EASTBOUND KRIS

We put Hobo Kris on a Greyhound about an hour ago. The handoff was relatively uneventful. Suddenly, her decision to "save about 200 bucks" didn't look so good. She could've got a plane ticket for a little over 300 clams. Three hours by jet, 44 hours by Greyhound. Hmmm. Hard to say. Depends on how much time one has, and how much thinkin' they want to do. Maybe she was feeling messed up and needed some miles to sort stuff out in her thinker, maybe not.

I've done a couple stretches on the Greyhound, and I gotta say, it ain't pretty nor is it fun. You quickly denounce the so-called "value." They were little runs too, no more than 300 miles. Imagine staring down a whole continent's worth. Phew.

- - - -

Which brings a memorable journey to mind. Going a couple years back now. The north end of Bend, Oregon...waiting for Ryno's arrival.

Man, he looked like 2000 miles of bad road. Haggard, worn, weathered, pale, slit-eyed, jaundiced, McDonalded...but nevertheless, able to crack a rotted tooth smile and thankful to be on solid ground. If I remember correctly, there was some sort of encounter with a little lady. Maybe not. Ryno, please refresh my memory in the comments section.

- - - -

Good luck, Kris. Word-to-the-wise: Sit towards the front of the bus. It's summertime, and traditionally, that shitter on the "back o' the bus" gets pretty ripe.

THE WAY THINGS GO

Kris, it's been great seein' you and all, but goddamnit, here's the deal:
"Get the hell out."

I'm sick and tired of bein' sick and tired regarding all these vagabond sonsabitches who have been loitering on the DDC Factory Floor.

I want my life back.

Melissa has given up on walking. This is what she had to say, concerning all the unwarranted activity over the last bunch of days, "My feet hurt. My ankles hurt. My hips hurt. My eyes hurt. Hell, my hair hurts. I want my life back too."

FOND MEMORIES OF HOBO KRIS' ARRIVAL

We're glad you made it, girl.

The embrace that was heard around the world.

J.

JAY, J, etc.

Farrar's new album is sticking to my ribs. Good stuff. It's been on
H-E-A-V-Y rotation the last couple days.

Not to rub it in, but maybe just a little: I "pre-ordered" my copy of "Terroir Blues" from Miles of Music and got an autographed poster with it. There's something about it. Just a couple nicks of a Sharpie™ from the man. So cool. I don't know, autographs usually don't get me, but this time–the fact that this object has a little bit of Jay on it–I find it pretty amazing.

- - - -

Speaking off another J. Tonight we're going to the Blackbird up on Sandy Blvd for Cobra Verde featuring J Mascis. Yep. Good living. The man.

A wise man once said, "Never pass up an opportunity to see Mascis."

Real good.

Motherfucker.

ACTIVITY / REAL BUSY / HOBO KRIS

Wow. Lots of activity in the comments section these last bunch of days. Good stuff. It’s always the same group of fucks, though. Don’t get me wrong, said “fucks” are of the highest caliber of family, friends and colleagues and the Draplindustries Design Co. cherishes their contributions and unwarranted slander. C’mon now, daily readers, (we know you are out there…) leave some words behind after stopping by. Got a bone to pick? Want to spread some good cheer around? Go for it. Let that voice be heard.

- - - -

The week is slowing down to a slow crawl. I’ve more or less resigned my sad self to the realization that CINCO is always gonna be “fuckin’ busy as all hell.” Things never slow down. Full-bore. No complainin’ here…this frequency keeps the loot flowing, which is always good. Lots of shit on the plate. Tired fingers. Tired eyes. Tired hearts.

I did plug the electric gee-tar in though, only an arm’s reach away from my CINCO desk. I’ve been shredding in between ad comps and unanswered emails. After hours–once the troops have called it a night and split–I crank the ol’ tube amp up and let loose. Feels good. Ears ring and teeth vibrate. Stay tuned, a World Tour is in the planning stages.

- - - -

Kris Okins–sister to Melissa, pain-in-the-ass to Draplin–has balls.

Sure, get past the fact they may be small, pink and soft; and this phenomena may raise an eyebrow or two due to the fact she is 100% girl, but, she’s got ‘em, and she’s been proving it for last couple of days. See, she embarked on a journey that few make and even fewer survive, but many dream about. Three nights back little Kris–no more than a hundred pounds soaking wet–jumped a train out of Minneapolis.

Train hopping, folks. No shit. The girl has got balls.

The last couple days have been tense. Lots of speculation about missed steps resulting in “falling under the wheels” as well as a downward spiral of sad thoughts involving bad language, corned beef hash and murder.

My vote is that she’ll make it, and have a little beard and maybe a black eye.

Kris, you adventurin’ barrel stiff, chances are you won’t come across an Internet connection out there, so we’ll take this opportunity to get if off our chests:

01. Be careful. Yer sister is worried sick, and while we’re at it, make that, “the whole family” is worried sick.
02. Don’t get involved with any hobos. They tend to move around a lot and will break yer heart.
03. Watch out for Bulls in the trainyards.

As promised, "FIVE DAYS IN LOS ANGELES.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY MOM

A List:

01. Goddamn number one. The #1 woman in my life.
02. Best spaghetti sauce this side of the Pacific Ocean.
03. A voice of reason in tough times.
04. Raised three wonderful children.
05. Older sister, mom, denmother, cousin and friend.
06. Holds court over a beautiful spread of land.
07. Keeps my dad in line.
08. Care packages that sustain a man's will to live.
09. Trainer of Bagel, Charlie, Gilligan, Zack, Jackson, Toby and Zöe.
10. See #1.

(The comments section is open. Wish the woman some cheer. A warning: This post ain't the place to be gettin' smart. If anyone so much as twitches a soft pinky tip in the wrong direction towards my Ma, the wrath will be felt.)

Happy "Dirty Thirty" to Pat "the eYe" Bridges. Not much more to say about this guy that hasn't already been said on the deck of some halfpipe, or around fireplace of some ski chalet. We put a call in to the SNOWBOARDER Magazine headquarters earlier today to wish Pat some "Big Three Oh" cheer. As always, he was in high spirits, sounding all regal and shit on the phone, "I'm on my way up to Mammoth. Gonna get some riding in this weekend." is what he had to say. We hope he has a good weekend up there.

That invert-doin' motherfucker holds a high-ranking slot on the DDC Pro Team, for life.

- - - -

Rose turned 30 a month back. Not much took place. Campbell hit it back in April. Snell hit it years ago. Chief, shit, he looks 40! Jay Floyd, that sonofabitch, hits the big 33 tomorrow. Man, the years have took their toll on him.

(By the way, the photo above features Pat getting a big grizzly bear hug from Melissa. Hell, If I didn't have her locked down, I have a feeling she'd pursue any one of my brothers.)

- - - -

I’ve got a good four months to go and I’ll hit the feared “30” plateau. I'm not gonna take it easy, either. The times fly by. I still feel young. I find myself wondering where the years went. Why worry? Futile. Did I make good use of my days up to this point? I look back at the people/place/good times/bad times and it all computes into one big ball of wax. A good one. Very thankful.

Facts are stubborn things: The times goes by, and there ain’t a fuckin’ thing you can do about it.

Either you do it right and hold yer head high, or you half-ass it and put the sobering realization–way back in a corner of yer empty head–that at some point you’ll look back and feel regret over wasted years.

Thirty. I guess you can look at it a couple ways:

1. Now what? I made it! A new decade. 10 new years ahead of me. Adults! Almost halfway to callin’ it quits!
2. Now what? I’m finished. I’m fucked. I’m old. I’m over. I’m over it.

Little bit dramatic, I know, I know. I spent the last ten years wondering if the 30 number was gonna be the end of it all. Bullshit. I look forward to it. Bring it on.

“Big S” the Passat was due for his 40,000 mile tune up, so I took him out to the VW dealer. Once the papers were signed and the keys turned over, I made my way into the showroom to wait for my ride back to work.

Mr.B–commander of the Courtesy Shuttle–showed up a short bit later.

I met Bill Sweeney back in February when Big S fell ill to some gasket trouble. Bill got me back and forth, offering wisdom and good conversation with each turn and short cut.

That man is the King of the Road. Let’s just put it this way: he knows his way around Portland. He can sense a congested intersection miles away. he knows where the traffic is, where the road work is holding stuff up. He keeps an eye out for, "Dangerous drivers."

Today we spoke about his time in Vietnam, boot camp, barbeque recipes and the great Soul men of our time: Marvin Gaye, Al Green and the King; Mr. Elvis Presley. He leaned over and added, “Let me tell you, there were a lot of kings before Elvis! Ha!” Wisdom.

We parted with a firm handshake and I offered him this guarantee, “Mr.B, if you are ever in the neighborhood, be sure to stop on by and I’ll buy you lunch.”

I hope he stops by. We’ve got him covered.

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To read of my first encounter with the amazing Mr.B back in February of this year, click here and scroll down to the February 05, 2003 entry entitled, “ That Man Made My Day ”

S-P-E-L-L-B-O-U-N-D / COMRADE LINKS / TUNES

A couple nights back we cruised up into the NW Port-lands, settling on a night out at the movies. "Spellbound" was the movie, a documentary about eights kids and their journey to the National Spelling Bee in Washington D.C. Man, a fucking emotional rollercoaster. I was on the edge of my seat, stumped, perplexed and befuddled, wrastlin’ with some of the meanest words of our fine language. Very, very intense. Very, very glad to be far, far away from the age 13. Rough year, indeed. Those poor kids–hyper-talented and too intelligent for their under-developed heads–were amazing under all that pressure. Some cracked, some held it together, some froze. Very exhilarating. The parents were something else. I thought they’d be more competitive and creepy, but for the most part seemed thankful their little ones made it so far. Some were mechanical and very driving, but still nurturing.

My parents were hard on me in my early years. Just kidding. Things were good...real good. I had a ton of legos, a big tree to climb, a dad who’d build me snowforts, a mom who’d bring my lunch to school complete with a couple pieces of pizza wrapped in tin foil…still warm!, a small town to explore, a bigger town to grow up in, little sisters to beat up, lots of family to see every now and again, friends, summer baseball, swimming, snowmobiling, etc…

Seeing those kids up there got me to thinking about my early years.

There were a couple times where the emotions got the best of me…from the heights of joy to those ugly lows of misspelling…very intense. Well worth a see.

- - - -

Give him a click or two: The Adam Michaels.

NegativeB got a facelift. Same old shit, just organized. Check it daily for gulps of absurdity. His new logo, which received no proper props, was created by the good people of the Draplindustries Design Co., from the ground up.

Facelifts...oh yeah, Camworld is back up and running and prolific as ever. A content beast.

Those goddamn Swedes!!!

- - - -

“Early Summer Sounds” on the player:

01. Al Green – Greatest hits
02. Jay Bennet & Edward Burch – The Palace at 4am (part 1)
03. Faces – Ooh La La
04. Jackson 5 – Greatest Hits
05. Death Cab For Cutie – The Photo Album
06. Kathleen Edwards – Failer
07. White Stripes – Elephant
08. Wilco – More Like The Moon EP
09. Magnolia Electric Co.
10. Lucinda Wiliams – World Without Tears
11. Wheat – Too Much Time EP
12. Mason Jennings – Simple Life
13. Loose Fur - Loose Fur
14. Hazeldine – Doubleback
15. Oxes- Oxxxes
16. Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Srmstrong – Ella and Louis
17. Neko Case – Blacklisted (hubba, hubba!)
18. The Highwaymen
19. Howe Gelb – The Listeners
20. Pawtuckets – Dogsbody Factotum
21. Evan Dando – Baby, I’m Bored
22. Noahjohn – Water Hymns
23. Slaughter Rule Soundtrack
24. Yo La Tengo – Summer Sun
25. Iron & Wine – The Creek Drank The Cradle
26. Lots of Flaming Lips (It’s summer, friends!)

Weekenders

The weekend was a good one. (They always are, suffice to say.) Lots of little projects completed. Tons of organizing going on…refining the presentation, storage and cataloging of my vast archive or irreplaceable belongings. Melissa’s whole life can fit into a glove compartment (except for those shedding beasts) so she takes it upon herself to ridicule me for my various collections of treasures, reference materials and “items that I just plain won’t fuckin’ throw away.”

“That dad of yers instilled something in you that won’t let you get rid of things.” Is what she had to say.

Girl, you are hitting the nail on the head. Honey, this gene goes wayyyyyy back, farther than you’ll ever comprehend. My Gramma Josie had orange juice in her storage cellar from the ‘40s, and this anomaly was discovered in the late ‘80s!

So yeah, the apartment is tight, and the items in it plentiful, but, I’m not gonna throw shit away that will come in handy later on. “Later on” is when I, have a home of my own, or, a larger apartment. My little dream is to have a full on studio, complete with a mean reference library, work station, projects desk, sound system, etc. a space separate from the living room and the sleeping quarters. A space with a door.

Right now the living room doubles are an entertainment nook and the DDC Factory Floor.

Hey, rent is cheap and I’m close to work. Plus, the joint stays nice and cool when the Portland summer temps soar. I like the place. My only gripe is the opportunity for mold here and there. Portland is a wet place, and the shit just sort of gets to breeding/sporring. You gotta watch the dark, dank spaces. My “only” other gripe, the big one, is those goddamn cats. They have free reign over EVERYTHING, leaving a trail of dander and hair that never ends. I love them and their mother real hard, but fuck, enough already.

Melissa’s little sister Angela is moving out here in a month. Hobo Kris is ‘riding the rails’ out here from Minneapolis with a hobo friend. (The girl has balls, goddamn.) They plan on getting a place together. Perfect. The girls can have their joint and I can have my own castle. No scurrying rodents, no muff balls wafting to and fro, no explosions of falling gear over frisky window sill expeditions.

- - - -

Other highlights of the weekend include seeing Rod, Katie and TC native Missie Holmes (of Trica Holmes lineage) downtown at the Rose Festival. Gigantic rides, festival food and scantily clad Portlanders.Good times. We walked the stretch a couple times, taking in the night air, chowing junk grub and reliving fond memories of pizza cart follies from way back in the summer of ’94.

We capped the night off with a brisk four mile hike back home. (Melissa read the bus transfer wrong and we were stranded downtown…cashless, hot and worn out.) We made it home some time later.

- - - -

“She’s got a voice like the last day of catholic school.” –Paul Westerberg

Los An-guh-lees

Alright, alright, alright.

Back from big city Los Angeles…safe, unscathed, sunburnt, unsigned, unnoticed, inspired, perspired, thankful, star-struck and just plain glad to be living outside of California.

The last five days were interesting. An opportunity to take it all in; from the highest of the high to the lowest of the low.

We “shopped” at Barneys, bargain hunted at Fred Segals, compared overhyped trucker hats at countless hipster boutiques, took a walk through the Museum of Contemporary Art downtown, sat “sorta poolside” whilst important fucks mingled, gawked at bloated homes in them Hollyweird hills, slept in, compared notes, met new people, darted through traffic, rolled high numbers in high-stakes dice games, smelled the beach air, chowed down at Phillipe’s, hiked the garment district and sweated bullets in the hot sun.

Our senses were heightened, our eyes wide open…

- - - -

Yeah, yeah, yeah…we saw our fair share of so-called “stars.” First of all, you’d be amazed at how one handles themselves when they are in the spotlight. They walk with an air that is almost criminal, lips flapping on some micro cellphone, incognito but sticking out like a bump on a log. Watching people watch them...pretty interesting.

I made a list. I mean, of course. Here’s the rundown:

01. Giovanni Ribisi
02. Spike Lee (So good…I nodded and tipped my hat.)
03. Marky Mark Wahlberg (sans the Funky Bunch)
04. Hulk Hogan (doo rag, shades, contrasting facial hair, planet Hollywood letterman jacket and loose-fittin’ Zubaz pants. Wow. Fuck.)
05. Christina Ricci
06. Steve-O from Jackass (smokin’ a dog, yapping on his phone.)
07. Jesse Malin (guitar schlup for Ryan Adams)
08. Heather Graham (rollergirl…)
09. Cedric from At The Drive In
10. Scotty Scwartz (kid from The Toy, little fucker who got his tongue stuck to the pole in A Christmas Story, novelty porn star…)
11. Bobcat Goldthwait and a very siliconed Nikki Cox.

And to top it all off,

12. Frodo, for fuck’s sake. Little Elijah Wood.

Quite a collection of folks, eh. Hmmm. Uh, yeah.

- - - -

The absolute highlight of the trip was the chance to see those Flaming Lips at the Hollywood Palldium. Dinenna made a couple calls and locked down some VIP passes for the group. So awesome, thanks again. We sat up in the “very important person” section, sipping piss warm Budweisers, all the while, gawking at the stars sitting around us. Those Lips gave a good performance to all in attendance. All the props including dancing bears, Ace Hardware strobe lights and handfuls of confetti. The addition of the big screens behind the band made the show…timed atomic explosions, births, deaths, jazzercisers. Good stuff. Quite possibly, the most amazing “live deal” going.

- - - -

I love how you pass up fuck after fuck yappin’ on their cellphone…”Yo, where you at.”, “Whatchyoo doin’…”, “When you gonna get here?” Always connected. Impatient.

All in all, it was a good trip. I’m glad to be back.

Hollywood is one thing, Los Angeles is another. Surreal. Not for me. Good to gaze at now and again I suppose.

Things are busy at the CINCO–ho hum–and I’m gonna chip away at the pile real hard the next couple days. Oh yeah, photos, outtakes and other tidbits will be shared once they are downloaded, organzed and optimized.