had heard through Mike and Arthur about my situation, and called me out of the blue with an offer: since I had a few days to kill between dropping Joy off in Tacoma and my gig in Minden, and I was having such a rough time of it, this person was willing to put me up in a hotel in Carson City for the days in between, just so I could decompress - no strings attached, no questions asked. Well, Mom always told me never to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I took my friend up on the offer, and quietly decompressed for two nights at an undisclosed location in Carson City. The only people who knew where I was were people I trusted. And boy howdy, did I need that time to myself. Things were only going to get weirder from there.

After decompressing, I played my three nights at the CVI without serious incident, and from there headed back to Carson City to spend a few days with my amigo Jeremy Orris, his wife Alison, and their adorable little boy Logan. But now there were a few new guests there as well: Jeremy's sister Dream, and her two boys Aiden and Joshua. This meant that I was couch-surfing in the living room, but I was able to look on the bright side: long nights alone with Jeremy and Alison's giant-ass HDTV and equally giant-ass DVD collection. I cooked and cleaned for them when allowed to, helped take care of Logan here and there, and got to know Dream and her boys. She'd just moved to Nevada from St. Louis with her fiancee and their boys (UPDATE: that's ex-fiancee now - apparently people don't like it when you gamble their food money away when not buying meth and crack with it, get fired from two jobs in a month, and threaten to kill the people who took you in - all of this happening shortly after I left for the gig at the Fandango), and was looking for just about any kind of job. I was able to throw a little help her way - hope something comes of it. Otherwise, I just did my best to be invisible.

And then, another phone call. Mike calls me one day, tells me that I can check in at the Carson Station. I'd learned by now to just take what people give me, so I grabbed my duffel bag and said my goodbyes to the Orris clan. I had no problem with staying at the Station - hell, there I could plug in my Xbox360 to their wall-socket modems and actually get the thing online for once. Not to mention that I new damn near everyone there, and that they were all glad to see me, eager to hear what was new with Joy and I.

As it turns out, I was also kinda eager to find out. Y'see, while I was chilling with Jeremy and Alison, I'd been getting messages from some of Joy's family members as they were returning from that family campout. And they weren't exactly positive-sounding, either: one message suggested that Joy wanted to go home as soon as I got back from Nevada, rather than stay in Tacoma for a week at her mother's then go to Yakima for a memorial service for a recently-passed uncle of Joy's. Then a message came from a niece saying that I wouldn't be going to that service - not that I had a problem with that. Then Joy sent me a text-message telling me that we needed to talk about something, but only after her mother had gone to bed later that night.

It turns out that the campout had been spectacularly bad for Joy. Upon hearing the news that her kidneys were failing, the response from her family - especially from three of her four brothers - was a collective snort of derision. Things got so ugly, Joy actually got into a fight with those same brothers, then attempted to walk home from the campground in a blind rage. Given Joy's illnesses, and how they affect her mobility, it's amazing what blind rage can do - she made it the better part of a mile before realizing she didn't even have her cane with her, let alone her clothes, her wallet, etc.. And to add insult to injury, when Joy started getting sick after the campout, coughing up a lung every ten minutes or so, her mother refused - refused! - to take her to an urgent-care clinic or an ER in Tacoma, trying to tell Joy that she wasn't sick, quit pretending to be sick! At one point, I tried calling in just about every favor I had with anyone I knew to go get her from Tacoma and take her back to Port Angeles. I guess that in the end, I'm glad I missed the campout - I probably would've gone on a murder-spree had I been there to witness what my wife endured from those idiots.

And in the midst of all this, I still had a gig to play. This was our first trip to Casino Fandango in the south end of Carson City, so we had to be at our best. And we pretty much were. Our friends from Reno, Carson and Minden all came out to support us, and we didn't let them down. I have to give big kudos to Merrell, our soundman at the Fandango who also happens to be the casino's Entertainment Director. He did a great job with our sound and set-up. And did I mention that he brought us food? Two trays of sandwich-fixings, meats, cheeses, veggies and bread? Craft-service! What a nice touch!

God, this is weird. I've spent all but about two paragraphs talking about personal drama - and I'm not done yet! After getting Joy home Sunday evening (and avoiding any sort of confrontation with her mother whatsoever - I still want to kill the old bat, though), we were finally able to get her some medical attention for that nagging cough. It turns out that she has pneumonia. I have such a wonderful mother-in-law. A wonderful, caring old biddy who apparently thinks that her daughter is faking being sick to get attention. Yeah, the doctor telling her she has pneumonia, that's totally fake - just a ploy to get attention. And that chest X-ray she took yesterday, that's not a new spot on her lung, that just Joy attacking the X-ray with a Sharpie, right? I bet she'd even tell Joy to quit faking it and get out of that coffin.....

Yes, the Rage is strong with this one. And it ain't going away any time soon. Either that, or I've got to quit blogging at 5am.....

The More I Play In Port Angeles.....

The more I miss Nevada.

Case in point - just finished practice about an hour ago, and then moved our gear to our new practice space. Our new lead singer, Mark Connolly, decided not to join us. These guys aren't great with their punctuality - it's something I've been working on with them for some time now - but Mark just didn't seem to be interested in showing up. So I drove halfway out to Joyce to go check on him. Where he announced to me that he was no longer interested in the group because in his words, we were 'unreliable'. "How so?", I asked. Well, nobody told him that there was a practice scheduled for today. I told him that I'd tried on several occasions to call and text him, only for calls to not even go to voicemail, and text messages be rejected! He claimed to have 'texted us until he was blue in the face' and claimed not to even have my number - which was an outright lie, because I'd given it to him at practice last Sunday. I chose not to argue the point and walked away, rather than tear him a new asshole right then and there. I'll have my revenge on him shortly.


Y'see, Mark is a methamphetamine addict. He told me so, when he originally lobbied us for the gig. Since I was already busy refuting rumors that Dirty Joe was a 'meth band', I really didn't want to let him into the group for obvious reasons. But Ron and Roger's insistence on giving him a shot because of his ability as a singer, plus his insistent claims that his meth use wouldn't affect the band won out - for all of one practice, it turns out. Well now the whole world knows, motherfucker. Good luck ever getting another gig again. Fred Phelps Award winners like you don't deserve the charity or pity.


That said, practice went pretty good without him. Tom Swinford is settling back in to being our bassist for as long as John Eddy is unavailable due to health issues within his family. But getting the next practice scheduled made Ron a very sullen boy, not at all interested in the process. But he's got his own issues - moving again - so I guess I could give him a pass. But not when he decided not to bother helping us pile our stuff into Roger's van so we could move to the new practice space, then basically started badgering our friend (and occasional videographer) Bev to get her to cook dinner for him - which she was not interested in whatsoever.


After today, I just can't wait to get back down to Nevada and gig with Steppen Stonz. Three nights next weekend at the CVI, followed by a weekender at Casino Fandango in Carson City, with Hot August Nights at the Nugget in Sparks looming on the horizon. And I keep hearing rumors from friends that new gigs are on their way, but rumors don't pay my bills. But I can look on the bright side of all this. With rehearsals in Washington and gigs in Nevada, at least I'm not camping at my various family campouts this summer.


I fucking hate camping.

Getting Back On The Horse

In about ten hours, I'll be rolling over to Roger's garage to set up for the first Dirty Joe practice in some time. I'm nervous, as Roger has told me that they might finally have a singer to fill the void at frontman. Oh wait a minute, I'm getting ahead of myself. Did I tell you how their gig went, the one that I had to bail on because I went to Nevada instead? It didn't go all that well.

First off, I had to scramble to find replacments. Jay Reid never showed up, despite reassuring me that he would cover for me. So it's the Fred Phelps Award for ya, bucko - and ne'er to be trusted again. And Britton backed out as well, so I went 0-fer for the night's replacement's. But Roger was able to find a replacement drummer - oddly enough the same person who'd gone around spreading rumors that we were meth addicts - so let's just say that I'm glad I wasn't there. Probably would've killed the bastard right there and then. And this new singer..... all I know about him is that he's another transplant from Hawai'i, and he's more of a 60's rock guy. Well, we can adapt if he's talented enough. And I'll still be singing a lot of songs a night anyway, so why go into this without an open mind?

Here's hoping for the best. And here's hoping I can get some sleep tonight. It's been a busy weekend so far - first running out to 7 Cedars Casino in Blyn to visit my old homey Curtis Seals, who was in town playing with his band Gruvbox. Then earlier tonight Joy and I made a quick visit to what until recently was the Veela Cafe downtown - though now it was called The Caffeinated Clothier due to new owners - to see an old friend of my stepdaughter's, who was playing the bodhran (a traditional Irish frame drum) along with a fiddler, both in pirate garb. It was a nice change of pace, being in the crowd rather than in front of it, but I'd rather be playing any day of the week.

I'd rather be paid to be there than pay to be there.

The Strangest Weather Is Always In June

And I'm not kidding. This last trip down to Minden was strange, and not in a good way. In fact, this last trip sucked balls. And it did so right from the very start. Y'see, Joy wanted to come with. I do love her with all my heart, but it changes the way I travel. I have to accommodate her needs, and while I'll do so happily, it costs time and money to do so, and with my money as tight as it is, Joy traveling with me makes things that much harder. So we take the detour to Bend to visit with her sister's family. That wasn't so bad, it's just out of my way. Little did I suspect that 'out of my way' was going to be the least of my problems.

First off, my truck was acting up. I may have mentioned it previously that my heater core sprung a leak a few weeks back. I put some liquid-copper sealant in my radiator to fix the problem, and while it was holding, there was still enough of a leak that I dared not use my heater for the trip. So it was a pretty cold trip. And while passing through the eastern foothills of the Sierras above Susanville, CA, it started snowing. Hard. I mean big, fat-ass flakes that covered the road in a matter of minutes. In a space of about ten minutes I went from clear skies to near-whiteout conditions. And on top of that, our freaking out was causing our windshield to fog up. Remember what I said about not using the heater? Well, since I absolutely needed to see where I was going, I made a command decision and turned on the defogger full-blast and full-hot. And within a few seconds we were moving easier, and the blizzard (yes, blizzard - I would not use that term lightly) mercifully abated as we reached the southeastern edge of Eagle Lake. Thankfully the rest of the trip went without incident, and we pulled into the CVI's motor lodge a little after midnight.

The gig itself didn't get off to a good start. Thursday was dead quiet. And it didn't help that Joy seemed a little grumpy with me going off to get my free meal in the employee's commissary in the bowels of the CVI, either. She seemed downright jealous of me because she couldn't go, so I wound up going only once in three nights - and y'all know me, I never turn down free food. Friday night was better, and Saturday more so, but friends of ours weren't coming to the shows, or at least not as many as usual. But enough people came to fill up the cabaret. And after Saturday's gig was finished, my old friends Dean and Shelly Brownell came by the CVI to get breakfast, and surprised me while I was tearing down my equipment, and invited Joy and I to join them. I had to run back over to the motor lodge to go get her, but we did eventually join them for what I will (much to my surprise) call a business meal....

Now if only the weather would've been nicer. It was cold, windy, and threatening to snow almost the whole weekend - and it did snow a few miles away up at Lake Tahoe, and snow a lot. Funny thing was, it was warmer in Port Angeles than it was in Minden, where the temperatures were running nearly 20 degrees Fahrenheit below normal for the beginning of June. I was actually looking forward to going home to warm up for once! And sure enough, by the time my poor little truck descended down Willamette Pass into Eugene, it was much warmer than when we left Minden.

But I have to look on the bright side - all the drama and travel was better than what I'd had to pass up. Y'see, Dirty Joe was already booked for that Saturday, to play for Roger's motorcycle club. Mikey called me to remind me of the previously booked gig (that I swear I didn't remember), so I made arrangements to have Jay Reid cover for me on the drums, and Britton and Roger's friend Jana to cover vocals while I was away. And to look even further on the bright side, Mikey paid me in cash - Roger told me that I was only going to get cash after he sold my share of......

Eeeeeeeeewwwwwwwww...........

Oh well. Now I'm home, and I (for the moment) have about four weeks to kill. So now it's time to get Dirty Joe up and running smoothly. We have a July 4th gig lined up, and that money will be much needed, if only so I can get back down to Minden the following week. August will have us back in Sparks for Hot August Nights, and hopefully other gigs for both bands will fill out my summer schedule.

Here's hoping I'm busy soon.....

POSTSCRIPT: I just found out earlier today that one of our regulars passed away, just after we left Minden. Nan (that's all I knew her by) passed in her sleep, Mikey called to inform me of it today. Joy was stunned, they'd just been talking about TENS units - Joy wanted to make pads for her when she got her unit. She and her grandson Josh were always at our gigs, and she will be missed. RIP

Chaos Is Not A Theory

No, it most certainly isn't. Let's just say that the last say, 36 hours have been eventful.


After finally getting things squared away with the Dirty Joe crew to renew practices, I schlepped my gear over to the garage below Roger's house...... oh, waitaminute... it's not his house, after all. Turns out that it was his parents' house, and their return from Hawai'i is our loss - and Roger's as well. Turns out that he's the one looking for a new place now. But the garage is still available for us to practice in for the time being. So we got together, and much to my surprise, my friend Britton was coming up for practice. Well, we never really did give him a proper audition, so this might as well be it. he's a good singer, but his main flaw is his range. He's a baritone, whereas I'm a tenor. In layman's terms, his voice is lower than mine. He has a good voice, but we don't play a lot of songs that suit his range. But I'm willing to make a few adjustments if necessary. He also plays a little guitar, which might eventually give him a more permanent role in the group as a front and rhythm guitarist, which could relegate Roger to the keyboards full-time. I have no problem with that.


Practice came to a rather abrupt end though, when Roger's mother came down the hill and basically ordered practice to stop. I wasn't happy about it, but Roger would later tell me that they were fine us practicing so long as we stopped by 9pm or so. Once enlightened, I didn't have a problem with that, either. I've been trying to get practices started earlier in the afternoon anyway, so I can see this as a positive reinforcement.


And we had a gig ready to go for this weekend, playing for a party held by Amigos MC, a low-key motorcycle club that Roger has been a part of for years. Two hours of music at a site just west of Lake Crescent for $100 per person. I could've used that money. But I won't be going. Y'see, the situation has kinda...... changed.


Earlier today, I logged on to my Facebook page, and I had a message waiting for me. It was from Mikey, telling me that 'I could check into the hotel on Wednesday." Huh? At first I figured that it was a misfire of sorts from Facebook, a message from long ago somehow re-sent. So I called Mikey to ask what was going on, and I got a reply that I've been hearing a lot of lately:


"I thought you knew."


Well, I'll be heading off to Minden in about thirty hours or so to play a three-nighter at the CVI. Apparently, Mikey had already told me about this. Apparently, I forgot. So it's off we go, and I do mean "we." Joy wants to go, fairly guilt-tripped me into allowing it. Last time we went she fell off a toilet seat in Sandy. But I'm not letting that happen this time around. And the pain shouldn't be so bad for her this trip, now that she has a medical-grade TENS unit for the trip (Big ups to our friends at E-Z Pawn in Port Angeles - they had three of them on sale for $150 a piece - a real bargain). And I got my satellite-radio unit turned back on for the trip.


Chaos is not a theory, my friends. It is a fact. And to be totally honest, I probably enjoy chaos. I guess that when the shit hits the fan, that's when I finally get off my ass and get shit done. Well, wish me luck getting there - my heater core sprung a leak over the weekend, and I hope the leak-sealer I poured in holds.


Later, taters!

I Know Jack Squat

Seriously.

I Feel Like..... Branching Out

I've talked to you about my life and the events therein, but everything to date has all in the same little narrow-ass spectrum of music. I do know so much more about so many other things - or so I'd like you to think. So while I'll continue to post about my musical adventures here, I think I'll come up with a second blog about my other interests. Sports, news, politics, cooking, anything that I've been able to wrap my mind around over the course of my years. I'll give you an update when I've come up with a name and address.