synaptic misfires

fire season

Bandstalker — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 02:22:44 GMT

nose runs, as do I, shutting the windows. eyes itchy, red, like the sun setting hazy hills. wheezing, as do I, the air filter comes to life. we pray for rain, but get thunder caps bouncing off sierra walls coughing, as do I, out clouds of smoke to fill the air

Nasal Passages of Life

Bandstalker — Thu, 21 Feb 2008 05:08:46 GMT

I learned about the physics of milk in relation to nasal passages at a very young age. I remember being in the 3th grade sitting in a classroom at one of four desks that were pushed together to form squares of students. It was snack time. I remember watching Jonathan Cohen and Scottie Hawkins chug chocolate milk to see who could finish faster. They had 3 or 4 cup-sized milk cartons open and ready to swallow one after another in the race of the century. Milk ran from the corners of their mouths as they rushed the beverage down their throat. I too was sipping on a carton just laughing away at Jon and Scott as they wiped their milk mustaches and tried to catch their breath. I was laughing and laughing when suddenly it happened. I had laughed myself into milk a tizzy. Milk ran out my nose and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out what was happening and my friends certainly had the last laugh. It was then that we realized there was a connection. A connection between mouth and nasal passage and everyday for the next few weeks we tried to make someone laugh hard enough to spew milk from their nose. I learned about the physics of salt water in relation to nasal passages just recently. I remember kneeling 15 feet below the sea’s surface on the sandy bottom of Half Moon Bay in Roatan sucking on my regulator trying to demonstrate to my Dive Master that I had what it took to be SCUBA diver. I was taking a SCUBA refresher course and the sandy bottom of the bay was my classroom. I needed to be able to show the Dive Master that I could do an emergency sharing of air with my buddy as well as demonstrate that I could clear my mask of water should it become accidentally kicked off by a fellow diver at 70 feet below. I mean you can’t just pop up to the surface and empty the mask, not unless you want the bends and a decompression chamber awaiting you at the end of your dive. It was these skills I had to prove before being let out on the boat for the afternoon dives. It was the reason we had come to Roatan Now I have no problem sharing air with a buddy and gladly showed off my tremendous skill of faking being out of air and grasping for my buddy’s secondary for dear life while on the safe white sandy bottom of the bay. My mother always said I did a good Sandra Burnheart. When done I got the ok sign from the Dive Master. Next I had to partway fill my mask with water. With much tribulation and hatred for this skill I broke the seal of my mask from my face and let the Caribbean waters seep into my dry eye pocket. I then tilted my head up towards the surface to allow a clear passage for the water to be forced out by exhaling air through my nose. Taking a deep breath in I could feel the salt water hit the back of my throat. I must have swallowed half the mask of seawater up my nose and down my esophagus when I took the deep inhale to push the water out. Rather then inhale oxygen through my regulator and exhale though my nasal passage I inhaled through my nose and spent the next few minutes choking and coughing while desperately trying to maintain composure and not drown in front of the Dive Master. I wondered to myself at what stage in my life did I learn that I could not only spew milk from my nose in laughter but that I could most likely drink from my very same nose as well Believe it or not I got the ok signal. Later that day Steve and I proudly did our first real Open Water Fun Dives post certification. It had taken months of practical classroom work, pool training, failed trials in cold water Monterrey, and a trip to Maui to certify but I had finally accomplished what I had set out to do. I had become a SCUBA Diver. Gliding over the reef I was overwhelmed by the beauty that surrounded me. Elk Horn Coral, Sea Fans, and Barrel Sponges, home to Yellow Tail Snapper, Sea Anemone, Parrot Fish and Striped Angels past under me as I dived now certified. And there was nothing that was going to ruin this moment for me. Not even the stomachache that was beginning to manifest itself within. I must have drank a whole cup sized milk carton of saltwater up my nose in my underwater classroom that morning and I thought back to my childhood and of milk and of laughing at Jonathan and Scottie as well as my future as a SCUBA Girl.

Maybe somebody was trying to tell me something

Bandstalker — Tue, 19 Feb 2008 18:10:37 GMT

Maybe somebody was trying to tell me something. After months of financial stress in a work place destined to implode upon itself before too long, I was totally burnt, as was Steve who had spent too many hours lately running dispersion models for some project or other. He was sick. I was tired. Maybe somebody was trying to tell me something because it was more then the six hour red-eye from San Francisco to El Salvador, followed by the one-hour puddle jump to Roatan, Honduras that left the unders of my eyes looking like abandoned, soggy, teabags. Steve's nose ran incessantly. We'd been running hard. After luggage retrieval and customs we hopped a $15 taxi for a short ride to Posada Las Orquideas, our lodgings for the week; both of us were twitching bundles of nerves. We arrived at 10:00 and tried to check in, but were told check out was at noon and they still had to clean the room. We could leave our bags with them but would have to wait until 1 o'clock to check in. Thoroughly exhausted we checked out of our winter Northern Californian clothes and checked into shorts and t-shirts before heading into West End proper, the SCUBA centric village we had come to immerse ourselves in. We had three hours to kill. Dragging ourselves into "town" through the slow, humid air we walked past a fence full of heady red hibiscus and a small, canopied area where green banana's hung from the trees. Further on we came across a few pink-washed cabanas on stilts, as well as a few other places to rent on the outskirts of the village. Walking on we read the signs of dive shops Native Sons & Coconut Tree, the shop we would dive with. We passed the sign "Go Deeper" advertising the yellow submarine you could rent for an afternoon to take you down the sea wall to depths of 1500 ft. We walked past motels such as Posada Arco Iris & Half Moon Bay Cabins, and restaurants Sundowners, Argentinean Grill, and #2 Bakery we had read about while researching our trip. One after another these places lined one side of a white sand, pot-holed road, the Caribbean lined the other in a beautiful blue curve called Half Moon Bay. It was third world meets paradise. It was there in the bright blue Caribbean that we intended to spend a week doing 2 dives a day but not before having something to eat, a few naps, and a good night's sleep. We were exhausted. Maybe somebody was trying to tell me something when Steve woke me up at 8am the next day for our SCUBA refresher course because my soggy tea bagged eyes had turned to cement. Drool from a heavy night of sleep kept me clung to my pillow. Oh I was sleeping so hard. "Boy it rained really hard last night," he said while wiping his nose and clearing his throat. I was wondering if I could find a translator because I couldn't comprehend simple sentences and his cold was sounding increasingly horse and bronchial, but we were going to dive today so I bucked it up and started to walk to town. It wasn't more then 500 yards before I experienced the rain of which Steve spoke of from the night before. I tried to take cover up against the hibiscus fence, but Steve looked at me like I was nuts, which of course I was because there was no way in hell that the hibiscus fence was going to provide any such cover. I was instantly soaked. Steve slung the SCUBA gear over his back and hightailed it to Coconut Tree Divers about a third of a mile away while I trailed behind him wondering why I was dragging myself from bed in the rain to refresh my diving skills. Weren't we supposed to be on vacation? Once safely out of the rain's giant drops on the porch of the dive shop we were greeted by P.J., the Brit Expat working behind the desk and then introduced to Tim, the guy who was going to freshen our barely used diving skills. Maybe somebody was trying to tell me something because as we talked the rain poured down as it only can in the tropics. Thick drops poured from the sky. We could see the beautiful, crescent, Half Moon Bay fill with white sand, runoff silt and there was some mention of being able to do the class in the pool which the dive shop guys joked was cold, 75 degrees. This of course made us laugh after trying to dive at Monterrey, 55 degrees, but dive shop guys were used to the 81 degrees of the blue sea waters before them and I could tell they were secretly not into the chlorinated pool out back and neither was I. I wanted a refresher, but not bad enough to do it in a pool in the middle of a downpour while suffering from sleep deprivation. Shrugging and sighing heavily Steve and I looked at each other and sadly decided to put off our diving a day in hopes of clearer and warmer waters. Leaving the shop we avoided the rain filled potholes and retired back to our room by 10 am. We read for a bit. I fell asleep on Steve's chest briefly but clearly I wasn't adjusted to island life. I felt the urge to do something; an unnatural need to accomplish something the first whole day on vacation. If I couldn't dive because of the stupid rain there must be something else I could do on Roatan. So we made a plan. Emptying a backpack and stuffing pockets with Lemprias, the national currency and tissues we decided to hop a dollar fifty "Collectivo" mini van to Coxen Hole, the city where the cruise ships come in, to do a little shopping. The "Collectivo" made me stunningly aware of the fact that we were in a 3rd world country and not just a diver resort town. Steve and I were the only white tourists in a van filled with over a dozen of the locals who were conscientiously being picked up and dropped off on our journey. When the van seats were full, people stood bracing themselves against the ceiling and windows. We left the main road briefly and drove into the real Honduras where families lived in small, colorful yet drab shacks not much bigger then my living room. The power was out again on the island, something that happed several hours each day randomly, so most people were relaxing outside to escape the stale, fanless air of their houses on that Sunday afternoon. No lush gardens of hibiscus here like where we were staying; rather clothing lined fences separating the view from one's neighbor. Garbage littered the muddy runoff ditches and I wondered if it was randomly tossed there or washed there from one of the storms over the last day or so. These people were poor and I wondered where they worked and how they lived since many of the people who worked in West Bay were clearly Expats. I felt kinda sad. Eventually we made it to Coxen Hole, but someone was trying to tell me something because everything was closed. All stores, restaurants, tourist attractions, everything closed. We had to laugh. Perhaps the journey was the adventure of the day because the destination sure as hell wasn't anything more then a dirty barrio ghost town. We hailed the next direct 5-dollar cab back to Posada Las Orquideas but not before stopping for gas and watching from the back of the taxi the gas station guard walk around with his sawed off shot gun. This sure was an interesting day. I have to say, all this unnatural, forced running around wasn't my fault. I'm conditioned. Conditioned to accomplish tasks in a regular and steady workflow. A creature of habit and yet here in the tropics I was the mouse in the maze, led without cheese. Without direction. When we went to Jamaica 10 years ago the Rastas chased us down the beach yelling after us that we were going too fast. "In Jamaica mon, you go slow". And in Caye Caulker, Belize last year they had a sign when you landed at the airport that read, "Go Slow" but here in West End, Roatan, Honduras there were no signs. There was nothing to tell us to go slow. That we only needed to be and not be somewhere. Only after a series of mishaps did we get what someone was trying to tell us. Slow down! Get some rest. Get over your cold. Roatan will wait. The reef will be there tomorrow. Maybe somebody is trying to tell me something and it only took a day for it to sink in and many failed touristic attempts before I got it. I was asleep by 9:00.

Rate MY Picture Travel Contest

Bandstalker — Sat, 15 Dec 2007 20:48:17 GMT

Hey Kids, I just entered a picuture of our trip to belize last year in a travel contest. If you have a free minute why not send a click my way and rate my picture http://tinyurl.com/22xng2 Jumping into the cool water at the mouth of the cave was worth all the workouts of the previous months. We swam, crawled and scrambled our way through a maze of waterways and rock passages with hard hats and miner⿿s lights to a high rock ledge where we were now told to remove our shoes and climb to the top where the Mayan Ruins of Actun Tunichil Muknal lay. There we saw calcium-encrusted skulls and ceremonial ceramics left after human sacrifices dating back to the first millennium, just inches from our soggy socks. It was thrilling to be so close to these ruins without having to view them through a museum window. At one point our guide, one of only 18 licensed in all of Belize to guide the tours, had us turn off our headlamps. The absence of light was the most alone I⿿d ever felt.

Maui Day 3: Compound Bound

Bandstalker — Wed, 07 Nov 2007 05:01:04 GMT

Maui Day 3: Compound Bound. “Red Beans and Rice. I said Red Beans and Rice. Wait a minute…… When you're compound bound you don’t ever want to go to town. When you're compound bound you don’t ever wan to go to town.” ~Keller Williams Callalloo and Red Snapper “5:30am. If you want to come with us to the top of Mt Haleakala we’re leaving the parking lot at 5:30am.” I was firm in my direction. My voice held authority. I wanted to make myself clear. “If you want to see the sunrise tomorrow from the top of the volcano bring all your warm cloths and be ready at 5:30” And with that we all agreed to meet in the parking lot. All 8 of us in agreement, we were committed to see the sunrise. Shortly after, one by one, we all bowed out. Now who didn’t see that coming….. Day 3 on my vacation to Maui and I was finally given the opportunity to sleep in so I took full advantage by getting up at 8:30. Damn it’s hard to adjust to the time zone when you’ve been getting up at the crack of dawn all along, but I made the best of it and found others awake as well, all hanging out in the two hammocks and chairs under shade of the Mango Tree near the loft studio. We smoked hard and declared a day of rest. We were going to take full advantage of what Bamboo Gate had to offer and decided to stick around the compound all day. Some rented surfboards and attempted to hang ten on the local beach. Some walked to town to shop and have their first or second meals at The Pa’ia Fish Market, a number-calling counter restaurant with some of the freshest cooked fish I’ve ever had. Some napped. Some did homework on laptops in paradise or tracked .wav files on new Dells for future upload. Everyone did their thing and we were all so relaxed. Everyone glistened with suntanned skin and the sparkling smiles of island life. There certainly could be something said about the whole compound-bound kinda lifestyle and secretly many of us wished we could trade places with Grey, the compound caretaker. Later in the day Brian and Jenny Butler arrived, as did Patrick McCoy, Eileen Snow and Arizona Steve. Our compound residents now totaled 13 and after pitching in ten bucks apiece we were able to go into town and have a fresh 3.5-pound ahi tuna roast cut to order at the local market for a BBQ later that night. Potato salad was made. Ahi,marinated in tangerine juice, fresh squeezed from the trees on property. Mixed Green Salad prepped and ready to go. Compound fresh, football sized, avacado’s sliced and mashed. By 6:30 the roast was on the large outdoor BBQ. Steve and Arleen Mathews (Zac from HBR’s parents) came bearing gifts of brownies and mahi-mahi. The Deadesqs joined us after spending a day on the Hana Highway in celebration of their 14th anniversary. And there the Butter Family began their Maui bonding, compound bound and all. Steve and I left the party early that night. We had important business the next day and with that we bedded down with dreams of turtles and the hopes of completing our SCUBA Certification.

Maui Day 2: The Road to Hana

Bandstalker — Tue, 06 Nov 2007 17:54:53 GMT

I awoke at 6:30am to the sound of sprinklers going off in the yard behind the Rustic Cottage at Bamboo Gate. Why in the tropics where it rains several times a day would someone set a timer to run sprinklers is beyond me, but just the same I awoke to them. It wasn’t like I hadn’t had a full night’s sleep after passing out around 9:30PM. The day before was large what with SCUBA and Drum Circles. Rolling up my sleeves I began preparing a picnic lunch for the day ahead. Soon others were up making coffee, eating breakfast, packing coolers and twisting phatties. We were on the road to Hana by 8AM. All the Maui guide books touted this as the highlight of island activities and we wanted to get a jump on the some 1,500-2,000 tourists that drive the 37 long and winding miles each day. Driving with Steve as my co-pilot, who read out loud from the guide book looking for possible stops, and Shawn and Tree shooting both video and digital pictures in the back, we made our way along the lush rainforest roadway yielding for one lane bridges and slowing down on curves to catch glimpses of waterfalls, bamboo forests, and ocean views. Our first stop at mile marker 7 was to see the Psychedelic Eucalyptus Trees. The trees were beautifully painted by nature. Greens, yellows, oranges and reds painted in places where the bark had peeled down fascinated us. We have a lot of Eucalyptus in the Bay Area but I had never seen trees like this before. So far our journey was pretty cool. Jumping back in to the car we continued towards Hana stopping next at a 25-foot waterfall that cascaded into a cool pool you could swim in. None of us were that hot but we waded in for a photo opportunity before returning to our journey. We had all read in our guide books that the “Halfway to Hana” road stand had the best banana bread so we stopped to buy a few loafs and a jar of home made Passion Fruit Jelly to take home with us. Steve was offered some Maui Wowie by some “punk in a sideways baseball hat stumbling around”, but what with being prepped by harvest in Northern California we were all good. Obviously we weren’t the only ones who thought the Hana Highway was one giant bone cruise. They say the journey is sometimes better then the destination and it was hard to believe the views could get much better, but they did. A few miles a head we pulled out and walked down a 4-wheel drive access only road, wading through small pools of muddy water to accomplish the goal of seeing an outstanding view of a surfer’s beach. Back on the road again the mile markers ticked off 10, 15, 20, 25 miles of jungleicious eye candy. During our travels we had seen a few roads heading left and right off the “highway” but something about a stop sign on the left triggered the memory of reading about a small town between Pa’ia, where we were staying, and Hana, called Nahiku. I guess calling it a “town” would be generous. At most it’s a rural road lined with breath taking flora. The guidebook said it was “where flowers came to die” and we could see why. Lush growth and decay scented the humid air. Brilliant reds were off set by greens and yellows. Huge flowers. Elephant ear size leaves. All along the road were houses that had honor fruit and flower stands out front where you could buy huge bouquets of ginger, psittacorum, anthurium, heliconia, and birds of paradise for five dollars. Bouquets like these would run one fifty to two hundred dollars back in San Francisco. Avocados, Passion Fruit, Pineapples, and Bananas all ranging from twenty-five cents to seven dollars lined the stands to be taken without watchful eye. Money was pushed into little locked boxes which we gladly paid. Every minute or so someone would shout out, “Yeah Road Least Traveled!” When we reached the end of the 2.5 mile road to Nahiku we couldn’t believe how lucky we were to have made the left hand turn. The view was simply spectacular. The road dead-ended at a small grassy park overlooking a rugged shoreline. Azure waters with contrasting black lave crags jutted up randomly from the sea. Crashing against the crags white wave spray looked like professionally timed fireworks display. SPLASH! CRASH! BOOM! Ssshhhhhhh! The breakers slammed into the rocks in front of us from left to right sending up cascading wave crashes one after another against the jet black lava finger, then spilling into a confused sea at the cliff’s end. Someone mentioned this was their new “Happy Place” and we devoured Roast Chicken and Herbed Cheese Sandwiches and ate cured olives, speechless save for a few mutters of “Wow” and “Look at that big wave coming in”. Before we knew it we had spent an hour there. Our next stop was Waianapanapa State Park, home of the black sand beach. First we walked a short loop that led us to a fresh water cave where we saw a few people with wetsuits and flashlights getting ready to spelunk. After our caving experience in Belize earlier this year I would have loved to jump in and give it a shot. There’s always next year! Soon we pressed on to the black sand beach itself. The ebony sand was soft and shiny. The retreating waves left stark white streaks of bubble and foam. It was a striking contrast to the aqua waters. I could have stood there forever watching my bare feet get more and more buried with every wave. We had one last stop before the day was done just past the town of Hana, which we must have missed while blinking the black sand from our eyes. The instructions in our guidebook were fairly vague. Turn left. Turn right. Drive to the dead end. Look for the vacant lot where the city placed no trespassing signs, ignore them and follow the trail that leads to the left at the end. Once we found the lot and subsequently the trailhead we walked along with the ocean to our right and an ever increasingly step wall of red lava to our left. The trail thinned to a footpath and started climbing. Each step we took we lost a bit of ground by sliding on more and more gravel. At one point we climbed over a large rock and turned the corner to reveal a step down hill loaded with gravel and the best beach of the day. The red sand beach was stunning. A huge 100-foot wall of red lava encased the small ocean cove like a concave natural amphitheater. At first we thought the waters were calm as we made our way down the hill to the beach. The only part of the ocean we could see was a small pool of bright blue. I even planned on taking my first swim of the day. But our view was extremely limited and soon appeared an ocean of unrestrained nature. Churning water and sand beat the beach. A torrent tempest raged against a huge red lava reef, which lay out in the cove about 20 feet off shore. The lava reef also protected the small pool we had thought of swimming in but on second glance looked like a mistake seeing how hard the undertow could be. Nature: beautiful and deadly. The drive to the Red Sand Beach took roughly seven hours. The ride home in tired, happy, silence took one and a half. Once again it was about the journey and not the destination. The description. Not the narrative. Pulling into the driveway back in Pa’ia Michael Scott and Greg Yost greeted us with beers and warm smiles. Soon Alison & Dave Randle joined us on the lawn outside the Rustic Cabin and the 8 of us spoke of their recent shows in Oahu and the upcoming Butter shows later in the week. The party at Bamboo Gate was just beginning to warm up and I hoped with the continuous sight seeing and scuba we’d be awake enough to enjoy it.

Maui Day 1: Breaking the Surface

Bandstalker — Mon, 05 Nov 2007 02:14:27 GMT

I awake in the joy of knowledge that today is daylight savings and my vacation has been extended by an hour. And boy do I need it! After only getting 4 hours of sleep before flying home to Oakland from Maui I am exhausted. Happy, but exhausted, and I am looking forward to a day filled with naps to recover from a most amazing trip. We landed in Maui on October 27th and just as we were picking up our luggage Tree Plant and Shawn Fierro landed completing our Rustic Cottage quartet. After a quick bite to eat we drove our “premiocre” Dodge Charger off to Bamboo Gate, the estate in Pa’ia we rented with Alison and Dave Randle, Brian and Jen Butler, Mayor McYost, Michael “Secret DEA Agent Spork” Scott, Jennifer Gass, Eileen Snow, Arizona Steve, Patrick McCoy, and The Emersons, Chris, Kelly and Baby Amanda Lynn. Turning in to the drive at 343 Hana Highway we punched in the secret code and the bamboo gates opened providing just a glimpse of paradise before us. Lush tropical gardens came into view as we drove to the parking area. Green grasses, palm trees swing in the breeze with ease, tangerine, banana, hibiscus and an avocado tree big enough to feed everyone guacamole for a year lined the driveway. It was better then expected. A tour of the grounds revealed outdoor showers, picnic tables around a bbq area complete with bathhouse, a split-level tree house, Jacuzzi, laundry and a tiki-torch lined pathway connecting it all. High fives all around. Our quartet arrived 2 days before the rest of the tribe so we quickly made the most our stay by going to bed early for our Sunday adventures, but not before having visited the local boogie board beach and having Crispy Duck Salad for dinner at Café Mambo. Yum! We woke up at 4:20 AM for our Sunday outings. That’s right, 4:20 am. I’m not sure I’ve ever gotten up that early and before the end of the trip I would have gotten up and/or gone to bed at that hour several more times. Tree and Shawn had planned for a day of snorkeling with the Pacific Whale Foundation, while Steve and I went with B&B Scuba to continue our efforts in SCUBA Certification. Just a week before we had tried to get our certification in Monterey, California at Breakwater Beach, but between the 14mm of Neoprene I had to wear and 40 pounds of weigh on my hips so I would sink with the added buoyancy I just couldn’t crawl out of the surf and failed my first opportunity at certification. Not only was I heart broken but had a week of anxiety to contend with before getting on the boat in Maui to try again. The sun was rising as we left the dock and we got a briefing on the Molokini Crater where we would be doing the first dive of the day. The water was a bit rough as I did a giant stride off the boat into the waters below. The short swim over to the descending rope left me wholly out of breath and frankly panicked. Last week’s failed dive attempt left me badly shaken and as the dive shop owner tried to first coax then manhandle me under the water’s surface I started to cry and called off the dive. This sport was just simply not for me. Climbing back on the boat was a challenge. Although I was now wearing a 5mm wetsuit shorty and not the full 14mm from the week before and now 20 pounds lighter in weight I still couldn’t muster up enough strength to climb the ladder and was slammed in to the boat repetitively before the captain finally pulled my gear off my back and I crawled to safety. Bruises quickly appeared across both thighs. Through tear soaked eyes I announced I was never doing that again. Shortly after Brad, the owner of B&B SCUBA surfaced with Steve who had gone down below to continue his check out dives. Brad climbed on board and looked at me and said, “That dive never happened. Clear it from your mental dive log” and we took off for the second dive site. The whole trip over I cried on Steve’s shoulder and told him I was sorry. That he could dive all he wanted but I lacked the physical strength and wouldn’t be diving in the future. Arriving at the next site, 5 Graves, Brad asked, “Beth are you ready?” and strangely enough I said yes. I spent a whole month of Tuesdays and Thursdays training for this certification, both book work and pool work and if I didn’t try at least one more time, could I really say I tried my best? I needed to be able to do this for me. I didn’t think I could take another day of tears and failure. Once again I took a giant stride off the side of the boat and plunged in to the calmer ocean while watching my mask and snorkel pop off my head. This wasn’t working. Brad quickly retrieved it and fit it on my face while I tread water on the surface. Then we swam together over to the descend line where he wrapped his legs around me and proceeded to pull me under. At once I began to kick and freak out. Down I went below the waters surface and began to breathe. Breathe with ease and instinctively equalized the pressure in my ears as we descended just as I had learned in class. Soon we were swimming horizontally, perpendicular to the ocean’s floor. Hand and hand Brad and I glided through the real life aquarium. Fish and coral filled our view and then overhead swam a shadowy figure blocking the direct sun’s rays and as it descended the outline of a huge turtle swam into view. WOW! Smiling Brad let go of my hand. Training wheels removed I SCUBA dove on my own and I was elated. This was simply amazing. Brad led, while Steve and I followed and we all toured a lava finger that housed formations and habitats for countless sea creatures. We even swam under a sunken arch before kneeling on the ocean’s floor to demonstrate a few skills. Regulator removal and retrieval and out of air emergency ascent procedures. Once back at the surface I felt an amazing amount of pride. I had completed my first dive and even though the whole future of diving seemed unnerving I had for a few minutes forgotten the fear and swam weightlessly in the ocean blue. Later that day we celebrated with the hippies on Little Beach. On Sunday nights at sunset the nude beach in Makena hosts a drum circle and fire dancing, mostly locals. Walking across Big Beach you couldn’t tell there was anything special going on. At the end of Big Beach is a lava wall you need to climb up and over. Just turning the crest of the wall we could hear the music. I turned to Steve, Tree and Shawn and said, “These are our people” and we walked down the step path to the beach toward the center ring around the drum circle. There were people of all types on beach. Some naked, some clothed. There was a clear definition of hippie and tourist. Hippies and locals sat around the drummers on the rise on the bluff. Tourists sat in the outer rings and although we were white skinned tourists we put our towels down around the bronzed hippies. I kind of got the vibe from a couple behind us like “who are these people and why are they invading this space?”; Inquisitive yet not hostile. Shortly after a woman came up to us and asked, “Are you Alison”. I said no, but took a shot in the dark and asked if she meant Alison Randle? “Yes!” Jumping up I asked if she was Eileen Snow our future roommate at Bamboo Gate. Indeed she was. Looking over her shoulder as I hugged her I could see the couple behind us smile and felt a collective sigh from the Locals and Hippies around the Drummers. We may have been pale in skin but we were true in heart and were what I felt was spiritually welcomed to sit and stay where we were because these were our people. Hugs all around as we excitedly exchanged introductions and welcomed each other to Maui and spoke with great expectation of the upcoming Hot Buttered Rum shows later in the week. We didn’t make it to sunset being thoroughly tired from our day and as we drove back to Pa’ia we were all completely satisfied with our first full day on the island.

Lesson 2: Remember to Breathe

Bandstalker — Sat, 06 Oct 2007 04:33:27 GMT

SCUBA Lesson 2: “Remember to Breathe" "Remember to Love" "And don't forget your Camera" This my friend repetitively howled late into the night hours after taking a hit of some hallucinogen I wanted no part of. We were camping out in the wilds of the Trinity Alps, one of the least visited areas of Northern California and who really cared that he was screaming anyway? We were the only people in the Hell's Gate Campground, we hadn't seen a ranger in the 3 days we had been there, and the closest town was 25 miles away, so unless we feared an adverse reaction from his potent potion then his desire to scream at the top of his lungs had little effect on any of us besides give us something to tease him about the next day. So we let him scream. On and on he screamed. “Remember to Breathe, Remember to Love, and don’t forget your camera” I we couldn’t help but laugh, “What the hell is he talking about”? The next day sitting around the morning campfire sipping cups of coffee I asked, “So last night you kept screaming, “Remember to Breathe, what’s up with that?” A smile came over his face and he explained to us that the method of delivery for the hallucinogen was smoking it. He continued to tell us that the rush after 2-3 puffs is sometimes so strong you kind of forget to breathe so he wanted to remind himself, not wanting to take it for granted that he would remember in time. I could certainly see the validity in the first sentence of his mantra. “And how about the “Remember to Love?” A twinkle in his eye appeared and he tried to describe the trip; the initial rush, the fractal colors, the feeling of being one with it all. He said it can be a bit scary at times so if he reminded himself to love perhaps he could guide the destiny of his trip. I could certainly see the validity knowing full well that a positive self-prophecy can change your whole outlook, be it sober or high. Finally I had to ask. “And the camera?” Turning his gaze down he blushed slightly and said, “Well I kept loosing my camera so I wanted to know where it was”. We all had a good laugh over that. Years later we still joke to ourselves about that evening, often mimicking his theatrical howls. “Remember to Breathe, Remember to Love, and don’t forget your camera” has become apart of our household’s lexicon and I couldn’t help but think of the explanation of his chant while listening to my dive instructor in class 2 of our SCUBA certification course. Of course the natural question would be what the hell does my friend’s hallucinogenic recreational activities have to do with my SCUBA lessons? Well I think he made some excellent points that directly correlate with the very basic foundations of the sport. The first rule we learned about SCUBA was to never stop breathing. Never hold your breath. Keep it smooth and steady. We learned we must keep breathing even if the Primary Second Stage Regulator drops out of our mouths at the shear awe beauty of the reef or wreck we are diving. We must remember to keep exhaling until we tilt slightly to the right, swing our right arm back, touching our oxygen tank and then sweeping our arm out to hopefully catch either the Primary or Alternate Air Source, returning it to our mouths, purging the diaphragm, and breathing in once again the canned air. Yes, I could certainly see the validity of remembering to breathe. Remembering to breath correctly was another important part of the instruction, a lesson I learned as I inhaled a large amount of water up my nose while trying to clear my mask. I did as my dive instructor told me to do and flooded my mask from above and then held the top of my mask while I tried to blow the water out by the shear force of my nasal exhalation. The first exhale didn’t sufficiently clear my mask and instead of breathing properly in through my regulator I took a deep inhale through my nose, practically drowning myself in 3 feet of water. If I had only remembered to breath properly I wouldn’t have been choking up water embarrassed in front of my classmates. The second rule we learned was to always know where your buddy was. Your dive is dependant on your buddy. Your buddy can help you gear up and do a systems double check to ensure your equipment is functioning, “All Systems Go!” A buddy helps plans dive strategy. And most important is your lifeline in times of trouble. Total trust in your buddy is a faith, a love. “Remember to love.” But there is more to remembering to love then just knowing where you buddy is. It’s about being aware of your surroundings. Knowing how you will affect them. It’s remembering to love the ocean blue. Are you leaving only bubbles and not damaging the reef with fin prints? Are you loving yourself, giving yourself enough self-confidence to tackle the skill set needed for your future journeys beneath the sea. Are you embarrassing your dive instructor in front of other dive masters during your Open Water Certification? Its all about love…… And well what about the camera you might ask? Well you certainly wouldn’t want to leave it on the boat. “Remember to Breathe" "Remember to Love" "And don't forget your Camera"

Lesson 1: Yesterday I began my life aquatic.

Bandstalker — Wed, 03 Oct 2007 19:56:19 GMT

I can remember childhood pets of goldfish swimming in various bowls on the nightstand next to my bed. I remember longingly looking into bowls personifying thoughts of friendship between me and my fishes. Starved for interaction I would rap upon the bowl. “Here fishy, fishy, fishy” But never did my fishy friend oblige my calling, so inevitably I would stick my hand into the bowl grasping for the poor creature and then ripping it from its Zen-like harmony in the bowl out into the deathly air where it would flop and flip gasping for breath. I would spend several seconds petting the fish before thrusting my hand back into the bowl and freeing the fish. Often the periled Carassius auratus would swim sideways as if drunk, round and round the bowl, until either it recovered to live another day or to float belly up and end up in the big flush. Yesterday I began my life aquatic. I can remember kicking hard, bobbing up, taking in a deep breath before plunging myself into the pool and exhaling my life into the Buoyancy Compensator. Up and down, bobbing and blowing, hoping not to swim sideways or belly up. “Good! Now back to the blackline”, my dive instructor directed, but all I could think of was that poor fish out of water and how I had become a human in water trying to breath as just as desperately as my fish from long ago. Learning to dive has been a life long desire for me and taking that first class yesterday was a small step in that goal. We swam 250 meters to prove we could. We trod water for 10 minutes. We did the diver’s wiggle and encased our skin in neoprene. We practiced diving under the water with our snorkels in mouth, only to spit them out at the surface to quickly bob and fill our BC’s. I take great personal satisfaction in trying my hand at this endeavor. I see many challenges to over come as a plus size diver from poorly fitting dive suits and BC’s that require extra cummerbunds to not having the physical stamina as someone else who is in better conditioning, or to those nasty ass leg cramps that have left my calves screaming for mercy this morning but all in all I have to give myself a few props for doing what many fear and to keep reminding myself that no one learns to dive in their first lesson. Here’s to my future life aquatic and the hopes to never feel like a human in water.

Band Stalker Trading Cards, Collect Them All!

Bandstalker — Thu, 22 Mar 2007 05:06:15 GMT

Band Stalker Trading Cards Collect Them All! I’ve been spending a large amount of my free thinking time lately trying to once again to remove myself from the everyday drone of the work cubicle. This time I’m not going to go back to the cube if I get pissed enough to quit yet another corporate procurement position. I’ve made this vow to myself. If I’m not successful in at least 2 years of tenure then I’m out for good. This I know to be true and being ever proactive and secure in my hot-headedness I am scouring Craig’s List daily for ideas on how I can make enough money to live the life style we’ve become accustomed to, but not subject myself to micro managers who stomp on individuality. I’ve looked at drastic career changes but I have yet to find someone willing to pay me for being me. But today I had an epiphany. Today I’ve decided to go into business for myself, creating and selling Band Stalker Trading Cards. That’s right Band Stalker Trading Cards. Collect them all! Friends! I’m now seeking venture capital for my soon to be IPO of Band Stalker Trading Cards, copyrighted by MBS, Inc. You too can be on the ground floor of this most amazing opportunity. Band Stalker Trading Cards will shortly be releasing our 2007 Jamband Collection and will include such bands as Sound Tribe Sector Nine, Yonder Mountain String Band, Your Favorite Band Sucks, Animal Liberation Orchestra, Tea Leaf Green, Railroad Earth, New Monsoon, Hot Buttered Rum, String Cheese Incident, Greyboy AllStars, Drew Emmitt Band, Blue Turtle Seduction and many, Many More. Each heavyweight, high-gloss, card in the pack will come with an incredible, color enhanced, action photo of your favorite band members shredding solos on the front and their stats on the back. Stats will include dates of shows, shows played by venue, number of times at venue, total number of shows for the year, sit-ins, songs written, instruments played, and previous bands. Each pack of cards will include all members of the band, road manager, manager manager, merch dude, & who could forget the loveable soundman. To remain both collectable and more importantly profitable not every pack will come with every player thus creating market demand for harder to get band members. Not everyone will get an Erik Yates or a Tim Carbone. Every year Band Stalker Trading Cards will issue new trading cards so you can keep up-to-date with important information concerning your favorite band, or simply your favorite player. Cards will become highly collectable over the years as the band name stays the same, but the players move on. Trade with your friends. You can trade one Karl Denson’s Tiny Universe Ron Johnson trading card for, two New Monsoon Ron Johnson cards plus a Drew Emmett Band Ben Bernstein Card. Or perhaps you’d like to trade one Deep Banana Blackout Jen “Pipes” Durkin card for a Jennifer Hartswick Band Jennifer Hartswick and one Grace Potter and the Nocturnals Grace Potter. We will have Collector Speculators on staff will testify on the internets that the 2007 String Cheese Incident Billy Nershi card will be the most highly traded and most valuable card to date! And don’t forget about the eagerly anticipated Leftover Salmon Reunion cards. Sure to be a crowd pleaser with the Polyethnic Cajun Slamgrass fans in your family. Also included in each pack of cards instead of a stale piece of gum you will never chew there will be a special limited edition download card embedded with an amazing smart-chip that when activated (for a small convenience charge paid to MBS, Inc’s off-shore Belizean Bank Account) will directly link the Jamband fan to a special website where they can freely download the artist’s entire collection from the Live Music Achieve on to their MP3 Player of choice via their very own PC! We will also be releasing the 2007 Freak Freely Collection. That’s Right! You can not only collect the bands you love but you can collect their fanbases too. Collect famous Rail Riders, Anal Tapers, Setlist Bitches, and Street Team Leaders that you’ve only read about on line or seen at shows. Trade 1 LisaB for a Pjef and a Gil. Trade 2 Jengas for a set of Gromfs (Adam and Aimee) and a Hot Buttered Rum Fan card to be named later. Trade one Gayle Kaufman for a Susi Bouse. Got an extra Sandy Alexander? Why not trade for a Charlie Miller. Now tomorrow I can return to my cube with the knowledge I have a safe an secure game plan for something to do for a living the next time I tell my boss to fuck off. Not sure why I didn’t think of this sooner. Anyone wanna work for a start-up?

Hol Chan Divinity

Bandstalker — Sat, 03 Mar 2007 17:10:29 GMT

Hol Chan Divinity “What I’m gonna show you today you will see no where else. Carlos, Carlos’ tours say you will swim with them. Mario’s Tours. But no one will show you what I’m gonna show you today.” We sat mesmerized. “A few years ago National Geographic came to Belize and wanted to see this for themselves. I told them no.” The sea and suntanned Mayan Elder stepped down from his navigator’s perch on the stern of his sailboat and enchanted us with a tale of man and nature. “15 years ago tour companies would take people out to Hol Chan Marine Reserve and would include lunch in the tour package. Ha”, he laughed and leaned in on his elbows, on his knees. We all leaned in as well. Perhaps out of respect. Perhaps out of anticipation. “15 years ago tour companies would spear any good eating fish that swam past Hol Chan. Ha! Some reserve” He scoffed. We all nodded in agreement. “These tours would then make BBQ’s of fish for their customers, but I never did. For me these waters are sacred, sacred, and I am a very spiritual man. See this cross I wear around my neck?” It was made of sea-bleached, white beads with a large white cross hanging boldly against the tanned background of his proud chest. “To some, this cross signifies the crucifixion, but to me, it can have many other meanings. It can mean North, South, East, and West.” He gestured each direction with his strong arms. “It can mean the four seasons, or the four elements. I believe these waters are sacred. A fisherman needs to know that balance. I’m a very spiritual man.” It was more than the sea mist and the breeze with ease that left me covered in sun kissed goose bumps. I was simply enthralled. “15 years ago I was swimming in these very waters when one of these tour companies was out spear fishing for BBQ. They shot a fish on this reef. Also, they shot a Nurse Shark that swam near by. Taking only the eating fish they left the bleeding Nurse Shark to die upon the reef.” My heart sank. Some reserve was right. I could see other tour companies bobbing on anchored tethers just a few 100 feet in front of us and I couldn’t help but feel contempt for these big tour operators and their schools of life preserver wearing tourists. “15 years ago I was swimming in these waters when I came across the bleeding Nurse Shark and I took her to an under water cave. I shoved her in the cave to protect her from other sharks who might eat her. I shoved her in the cave and came back everyday to feed her bits of fish and help her heal herself.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and hung on every word that flowed from this man who was so complete in his love for his revered sea surroundings. “One day I came to the cave and she had fully healed herself. She swam out from the cave and began to follow me.” We gasped in amazement. “Every day I would come. Every day she would follow me around Hol Chan.” “One day she began to act funny and I helped her give birth to 2 pups. One swam off and I never saw it again, but mother and daughter then swam with me. Then Daughter had pups and that daughter had pups and we were a family. A few years ago there was a big hurricane and it took the Momma away. I never saw her again. But the babies have swam with me ever since.” I was completely moved by his story. **************************************** I remembered reading something on the net about this guy being the best tour guide on the island but couldn’t remember why. I remembered his name again when asking a random bartender who gave the best tours, but I had also been recommended to Mario’s Tours by Louise, owner of our rented cabana and, Aida, the woman who made us coffee in the small shack shoppe each morning. We had been up and down the short main street tourist strip several times by now interviewing snorkel tour companies. In front of each small business shanty lay brightly painted signs reading “Hol Chan”, “Turneffe”, “Blue Hole”, “Scuba”, “Lunch in San Pedro”, “3 stop ½ day Snorkel Tours of Local Reef”. We would walk past each operator and ask, “Do you go to Hol Chan? How many hours? How many people do you take? Do you swim with sharks and stingrays? Do you stop in San Pedro for lunch? How much?” Neither one of us willing to make a commitment to anyone tour group. After dinner we strolled up the white sand main street of Caye Caulker and there across from the town’s basketball court was this house sitting on stilts 6 feet above the ground. Across a few of the stilts was a sign that simply read “Juni’s Sail & Snorkle Trips” And out on the deck above us, leaning his forearms upon the rail watching a lit night game was a small, fit, weathered, man. Juni! That was it! That was him. The man above us on the deck. The man that was suppose to give the best tours on the island. The one I had read about. So we turned our gaze upward and asked, “Do you go to Hol Chan? “I only go to Hol Chan, if there are enough people”, he replied “How many people do you take?” “I only take 7” “Do you go to San Pedro for lunch?” “You couldn’t pay me to go to San Pedro” he said as he peered down from his porch. I couldn’t help but crack a smile. Although I had never been there, I had heard San Pedro was very tourist driven when compared to sleepy Caye Caulker and suddenly I didn’t want to go have lunch in San Pedro. No, you couldn’t pay me to go have lunch in San Pedro. “Do you swim with sharks and sting rays” I continued. “I’m not gonna tell you anything else, you can come along or not” and he returned his gaze to the basketball game. **************************************** “What I’m gonna show you today you will see no where else. Carlos, Carlos’ tours say you will swim with them. Mario’s Tours. But no one will show you what I’m gonna show you today. Today you are going to swim with me and my family. Today you will feel them, touch the sharks. Today I will have the Stingrays all over your body. When I do this with my hand in the water”, he turn his hand palm side up, “ I want you to flip over on your back. I’m gonna have them all over you.” Damn, I was excited. In just a few minutes I’d be jumping in to the warm calm seas of the Caribbean to swim in Hol Chan’s famous Shark-Ray Ally. Juni looked out over the stern of his boat, The Trinity, at the big tour companies who began to leave to shuttle their tourists to San Pedro for lunch, rather than rape the marine reserve with a spear gun as they use to. We had been told there would be no stops for lunch because after all, “You couldn’t pay me to go to San Pedro.” Stalling until the other boats left, Juni took each one of our snorkel masks preparing them properly to avoid fogging up mid trip. He warned us all that our gear better fit properly because once his head was in the water he was with them, the sharks and not us. Our job was to follow. One by one we readied ourselves for the odyssey. One by one we jumped off The Trinity. And one by one they came. They smelt him; they felt and heard the vibrations of his boat, of his heart. One by one Juni’s Nurse Sharks arrived to greet their kin. And then one by one, large, ominous creatures appeared floating like a dream from the depths. Juni not only had a family of Nurse Sharks, but a cloak of Stingrays to cover him like Neptune’s robes. We had snorkeled the local reef the day before and saw a fairly large nurse shark and dozens of ‘rays in swarms like bats, but what Juni had cultivated in these waters of Hol Chan was surely National Geographic worthy and I felt my reverence for the man swell. And then, we were off. The water was so warm and we followed in school behind Juni and the biggest of the 3 Nurse Sharks that were to follow us around for the next hour. The interaction between Juni and the sharks was nothing short of breathtaking. We swam through a maze of coral gardens, Juni in the lead, always scratching the head of his shark as it were his kitty purring on his lap or grabbing it and turning it over and rubbing its belly. The mutual affection was obvious. Meanwhile I’d be swimming in an open area, with depths of 20-30 feet to the white sand floor below when a shark would swim under me from behind, hovering for a minute as if he was my pilot fish. I could reach down and stroked the beast as it swam past and it was soft, yet rough skinned like a cat’s tongue. Soon we found ourselves in a slightly larger water, with less coral mass. Juni, who was ever stroking his shark, began gesturing to people to come closer to him. He would then grab his shark turn it over and push it into a person’s arms for a hug. I couldn’t believe my eyes. People were hugging sharks. Soon, Juni gestured to me and I was totally at peace with the idea of hugging this cute playful creature of the sea. Juni once again grabbed the shark, turned it over and pushed it towards me. Then Juni hugged me and I hugged the shark and the shark allowed this for a moment then wiggled free back to his place in just arms reach of Juni’s ever petting hand. Remarkable, I had just hugged a shark. Once everyone had hugged Juni’s shark we started swimming back towards The Trinity. But the hugging did not stop. I saw Juni continue to gesture to folks to come hug the shark. Again it was my turn, but this time I saw Juni grab the shark, turn it over, take his snorkel out of his mouth and then kiss the shark’s white belly. Then he looked and me and indicated I should kiss the shark. And I did, I did kiss the shark. What a rush. An incredible high. As we neared the boat the Stingrays re-appeared from their depths and the sharks bade farewell to their Juni. It was as if Juni had made an agreement, shark to ‘ray, sharks have the reef, ‘rays have the depths beyond the boat. Soon the ‘rays began to circle the group swimming just below us. You could reach out and stroke their silky smooth skin. And there once again was Juni gesturing to us one by one. He would turn his palm upwards underwater and then dive down quickly to the ocean floor for kelp. Grabbing a passing Stingray on his way up from the bottom he would shove the kelp in the ‘rays mouth and then ride it up to us waiting for further instruction. Then Juni would slide the Stingray over our body from flipper feet to over our faces and it was priceless. People were swimming, touching, Stingrays all around while Juni repeated his ritual Stingray Baptism with each of us. I certainly felt anointed. The rest of the day was a complete blur of joy. We got back on boat and shared our delight while we wrapped our bodies in towels and washed the salty seawater out of our mouths with sweet cooler cold oranges Juni had brought on board. We sail to Coral Gardens filled with technicolor eye candy ripe with EagleRays, Yellow Snapper, Green Moray Eels and little blue Disco Fish that danced upon backdrops of orange Fan Coral. All this floated before my eyes in an underwater sea of dreams. Back on the Trinity once again, we share cups of coffee and smiles. We were all tired and satisfied on the long slow sail home. Juni the Shark Shaman ever on his perch navigated the way. **************************************** “What I’m gonna show you today you will see no where else. Carlos, Carlos’ tours say you will swim with them. Mario’s Tours. But no one will show you what I’m gonna show you today. And at the end of the day, when your done please don’t tell anyone on the island what your saw. Some people wouldn’t understand that a fisherman has a respect of the elements and I’m a very spiritual man.

“OSHA Drama Clock”

Bandstalker — Wed, 10 Jan 2007 05:25:55 GMT

It has been nine days since I have reset my “OSHA Drama Clock”. Oh? You don’t have an “OSHA Drama Clock”? Well I got mine brand new for 2007: The Year that Drama Forgot. Oh? You don’t know what an “OSHA Drama Clock” is? Its not exactly a clock, but more a counter per se; A counter of days, not hours. When you work in a manufacturing plant, OSHA, the Occupational Safety & Health Administration, hangs a “Lost Time Clock” upon the wall counting the number of days since the last work related injury. I’ve worked at places where this number is in the hundreds of days. Now let’s say you are working on the manufacturing line and you... I don’t know, cut off a major body part, for the sake of argument, and need to be taken to the hospital. Well you have just cost your manager a nightmare of a time filling out accident reports and walking them to HR, where HR had to file said report with the state, insurance companies, OSHA and then call your mom to say you’ve cut something off. But worse than loss of social security number 123-45-6789’s limb, HR now needs to alert the whole company that an accident has occurred by resetting the “Lost Time Clock’, more commonly referred to as “The OSHA Clock”. This not only sucks for you, who lost a limb, your management, who now has to show there are dangers in the work place, your mom who is upset, but it also brings down the morale of the whole company because the OHSA Clock to has been reset to Zero. Zero days without lost time due to accident. No one wants to see “The OSHA Clock” reset. No one. Well I thankfully am not responsible for a major manufacturing plant so I don’t have a need for the “Lost Time Clock” And fortunately I am not social security number 123-45-6789.. I’m…well…. Me… and for the most part I like me, except unfortunately when I find myself wrapped in drama and engrossed in negative emotion that is just plain unnecessary and for the most part largely brought on by myself. That’s where my brand spanking new “OSHA Drama Clock” comes into play. My “OSHA Drama Clock” doesn’t count accidents; rather it is a counter of days gone without incident; Incidents of Dramatic and Epic Proportion! The kind of drama that causes blood pressure to rise and eyes to swell to the breaking point and beyond with tears. The kind of drama that results in frustrated anger and can be casually tossed at any innocent bystander to satisfy the drama’s lust for jealousy, greed and hatred. The kind of drama that makes you raise your hands into the air as if hoisting the drama above your head and then flinging it with a giant thrust of Fuck It All. That’s the kinda drama my “OSHA Drama Clock” counts. The ugly, unhealthy drama that sickens so many of us all and makes us have to go out and reset the FUCKING “OSHA Drama Clock” and NO ONE wants to re-set that clock! No one. It has been nine days since I have reset my “OSHA Drama Clock” here’s to a Drama Free ‘007

Private Party

Bandstalker — Tue, 09 Jan 2007 01:41:08 GMT

India Aire - Private Party (Chorus)I’m having a private party Ain’t no body here but me, my angels, and my guitar singin’ baby look how far we’ve come here I’m havin’ a private party Learning how to love me Celebrating the woman I’ve become, yeah I tried to call my mother, but She didn’t get where I was going I called my boyfriend and he said Call me back a little later baby I hung up the phone, I felt so alone Started to feel a little pity That’s when I realized that I Gotta find the joy inside of me (Chorus) I’m gonna take off all my clothes Look at myself in the mirror We’re gonna have a conversation We’re gonna heal the disconnection I don’t remember when it started But this is where it’s gonna end My body is beautiful and sacred And I’m gonna celebrate it (Chorus) All my life (all my life) I’ve been looking for (I’ve been looking for) Somebody else (else) To make me whole (ooo) But I had to learn the hard way (ooo) True love began with me(ooo) This is not ego or vanity (ooo) I’m just celebrating me (Chorus) Sometimes I’m alone but never lonely That’s what I’ve come to realize I’ve learned to love the quiet moments The Sunday mornings of life Where I can reach deep down inside Or out into the universeI can laugh until I cry Or I can cry away the hurt (Chorus) Happy birthday to me Happy birthday to me Happy birthday Happy birthday to me Happy birthday to me Happy birthday (Chorus2x)

An Oath: The Waimea Valley Audubon Center

Bandstalker — Sun, 10 Dec 2006 02:44:57 GMT

Sunday morning woke with big expectations for the day that lay in wait ahead of us. The Star of Hawaii crew bonded in oath that morning in celebration of not only Angela’s birthday, but also in what would be destined to be the most amazing day of the whole Hawaii vacation. Out on the lanai of the Star we all put our hands in and promised not only to GO BIG that day and night, but before it was through that we would all swim nakid blue in the ocean just past the gate at the end of the path. Our oath, our word was our bond. Taking out our trusty guidebook, Steve called a local restaurant and soon the 11 of us were out for a fat breakfast. The aroma of fresh brewed Kona Coffee must have awakened the hunger beast in Daev Brown’s belly because plate after plate of food covered the table in front of him, but who couldn’t help but help themselves to an extra portion of pancakes with fresh coconut and raspberry syrups abound and around the table of excited freaks. The waitress was outstanding and at the end of the meal brought Angela a slice of chocolate coconut crème pie with 29 chocolate chips and a candle on it. With glee we all sang happy birthday to our housemate who was grinning ear to ear. After a quick trip to market to fill our cooler with drinks, beers, poke and sushi for later delights, we took the coastal road to the North Shore. The windows were down and the sun for the first time the whole trip had finally started to peak itself out from behind the clouds the further north we drove. En route we stopped at a roadside coconut stand where we ran into another household of friends also making their way toward Waimea. We sampled their coconut treats and stared off shore at Chinaman’s Hat, which we had joking called Chink’s Chapeau and continuously pondered out loud amongst ourselves why we hadn’t stayed on this beautiful part of the island all along. We briefly stopped at Sunset Beach where the big North Shore Surf competition had taken place earlier that day, but as the afternoon was going faster than any of us had expected we quickly abandoned the beach for the final stop of our northward journey, The Waimea Valley Audubon Center. Pulling into The Waimea Valley Audubon Center our Stoke-a-Meter moved up two notches. The place was just lovely and lush and filled with natural beauty. YES! This was the place we had all come on this trip to see. This was the kind of venue we had longed for all along. Liberally sprinkling ourselves with magic pixie dust we then drove down to Waimea Beach to frolic in the waves with the sunset as our backdrop while we eagerly awaited the evening of music ahead. By nightfall we were all dangerously close to Over Stoked. Friends greeted each other as they arrived at the venue with big smiles and hugs, all of them expressing what a great day they had had. Tiki torches were lit around the venue and the soft grass surrounding the dance floor was dotted with picnicking families. Tables one level up, softly lit by Christmas & Tiki Lights, hosted Island folks & Jake Shimabukuro fans while they overlooked the Butter Family lining the rail below. The night air was humid, the rising moon full and the fanbase electrified. It was perfect. Jake Shimabukuro opened the show with a breath-takingly beautiful “While My Heart Gently Weeps” solo acoustic on his Ukulele. I sat on a blanket off to the side watching this small man master this small instrument with wonder. He is remarkably talented and though his performance was mellow in tempo it was large and exciting with the dexterity of his musicianship. I’m really glad we had the opportunity to see him in this idyllic island environment. After Jake’s set the expectation level continued to rise, and continued to be met, as the Butter Boys took the stage busting out WATERPOCKET FOLD to open the show! Wholly shit my brain cells leapt out of my head and did a few back flips of joy before returning to the puddle my gray matter had become. I had missed my favorite Butter tune, Open Season the night before, instead opting for a quite dinner, but opening a show with Waterpocket Fold was a pretty damn good substitute! And there in the midst of the Butter Family taking up the first 20 feet of the space in front of the stage we grooved to one great song after another at The Waimea Valley Audubon Center. If ever there was an appropriate time to say “the family, the Jam, and I are one” it was then. Jake and Marty Ylitalo sitting in for Take Me Home*^, Thrill Is Gone*^, 3.2*^, Summertime Gal*^, Dolphin*^, really amp’d all the songs up another level. I really can’t express in writing the energy of everyone in the building, including staff. It was a once in a lifetime feeling and having a song in the set list like Dolphin with all its watery imagery was incredible. A very timely placed song. A Rocketman sing-a-long to end the set just continued the evening’s great vibe. By set break the full moon had crested high above our heads and refracted rainbows surrounded the heavenly full figure. There must have been 4-5 different strata’s of cloud configurations moving at different speeds from north to south, east to west, south to east, west to north and so on. At one point I said it reminded me of 580/80 in Berkeley which sent us all into fits of uncontrollable laughter. Some clouds were those big fluffy ones you see on a perfect summer day. Some were those thin, rippled, wisps that could take on the appearance of a washboard. Some were moving real fast hiding the shape of the moon but not its glow. Papa Phil, Mama Stace, Daev Brown, Steve and I leaned up against the cars with our heads staring, staring, staring upwards, gape jawed and giggling at the psychedelic display. It was one of the highlights of the WHOLE Trip. Coming back in the venue we were treated to fire dancing and spinning to the sounds of tribal electronica on the Tiki lit grass. What a delight to see house mate Annie and friend LisaB amongst the performers, once again reminding us of the incredible community we all have created over the years. The second set was a bit of a blur as I danced around easily moving from the front row, to the back, and out on the lawn past a sea of smiling faces all experiencing this with me. It was “Strings Breath” that finally brought me back down from the rainbow’d moon I was formally dancing with. Damn I love that song. But it wasn’t too long before I again became rocket man taking off on a musical journey of outta sight delights. I mean just look at the setlist! High Bill Medley, Fox, The > I Want A New Drug > Spider > Fox, The, Into The Mystic, Crest, Howlin' At The Moon. Once again the energy took off and soared within The Waimea Valley Audubon Center. We danced hard with huge smiles. It doesn’t get much better folks. After sing-a-long “The Weight” encore the crowd was what I can only call OVER STOKED. Cheers and Whistles and Foot stomping over whelmed the venue. It was plain and simply loud. What an incredible feeling it must have been to be Nat, or Erik, or Zac, or Brian, or Aaron, or Josh, or Molly at that moment. All the love they put into their craft day after day, crossword puzzle after crossword puzzle on the road all year and to have it all come down to this appreciative moment in time. Kudo’s kids, well done! After the show, we all somehow survived the 1 hour and ten minute space shuttle/Laugh Factory drive back to the Star of Hawaii. The after party that broke out soon glowed with naked bodies jumping from jaccuzi to pool to the ocean at the end of the path beyond the gate. People passed drinks and sushi and poke and pineapple. People shared in the particular tales of enjoyment from earlier in the day. People remembered the oath made upon departure for the North Shore to swim naked blue in the ocean before the days end. Breaking off in groups people walked to the ocean at the end of the path beyond the gate and fulfilled their promised oath to the Star of Hawaii crew and observing the buddy system swam butt ass naked in the blue ocean shining brightly in the full moon night. Nakid, all of us, all except Yost who was last seen being carried off in to the waves by a naked Daev Brown ensuring Yost kept up on at least some of his end of the now completed Oath we had all taken earlier in the day.

Green Friday

Bandstalker — Tue, 28 Nov 2006 01:13:23 GMT

So I'm sitting around my usual Monday Staff meeting addressing the bullshit water cooler pleasantries about the long weekend when I'm asked, "what did I buy" on Friday. Now I am just horrified by the assumption that because its Black Friday I needed to buy something. I'm horrified by the idea that major manufacturers continue to force feed us frenzied mass marketing to make us buy, Buy, BUY, and by the idea that just because it is the day after Thanksgiving that I need to go out amongst the crowded throngs of parents toting turkey stuffed tots to search for the best bargains and that if I didn't wear out the magnetic strip of my credit card that I'm not a good American. Its like Hallmark Holidays, I'm not buying a card for "Secretaries Day" or Admin's day for that matter, if there is one, just because Hallmark says so. I replied to my co-workers that I generally boycott Black Friday. They gasped! How could I not take advantage of the great sales! Well I guess plain and simple, I didn't happen to need any"thing". That I currently had enough "thing" and I wasn't interested in just buying "thing" because everyone else is. My co-workers didn't get it. Wasn't I interested in the latest version of Playstation, or Elmo or the cool new after market accessory for my Ipod? "There were a lot of great bargains out there" my boss stated. Sure, I cannot deny that I am a consumer like the rest of them. And yes, I have been known to get caught up in the pre-marketing of a new technology, after all I was the first kid on the block to have the new Nano last year. But I do have to say I am pretty careful about how, when and why I shop. I prefer to spend my money local to Oakland so my taxed dollars go to my community and I'm willing to pay a few extra pennies to buy from a small market rather than national chain and am pretty proud to say that not one dollar went to Wallmart this year and yes, I choose to Boycott Black Friday. Maybe they need to change the name to Green Friday, because those green backs fly outta people's pockets to the tune of 30% or more of a retail's store's annual sales in just one day and stocks will fluctuate on the Monday after based upon these sales. That's just crazy in my opinion "What did you buy on Friday?" What does this say about my co-workers? That they are spoon fed advertising like its pumpkin pie? What does it say about me? That I'm an liberal hippie boycotting for the sake of boycott? I just felt so out of place sitting around a conference table where the topic of discussion was not expressing the joy in sharing a meal with friends and loved ones, rather than asking what they bought. What did I buy on Friday? Peace of Mind

Power to the Peaceful 9-9-06

Bandstalker — Sun, 10 Sep 2006 22:47:51 GMT

As predicted, the sun never made its way to Speedway Meadows yesterday, but there was plenty of warmth radiating from the friends and family who rallied for the 1:00 Power to the Peaceful set. There was a lot of energy in the air as the NM Search and Rescue Team and Norcal Pocket made their way from the generously shared blanket space provided by Shawn & Tree up to center stage. Even the M.C. looking out over at us made comment, “Those guys are ready”. Taking the stage the band looked great. It was so emotional to me to have all 7 of them up there even though the changes in line up are very recent. It’s an exciting time to be a New Monsoon fan. You never know who your gonna get at a show and the sets will vary greatly. It will keep them on their toes and the music interesting. Right from the get go these guys were on fire. Patato’s Mission opened the show and quickly got the crowd’s attention, but it was that Big Fat Banjo Sandwich that made my head explode! Travlin’ Gypsies, followed by a funkayyy Greenhouse, then seamlessly into OMG!!! Inner City Blues, which was so friggen powerful to see as thousands of people sung, “Make me wanna hollar, though up both my hands” Wow! Making their final statement New Monsoon ended the Banjo Sandwich with Daddy Long Legs. It was just a great set, not to mention a new song, Copper Mine that if memory serves me correct is a rich, heavy, rocken, thing I bet will knock the socks off the Moeron’s at the Warzone in a few weeks. We stuck around for the rest of the day and saw the best Spearhead show I ever saw, which is saying a lot since I generally don’t care for his stuff. I get the message, just not the delivery. Then we made our way to Bo & Mary Mar Carper’s place for about 15 seconds. After 2 Butter shows, one day of work, a Surprise Kate Struby and Shannon Lloyd delivery from the Pacific Northwest, giggles at the Cotton Candy Castle til dawn the 12 of us were shot. 100 Dollars of Chinese Food and 2 episodes of the Muppets in front of the fire ended the weekend for this Bandstalker. Safe travels home Chris, Kelley, Shannon & Kate. Off to Sunday naps on the couch…………….

I miss my friends

Bandstalker — Fri, 01 Sep 2006 01:56:11 GMT

I miss my friends. And suddenly I burst into tears. A song, a simple song can have so much meaning that it takes over your entire thought process. Memories awash over my psyche in such rapid succession that I loose control over my mental facilities and I cry and cry and cry. I miss my friends. I miss her charisma, her curls and purple. I miss watching her mouth the words to every song. I miss her wet kisses upon my lips. I miss the 75% Raw Vegan, I miss the other 25%, whatever that was. I miss her laugh. I miss her dedication, her every woman quality and her long red hair. I miss her being everywhere I ever was. I miss the huge hug. I miss her sips off her diet coke and frustrating snores that woke my sleep. I miss her laugh. I miss my friends.

Hopland Highlights - Solfest 8/32/06

Bandstalker — Tue, 22 Aug 2006 05:18:51 GMT

I don't need much of an excuse to get in my car and drive up to Hopland, Ca, but when I heard that both Butter and New Monsoon were going to be playing across the street from Sandy & Stella's house I was totally excited. Yesterday morning Steve, Mike 'bundt Page and I left 55 degree Albany bundled in fleece, sipping hot drinks and an hour and a half later we were dancing in shorts, dripping with 95 degree sweat to some fine Hot Buttered Rum. I have to say I was prepared for your standard festival set meant to enlighten the first time listening masses, but I should have known better, Hopland is no place for your typical anything. Perched on a beautiful Solfest solar self-sustainable stage, decorated in rich reds and brilliant butterflies, Butter played song after song that were deeply political and for the most part inherently Californian. Set highlights included a Firefly with the "Daisy,Daisy" lyrics (thanks Aaron!), Desert Rat which is particularly meaningful for me right now after recently reading both Desert Solitaire & The Monkey Wrench Gang (Thanks Edward Abbey!), Return Some Day which continuously reminds me that for every loss this year there is a gain, Summertime Gal huge and psychedelic , and Poison Oak which runs rapid on Sandy & Stella's property. The set was short and riddled with clappers and had a few minor sound issues coming from Aaron's patch, but things like having Zac recuperated from Strep Throat, killer solo's from Nat, everything Eric, etc made it a real fun set. Normally I would have liked to walk around the festival for a bit but the sun was oppressive. Thankfully the Sandy Shuttle was on duty and we were quickly whisked away to the "Bunny Ranch" for lots of popcorn, right foot yellow and for those who chose a dip in the pond just up the hill. Those who remained behind were quickly put to work prepping dinner for 25 in celebration of Helen Zucker's 30th Birthday (happy birthday!) All too soon the rest at Sandy & Stella's was over and back to the festival we went for New Monsoon. With both Brian Carey and Raj Parikh's wives expecting little drummer boys or girls (Congrat's guys!) we were not too surprised to see New Monsoon set up as a 6 piece. From what I understand, and I could be wrong so don't quote me or anything, but Raj and Brian will be now trading off appearances. Today we were getting a Brian set. I have to say the line up was very appealing to me. It was one of the first times I have ever really been able to see what an incredible player Brian is. Normally he's tucked behind Raj just left of Marty. At Solfest he was proudly displayed up front next to Bo with what appeared to be a larger rig of percussive devices. Southern Dew, a personal favorite opened their set and led into one of their older tunes, On the Sun. It was during On the Sun that I really began to see the potential of the 6-piece line up of New Monsoon. One of the musical issues I've always had with the band is there are so many of them that solo's need to be planned and highlighted which takes the energy level of a show down a notch. "Ladies and Gentlemen Brian Carey on the Congas", but as a 6 piece I felt on a song like On the Sun that progresses into a Samba towards the end that Brian's solo came very naturally and didn't have to be highlighted or pointed out. It was his solo because that's where the music organically placed it. I think that's a HUGE step forward for New Monsoon. I look forward to seeing how they adapt. Other highlights included a SMOKING Travelin' Gypsies and Greenhouse which is just like peanut butter on rye….that shit is funkaeyyyy After New Monsoon we once again ascended the hill to Sandy & Stella's. One by one people, band members, children and one very lucky dog entered the house. There in the living room under the sea it wasn't New Monsoon and Hot Buttered Rum. It wasn't this fan or that fan, but one giant, loving, Northern California Family….which is what its all really about anyway. There on the deck at sunset we ate fat meals of chicken, corn, heirloom tomato's and raspberry birthday cake. Back in the living room under the sea, after everything YUM we also got some extra butter on our bread and was treated to 2 birthday songs in honor of Helen. Playing on 2 Yoga Balls Eric & Nat, with Zac sitting in, on the floor they treated us to Guns or Butter & Sweet Honey Fountain while we all sang along. Nothing like a typical day in Hopland..........

those strange aliens

Bandstalker — Wed, 12 Jul 2006 03:12:53 GMT

i'm out there with them now those strange aliens whom i've been watching from a distance. a distant planet, another way of life, for which I myself was able to escape from for the last 6 months, only observing, like a movie, like a tv, only observing at which time i choose, or not to choose. i'm out there with them now those strange aliens and suddenly i find myself walking side by side speaking their native tongue of acronyms which now seem neither foreign or alien to me at all, but are yet still foreign and alien to me now i'm out there with them now those strange aliens and i worry, will i become their pod, their host, a vestal for them to fill with alien garbble, an incubator for uninspired cloning of their race. will my children be born in cubes? i'm out there with them now those strange aliens and i have to chuckle to myself. is this for real? was i really one of them, an alien at one point or another in my life another life in my life life in my life thats the problem i'm out there with them now those strange aliens

Gee, Officer Krupke!

Bandstalker — Tue, 04 Jul 2006 20:04:10 GMT

Song: Gee, Officer Krupke! Lyrics ACTION Dear kindly Sergeant Krupke, You gotta understand, It's just our bringin' up-ke That gets us out of hand. Our mothers all are junkies, Our fathers all are drunks. Golly Moses, natcherly we're punks! ACTION AND JETS Gee, Officer Krupke, we're very upset; We never had the love that ev'ry child oughta get. We ain't no delinquents, We're misunderstood. Deep down inside us there is good! ACTION There is good! ALL There is good, there is good, There is untapped good! Like inside, the worst of us is good! SNOWBOY: (Spoken) That's a touchin' good story. ACTION: (Spoken) Lemme tell it to the world! SNOWBOY: Just tell it to the judge. ACTION Dear kindly Judge, your Honor, My parents treat me rough. With all their marijuana, They won't give me a puff. They didn't wanna have me, But somehow I was had. Leapin' lizards! That's why I'm so bad! DIESEL: (As Judge) Right! Officer Krupke, you're really a square; This boy don't need a judge, he needs an analyst's care! It's just his neurosis that oughta be curbed. He's psychologic'ly disturbed! ACTION I'm disturbed! JETS We're disturbed, we're disturbed, We're the most disturbed, Like we're psychologic'ly disturbed. DIESEL: (Spoken, as Judge) In the opinion on this court, this child is depraved on account he ain't had a normal home. ACTION: (Spoken) Hey, I'm depraved on account I'm deprived. DIESEL: So take him to a headshrinker. ACTION (Sings) My father is a bastard, My ma's an S.O.B. My grandpa's always plastered, My grandma pushes tea. My sister wears a mustache, My brother wears a dress. Goodness gracious, that's why I'm a mess! A-RAB: (As Psychiatrist) Yes! Officer Krupke, you're really a slob. This boy don't need a doctor, just a good honest job. Society's played him a terrible trick, And sociologic'ly he's sick! ACTION I am sick! ALL We are sick, we are sick, We are sick, sick, sick, Like we're sociologically sick! A-RAB: In my opinion, this child don't need to have his head shrunk at all. Juvenile delinquency is purely a social disease! ACTION: Hey, I got a social disease! A-RAB: So take him to a social worker! ACTION Dear kindly social worker, They say go earn a buck. Like be a soda jerker, Which means like be a schumck. It's not I'm anti-social, I'm only anti-work. Gloryosky! That's why I'm a jerk! BABY JOHN: (As Female Social Worker) Eek! Officer Krupke, you've done it again. This boy don't need a job, he needs a year in the pen. It ain't just a question of misunderstood; Deep down inside him, he's no good! ACTION I'm no good! ALL We're no good, we're no good! We're no earthly good, Like the best of us is no damn good! DIESEL (As Judge) The trouble is he's crazy. A-RAB (As Psychiatrist) The trouble is he drinks. BABY JOHN (As Female Social Worker) The trouble is he's lazy. DIESEL The trouble is he stinks. A-RAB The trouble is he's growing. BABY JOHN The trouble is he's grown. ALL Krupke, we got troubles of our own! Gee, Officer Krupke, We're down on our knees, 'Cause no one wants a fellow with a social disease. Gee, Officer Krupke, What are we to do? Gee, Officer Krupke, Krup you!

Which would you take??

Bandstalker — Sat, 24 Jun 2006 00:00:37 GMT

Great paying job, 45- hour drive, stressfull but will provide self pride in knowing I did my part on an interesting project. Greart Benefits Or Poor Paying Job, 15 minute drive through redwoods, not stressfull, but will leave me wondering if I could do better for career and might be a bit boring. Alo Great Benefits.

36 Hours

Bandstalker — Mon, 29 May 2006 07:42:05 GMT

36 hours later I am clean and dust free, desperately trying to re-hydrate my poor, old withered body. 36 hours later I am too tired to write reviews, too wired to sleep. 36 hours later my calves, thighs, and brains are throbbing. But mostly, 36 hours later I am wearing a smile of a person who went BIG, and then went home. Even now, after calling a mandolin moratorium I find myself calling up the second night of the spring melt because, sniff, I am already jones’n my next Butter fix and I just saw one & a half in a day in a half; shows and days respectively that is. We left the Cotton Candy Castle in Oakland yesterday morning around 11am with a 12:45 Burbank destination in mind. El Grande Sassy Pero, Craig Satzman to you lay folk, scooped us up at the other end with no wait. A quick stop at his humble abode and off to Santa Barbara we went. 5 PM we found ourselves settling into a cozy setting in Kristen & John La Bonte’s backyard. Large bowls of finely seasoned popcorn were past as appetizers while a few band members popped by for a lively discussion on “dude how cool are those webcasts”. Fully relaxed we fully filled our bellies on fine foods BBQ’d by our kind hosts. Nice to meet some new SB friends and hug some old ones before heading to the show just a few blocks walk away. By 9:30 PM we are making desperate phone calls to Bundt at the Cotton Candy Castle, “Quick man! The IP Address, the IP Address, Deadesq says there are already 27 slots filled and promises a reserved for you and the Bear” Whew, we didn’t want our beloved canine care giver to be left out of the feed. 10PM has a smile on my face thinking about how stoked Jenga must be in NYC hearing the Sila’s I was seeing. Ain’t technology wonderful! 1 AM: Second half of the second set is where the show took off for me. Idaho Pines, Desert Rat, New Speedway Boogie, Evolution! Wow. I think Desert Rat last night has replaced Open Season as my favorite song. I am totally digging it. Note to Nat. I’d love to see you reprise the “Powers that be won’t let me….” Stanza again. It’s a powerful hook, would reinforce the message, and would lend balance to the song. Kudo’s to whoever caught the Sesame Street tease during New Speedway Boogie and posted it as a note on the setlist. I caught it too and it was the topic of discussion on the walk back to Kristen & John’s. The whole show in general had a little less energy than my more recent Butter experiences, but Hey, those were umm…The Meltdown, Fillmore, Butter/Monsoon NW run, and NYE to name a few. It also could have been because my ears were clogged from 2 weeks of cold and a flight but I wished Josh had boosted the sound levels a bit. I think it would have lent a bit more energy to the evening, but all in all, just a great time with a great bunch of the Butter Family licking the bliss at SoHo’s 3AM we bed down for an evening of meows and snores and sweet dreams scored with Butters tunes. Up by 10am. Shower, fed, hosts kissed goodbye and on the road for Topanga by 1:30. We are feeling fine. No stress, no drama. California sunshine on surfers riding the waves, not rails, to my right as we speed down 101. Beautiful Blue Ocean. 3PM finds us walking down the canyon and then back up canyon to the festival site. I’m glad we decided to make Topanga Days part of the trip as well. It was a really nice small festival in a really classically beautiful SoCal local. We got there in time to see The Topanga Tree-O, a five-piece bluegrass band with a sense of humor and good choice in covers. 4:20 on the rail, not waves, we ride awaiting our second Butter show in less than 24 hours. And there on the rail is the family, again, proudly representing. Circular Love. I think the whole set was just great. I expected a typical, jam stripped, festival friendly set filled with songs geared to the first time listener and potential CD Buyer, but what I got was a HUGE Crest, and HUGE Sweet Honey Fountain, which I wished I was better equipped to dance to. But lets face it. I was getting a bit tired by now. Of course that didn’t stop me and I bounced around with the best of them throughout the set. By 6PM I was feeling a bit worn down but to avoid massive shuttle delay we walked back down and then up the canyon again, this time with Kalstrom’s in tow to our cars on the far reaches of the universe. 7PM dinner of In & Out and Craig drops us back at Burbank Airport 45 minutes before our flight In & Out of SoCal. 36 hours and 40 songs later I return to our home. Broken, tired and sore. Happy, fulfilled and ready to plan our next Butter fix…that is…. after 36 hours of sleep.

Sweet Marie

Bandstalker — Mon, 24 Apr 2006 21:01:19 GMT

Strawberry hair flare Dances free sans care Who will make the fudge now? Operation every show glitter, diet coke set to go Who will make the fudge now? community sorrow, total grief shocked feelings of disbelief Who will make the fudge now? Who will make the fudge now? I remember having an arguement wil Jeff Miller a few months ago. The personal details I will leave out, but I remember him saying something to the effect of "Why can't you be more like Marie. She goes to every show, is the first to hand out a flier and is just happy to be there. She never asks anyone in the band for anything, never asks for a guestlist and she's been seeing us since the begining." All you Monsooniacs need to know, Maire was without a doubt one of New Monsoon's biggest fans and the band thought of this and knew this even before anyone even thought of Heart Attacks, Lungs Filled will Blood and thoughts of pulling her off life support. But her life support will live on in the hearts of many and the liver, kidneys will love on in lucky doners who happens to get to take a piece of Marie with them. And perhap soon we will see a few new New Monsoon fans who are filled with her love....in more ways than one. Shine on Maire. We love you so.

The Lake

Bandstalker — Tue, 11 Apr 2006 22:02:35 GMT

The Lake In downtown Oakland there is a cute, little, man-made lake right in the mitts of new skyscrapers and renovated antique apartment buildings. There are white-billed, black ducks that dive for fish in the middle of the lake and long-legged herons with crisp, white Mohawk headdresses, that delicately pluck fresh water muscles from their shells, all along the water's edge. Around the 3 mile liquid loop business people stretch their under desk cramped legs, mothers stroll their babies, homeless nap under trees, joggers run their lines and girls like me walk their dogs in the rare unemployment sunshine. The wind and rain of this belated winter has brought down the spirits of even the greatest cheerleaders. In every cocktail party conversation people speak with disbelief about how many days of rain we have seen in the globally warmed state of California. The weather forecasters had become big stars dominating the nightly news with tales of mudslides and predictions of trade winds from Alaska being stuck in the same rut I was in. I kept singing to myself made up lines stolen from Hot Buttered Rum's song Butch and Peg, "Deep inside I think Beth felt the winter's rain would never stop, the storms piled in off the seas". So on days like yesterday, when there was a rare break in the weather I like to take myself to Lake Merritt for a stroll to hopefully air out my moldy outlook on life which has been festering and feeding on my poor wounded, jobless ego. I keep telling myself its ok; it’s just a bad time to be looking for a job in a monkey under inspired economy. I keep telling myself, I’m not the only one who feels all blah. Surely others who are even employed are feeling the same with all this record-breaking rain. I keep telling myself, of course you feel weighted down and unattractive. Who would feel attractive when you don’t bother showering for days or brushing your hair for that matter? Why bother when you’re cooped up in a house waiting to hear back from a job with an offer and a reassurance that you are a human being of worth. Yes, all of these feeling are real and temporary and justified and on a day when you get a break in the weather sometimes you need to do something good for yourself and take yourself and you dog for a walk around a lake to drink in the sunshine. Yesterday was the 3rd time in 3 weeks that I had walked myself and my dog around the lake. It made me feel good to stretch my legs. To smile at other human life forms as they walked or jogged past me. It felt good to just take off my sunglasses, close my eyes and look up to the sun. Now I knew how the first shoots of spring feel unfolding themselves from the dank winter soil, warming their opaque skins and turning green. Maybe I would start photosynthesizing myself. Yesterday the sidewalks and dirt paths around the lake were just teaming with people. So many that you would be hard pressed to remember a face when you were so wrapped up in the luxury of sun. But the week I walked there before there was a face I remembered. A sweaty, sexy, white tanked, muscle bulging, ebony skinned jogger who made his way around the lake flanking my gate twice. Plain and simply put, he was a very hot man. Totally not my type but damn, to watch him jog toward me did for me what Bo Derrick did for men when she ran on the beach in the movie “10”. It was just what this girl needed to put a little sparkle in her step. As he jogged past me the first time he smiled and I smiled back. When you’re out walking around a city park lake you can either choose to interact with your surroundings or ignore them. Walk past a mother with baby in stroller she’ll smile proudly promenading her progeny. Walk past an elderly Asian on their way back from the Oakland Chinatown markets with their pink bagged produce and they are all business. Rarely do you meet their eyes. Walk past the runners whose eyes are straight and intent on the path that they run. Their eyes are on the prize. Then there are the business dressed men and women deep in water cooler conversation, only lifting their gaze from their ramblings to consider whether or not to continue on path or walk around the on coming girl with her dog. And of course there are those who smile at everyone they pass just to smile and that is what category I choose to place myself in so when the totally, hot, sexy, jogger ran past me a second time I naturally smiled at him again, as did he smile back at me and this time at my dog too. But that was last week and just like the sun, the memory of his smile had become overcast with rain and the pain of looking for employment and something to do to keep my seasonally depressed ego sane. The weekend had come and gone filled with those cocktail conversations about how none of your friends had seen each other or had anything new to report except that how remarkable it was that we had seen 34 days of rain out of 38, the most since 1904. This spring was growing old and gray fast. Then yesterday the weather broke for a few hours and I knew what I had to do and as previously noted found myself walking around the lake. There, as found on the previous days were a plethora of folks trying to photosynthesize themselves too, the mothers, the business folks, and the joggers. There were smiles and non-smiles approaching me in droves. All faceless strangers. About halfway around the lake I walked past a serious of parked cars and there smiling from inside was my cute jogger from the week before. A flash of recent memory passed before my eyes and I thought for a minute that not only was he there smiling at me in his car, but had also sometime along that very walk had jogged past me and a had recognized my smile from the week before. Naturally I smiled back at him and continued my walk. A few minutes later there he was driving in his car along side of me. Rolling down his window he smiled big and friendly and said to me, “You are a very pretty lady. I’ve noticed you walking here before with a beautiful smile. Do you have a boyfriend?” Well I could just feel my ego awaken from the dark. I could feel my feet leave the ground. I could feel and smell all the wonders of the sunny spring fold around me. I felt so warm, happy, alive! Grinning ear to ear I told him I was very happily involved with a wonderful man. My jogger said something like too bad and called the dog cute too. I finished my sunny walk around the lake, ego elated, refreshed and ready to attack any challenge that may come my way. It was amazing how a little sun and self-reassurance could brighten a day. Today I awoke to the return of the wind and rain. My Northern California Palm Tree is bent in the storm and once again I return to looking for a job and something to do to keep from going insane, but I do so with a smile on my face and the reassurance that I am a person of worth and with the renewed hope that maybe tomorrow I’ll get a job offer, or the sun will come out and I will walk the lake once more.

Rain

Bandstalker — Fri, 31 Mar 2006 08:03:53 GMT

RainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRain RainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRain RainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRain RainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRain RainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRain RainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRain RainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRain RainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRain RainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRain RainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRain RainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRainRain