I decided to get back to the ‘hood after class and fix the windshield wipers before I killed someone instead of going to the internship. I had no idea there were so many different sizes for windshield wiper blades. This, my friends, is why it’s important to have a tape measure stashed in your automobile, your purse, and possibly all your coats. I got my blades and went home. There I spent twenty wet, chilly minutes figuring out how to take the old blades off and put the new ones on, with an audience of three noisily anxious canines.

Now I have an hour-ish before I have to pick up our weekly CSA box, so I’m chilling at San Francisco Coffee. I’m having this weird, comfy de ja vu – like I’m back at the Dugout in Portland. (The Dugout was like the living room for every broke ass bohemian in the neighborhood whose apartment didn’t have one – which was most of us.)The guy sitting next to me is chatty but not scary, the music is late eighties, and the barista comes over to sit on chair arms and hang out. It’s warm. Dimly lit with golds and browns, it smells like coffee and cinnamon. Neighborhood coffee shops are so fantastic. This one is making everything else feel not quite as overwhelming – or at least, the smells seem to keep the stress outside with the snow flakes.

Last night started slow. (at least, once we go there; there was a certain amount of frenetic speed involved in departure from the H.Q.) The two gas fireplaces on the patio kept us warm and comfortable while we gave a special performance to our small but mighty audience of. . . two. Ladies – huzzah. The first set was all for you. We played really well, actually. I would say “given the circumstances”, but I think the empty room might have lessened my nerviness. Aanyway. Rocktackular first set.

Second set, a bunch of people showed up. Yay! So the night ended on a high note, we saw some friends, and once again left loving the Monkey. Stay tuned for Smyrna in March!

Then last week my truck decided to add a little clinking noise to its growing lexicon of small, disturbing, but not necessarily life threatening problems. (For instance: the blinkers have been increasingly unreliable, but every good Atlantean knows that blinkers are for pussies.)  So, rather than waiting till the clinking wheel decided to strike off on its own, I finally took her in and relinquished her to the guys at Quantum Mechanics.  Downside: inconvenient and expensive.  Upside – forced me onto my bike.

7 a.m. is not my choice time to ride.  It’s not actually my choice time to do anything, actually, besides sleep. (Or graciously receive breakfast in bed.  I could probably handle that, too. . .) But two things made it kind of awesome.
1.) Kids on the path! I was riding through town just in time for all the kids to be going to school.  I got a brief, gap toothed grin from a small girl furiously pedaling her hot-pink bike to stay ahead of her older brother.  He gave me sort of a dubious smile, probably wondering why this random stranger was so delighted to see him.  Probably it wouldn’t have made sense to him anyway; he’s grown up safe and in Decatur, so he doesn’t have to understand why it’s so awesome that kids in the community are using healthy modes of transportation and feel safe enough to do so.

2.) Crossing guards. Dude.  I love them.  Every bad-ass-grandma glares-right-through-your-windshield one of them.

The game for people of all levels of age, skill and intoxication. . .

Christmas madness is winding down.
Notable moments:
1. Having the bag of grits I brought home for my parents swabbed for drug residue.
2. Small children in cow and donkey costumes vastly improving the meaning of Christmas eve mass.
3. 13 crazy christmas sweaters, 3 ties, 2 hats and one pair of christmas earrings spotted at the airport on the way in. Also a partridge in a pear tree.
4. Backyard Bocci ball. Nuff said.
5. I learned about Growlers. I have my first, and am excited to discover whether southern microbreweries will refill it.

I’ve extricated myself from the loving embrace of family on the coast and finished the first leg of the return journey. I’m holing up at my sister’s place in Hood River for a couple of days before I get on the plane. Family time is always fun, though I inevitably leave with sensory overload on every level; from the emotional hangover to the feeling that I’ve had enough really good food and drink to put an army into a food coma. In spite of all of my best attempts at moderation, it’s probably a good thing for all of us that Christmas only happens once a year. Notable failures to the moderation attempt included my sister’s crab quiche, my mother’s potato pancakes, and several unbelievably tasty Oregon microbrew options that I can’t get in Atlanta. Yum. I did contribute something veggie to every meal, which was received with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Tofu ricotta = skepticism. Roasted sweet potatoes = vacuumed.

In addition to the fabulous food, the trip included multiple trips to the beach and the dunes, (Jogging in the dunes = buns of steel and pain!) fires in the back fire pit and the livingroom, and the requisite exchanges of books and music that happen whenever we all get together. I’ve got several new Neko Case albums and a book I need to get through before I leave so I can return in to my Dad.

Hood River is covered with snow. There are three different coffee shops within a few slippery blocks from my sister’s place, and not a single one is a Starbucks. (ah, bliss! I am in Oregon!) Two quail just trotted across the driveway, and I can look out the window over old town, the river and the snow covered cliffs on the other side of the gorge. It’s amazing. I’ve also had warm, snuggly company every night in the form of my sister’s dog, who has me wrapped around his little toe. So life is good, but it will be good to get back to the routine and my own pack tomorrow night.

Update: 6 a.m. left Hood River to crunch through the snow on the recently plowed and re-opened freeway toward the airport. My sister gets major points, since once we arrived, she had to turn around and go back. My thoughts on mornings and airports are as follows:
1. salespeople should not be allowed to accost you for skymiles cards until at least 9 a.m.
2. Damn, I look sexy with red eyes and six layers of clothes on that won’t fit in my carry on.
3. Fuck that guy that tried to blow up the plane on Christmas eve for making getting through security even more of a pain than it was before.
4. Hooray for Portland airport and wireless! (I have been without for a couple of days at my sister’s place)
5. I’m really glad the obsessively barking terrier is not leaving from my gate. . . just have to watch out for two-year-olds now. (disclaimer: I like two year olds, but not when they’re screaming on planes)

mmmm. . .vacation. . .

Such a lame way to start a post, but there it is.  And it’s effing pervasive – outside ever window, tracking across the kitchen from the doggie door, pounding on the roof. . . dripping off he dog curled up in the middle of my bed. Sigh.

(ordinarily I like the sound of rain on the roof, but not today, I’ve decided)  No bike ride for me.  Booh.  Yes, dear Oregonian readers, I am aware that it’s possible to bike in the rain, but really. . . do you?  When you don’t have to?

Well, I guess that makes me a pussy.  I’m over it.

The other two don't sit still much.

On the upside though, it makes the Christmas decorations in here look that much cozier  I went a little crazy on my first real day of Christmas break and put greens and Christmas lights on every available surface. (Reason number 307 to go back to school: you get Christmas vacation again!!) . . .and then made gingerbread cookies.  Which are awesome.  Blackstrap molasses is one of Gods greatest gifts to peoplekind.  I might have to brave the weather and go get some frosting and decorating paraphernalia. (new thing learned for the day: how to spell paraphernalia.  Two ‘r’s.  Who knew?)

Oh, and since this is ostensibly a musically related blog, here’s your friendly reminder that we’re playing tomorrow night at Smith’s Old Bar for the Wonderroot Winter Soulstice Benefit.  The whole thing should be well worth dodging raindrops; art, lotsa bands, good people, etc.  Hope to see you there!

1. Monsters are no longer valued primarily for their scariness, but for their warm fuzziness.  I believe this conceptualization is a recent evolution, helped along by Pixar, Stephanie Meyer and Sesame Street. . . also, possibly, by my use of the phrase “pet monster”.  It might have been more scientific to say “monster under your control”, I suppose.  Or “monster loyal to you”.  Oh well.

Rowrr!

2. Boys and girls have very different ideas of what monsters should be good for.  Boys seem to have a more textbook definition; pillage, destroy, stomp and generally make a big mess with.  Girls seem to want monsters to do things for them that we frequently wish our boys would do – but only when we want them to: cuddle, protect, offer back massages and generally be big, fuzzy, warm puppies (who can give massages).  Ludo comes to mind.  So, um. . .I could go into a long and tangled Freudian/Societal analysis that I am entirely unqualified to offer, but I won’t.  I’ll just leave it at a couple of juxtapositions:

monster/stomper.  monster/cuddler.  monster/man. . . let it not be said that women are the only ones battling unrealistic societal expectations. . .

If I had a pet monster

If I had a pet monster
Social research indicates
If I had a pet monster
We would be the very best mates
(girl part)
It would keep me warm with a fuzzy green hug
Play scrabble with me on the living room rug
Walk me to work and keep the rain off my bike
And I’d feed it all the people that I don’t like

If I had a pet monster
We’d be friends, it isn’t Freudian
But If I had a pet monster
It’s true, I might not need a man. . .

(boy part)
Mine would be a bearodactyl
Built to destroy, not as tactile
We’d rule the oceans from our island Ritz
Build Tokyo models and then smash ‘em all to bits

(bridge/both)
He’d give back massages and teach kids french
Make awesome margaritas with a thousand pound bench
Be my trick or treating buddy and my christmas tree
Because Monsters, they can be anything

If I had a pet monster
it would be the kind with dragon wings
If I had a pet monster
He’d also help me with budgeting
Because the greatest thing about monsters, yeah

greatest thing about monsters
Is that monsters, they can be anything

First, because I can’t be schlocky without qualifiers, we have the top ten most irritating things about the time between Thanksgiving (shit, Halloween, really, but I’m being generous) and January fifth when every one has finally recovered from the hangover and sugar overdose enough to take down their Christmas lights.

Top 10 most annoying things about Christmas

1. Those huge blow-up, lit-up Christmas. . . things. . .people put up in their yards.  You know what I mean?  Like the plastic statues weren’t tacky enough. Now we have fifteen foot high Frosty the Snowman glowing amiably from with in and moving with the breeze.  One of these nights the hick in me is going to do a drive through of North Bend with a beebee gun and take out every one of those mother-f#ckers.

2. The Music.  The same ten songs on every radio station, in every supermarket, department store, coffee shop and medicare office twenty four hours a day. MAKE IT STOP! I would like to point out that J&S has not sold out and written a holiday song, in spite of the fact that all the promotion “how-to’s” say it’s a good idea. You’re welcome.

3. The assumption that everyone is celebrating for the same reason. With my agreements and disagreements with the church, I still do celebrate Dec. 25th as the birthday of a revolutionary egalitarian charismatic leader who worked to change the world. However.  I get that not everybody else is in the same boat.

4. Four years ago, I followed the previous item with a little rant about Portland’s own frightening fundamentalist and his fifty foot cross erected in Pioneer Square. This year I will content myself with the fact that Atlanta doesn’t seem to have much controversy in this area; we have accepted that the Coca-Cola Santa is the reason for the season and left it at that.

5. Plastic greenery. Decorating mailboxes. Really? I mean. . .really?

6.  The cross country flight in the worst weather possible, full of delays, screaming babies, stressed out parents and horrifically overpriced peanuts.

7. Shopping.  I hate shopping.  I like getting cool things for people, but I don’t like the stores and the crowds.  Of course, I can’t be bothered to order on line because I prefer instant gratification, and I don’t go early because I have a problem with procrastination – so maybe I should just suck it up.

8. Ok, major Scrooge moment.  The constant group activities.  I get five days with my family.  During which we will cram as many events in as possible, making it very difficult to put in any quality personal time. It’s inevitable, if you only get to see each other once a year.  And just as that is inevitable, so is my resounding, hermitic, bah-humbug.

9. The crap I get from my family for my bah-humbugs.

10. Hangovers.

Top Ten best things about Christmas.
1. Shore Acres.  If you don’t know what I’m talking about, risk the drive and visit Coos Bay, OR between Thanksgiving and New Years. It’s like fairy land with an ocean, and it’s full of happy people, and there’s cider, and singing, and little kids in ridiculous christmas outfits, and nauseatingly cute couples making out on the cliffs and the bridge.  (They’re only nauseating because you’re jealous.  Suck it up.)  Recently made famous on Good Morning America!

2. Little kids in ridiculous Christmas outfits.  Love them.  A-freaking-dorable.

3. The Christmas pageant at church.  Possibly has something to do with #2, and my fascination with live sheep.  . . (I  am from North Bend)

4.  The Christmas tree.  Specifically, the smell of the Christmas tree.  I also like the origins and the idea of renewal and the memories attached to the decorations all that good stuff, but really, I like the smell.

5. North Bend in the rain.  Gorgeous, powerful, windy beach and dark, dark green that shines in the wet.  Quiet, slow moving and nearly unchanged since I left almost seven years ago.  Along with the people who are still here, or just back to visit.

6. The drive down with Kate.  The traffic sucks, but we talk the whole way, and stop at Tomaselli’s and get yummy pastries and gab with Marty and leave with a gift of a brandy fruit cake from Marty to Mom and Dad. “Don’t eat it on the way – not good for driving.”

7. The presents.  There it is. I like presents. No, I love presents.

8. My family.  All, or nearly all of them in one place.  Drinking, talking, mocking, eating, cooking, arguing, tackling, tickling, and trying to get as much of each other as we can against the long year in between.

9.  The shit I get from my family for my bah-humbugs.

10. The part before the hangover.

I am happy to say that I was very pleasantly surprised and disabused of my fears.  Bread was probably the most fun we’ve had in months.    We were greeted with enthusiasm and  dinner when we walked in. (we’d unfortunately already eaten, but it looked great)  The space is like a cool little rock club out of “Empire Records”, with CDs covering the walls, shag carpets, and a teensy stage in one corner of what feels like a great big living room; complete with couches and a coffee table.

I was not accosted by crazy people wearing “repent” signs around their necks and waving leather-bound books like weapons, nor was the subject of spirituality even brought up.  Their website has a good explanation of their m.o., which is basically to be there with free coffee and goodies, and if you want to talk God, you can bring it up.  Which I think is fantastic.  More power to them.  The result is an incredibly comfortable room, full of people we didn’t know who were happy to have us there . . . who listened to the music!  After several months of bar shows and half empty clubs, having people actually focus on what we were doing and respond was positively invigorating.

We played sans drums, since there wasn’t really space, but I brought Molly and Scott played his new Taylor in public for the first time, and was quite fantastic.  Chip, the extremely enthusiastic proprietor of the establishment, videos all his music shows and puts them up on the Bread channel on Youtube.  So, for those of you many miles away, there is now an audio/video record of J&S, which you can check out here. The whole show is uploaded, song by song. Yay!

So here’s a shout-out to Bread and the people behind it; they’ve created a positive place which, regardless of your opinions or denomination, is warm and welcoming.  To me, that is more indicative of spirituality than any specific creed or leather-bound book, and we definitely will be going back.  (and not just to pick up the stands we accidentally left there. . .)

The Nerd Song!

Public service announcement.  You’re Welcome.

Anyway – what I really wanted to talk about in this blog is the place that I grew up.  It’s a small town – ten thousandish? (back me up, here Benders)  Four hours away from the nearest city, but only ten minutes from the Pacific Ocean.  Our neighborhood was right up the hill from the Coos Bay, and while I was growing up, it was teaming with young families.  I had two best friends, a boy across the street named Ryan, and a girl across the back yard named Kathleen.  Ryan is the first person I remember learning King Arthur stories from.  We’d have extended quarter staff battles with broom handles, and raid his sisters awesome dress-up box for appropriately warrior like attire.  I don’t remember my characters, but I do remember that he always got to be Lancelot.

Kathleen had a kick ass Barbie Collection. (my mom was reticent with the girlie toys – looking back I imagine it had something to do with promoting gender equality/not forcing gender roles, but at the time I found it very frustrating.)  She also had one of those horses on the springs you could ride, a swingset, and a little sister who spent a lot of time ordering my baby brothers around.  Even before they could talk, really.   Kathleen and I played princess games, in which she got to be princess most of the time, because she had better hair for it.  We used to bully my little brothers into being princes for us. (My King Arthur games with Ryan did not broaden my mind sufficiently to make me kiss the sleeping princess, and Ryan always managed to be absent for the princess stuff.)  Hank got wise to the whole thing pretty quickly, but Duke used to be fairly amiable about the whole thing.  Amiable enough that he was allowed into the tree house and given an honorary title, at any rate.

Divorces and Jobs did what they do, and our little cabal was definitively disbanded by the time we were eight, I think.  Now we come to the reason I told you all of this.  Of the characters mentioned above, Ryan, Michelle, Duke and myself are all fronting relatively successful local rock bands.  Really.   I don’t know if it’s from growing up with the smell of mud-flats, or what, but check out these links:

Shadow Strategy Task Force

Makeout Point

The Jane and Scott Show (oh, wait. .  .you’re already here.  Good for you!)

The Toy Soldiers

And then go find a producer for a When Simpson Heights Rocked the Water Tour.

This show is exciting for several reasons:

1. It’s on a Tuesday Nigh! Yesss! I know, you’re thinking Tuesday nights are for people who can’t get shows on Saturday nights. . .but really, this is awesome because everybody needs a break in the middle of the week, and we start playing right after Tuesday night classes end.  It’s a perfect way to shake off Evidence.

2. This is our second fully loaded rock show – we’ll be followed by Seraphix and Cool Kid Collective.

3. They video.  If you charge the stage you could be famous on YouTube!!

4. $5.00 cover.  Again, this may initially seem like a detriment, but actually, it is a signal that you have excellent taste, and your favorite band (us, obviously) is moving up in the world and getting gigs at venues that can charge covers. . .

5.  FREE CD to everyone who brings a friend who’s never been!

See you next week!