Today we implemented a new poilicy where each member must do a pushup for every minute they aren’t at the van after departure time.  Then we decided on a one-day grace period, a time to adjust, because we were so pathetically late getting out of town.  Fortunately we got new live cds and posters in the process.  I bet casual readers missed the fact that I just switched colors of ink.  You must keep a discerning eye on this ol’ boy, cause I’m crazy like that: like a three-legged fox.  So if anyone can tell me where, and what color I switched from, and to, I will mail them my devotion and the now defunct strings of my first tennis racket.  Now, it was cold in McCall, and hinting at snow in New Meadows, and already sticking to the hills outside Lewiston.  We arrived at John’s Alley, setup, and met up with papa Dave C., fresh off adventures in Seattle, CDA, and airports inbetween.  The venue’s lighting rig is once again fully functional and I got to fade, change, build, paint, and spot my way to satisfaction, while the boys played like kids in a sandbox trained in labryinthian architecture to a surprising Thursday crowd full of free dancers, clappers, swayers, singers.  Afterward there was a party in a bagel shop, Will ordered a sandwich named “The Moustache Ride” fittingly, then we retired to Martha’s downtown apartment for beautiful vocal harmonies and acoustic jams.

Quote of the Day:  “Where thre’s a Will there isn’t a way.”

                                                –Hawk on Will’s momentary pessimism

by Jesse Shell

One time I went to a juggling party. A group in the livingroom periodically rolled down the top of a paper grocery bag and took turns trying to pick it up with their mouth without bending both knees in the process. In the kitchen people balanced anything that wasn’t bolted down (mop, chair, cheese grater, dog, stacked fruit) on various body parts (nose, chin, arm, crotch, toe). The last tour reminded me of that party, metaphorically.

Quote of the Day:
Jesse: “What’s the name of the battle where the U.S. overpowered a bunch of Mexicans and Indians with brute indiscriminate force, they war of 1812?”
Bill: “You’re probably thinking of the Alamo.”
Jesse: “Yeah, that’s being recreated in my intestines right now.”

by Jesse Shell

Sometimes you have to invite all your friends over, dress in costume, go on a drunken bike ride through the Northend on decorated bikes en masse while stopping at a series of residences to have a drink, and end it with a barbeque, a keg or two, and a killer show on your back porch. For a certain couple– whom we’ll simply refer to as Amy Winehouse and Andre Agassi– Friday was the eighth time they’ve done this. I tried to have few expectations going in and was instantly comforted by the sight of Curious George and The Man in the Yellow Hat standing next to Uncle Sam touting a “Vote For Nixon ‘72″ top hat and straddling a tandem bike completely covered in red and white stripes and ornery little stars. Arriving unprepared for such zanity, and rushed to set up for the show, I was rescued by a dear friend who brought me the paisley silk jacket I’ve worn to just about every String Cheese show I’ve been to, a white tutu, and a bike wrapped in yarn. The ride was invigorating– I think we acquired a few passerby– the food was great, and towards the end a rain came that flattened afros, soggied my right sock, and smeared Heath-Joker’s already creepy makeup. Luckily we had a tarp for the monitors, and sport coats for the mains and mixer.

bafoon \n.\ 1: one who bafoos.

by Jesse Shell

This morning we stuffed three more nice peoples into Van Morrisson (for a total of 10) and raced north in hopes of getting people to work and getting to the Iternational Day of Peace Celebration in time to see Justin Lantrip and The Shooks play.  Van persevered,  Justin sounded great with new inspired loops and original tunes, and the Shooks made me feel like everything would be alright, like always.  There was awesome fallafel, an open mic for people to spread their definitions of peace, internally and otherwise, and how to successfully implement it.  There was also the most incredible sunset off Brian and Zabrielle’s back deck, which massaged me over a bowl of home-made chicken soup.  Orin the deisel-converter jammed a reggae tune and then we played into the night with energy bouncing between fire dancers and the stage like the original Pong videogame.  Only one fireball flew into the crowd and only one beard was singed.  Brian and Z’s tiny, whimsical dogs Coconut and Tiger Lily feel asleep spooning in a small chair.  Z’s mother and new hubby honeymooned between the dancefloor and the incredible master suite.  The shed/backdrop of the stage was fitted with a series of bunk-beds, hide-a-beds, and various fluffiness, and even a tub of lentil chile and dinner rolls.

by Jesse Shell

      <<sorry for the lapse in journaling, we had a mishap with our laptop which set me back a couple moons…….here we go again>>    

This weekend will be a test of our van Van Morrisson more than anyone else.  Today we stuffed the trailer fuller than ever, then crammed seven bodies in and headed for McCall.  Upon arriving we backed into Common Ground’s new stage for our first time and met up with some stranded Sandpointers that were to continue northward with us.  Fall made itself felt and chilled the sizeable crowd that came out for the final show of the summer series.  Brian’s killer burritos warmed our bellies while their new “McCall Lowlife” (play of Miller Highlife) coozies warmed our hands.  The boys dubuted their new Willie Nelson cover to the mountain folk with Will on an eager washboard.  Afterward we inundated Dustin and Danika’s house, partied with Argentinians, freestyled with locals, and Coshell and I dominated the beerpong table like our frenulums depended on it.  The night concluded with someone stomping a hole through Hawk’s accordian case and passing out immediately over the nearest chair.

Quote of the Day:  “STOP Farting!”

                                –Frederico to, well, um, me, in a thick Argentine accent

by Jesse Shell

I awoke to the sun creeping over the treeline, and turned to watch guiltily as it shocked Jeff into regretful consciousness next to me on the tarp.  I washed the dust out of my mouth and walked down the lane to see the resevoir I’d missed last night pulling in under darkness.  It reminded me of the reservoir I grew up frequenting, Rimrock, where I first rode a dirtbike (sprained wrist), once shit myself (chili feed, no spare pants), first brought a girl up camping (turned down), and once watched two of my friends hand-paddle out to an island, steadily sinking on account of the hundred beers or so they’d stocked their cheap raft with.  We made some gay-cowboy coffee (campstove instant made in an empty soupcan, but then smuthered with fu-fu flavored coffeemate), packed up, swam in the res a bit, and hit the road towards the second day and first gig of the tour.  We drove through Napa, Sonoma, and Santa Rosa wine country, the omens gaining clarity, starting with another, a redder ‘Moose’ sign peeking out of the bushes inexplicably.  We sampled the culminations of these regions at a few of the tasting in Healdsberg, which are ubiquitous.  There was an incredible 8-piece cover band (horn section, two female vocalists) playing in the town’s central square, doing plenty of justice to some of my favorite old funk tunes– cougars with pipes, damn.  A couple was exhibiting a series of their paintings– a kind of Russian modernism with small squares– at the cafe before we set up, and it offered an interesting window into Bay Area are and wine culture while eating my meatloaf sandwich.  The boys played the closest thing to an acoustic set that they do, and even off on the electric trance jams until the end when a MILF-pack tore through the place, air-humping in ecstasy and criticizing the music simultaneously.  Afterward we drank some very good syrahs, cabs, and pinot noirs, packed up and drove to San Francisco to Tom’s friend Allison’s place.  There we ate the best baked mac n cheese I’ve ever had, sticky buns, and I slept in a Very Soft Bed (a treat somewheres along the lines of a ribeye to a man that’s dated a vegan for five months).

Quote of the Day: "Are you guys in a band, oh my God!  Wait, I have a sticker phobia, I’ll totally puke if I touch your guitar case."
–excitable small girl

by Jesse Shell

The Fam meets for a farewell breakfast at Goldy’s, overloading two tables and the staff.  We head south towards Jordan Valley, W-Muck, Reno, and whatever else, Williams Sr. and Jr. leading the way in the Tahoe, and the rest, the fouler of us in the van.  First stop was just before Caldwell to unload: they sure pride themselves on their rich cuisine at Goldy’s.  Second stop was about six minutes after that when Will called to tell us we were no longer following them and were already lost, deep in a dizzying stretch of track housing.  Next stop was in the Nevadan desert where I absentmindedly peed on the brand new trailer-crank-handle.  We purchased a band camera for the first time in a year or so and somehow a pair of testicles crawled their way out the bottom of a pair of short-shorts and onto the new camera.  It was 101* in Winnamucca and they were making highschool kids do push-ups on the blacktop.  We watched the Reno lights flash, the In & Out Burger beckon us, and the moon rise over the ridges climbing up to Tahoe.  After a brief survey of downtown Truckee, wherer we scoped the Bar of America where Frame Of Mind used to play, and met a pair of kickball victors with whom we shared mutual friends, we began the search for a campsite in a very popular mountain town on a friday evening.  Several dead-ends later we settled into a spot on a reservoir at the edge of town and began preparing five cans of soup for six dudes over the fire and grilled cheese over a Coleman.  Jeff and Bill played the blues by lantern-light, Bill on harp, and then I layed out my new $10 sleepingbag above a tarp and under the stars and full moon, and even though the bastard wouldn’t zip up, I was wholly content.

Quote of the Day: "……and then her Dad walked in."

by Jesse Shell

The crew amassed at the Crosby’s, and after a week of practice and prep Mr. Tom Borda climbed in the van for the first time as Equaleyes bass player.  We made a pitstop in Horeshoe Bend to comfort our friend Ashley, who was following in her car, convinced her brakes were on the brink of failure.  Fortunately, everyone arrived at the Cascade Fair safely, that is until the chivalrous Cascade cop violated Jessa’s and Kaylie’s rights and cited them for Jessa’s drinking a sip of beer (one for consumption, one for contributing).  He then threatened trespassing charges and jail time if they didn’t "excuse themselves from the premises".  That aside, the fair was full of fun foods– BBQ pork sandwiches!, smoked turkey legs!– cowboy-horse communication, stoked Cascade teens, Dan the Fan’s exuberance, Tom’s impressive debut, Jyl’s behind the back hula-hooping, nice Chinese vendors, a new funk tune, and adorable little Crosby cousins thrilled at the prospect of jumping around a giant inflated castle.  After the show we packed the trailer to the gills and headed for Brother Doug’s house for goulash, shots of tequila, a display of Doug’s service piece and hollow-pointed shells, and tiramisu.  After a rejuvenating soak in the TC hotsprings with many shooting stars overhead, we crashed at the cabin in Donnelly @ 4:20.
Quote of the Day:         A- "We should have a moustache-loincloth party."
B- "It would be so offputingly arousing."

by Jesse Shell

First show using our new robot-head lights, which work wonderfully and are spicy.  Pilot Joel flew in from Wyoming with a friend just for the night and came to the show.  Sandpoint Trav, Zabriel, and Brian made a stop at the Reef on their Tour de Suprises: they drove, kids in tow, from SP to Monroe Hotsprings in northern UT a few days prior to suprise the Shook Twins on their birthday, then made it to Boise just in time for the show, only to be thwarted at the door on account of Brian’s lost wallet/id.  No problem for Brian: with stellar poise he promptly flagged down a policeman and had him verify for the bouncer his age via in-car computation.  The bouncer was so impressed he not only let Brian in but gave him back his cover charge, essentially buying him the first round, which was especially meaningful on account of the lost wallet.  Oh, and my aunt, uncle, and cousins from Yakima also showed up unannounced; they couldn’t stay for the show but it was comforting to see their faces.  It was an emotional night onstage; untapped resources were found and the jams were incredible.  After the show, as usual, we observed the 6th & Main madness– this time it was a guy running from the cops and up the Reef stairs, only to be pulled out roughly by six officers a moment later.  Then it was onto the Pie Hole for more interest (now a passerby admitting to SP Brian she had never been with a "whiteboy"– which reminded me of the last time I was at the P. Hole and a guy at the next table drunkenly outlined his entire sexual career, which was extensive, for anyone within 30ft or so)  Earlier today Kendra, Ty, Brittany, Anina, and I floated the Boise River atop two wimpy rafts tied together, one of which was filled with dill flavored sunflower seeds most the float.  It was the first Boise float of the summer and it was glorious.  There were tons of friendly floaters and not a single sniper-cop with binoculars in a tree.

Quote of the Day:  "Sorry, it’s my birthday."
– said surprisingly calmly and collectedly by a guy in front of Grainey’s with his pants around his knees puking

by Jesse Shell

Sometime a couple generations ago my friend Melissa’s family built a cabin outside the fledging town of Grand Jean.  A generation later the cabin was fit with propane powered appliances and remains unelectrical.  This summer Melissa has stayed there proudly as one of the seven or so residents of Grand Jean proper, working in several faculties at the lodge there.  She invited us to stay for a couple days, and we divided our time between campfire jams and soaks in the nearby hotsprings.  There were awesome shooting stars each night, the first one of the week was enormous, and it’s tail hung sizzling forever.  The second day Melissa and Brian were in Stanley on a supply run and ran into the Freepeoples (who played the festival a couple nights prior) and invited them up to the cabin to stay.  They arrived a bit later with great energy, a battery-powered bass amp, and a bag full of percussive toys, and, collectively, a few decades worth of stories about being professional musicians in the Bay area and SoCal.  We jammed around the fire, cooked ears of corns and breasts of chickens over the fire, circled up in the darkness of the driveway and played hand drums while Melissa spun fire– channeling Polynesian ancestry magnificently– and even got to try out a couple new spinning-toys she just got.  Lots of soaking, a couple trips to the lodge for burgers and huckleberry shakes, and a stop at Kirkham Hotsprings on the drive back for one last earth-warmed shower to wash the mountain off us before returning to the city.

by Jesse Shell