August 2004

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Almost Famous

Ah to be a rock star band groupie ala Almost Famous. But alas I’d resolved myself to being not blonde enough or hip enough or insane enough or perhaps just too plain old. Plus I didn’t really know any rock-stars, or even guys who played in a band. Nor could I summon up enough enthusiasm to hang around scantily clad in rock-star groupie finery outside the back entrances of stadiums or clubs or eclectic music venues, since it’s usually pretty cold and often raining here in San Francisco, and I have an aversion to freezing my ass off.

However, my chance miraculously enough, finally materialized in the form of Andy Grover, good friend, and new bass player for Vancouver, Washington based TempleShock. I had been traveling in and India for around a year and upon my return to San Francisco flung myself up to Portland to say hello to Andy and see his first gig with TempleShock. Or perhaps tried to fling myself into the Portland area – not being able to summon up some kind of metaphysical fling (although after spending four months in India I was a bit disappointed that this talent had not somehow been acquired) I was forced to rely on commercial airlines and found myself weathered out of Portland for two days.

Finally airports opened and airplanes begin flying on the day of the gig –January 10, 2004. Stepped off the plane early that morning into the coldest sloppiest weather I’d seen in over a year. As I waited for Andy to retrieve me from the airport, visions of my hammock on the island of Koh Jum, early morning swims, lounging on the beach began to assault me almost just almost knocking me out of my quest for rock band groupieism. Good thing Andy arrived and he had heated seats in his car so the specter of palm trees slowly receded – well not really, although I did stop worrying that the artic air would freeze off my perfect very non-pc tropical suntan.

Turns out that pre-gig preparation is very serious business, takes hours and encompasses a plethora of stages. After forcing Andy to listen to various bits of “world music” – Ethiopian and Indian – in addition to a few other activities — stage one of pre-gig preparations began – departure for the home of the band man in charge and the place where all the equipment lived. For me this meant donning the perfect rock band groupie outfit. Well I’d been on the road for a year and my threads were more then a bit threadbare and it was f-ing cold thus the scanty rock-star band groupie clothes I had twirling around in my minds-eye were not really an option. I managed to slap on a pair of tan suede pants, low-cut black clingy top, accessorized with funky Indian and African jewelry, added tall black leather boots and lots of Chanel and was all ready to slip into my calf-length black leather coat.

Andy on the other hand was lacing up his brightest, whitest tennis. I sort of looked him up and down – faded green lucky t-shirt – one of our activities involved washing the lucky t-shirt (I asked a mutual friend about this t-shirt after and found that this t-shirt had been the lucky t-shirt since their college days), jeans and the afore mentioned tennies “What the hell are you wearing. Andy, “Huh?” – blank look Me “You’re supposed to be a rock-star where are the black leather pants and the silk paisley shirt with feathers flowing off the arms? And what’s the deal with the shoes. Andy (As he tucked a black eyeliner pencil into his pocket. “Hey it’s a rock band gotta wear the sneakers. This is when I also learned that the bass amp got the front seat – which included the nice seat heater.

After folding myself into the backseat to a background monologue of “We need guns Neo” and other Matrix witticisms (long black leather coat appeared to be very inspiring) we drove to Washington State not Canada and stage 2 in rock band gig preparation commenced. As we entered the house of Josh a.k.a. TempleShock headquarters I found myself more then a bit nervous. What sort of etiquette was expected from a rock band groupie? What kind of attitude should I cope? Friendly and effusive? Cool and nonchalant? Hip with great musical acumen throwing dry, cyncical quips to my left and right? Alas opted for – awkward and silent. Figured I looked good though. We tromped through the house down the basement stairs into the TempleShock lair. And so it began. Many gigs later, through a new lead singer and the firing of the new lead singer, and those suede pants are a little too tight due to the cheese burger reward system (oh, you were in Africa for 8 months have a cheese burger, in India all the cows are sacred, plus you walked up those 1000 steps at 12,000 feet, you now deserve a cheese burger. With bacon), but managed to summon some tattered jeans and a chiffon long coat  from my closet. Then there were the boots. Dark red. I never learned the songs, and never saw Andy in eyeliner. But it is with very fond adieu, that I bid Templeshock goodbye (just came from the last gig at the Roselands — a really big place.

And look forward to watching Andy play his bass somewhere else.

Even his house is good. Might even be better then a Templeshock concert since I won’t have to wear ear-plugs

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Politics, politics and more politics. I once was a canvasser for a few environmental groups (Clean Water Action Project, Greenpeace). To canvass used to mean knock on doors, commence a very polite discussion about a variety of issues (with your foot wedged in the door to avoid slamming), have an occasional squirrel scale your leg, avoid getting bitten by dog and having to hold some weird guys “snake,” collect some cash, a few signatures, increase public awareness about the toxic waste dump down the street, maybe drink something cold (beer!) and get a glimpse into the lives of fellow humans.

The trend today seems to be “let’s stand outside the cool coffee houses and shout things at people walking in, and then make disparaging remarks when they don’t respond.”

I mean how does one respond to some disheveled activist holding a clipboard shouting “Do you want to help defeat George Bush?” A “NO not at this moment” doesn’t seem quite right, a “YES” not so apropos since I’m already registered to vote and would really like to wrap the damn clipboard around the shouter’s neck. Could go for a “Vote Nader” just to be contrary. I guess I just don’t like shouting pre-coffee, and well an “excuse me, do you have a moment?” might be a tact. Besides they are supposed to be registering voters. Because everyone should vote. Regardless of whether or not I agree with your political slant. In India, elections are won and lost because the people living in slums — these are nothing like what we believe slums to be in the US — these are acres and acres of humanity living in cardboard shacks, washing in muddy streams with fecal contents unimaginable in the West, cooking 1/2 a cup of rice over small charcoal burners for the families one and only meal — line up for days and days to cast their vote.

But at least here in Portland people are talking about their government.

On the MAX Friday on my way to the Airport avoiding the traffic from the Bush and Kerry rallies, I found myself surrounded by “average” people talking politics

Well sort of average.

The primary discussion was between a man? in a flowered shirt-waist dress with fish net stockings, high-heels, bouncing a multi-racial baby named Anthony on his (?) knee, the man sitting in front of him had the look of one of those former Vietnam vets you see wandering around the streets and sitting on the steps of substance abuse recovery centers smoking cigarettes, conversing in exclamation points about their ex-wives. It was a sane, fairly informed conversation. Mr./Ms.? fishnets was voting for Kerry because he/she? was worried about his constitutional rights — particularly since Anthony was his adopted son.

Soon the very large black man (ok I refuse to use the term “African American”, if you want to know why I’ll tell you sometime) sitting behind me started weighing in with his opinions which seemed to be of a more economic slant. He then laughed out loud and related an old skit from Living Color.

Soon the primaries disembarked leaving Mr./Ms.? fishnet, who commented to his traveling companion:

“No one seems to mind about the gay thing.”

At that moment I remembered the greatness of this thing we have going in the US, and the complete and utter strangeness.

end politics

So am no longer inclined to go sit in the nice park just down the street. At first I spent a lot of time there — amazed by the lack of insane creatures drooling on the benches. Unfortunately, my “oh come speak to me weirdest of the bizarre” magnet seems to have kicked in, it could also be due to the “I haven’t had a job in almost 2 years” look plastered on my face — the corps think I’m one of them.

Thus, I’m finished commenting on nice shoes found in the dumpster up on 23rd and how much improved the feet are looking.

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