Being home has done everything I expected it to do for me; I feel refreshed, motivated, social, and, best of all, inspired. It has been a number of years since I have experienced this level of creative productivity and longing, that has me stopping to touch and smell everything in my path. Every surface, every material, every person, and every photograph is inciting other creative urges. Normally, if I can't identify such an impetus, I force it and kill it before it has time to really get going. But I have been graced with many mysterious surprises from the ethos that I am daily becoming more aware of how to coddle and nurture these creative sprouts. For the first time in years, I'm refusing to be overly cerebral and I'm letting myself get caught up in awe of new things. Sound vague? I'm sure it does and I can't help that.

However, an example: I went to catch a solo matinee the other week, a date with myself that I really should participate in more often. There is very little better in this world than being able to play hooky at a time when most people are working, sitting in a theater by yourself, drinking cappuccino and watching an independent movie. This may sound like a gag-worthy, elitist Portland 'thing' but you know what? I don't care what it sounds like. It was fun. I saw a beautiful Japanese movie called Departures, about a cellist whose orchestra gets dissolved due to lack of funding, has to move back up north to his mother's old house (with his adorable wife), and finds a job ceremoniously preparing dead bodies for their casket and subsequent immolation. While I won't get into all the details and heretofore spoil the movie for everyone, the point is that it created a huge interest in Japan that had been lying dormant in me for years - and it was not for lack of exposure.

I have always loved Japanese food of all sorts and been equally perplexed by their complicated, picturesque language; I love the chances Japanese directors take with respect to blood and gore as well as low-brow subject matter; I love the balance of elements, seasons, colors, and elegance inherent in design and art; I love the harajuku kids and all forms of the eyebrow-raising-this-country-is-so-weird pop culture. I love Japan and have loved Japan as much as someone can without actually having been there - always at arms length and from a "safe" Anglo perspective.

For some reason, the movie kicked something loose in me that now has me craving all things Japanese in the hopes of experiencing something authentic and tactile and, well, real. I want to KNOW and not just enjoy from a safe distance. I want to go and I want to learn and I want Japan to kick the shit out of me. And I have NO explanation for this desire. But it feels very much like how I used to feel when I discovered punk rock 7"s - that sense of awe, of being in over my head, and willfully drowning in something dangerous and age-old.

So to begin that quest, I decided to experience Japanese culture through a channel that I'm not at all familiar with: film. The fact is, I like movies but I don't study them, I don't work in them, and I don't understand the first thing about them. And that is what keeps me liking movies, for better or for worse. So I opted to rent a bunch of movies by famous Japanese directors, viewing them from a pair of very untrained eyes (which I find to be the key to most romance). My 45-minute foray into the video store produced the following: Good Morning (Yasujiro Ozu), Jigoku (Nobuo Nakagawa), and Café Lumiere (Taiwanese director, Hou Hsiao-Hsien). Café Lumiere may seem like a strange choice but it was lauded as an "homage" to Ozu, so how could I say no?

What I know about Japan are the vague but overarching themes pertaining to "honor" and "shame". This might explain all of the social niceties and seedy underbellies of Japanese culture - and this is what most people talk about after coming back from Japan. I kept it in mind while watching this movie, about a 20-something girl who finds out she's pregnant by her Taiwanese boyfriend that she has no intention of marrying. Now, even in my inexperience in the customs of Japan, this is a provocative plot line. Her parents are dealing with the pregnancy the best way they know how - mother wants to talk, father wants to ignore. And all the while, Yoko is unapologetic. There are numerous shots of her on public transportation, deep in thought, in what appears to be some profound reverie on progress/movement. I didn't pursue these themes further but instead filed them away for future reference. The fact is, I'm not sure in what way this was an homage to Ozu but that might have something to do with the fact that I know nothing about Ozu and Hsiao-Hsien as directors.

Which brings me to Good Morning. Intended to be a satire of technology-obsessed Japanese culture and unlike any of Ozu's other films, Good Morning was equally perplexing and enjoyable. It seems to go without saying that in order to enjoy the subtle humor of satire, one must know something about the subject matter being satirized. Again, I'm at a deficit but it did not get in the way of my enjoyment of the movie. The palate is a beautiful technicolor and the plot is based on small-town-suburban-Tokyo "antics". Neighborhood gossip, reputations, and the emergence of entrepreneurship in post-bomb Japan. It's silly - two bratty-but-adorable kids give their parents the silent treatment until their parents by them a TV. They would continuously get in trouble for going over to the neighbors' house to watch Sumo instead of English lessons - and the logical argument is "If you don't want us to go over there, let us do it here" - an argument that is still relevant today when people claim they can't be responsible for their actions, that they are victims of the circumstances. Totally appalling in modern adults, this behavior is pretty endearing amongst a pair of Japanese kids, whose dedication extends to going without lunch money, cakes, and other childlike joys because it requires speaking to their parents to enjoy them. You have to admire their diligence.

What struck me as most interesting about Good Morning are the B-list characters that you know only one thing about: the kid who continually shits his pants, the old guy at the sake bar who is unemployed, the neighbors who wear their pajamas all day ("They used to be in the cabaret," a neighbor is overheard saying, which is supposed to offer some means of explanation). And these characters never evolve. They show up, they do what is expected of them (Oh man, that kid shit himself AGAIN - get him some new pants!), like the funny animatronic stereotypes in It's A Small World. I'm sure the satire runs rampant but from my perspective, it's an inside joke I am not capable of understanding without further study.

With that in mind, the most accessible movie was Jigoku. It's a dramatic and gory interpretation of hell with images and sentiment we can all relate to. What I noticed right off is the obvious interpretation of hell as "after-life" rather than fire-and-brimstone (though there was a LOT of that). There were 8 circles of hell and it seemed like every character in the movie ended up in one of them. Either the Japanese are unrelenting and indiscriminate in their qualifications for who ends up in hell, or there is no other option. One of the circles was dedicated to children who died before their parents. Not exactly a Judeo-Christian interpretation of hell as I know it, but certainly very Dante's Inferno. Purgatorial. To me, the movie had no real shining moments until the last 1/3 which is the hell scene. And this is where everyone gets disemboweled, sliced, diced, and tormented. It's pretty excellent. What's worse (or maybe better) is the lack of resolve. There is no happy ending. Sorry to ruin it but it's true. I liked this one best for all its simplicity.

It seems likely that I will be renting more movies tonight but this is not to say I will become a film writer. I'm more like "whatever interests me" writer who doesn't claim expertise on the matter. And I prefer to keep it that way. I do encourage getting caught up in some creative sensory overload today - it's time to get inspired.

Home, Redux...

After many years of improvements and contractors, my boyfriend and I are finally enjoying the fruits of other-people's-paid labor. Our yard is done. We have a fire pit and now a beautiful table to sit at, amongst the bamboo and bumblebees. It feels too good to be true, sitting in our yard in my favorite city during my favorite season. There really is not enough one can say about loving your home, your space, your stuff, and how grounding those loves are. Suffice to say, I'm home and I don't want to leave.

My haven

A view from my haven...

Welcome Home

A letter from our house guest, Beau Sorenson, typed on one of the vintage typewriters we have here. Received upon arrival at the house and so good, I felt it necessary to transcribe here:

Hello there. How was your trip?
It's nice to have you back.

OBSERVATIONS

Sometimes it smells nice when you sit on the big couch. I think it has something to do with the fireplace. Maybe the trees? (referring to the 5 fake pine trees we acquired from the last Tegan & Sara record)

It is hard to justify turning down a $30 one-time donation to the ACLU while standing in front of a grand piano.

Zilla Sake is perfect for Date Night. HOWEVER: the first website Google returns (www.zillasake.com) is NOT the correct page (www.zillasakehouse.com). Visiting the former will melt your eyeballs, murder your kitten, and get your name put on a list somewhere. You have been warned. (Absolutely true. This really should be pulled.)

Extracto beats espresso machine, every time.

KITCHEN REPORT

Upon finding food in the cupboards, I attempted to eat it and replace with similar. Therefore, the almonds are fresh.

Why does the salt have sand in it?

DAMAGE REPORT

No animals were harmed in this sitting of the house. (We had a casualty last time with our beloved Butch, the truck stop bear.)

However, two wine glasses did not make the journey. Sorry about that. I was unable to locate similar in local stores. To help compensate you for your loss, a 'Computerland' mug has been left in your cupboard. Please forward an invoice for damages to:

Beau Sorenson
(address withheld for privacy)
Madison, WI (zip code withheld for the same reason)

Sometimes the upstairs stereo develops a loud buzzing noise in the left channel after 30 minutes of use. Not always a problem, just sometimes.

The structural integrity of the downstairs bathroom tissue dispenser is dubious. Do not attempt to stand on it.

STUDIO REPORT

Almost everything pretty much worked for me mostly all of the time. Andrew and I tracked 2 songs, Sarah and I did 9, and I mixed 4 of my own songs.

I started making a list of the things I had trouble with, but upon returning to them, most of my problems could not reliably be repeated.

I like that green sparkle guitar.

The 'Beau' folder on the Archive drive is all the stuff I recorded. I am fairly confident I have redundant digital copies of all of it, but if you could sit on it for a week or two before deleting it, that would be swell.

ETC REPORT

I tried to clean the stuff I made dirty. In doing this, I may have moved some stuff about. This applies especially to the studio: smaller collections of flotsam were kept together, but possibly moved to a safe, out-of-the-way spot. I tried not to hide anything.

I think Molly took a bath. She doesn't usually get to do that sort of thing.

I listened to lots of records and discs and made a sincere effort to return them to exact shelf locations. I probably failed with a few of them. They all got close, though.

......................................

I would like to thank you once again for the opportunity to live in your house for a month. I had a wonderful time, accomplished a good amount of work, and explored the surrounding area. It was really, really great. This is truly a wonderful place and I hope I find myself here in the future.

Warm regards,
Beau

......................................

Beau, you're welcome back any time as long as you keep writing letters like this. Thank you for the Grizzly Bear LP.

Who am I kidding? There is not going to be a Grammys Update Part II. Had I been feeling up to it, I was going to write a whole spiel on the heart-wrenching, tear-jerking performance by Jennifer Hudson but I just don't have the strength. I let a few tears fall, a few months pass, and so many other things have happened since then. (But she was awesome, courageous, and a great example of human adaptability - there it is.)

99.9% of writing is mental (the other .1% being the actual physicality of it) and therefore subject to mental blocks and psychoses. Ideally, one of those is supposed to give you a good voice and the other a sense of overcoming. For me, it often leads to a to-do list of writing projects that becomes more monolithic with each day that passes. I have to remind myself constantly that the more I write, the more words there are, the more it all makes sense. My mom always said you can't steer a bike that isn't moving. And here is where I'm left, with an albatross of a blog overgrown with weeds and cobwebs.

I admire you all who update daily about whatever is on your mind, ie. what a blog is actually supposed to be for. I inflate the value of these entries to a size that is immeasurable and unconquerable, forgetting that there is so much to read on the internet that the chances of anyone stumbling upon these words are slim to none (unless of a few of you devoted friends check in periodically - I thank you). So, here. I give you (whoever you are) this little blurb about the tour I just finished.

I finished a 16-day tour with the wonderful Jens Lekman. Here is a bullet list of what went down. But first, role call:

Rachel Demy (Self & Tour Manager)
Ben Swanson (Manager & Label Boss-Man)
Mickey Walker (Co-pilot & FoH)
Jens Lekman (The Man Himself)
Charlie Hall (Drummer & Morale, involved in many projects including my favorite)
Viktor Sjöberg (Samples & Token Swede)
Julia Rydholm (Bass & Documentess)
Ysanne Spevack (Strings)
Tig Notaro (Comedic Support)
Darth Vader (our trusty sidekick)




May 25, 2009
• Picked up the van and drove to San Diego from Los Angeles.
• Memorial Day is a terrible day to start a tour.
• Espresso-drinking with Mickey and Ben.
• Hugs for all at the rehearsal space, before heading out to The Linkery for dinner (beer and links - perfect).

May 26, 2009
• The Loft - La Jolla, CA.
• Stupid double-standard about alcohol consumption on the premises. "So let me get this straight. We can drink alcohol in our green room but not the stage. And you won't provide it. But you'll sell it to us in the venue? But we can't buy a bottle to bring to our green room? Wait... What?"

May 27, 2009
• The Echo - Los Angeles, CA.
• 30 minutes late for load in, thanks to the tow-truck blocking the entrance to the back alley.
• Sold out, sweaty, and crowded. No one allowed in the green room before the set after this.
• 35 minutes to maneuver out of the alley - tight spaces and 12-point turns.
• Dirty hotel rooms. Tig found a disembodied appendage in her bed. Okay, it was a fingernail. But it might as well have been an appendage...

May 28, 2009
• The Echo - Los Angeles, CA.
• Group breakfast at the Waffle in Hollywood, followed by some record shopping.
• 4 hours of being in the car (Tarzana, to Hollywood, to LAX, to Hollywood, to Silver Lake). Tears.
• Sold out, sweaty, and crowded again. Slam dunk of a show.
• Darth is making weird noises.

May 29, 2009
• Velvet Jones - Santa Barbara, CA.
• Mistakenly started to load into the wrong club - did a dance of joy after realizing this was not the club we were stuck in for the next 8 hours (the back doors all looked the same).
• Stormy times at the local pub before load in - the tempest abated after discussions.
• Met up with friend and local talent, Simone Rubi.
• High douche bag quotient at the show.
• Barrett Clark fills in for Mickey while he flies to the east coast for a wedding.

May 30, 2009
• Downtown Brewing Co. - San Luis Obispo, CA.
• Woke up to strange gurgling sound that made my urge to pee that much more urgent. Found puddle from toilet/tub extending into the room. Had to pee elsewhere.
• Stopped for photo ops in sunny farm-y hills outside of SLO. Cows.
• Gum wall in the alley by the van. Hippie sing-a-long after the show in said alley.
• Late-night pizza party.
• Uncontrollable giggle party at 2:00 AM. Attendees: Rachel & Julia.

May 31, 2009
• Day off - San Francisco, CA.
• The Good Hotel - "Puppy Party" in the lobby.
• The credit card company that issues the tour credit cards went bankrupt last night and deactivated all the credit cards. Didn't discover this until trying to check into the hotel. Sadness. Personal funds on the line.
• Tacos at Pancho Villa.
• Dog watching in Dolores Park (me, Viktor, and Jens). Watched a man get chastised by an entire group of people for letting his German Shepard drink out of the PEOPLE drinking fountain. Laughed to ourselves.
• Drinks at Dominic East's with Charlie. Good conversation, good buddies.
• Margaritas at the Latin American Club.
• Drunk taxi cab.

June 1, 2009
• Bottom Of The Hill - San Francisco, CA.
• Breakfast with Jens.
• Trip to Golden Gate Park (Mickey, Charlie, Viktor, Rachel, and Jens). Cold and wet. Like being in a cloud. We actually were in a cloud.
• Sold out show with a little extra serenade at the end.
• Get to see Barrett again. Happy 1-day reunion.

June 2, 2009
• Bottom Of The Hill - San Francisco, CA.
• Serious Rachel Demy time: coffee, computering, knitting. 4 hours.
• New birthday skirt. It is orange.
• Chinese food with friend, Jordan Kurland.
• Another rad show, thanks to Ramona and all the BOTH gang.

June 3, 2009
• WOW Hall - Eugene, OR.
• It's my birthday. I had to drive 400 of the 550-mile drive to Eugene.
• Tig bought me a breakfast sandwich and tea at the Starbucks. The barista gave us her employee discount.
• Tig bought me a free beer at lunch.
• There is a very funny game of "Don't let Rachel see the birthday cake we got her." I thought we were playing, "Don't look the tour manager in the eye so she feels weird on her birthday..."
• Exhausted tears in the hotel room, interrupted by the most beautiful birthday song ever sung to me. Lots of cake and champagne.
• Fake party photos.

June 4, 2009
• Crocodile Cafe - Seattle, WA.
• The boys were late for lobby call. It's cool though.
• Darth is making more weird noises.
• Arctic Club Hotel lobby bar before load in. Viktor, the Latvian bartender (not our Viktor), drank the rest of all of our drinks as we had to rush off...
• The Croc is an oven. A/C was not in the budget.
• Sad debacle involving a very drunk underage girl. Throws a wrench in the whole evening.
• Made it through the show by a thread.
• 1:00 AM drinks at the Redwood with The Wooden Birds, Metric, members of Arthur & Yu, and Grand Archives. My little German girlfriend was there. Big Broken Social Scene family reunion. There were ponchos also.

June 5, 2009
• Crocodile Cafe - Seattle, WA.
• Group field trip to view the iconic sights of Twin Peaks (the entire band except for me, Ysanne, and Tig).
• Tig and I have croque madames for lunch. I cultured her.
• The band got resurrected after the night before - excellent show.
• Party in the boys room - wine-drinking and vision quest.
• Stifling giggles in the bathroom.
• Nudity sightings at this point in the tour - too many for comfort.

June 6, 2009
• Wonder Ballroom - Portland, OR.
• Laundry at my house in the afternoon.
• Almost wrecked the van. Explanation: a woman in a Toyota Tercel is going 65 in the fast lane of a 70-zone. Rather than move over to let me pass, she hits the breaks when she thinks I'm getting to close to her car. I speed up to pass on the right hand side after seeing my breakaway moment. She hits the breaks, sending us into a fishtail that I was able to get under control. Proceeds to flip us off. Let me tell you something, lady. When you almost kill a van full of 9 people, I think you deserve the bigger fuck you.
• Moving on.
• Cigarette on my porch to calm the nerves.
• Late lunch at the Concordia Ale House where there are hundreds of beers. Viktor is in heaven.
• Portland show not that great in attendance but still a fun crowd.
• Birthday greetings from a few Portland friends that involve some Marc Jacobs fingerless gloves and a bottle of bubbly.
• Late-night eats and drinks at the Clyde Common - staying at the Ace.
• Dance party in the Sprinter at 2:00 AM.
• Later dance party in the boys room.
• The night ends for Julia and I in the hallway with a pile of clean mens underwear.
• The night ends for the boys by almost getting kicked out of the hotel.
• Tig discovers she doesn't have her passport to get into Canada the next day. There is sadness...

June 7, 2009
• Richards on Richards - Vancouver, BC.
• Last show of the tour. Sold out.
• Pick up Gary Olson at Sea-Tac Airport. Drop Tig off (bye bye, Tig!).
• Drop merch off at a practice space - brief hi to the boyfriend.
• 1.5 hour border crossing. A bit late for load in, but no matter.
• Thai food stripes.
• Fun show.
• Viktor is an empty shell of a man after last night.
• Tearful goodbyes at the hotel that night. There was just too much love. It hurt.

June 8, 2009
• Jens, Viktor and Tig fly to Alaska.
• Ysanne and Charlie fly home.
• Me, Julia, Mickey, and Gary drive to Seattle but not before a delicious breakfast in Bellingham.
• Attempt to return the bass amp to Guitar Center. Was asked by head douche if I had "romped on it for two weeks and am now trying to return it." What does that even mean?
• Patience waning. Got out of Seattle to drop off gear to freight company.
• Portland by 7:00 PM. Picked up a piece of art for deliver to Los Angeles by the wonderfully talented, Amy Ruppel.
• Eugene by 9:30 PM.
• So much sleep...

June 9, 2009
• Drove from Eugene to Los Angeles in one day. 900 miles. Alone. Well, me, Darth, and the deer.

Not long after, a first-class ticket back home on Virgin America. Champagne and cheese plates. The cherry on the sundae.

THE 2009 GRAMMY AWARDS: THE SCOOP AS SEEN BY ME (Part I)

I have had a number of requests from friends and folks who were following my Facebook updates to elaborate on my experience at the Grammys this year. I have been 2 other times and they have all been really fun/not fun, but being that this one was 95% fun, I choose to write about this one. Also, it's been awhile since I updated this blog thinger and it's getting a little moldy in here.

So, where to start... This year, Death Cab was up for 2 Grammys, which is how I am allowed to attend the event in the first place. Some of you may think that I am fully capable of getting in there on my own but this simply is not the case for one reason: this weird corner of the music industry, the "major" and/or "popular" side, simply isn't my universe. The Grammys are a place where gods come to converse with goddesses, goddesses to award other goddesses, and random demi-gods get to act god-like; while peons like me get to be a fly on the wall (if "the wall" is defined as 11th row, center aisle seats). I tour manage indie rock bands for a living. No one in this other universe cares and I really like that aspect of the awards. It's a caricature of all of the reasons we started listening to punk rock 7"s when we were 12 ("we" being me).

It's a total treat to be able to dress up for a completely bizarre ceremony, where the President of the Grammy Foundation insists that it's all about the music and "Thank you so much for coming to support the artists who work so hard (to make millions of dollars for us tonight)." When you boil it down, it probably is about the music sometimes - many of the performers are really good. The Grammys have become my excuse to wear a dress I only get to wear once a year and see all the musicians I would never pay to see and/or care to see and/or have the privilege of seeing. For instance, how often do you get to see Justin Timberlake and The Reverend Al Green sing "Let's Stay Together"? Seriously. Never do you get to see that. And for how much shit they got, I really pretty much enjoyed the Stevie Wonder/Jonas Brothers thing (however you classify it). Some call it sacrilege and Disney-empire meddling, but like it or not, the Jonas Brothers sell MILLIONS of records in an age where no one buys records. So is it really wrong that THEY perform with a tour-de-force of his own time, Stevie Wonder, or are we just pouting because we don't see more bands like Broken Social Scene (for instance) performing at the Grammys? It's not a BSS world there and that's fine by me. The less the Grammys meddle in that world, the better.

However, on that note, seeing one very pregnant, polka-dotted M.I.A. perform with Jay-Z, Lil Wayne, and T.I. was pretty entertaining. And for whatever reason M.I.A. was nominated for a Grammy goes to show that someone around there is paying attention. She didn't win, of course, but we didn't expect that, did we? I was happy to see Robert Plant & Alison Krauss win everything they were up for - more or less, I was just happy to see Robert Plant, in person, talking to a bunch of people at the end of our row. Because he was in Led Zeppelin and that is pretty awesome and it doesn't seem like he should exist, but he does. I saw him.

And then Radiohead was sitting two rows away from us. I really loved the performance but was a little perplexed as to why Thom Yorke and Johnny Greenwood were the only two people on stage, besides a college marching band full of indie rockers who were probably shitting themselves to be playing on the same stage as 2/5 of Radiohead. I have never wished to know how to play the tuba until that night. And Thom was a reminder that as politically-incorrect as it may sound, I really need to own a leather jacket. I'm sorry, vegan and vegetarian friends, but those things make you look damn good. It was a nice contrast for Thom who was looking a bit, well, fluffy with all of his hair. Sheepy, even. Like a Fraggle, really.

Other close encounters of the night: Missy Elliot was sitting in front of me and when I bent over to grab my purse, she accidentally elbowed me in the head and was really sorry. She put her hand on the place where she hit me in a loving manner I didn't know her capable. At one point, Jay-Z was sitting right behind us (getting ready to perform with Coldplay). I have seen him in person one other time and not being a massive fan (my love for Jay-Z goes as far as any 20-something white indie rocker's could), that guy really has a "thing." An aura of power. The epitome of bling, dare I say. He's fantastic. And to answer the number of questions I received on Facebook, his lips are big and I didn't get an opportunity to compare them to the size of his nuts. His legs were crossed and if that is any indication, his nuts can't possibly be THAT big. So take note. I will investigate further.

Other star sightings include: Solomon Burke, Coldplay, Samuel L. Jackson, LL Cool J, Mario Lopez, and meeting eyes momentarily with Sir Paul McCartney (which is uncomfortable because it was during the Miley Cyrus/Taylor Swift performance about the woes of being 15 - how could we possibly have shared a moment when that was going on around us?). The Surprisingly Enjoyable award goes to Sugarland, though I hate that sewn-up, canned pop, masquerading as country. They sold me on it, though. Worst Performance goes to Katy Perry - her song is neither provocative, nor is she. I fell in love with Adele - not necessarily her songs but her lack of belief that she could possibly win a Grammy for Best New Artist, letting us know that she hasn't, as of yet, been consumed by the entitlement of that world. Keep fighting it, Adele. Keep fighting!

THE MAGICAL INTERWEB

Hey kids, my website is finally up after all these months. I have yet to figure out how to get this site recognized by Google but whatever. Maybe mentioning WWW.RACHELDEMY.COM in combination with GOOGLE will help those little web spider bastards I keep reading about. Hey spiders, check this shit out! www.racheldemy.com

PRIDE

It really happened last night.
I was really there.
I felt it.
So awesome.
I am so proud of us. We made this happen.
We did it.

Deliberation

I haven't written in awhile for so many reasons, none of them containing apologies, shame, or guilt for my break from blogging. I have been contemplative, busy, also sadly on auto-pilot for the past few months, enabling me to survive in my chaotic world but not allowing for much contact. I feel confident I have not burned any bridges, save for one that is to remain nameless, and I feel empowered to re-enter the blogosphere (which is a word that is marked as misspelled - why has Google overlooked this?) as a result. Distance and perspective are beautiful motivators.

I have been touring extensively for the past 6 months which has, needless to say, improved my monetary situation drastically. I am currently a positive contributor to society if you can ignore for a second the basic negative fundamentals of my job - I mean, I'm not curing cancer but I'm also not spreading it. I feel pretty even-steven, really. It has left me with little time to write - a practice that, to be honest, I've never been terribly disciplined to do even with all the time in the world. But I have been able to contemplate a lot about the world of real-life documentation. Blogs. Twitters or whatever they're called.

For me, writing necessitates a certain distance from the event and a certain desire to be able to re-tell something that is normally kind of mundane, infusing the event with a romance that may or may not have been there to begin with. The fact is that I am not really good at this - or at least I don't feel like it. I'll let you be the judge. I admire the people who can blog on tour. The nature of my job does not allow much time for showers, let alone time to take in my day, contemplate it, and then transcribe it to the outside world in a way that feels authentic and entertaining. I mean, isn't this why we do this? To entertain, to make our lives appear more interesting to others, to feel understood? If it isn't, then why do we put so many personal feelings and secrets in such a public forum? I'll admit it. It is fun to think that people read about my life and feel connected to it or are maybe even envious or whatever. It's validating and I think there is a real level of connectedness when we feel like we can share and others in our lives glean something from that experience. It is not entirely selfish but there are selfish aspects to any exchange and any relationship.

Now I don't want to make you feel like a chump for reading this - that is not the idea at all. I am sort of rambling on because (1) I haven't rambled in awhile and (2) I want to flesh out some thoughts that I have about how it is that everyone finds time to maintain a Facebook page or a blog on a consistent basis. I can barely find time to call my mom. Is it because I'm not making this a priority (I hear you can do anything if you put your mind to it or make the time for it) or is there really actually not enough time to stay as connected as we would like? I would love to be able to inundate you all with photos all the time, email blasts about what I've been up to, and still remember to send you a Christmas/Anniversary/Birthday card with a little well-thought-out handmade gift inside that happens to be exactly what you have been missing all these years! But the fact is I like taking quiet baths, reading an enormous amount of fiction, and cooking.

I am a Gemini which, if you believe in this sort of thing, basically states that I will spend my whole life feeling like I don't have enough time to do everything I want to do. I feel as though I spend a lot of my time trying to stay afloat with all the stuff (cleaning the house, organizing my photos and books, oh yeah, shaving my legs - all of it) and all of my friends. I seem to have only 2 weeks left of being at home before my next tour and I can't figure out how to fit it all in. I exert a lot of brain power guilting myself about this and subsequently making myself anxious about not keeping up.

It makes me want to get rid of it all and keep the friends, of course. While I was on this last tour, my computer crashed and I lost everything, including most of the documents from the tour I was on as well as the notes from the tour I was advancing that was to start in 2 days. At that point, I was working 16 hours a day in front of my computer for an extra $1200... What do you ultimately pay once you factor in the stress of that kind of lifestyle and the realization that you're missing the lightness and great experiences of the world right in front of you? Was that $1200 worth it? The world has a funny way of making you press the reset button when you're too far in it to save yourself. In my case, it was my computer dying. Before that, it was my computer getting stolen. Some might think that I just have bad luck with technology but I don't think so. I think the universe is trying to remind me to get outside while there is still summer and to live my life while I still have it - it just does it in particularly violent ways (my computer being the ultimate victim). The truth is, I probably would not listen if the universe spoke to me in any other way.

I feel a hole in the place where deliberate action and positivity used to reside. I have been surveying myself through the eyes of my relationships with others as well as my relationship with myself. I see a person who is compulsive in action, kind of lazy, and has a reflex for negativity and acid before being convinced to the positive side. Why am I sharing all of this? I need to vent and I need to be honest, despite if no one or everyone reads this. I had a great discussion with my friend Natasha over lunch today and she really helped me see how negativity does more destruction personally than it does protect. And I can't help but appreciate her honesty, no matter how easy it is to be defensive about these traits in my personality that I dislike - and then again when someone actually recognizes it and calls me on it. I want to be more positive, more deliberate, and maybe a little sunnier as a reflex rather than a trained behavior. I want a little more sugar in my personality. I am not quite sure how to do this but the seed is planted. Oh, and just because I recently finished a tour with Jack Johnson for a month and had a great time, this does not mean that I am a hippie by proxy. This has been a long time coming and Super Mellow August Tour 2008 has helped this along but is by no means the catalyst. And I'm not wearing flip flops right now so you can just forget it.

Anyway, I want less compulsion and more strategy. I want to be able to make a promise to myself and keep it. I want to be less of a talker and more of a doer. I really want to take more pictures and have a way to share them all with the few people that care to see them. In short, I want to make more time to be connected to this funny internet community, though it isn't my first choice in the many ways you can connect with people. I would love to have you all over for dinner because I can cook you up something real nice-like and we can play Trivial Pursuit. But until you come to Portland (at a time when I am actually there), this will have to do.

Good to see you all again.
Rachel

A Little Health For Your Reproductives

I had this strange revelation the other day as I am now past Week 2 of my new lease on health. I spent all this time and money on this undertaking only to realize one glaringly obvious hitch: why in the world am I eliminating alcohol, caffeine, wheat, etc. etc. and I'm still flooding my system with synthetic hormones, known commonly and less-caustically as birth control? Why did I never think for a second to eliminate the most toxic element of my daily life?

I'm going to take a quick foray into the very uncomfortable realm of women's health because though many feminists bark about it all the time, very few of us more moderate people think about it from day to day. Now, let there be no question: I am a feminist. And I think if many people knew the real definition of feminism, many more people would claim they are such. Feminist or not, many people cannot argue that in the realm of "not having babies before we're ready to commit to being parents" the onus is on us women to make sure that happens. Yes, there are condoms and men have to wear those. But in the case of a few women such as myself, an allergy to latex and all the shit that they are coated in knocks that option out. The only options left, besides diaphragms (latex), are invasive surgery (for men and women), an IUD (the most invasive sort as it's a piece of metal inserted into your uterus), or the pill. I'm sure many of us have experimented with the ol' quick pull-out method and truth be told, if you're good at it, you can get by. But it is not recommended and therefore, we are back to the pill.

Some women are capable of dealing from day-to-day pretty well by taking a standard estrogen/progesterone pill. I have discovered that I am not. They make me bat-shit crazy on top of a whole slew of other ailments (blood clots, anyone? Yes, the things that cause strokes...). So when I finally realized the first time that they were problematic, and feeling a bit duped because it should have been obvious, I quit taking them. And all my physical ailments went away - this was after spending hundreds of dollars to see doctors that kept saying they didn't know what was wrong with me, testing me for the same things time and time again, none of them ever telling me, "Maybe it's your pill. You know, that stuff isn't really good for you..." That's the thing, no one ever says "the pill isn't good for you." And it is crazy how many women suffer from many discomforts because this is something we MUST take; it's the best birth control for independent women on the go. No babies, no fear!

A few years later, I discovered POPs, which contain a synthetic version of progesterone ("progestin" - called Progestin-Only Pills), sans estrogen and its crazy-making ways, and my system seemed to do okay with them. Or so I thought. I mean, I wasn't crying for no reason and my boobs weren't extraordinarily large for my body type (unlike the "normal" birth control pills). The only catch is that you have to take them the same time every day. The margin for error is smaller than the other pills. But since I'm a bit OCD, taking pills promptly has never really been a problem. In this instance, I had to pick the lesser of many evils. And here I have sat, popping these babies at 8:00 pm daily for the last 2.5 years, wondering why on earth I feel so imbalanced and toxic physically. Why is it that, though I am 25 years of age and of relatively normal weight, I still cannot manage to have a regular period?

If this sounds like too much information just understand that I have not even scratched the surface about the intricacies and problems you deal with when you take these hormones. And if any of you men are reading this, maybe you could take a few notes for your girlfriends' sake.

The point is, I can eliminate all the alcohol, caffeine, dairy and wheat that I want and I will never truly clean out my insides until I stop taking these hormones. Once again, I feel like I fell for another really bad joke brought to me by the pharmaceutical industry, aimed at keeping the pressure on us girls to control something that it takes two to create anyway. After having a talk with my very wonderful and understanding boyfriend, I told him that I didn't want to take these anymore. And let it be known, we are not pulling the goalie, so to speak. We have just agreed that though this is the most convenient route, it is not the best and we need to put our heads together to figure something else out. For our sake and for my body's sake.

So as of this Saturday (when CW is out of town and there is little chance of a physical relationship), I am no longer taking these pills. And I am actually so excited that I may have a glass of wine in celebration (because, let's face it, I am still trying not to drink as much). I feel so much lighter having made this decision and I am making a vow to myself to never fall for this prank again. I implore other ladies to do the same. Safeguard your ovaries and your pituitary glands and whatever else you can - no one else is looking out for them but you.

Hurra Sverige!

I am keenly aware that though music is intrinsic to most facets of my life, I really don't write about it much. I have many reasons for this, mainly based on an inability to quantify emotional attachments. Try to measure how much you love someone or find the right words to talk about god or eternity and you will understand (though I cannot pretend my struggle with music is THAT epic). It is not impossible to dance around these ideas given our arsenal of linguistic tools but often it amounts to just that. Dancing around. People have been talking about this very thing for eons and these Platonic ideals are nothing new. But I find comfort in my inability to talk about music and I find pride in my ability to navigate through music and pick the relationships I've made with records over the years. I've said before that I do not ever propose to know more about music or lambaste someone for not having heard of some band or another - in fact, I tend to value more the opinions of people who are peripherally listening to music, if only because they have the distance and perspective that my friends and I have not had since we were 13 (when we only owned 10 records and knew every lyric and riff by heart). Not to be too completely a hippy, but the music that is special to you finds you, not the other way around. Though sometimes you're lucky. It is a path you choose, building off of what you already love and know, in whatever segues and connections you happen to create. With this in mind, I would like to write a bit about what I have been gorging my ears on lately. It will no doubt be a bit inarticulate and clunky but I made peace with that long ago...

I have been through enough sad-bastard, angry and creepy music phases in my life to know when I am craving a little happiness and a little, well, pop. For some reason, my coordinates have been set to Sweden ever since it has been dark and shitty outside. Maybe because they are allies in winter weather... Who knows? It is interesting how so much happy music comes from this part of the world. You could argue, "What in the hell do they have to be sad about?" I know from personal experience the country is beautiful, resource-laden, somewhat wealthy, and fairly open-minded (at least they were to an American such as myself). Have I mentioned everyone is beautiful and doesn't expect you to know their language when you visit? That is not a good argument for NOT learning the language but they understand that in terms of functionality and accessibility, Swedish is not exactly high on the list. Which might explain why they all sing in English.

I love logic.

At any rate, a friend of mine, Mr. Andrew J. Morgan of Aero Booking fame, gave me a CD of one adorable little faun of a girl, Sally Shapiro. At first glance, I was like, "Oh. More saccharine indie pop." Not an insult! I love that stuff! I was so dead wrong, I am elated. I suppose I never mentioned that there has always been a part of me (about 42%) that believes I should have been (or was in a past life) a gay teenage boy.

The proof:
˚ABBA Gold is one of my Top 5 Desert Island records.
˚I dusted off my Erasure CD (The Innocents), put it on repeat, and sang at the top of my lungs from Everett to the Canadian border (about 1.5 hours).
˚I own the BeeGees Greatest in 2 formats (CD and triple gate-fold LP).
˚I got super excited when Feist covered "Inside and Out" - I'm not sure if this is originally a BeeGees song but all I can hear is a trio of Aussie discomen when I sing along to it.
˚I got really sad when my walkmen died because how was I going to play by Best of Chic tape?
˚3 words: PET SHOP BOYS.
Point taken? Great.

Back to Sally. So, do you ever have that experience when you listen to a CD that you just got and you REALLY like it but you don't know if you're SUPPOSED TO like it (because you have no context and you still kind of care if people think you're cool)? That's how I feel when I listen to her record (the appropriately titled, Disco Romance). I'm about to be in a van with 4 Swedes this March and I know I'm going to want to put on the record while we're driving but may have second thoughts because what if she's the Swedish equivalent of many experiences and conversations I find myself stuck in all the time: "Oh you're from Portland?! Coooool. I really love that last Everclear record..." And you don't want to be rude so you nod your head and let them expound upon the nuances of one or another of their crappy records, silently wishing for a segue or the balls to just walk off. I do not want this to happen with this record. It is too good for that. So why am I deliberating about whether or not to play it in the van? Well, it kind of has something to do with the fact that though it is dance-y, some of the melodies and beats kind of remind you of the super 80's movie workout scene. Like that montage of Rocky Balboa training in Siberia, pulling logs through snow, doing sit-ups from a barn ledge, all the while his not-so-esteemed opponent, the grisly and HUGE Dolph Lundgren playing "Captain Ivan Drago", is hooked up to super Soviet Bowflexes.

OMG! I FOUND A YOUTUBE LINK FOR THAT!!! WHAT FORTUNE!! I LOVE THE INTERNET!!

I love when Rocky outruns the car finally (though that's in the longer movie cut) and I love that super crappy drum fill. And the way everyone looks on, takes notes, and does that quick or slo-mo look at or beyond the camera! So goooood.

Okay, so Sally's music isn't THAT cheesy, but it does mix bits of that with the best of ABBA and Erasure. And I love that she is a super sweet-looking girl who, in my mind, is going to be making the cut for a lot of Euro Disco DJ Dance Parties. Yay. Moving on.

Um, how do I top that? I think I blew my wad on the first attempt to nudge any one of you (probably only one because who reads this? Mom? Oh my mom will love her record!) towards some new music. Incidentally, it was this desire to have happy Swedish music in my life that got me connected with Jens Lekman and turned onto other Swedish happies like Taken By Trees (Victoria Bergsman of The Concretes), Frida Hyvönen, and El Perro Del Mar (recommended to me by Mr. Andrew Kenny for her sweet simplicity and I think she's real pretty). Could the list go on? Yes. But it doesn't get any better for me than a YouTube video of Rocky IV to illustrate my point and therefore I should not attempt to outdo myself.

Day One and Two

I'm not going to sound any sort of celebratory horns or alarms or anything, but I might be willing to admit that I survived my first two days of a cleanse. I'm not quite sure if the funny ups-and-downs are supposed to even out but I can only assume that if I'm feeling as good as I am by today - Day 2 - I might actually make it to see the springtime.

First and foremost, yesterday - Day 1 - sucked. Empirically. We had committed to a house photo shoot with one of my dearest friends (and incidentally the nice lady who makes our house look good). A good idea at the time (and still in hindsight) - I didn't however think about that particular combination of events on that particular day. If you combine not having eaten your typical wheat-y breakfast with moving a bunch of your stuff around ("staging" they call it) and slugging back a bunch of weird tasting tea that makes your stomach feel emptier, well, you've got a cocktail that is going to send you straight off a precipice. I should have read the paper a little more closely when it told me that certain side effects of a detox might include sluggishness, withdrawals, and resurgence of old emotions (wha?) (i.e. anger, grief, anxiety) (Oh, those... yes). I think I was able to run down that checklist rather quickly in the last hour of the shoot - nothing makes me more angry, grief-stricken, or anxious then moving chotchkies all day for no reason. My desire to detach and nap got stronger than I expected and this was only 6 hours into it. A menial amount of panic began to set in.

After I took a shower (2:30 pm), the sun came out and I opted to go for a walk. One of the stranger side effects of this whole thing is this mental block I have that I can't or maybe shouldn't be out socializing in "my condition." And what is stranger still is that since I've made the decision to say NO to a bunch of things, I forget there is a lot I can say yes to. Leaving the house is a good one, for instance. Simply put, my diet isn't actually changing that much and I've managed to have good meals, etc. But what is a bit trickier is realizing how much of my life revolves around food and going out for drinks. Namely, my life outside of the house. I drove around for 15 minutes today figuring out how to reconcile my desire to not go home after the lunch I had but also figure out what to do with myself if I wasn't going to sit and drink coffee or wine. Ultimately, I opted to drink tea for two hours and finish my book. What I find considerably strange is that I had to systematically run down a mental list, prioritized by habits and urges, scratch off the first tier of preferred activities and then figure out what on the second tier was a healthier approach (and fit within the bounds of my fragile asceticism). Why was tea so far down the list?

I marvel at the level of engagement this cleanse requires and I'm a bit ashamed by the level of auto-pilot I have been on. I like to see myself as a conscious, thoughtful person (and I have my moments for sure) but when it comes to my body and what I put in it, I have just quit thinking. More and more it has become obvious that I am absolutely ready to reprogram myself and not just lose some love-handles or whatever. I am actually craving discipline, the kind I had when I was at university that would keep me from drinking on a week night because of class or the idealism that kept me seeking new vegan recipes instead of gorging on a plate of jalapeno poppers (not a regular occurrence but get me a pint and I might ask for a side of Velveeta). The way I write about this one would think I weigh 200 pounds or that I actually eat REALLY bad food. I am keenly aware that my "bad" is much better than most of the population's "good" and I think that is part of the reason I want to improve. When you really know your potential, no matter what the common denominator is, you want to live up to it. I am world-famous in my family for being hard on myself and this might sound ridiculous to those of you who know me, but I derive a lot of energy and motivation from the carrot at the end of the stick: there's always room for improvement.

Being that I used to be a pretty good athlete and recuperate from sickness quickly (if I get sick at all), I can say with some confidence that I have solid, healthy genes. Not everyone has been graced with as healthy a lineage as I am privileged to have (though we have our other problems, believe me) - so do I not owe it to myself, if not my history, to take care of these genes and make sure I pass them off in as good a condition as I received them? It only seems fair as I do that with the books and movies I borrow.

These are the things you think about when you're drinking gallons of tea by yourself in your house between the 3 movies you rented (and will probably watch, return tomorrow, and get 3 more) while crazy amounts of toxins are floating around in your bloodstream, looking for a way out. Because what the hell else is there to do?

Flying the Flannel for HEALTH

I have made what I feel (in 12 hours) will be a decision that I'll come to regret for the next week or two. Watching my diet spin out of control (and worse, watching the distinction between my butt and thighs start to disappear), I decided that this is my month... to... start a temporary elimination diet and cleanse. Meaning: no wheat, no cheese, no soy, no alcohol, no coffee, no fun. Part of the decision is based on weird food sensitivities I've had lately and trying to eliminate all the variables, hopefully identifying the culprit(s). Nonetheless, I'm being smart about it. I saw my naturopath today, gleaning knowledge and protein supplements to get me through. I have pretty much imbibed all the alcohol in the house, save for a few bottles of liquor (my two real vices, red wine and champagne, were finished up last night), to avoid the inevitable cravings and moments of weakness that will no doubt occur while I'm in the house alone, STARVING AND BORED TO DEATH.

I am celebrating my decision currently by eating a HUGE bowl of macaroni and cheese, while drinking a beer (the last one in the house), before I go to a nice big Italian dinner tonight. And you know what? I'm not going to yoga today or tomorrow. Fuck it. Wave bye-bye to what fleeting sanity I possess for a few weeks and give my love-handles a great big "peace out, jerks..."

Here's to better fitting pants, rejuvenating brain cells, and clean guts.
- R

1, 2, 3, Breathe...

I have spent the better part of the afternoon severely decompressing after my small touring stint with The Decemberists. It has been a double-Duraflame, green-curry-with-tofu kind of day. I haven't updated this blog in months (except for my random blurb from yesterday - an attempt at overcoming the mental hurdle of writing by committing to writing nothing of any value at all), as you know. This dark, dark month of January was slated to be uneventful. Maybe as a testament to subconscious determination to NOT be depressed this winter, a slew of little projects came through and more or less saved me from the doldrums. One of these being a couple of dates tour-managing The Decemberists - a band I have known throughout the years at Bigshot Touring and had commonly joked (with their old tour manager) about how I'd leave the booking world behind and be an assistant tour manager for them. Funny how things turn out when we're all drinking at a Kevin French soirée. Having offered myself for merchandise, they offered me more. And it seems to have gone over well. Maybe they'd hire me back?

It gets difficult to do these big tours (especially if there is a bus involved) and then to go back to doing small tours (i.e. getting back in the van). There's a bunch of romance that surrounds a van tour in the way that you really FEEL the road and are way closer (emotionally and physically) to everyone you're traveling with. However, the bus allows for a lot more free time, physical exercise, and peace of mind and that's a bit hard to walk away from. Incidentally, I will be tour managing a spring tour with Jens Lekman, which I pursued in a very straightforward email to Jens (and then a similar email to my friends at Secretly Canadian) and somehow it worked out. Though I have to drive the length of this country at a time when I'm recommitting myself to good physical activity and good food (neither run in great abundance on the interstate highway system). Isn't it always like this?

I spent a great weekend with my friend, Casey Dienel, making food, attempting to hold my own body weight through a yoga class (I received a C- in yoga that day), and drinking lots of wine and champagne. Her best friend is a pretty amazing jazz singer and was performing with the Portland Symphony at one very beautiful theater in Portland. It was more or less a blast from my past as we sat in the balcony where I had sat through many orchestra field trips, watching my orchestra teacher's husband play 3rd chair from the Concert Master. He's still there, bless his heart. After the performance, we ate at a great happy hour in the bar next door (french fries, seared tuna, and a Bellini), watching coverage of the presidential State Of The Union address. I'm glad the TV was on mute and there was no close-captioning. I might have lost a perfectly good drink to a blur of emotion and an inaccurately-aimed trajectory. Things changed pretty quickly when I looked up and saw a split-screen of Barack Obama and Anderson Cooper. When did politics get so handsome?

Oh, there's this fun little music video that we were all in. Maybe you should watch it. It is a particularly vivid snapshot of our music scene, much like "16 Military Wives" for The Decemberists. I won't compare the two at all. But the sentiment, the desire to see it succeed, and the fun were the same.

I've finished my jaunt through the Leonard Cohen novels - thank you for those, Jesse. I understand Montreal that much more, though my fondest memories are eating food with you and Ang in your kitchen (and playing Guess Who? over Hoegaarden pints with Joan Hiller years ago). Does it ever not snow there?

Snapshots and Lists

Office supplies on the table, hearing voices through the floorboards, excessive appetite among other things, jeans a little tighter, a little colder outside. 59 messages on my phone that I have yet to respond to, 37 emails sitting in my inbox, 1 returned package staring at me, 2 piles of t-shirts that need to be sent on their merry way.
Taking my vitamins, keeping things moving, making books, advancing a tour, moving back into a computer, package of pepper mills from my late grandmother spilling salt on the floor, new haircut, Kim's back in town, indie rock sushi dinner.
Missing the summer, front row seats to an apocalyptic winter storm, tossing and turning in a king-sized bed on the 22nd floor overlooking the Space Needle, it's all coming together, no time to write, I miss you all desperately, but I'm letting go of the guilt.
First post of 2008 and we're already a month in. A lot is happening, all for the good, I'm happier than I've been in a long time (except for those pesky love handles). There is more yet but Leonard Cohen is beckoning to me, "Finish my book."
I must abide.
Rachel

Where in the hell am I?

Hi all - I'm still alive! I have been borrowing a computer that necessitates being plugged into the wall at all times or it dies. Often, it's not always possible to find an electrical outlet that produces electricity at the merch table of a venue. Otherwise, I'd write more. I also have the worst tour-lethargy ever. Like, I don't want to do ANYTHING but read books and hang out with whoever happens to be nearest my chair (which is still more ambitious than the last tour I was on). So! I'm working on getting to all those emails and maybe another blog post in the near future (one less full of apologies, preferrably). I will also include the tour dates so those who care may pity me when we hit those tertiary markets (Buffalo, anyone? Anybody? Hello?).

Here are some pictures of the sing-along in Seattle: http://www.flickr.com/photos/joshc/sets/72157602750270307/
Thanks, Josh C, whoever you are!

Makin' money and moving units since '00,
Rachel

My Computer

Hi all - greetings from the road! I am in Cologne right now and I don't have much time to write. This is going to be the last post for quite awhile as I got my computer stolen in Berlin and don't have much access to the Electronic Interweb. Computer time has been limited to checking my bank balance and playing damage control to my inbox. Hopefully, this is only a small bump in the road. It's hard when you put faith in a machine to take care of your life and it lets you down.

A moment of silence for the computer once known as BEARCAT.

Tour is really fun. We had 4 days off in Paris and I ate one too many pain du chocolat but I guess that's how it goes. When in Rome, you know? Tour highlight: seeing DJ Jazzy Jeff spin in Heidelberg. And yes, he played Summertime. Look out!

Much love to you all -
XO.
Russia

Safe and Sound

Greetings from Frankfurt - known for being a boring German city, though I disagree, having seen nothing but the venue and the venue is a rather nice place to be. As is the bus, believe it or not. This is my first post of the tour and I want to do it justice but I have no time, as they've just opened doors and I am sitting at a merch table.

I want you all to know that I am safe and sound and there are details to come! And believe me, the details are good...

Ich bin ausgezeichnet!
-Russia

Countdown

Holy hell, my head is in a million places at once. In 24 hours I will be driving myself to the airport (if I don't drive myself crazy first... Yuk yuk.) to throw myself on the LITTLE AIRPLANE (read: tiny tube of hate) that will take me to Vancouver, where my lounge with wings awaits me. From there, I fly to Frankfurt and then take a short jump to Berlin. Hopefully I will sleep (read: take enough Valium to knock me out) and get caught up on the bad Hollywood movies. Though, to be honest, I could use a little The Devil Wears Prada for the 27th time...

Nadin has big plans for me this weekend. She mentioned not allowing me to sleep when I got in on Friday because we'll be walking around Berlin. I will say one thing: That is well and good. But if I happen upon one more naked German in Berlin on too little sleep, I might lose it. **Sidenote: the one and only time I was in Berlin was on an overnight train from Stockholm and we were waiting to catch our bus to Prague. My boyfriend at the time was cranky and hungover so I went walking. Beautiful sunny morning in Berlin and I walk past a park where some dude is not only suntanning naked but ADVERTISING the goods as he has chosen to face them towards the busy road rather than the trees behind him. A stranger's balls before coffee is just too much. That's my only memory of Berlin.** BUT! Should all go as planned, we'll be hanging out in the spa all weekend (steam room, steam room!) and then hopefully catching The Decemberists that Sunday night. If I can fit in a haircut with Nads' roommate and a little wine, I'd say that's a perfectly acceptable weekend... Okay, I believe that actually qualifies as an EXTRAORDINARY weekend, but whatever...

I will be posting tour/travel updates periodically (under the label: The BS Scene. Ha ha... ha... ugh) and sending off the millions of postcards that have been requested of me. I'll be in touch as much as I can!

Wish me luck on the Air Canada Jazz Tiny Tube of Hate!

XO.
Russia

On a lighter note...

I was at the store the other day and I was in the homeopathic section looking for some supplement or another when I stumbled upon three rows of Liddell's brand homeopathic treatment sprays. Yes, SPRAYS! As in, rather than take a tablet, you're squirting in your supplements like Binaca. Okay, sure. I was skeptical for a second but only a second because the packaging was REALLY GOOD (like the periodic table of elements in pretty colors!!!!!) and my vitamins/supplements in pill-form are bulky, excessive, and uncomfortable (they give me the hiccups and I never manage to swallow them all the way).

So I decided to buy a few (for PMS, Jet Lag, Liver Detox, B12 + Folic Acid, and my daily Multi-Vitamin SPRAY!) and I love the shit out of these things. They're in 1-oz. glass or plastic spray bottles (which means you can take them on the plane without too much hassle, fingers crossed) and for some reason I can always remember to spray my vitamins more often than swallowing them. It's vitamin fun! It's fun in a spray bottle! You can get so many different kinds: alcohol detox, vericose veins, male sexual energy (HELLO!), cold + flu, asthma, etc. They're kind of spendy (about $10-$15 a pop) but so worth it. Oh, and the PMS one actually helps. Just putting that out there.

http://www.liddell.net ---------> Link over here!

Check this out!

SPRAAAAAAY!
-Rachel

HOLY SHIT! I think it's fall...

It has been a strange turn of the weather lately, giving me that sense of urgency that I have to get in all the sunshine I can before it disappears until June. The strange thing is that usually by September, I am so OVER the hot weather that I'm ready for the leaves to turn and the rain to start. It's partially a desire to not feel obligated to be outside and also a pending excitement for the holidays.

The weird thing is that 1.5 weeks ago, it was 90 degrees and counting. All of a sudden, a switch got flicked off and it's been cloudy, rainy, and tumultuous the last few days. The immediate lack of light gave way to a sudden foreboding and I thought, "Oh no... Not yet, please, not yet..." But then the weirdest thing happened: it got sunny again today but it was the strange wintery light, almost as though you could see the Earth turning on its axis. It got crisper, bluer, and the sun made its way to the left, instead of directly up ahead, where it has been for months. Since Chris and I went to Alaska in May, we've been used to at least 18 hours of daylight before the solstice even hit. And now that we're on the other side of the bell curve, well, it feels strange and sad. I've seen at least one squirrel a day, with a huge nut in its mouth, looking at me sideways as if I was going to give away its hiding place. "Don't worry, little squirrel," I think, as I ride past on my bike, "I won't tell a soul..." But they don't know that. They assume I'm after the same harvest and in a way, I am. If I could package up and hide the little bits of sunlight, nutrition, and the energy I feel right now, I would. But I'm scared more than anything to go back into a winter when I feel like, metaphorically and emotionally, I've FINALLY gotten out of the last one. I'm not ready yet.

It's this thing that happens when it gets dark early. The human equivalent of hibernation, where you cease activity by sundown and spend the rest of the night making food, drinking warm whiskey drinks, and falling asleep to a movie by the fire. It sounds nice in theory but I'm still in the mood for heat, bike rides, productivity and an umbrella-less world. My nose was running all day today - and it was 60 degrees. FREEZING. Lamenting the natural way of things is my modus operandi so why should I stop here?

I've been thinking a lot about my grandmother lately. She died a month ago (my first grandparent to pass) and I can see her vividly and hear her more vividly in my head. I even have an email from her, an email address that I could never erase though there is no one on the other end. It's one of those mass-email forwards that meant absolutely ZERO to me when she sent it, but that I will probably save forever because I'm attached to her name sitting there like a little ghost in my inbox. I miss her. I really fucking miss her. She's one of the remaining connections I still have to my father and I'm not ready to let that go yet. The way she called me "love" and the way she spoke, got excited about her volunteer work, the way she nagged at me every time I went perusing her fridge. All the times I wondered what she was going to do with all of the food and soda from the 80's in the garage. I swear she had 30 tubes of toothpaste. When I'd ask her why she bought more, it was a simple explanation. "It was on sale!" I think she might have had the only remaining stash of New York Seltzer in the entire United States. And I mourn her more every day that passes rather than the other way around. I remember the last time I saw her she told me about how she was going to Hawaii on a timeshare for Thanksgiving, only to have her plans thwarted by lung cancer. We all have plans and it becomes extremely real sometimes when I have to remind myself that our plans are not going to save us. Our plans could be irrelevent and obsolete at any moment. So why do we spend so much time planning?

The "good fight" is made up of different manifestations of hope, because without hope, we wouldn't find the courage to keep going. There's the funny balance you have to find between thinking too far in advance (about all the pain you may some day go through) and not thinking about the future at all (the c'est la vie that is usually indicative of recklessness and hopelessness). Investing yourself in the future and your friends/relationships/belongings/career, but not TOO MUCH, because what if it all ends tomorrow and we've thought nothing about the ephemera, the meta, the spiritual? Where do we find balance and where do we find our faith? I've been battling this conundrum for years (and I know it's an historical human search), this darkness that only the dark weather can bring. Everything seems bigger in the wintertime, especially when the rest of the world is colder and quieter by comparison. But that is the way of things, ready or not. And I am not ready, as per usual.

Birthday - A Visual

These are the two photos I have from my 25th birthday celebration(s) this year. The first is from Alaska, where (as you may remember) I spent all day in my birthday suit, drinking champagne, watching the democratic debates, and taking personal inventory. The second is from my belated birthday party (after I returned from my trip) and it included many friends and bottles of bubbles (and then a little limoncello-induced sadness later that night). 25 has been a little bit of magic...

Tegan and Sara

I've had a few shots of these lovely ladies sitting around in the photo bin. I figured there would be enough of an audience who wants to see them, so here they are. Chris' hair is its own animal and the matching shirts are still as genius as the day they were worn. These are from the interview on the last day of the record that made it to the DVD. We were all sitting around drinking champagne and watching the comedy unfold...

Design-y

I changed my fonts. I had no idea I could do that - Blogger never ceases to amaze me. They had a small selection of san-serif fonts, but contained in that group was Verdana (one of my favorites). Please enjoy the lack of curly-cues...

I am being held hostage by a bar band in the lot next to the store I'm filling in at. This is thanks to the street fair that is happening on our street at this very moment. I dislike 2 things very keenly: street fairs with copious numbers of hippies and strollers and parades. And wouldn't you know, the agenda is to include both today and I, a captive audience. I will be going to the sake bar after work tonight with Dawn to give my soul, heart, and body a good scrubbing. What showers can't wash away, alcohol can generally take care of, especially when it comes to the unsavory remnants of one's day. Combine that with a good sit in front of the record player and you're fit for God's eyes.

Cleanin' up...
Rachel

Richard Swift Tour: April 2007

This has been my favorite tour to date. It's also my first roll of cross-processed film, shot on a little point-and-shoot, nothing fancy. I love these photos with every ounce of heart I have. I think the shots of our meal at the Cheesecake Factory in a suburb of Columbus, OH are particularly telling. It was the first meal I've ever had at a CF and I think it might be my last. As much as I hate to admit it, the food was really good but our plates were as big as our faces (and then some) - they were so big, in fact, that we couldn't fit them all on the table, forcing us to shuffle things around and finally opt to place leftovers on the top of the back of our booth (to risk them falling on the patrons in the next booth over). What I didn't know as well is that Columbus is the most average of all American cities, demographically, meaning that all new product tests start there. They have all these weird establishments that I've never heard of and they are able to boast the First Chipotle In America, or something like that. Columbus is a hell-hole and so much more could be said on that (the hotel that looked like one of Baghdad's finest, the 6-foot-5 transexual prostitute, the mysterious camera crew at 3 am, etc.) but God, that was fun...




















A few other notes:

*That bottle of tequila was the size of a small baby and I decided it needed Byron's seat more than Byron did. I think we all agreed, if only silently.

*The ghost cat belongs to Chris Swanson and it's one of my favorite animal pictures I have ever taken. I had to bribe it by letting it chew my finger so I could get the shot.

*West Texas still looks like Mars.

*The Spaceland, in LA, is a perfectly wonderful venue but they desperately need new marquee letters...

*The Secretly Canadian crew is absolutely amazing. We had a fun get-together after freezing our asses off in an outdoor festival in Bloomington in which sleet/snow patches were present.

*Thanks to Richard Swift, Shealynn, Casey Foubert, James McAllister, Byron Hagan, Eli Thomson, and Chris Colbert for letting me photograph them and not doing those things people do when they DON'T want to be photographed.

As always, thanks for tuning in.
Signing off,
Russia

Affirmative

I cannot tell the number of times I've wanted to scrawl something across a mirror in lipstick or eyeliner (or clear lipgloss in my case) just so I would remember when things get crazy. Like, "You are a good person"; shit like that. As silly and hug-yourself as that sounds, it's kind of important. Stress can put you in a crazy fog and last night it got a little foggy. But I was out riding my bike after dark to go feed Black and it made me happy and yet simultaneously sad that I forget how much I love riding my bike after dark. It's the only time during the day that I truly remember to breathe, if only because summer nights in Portland smell so good. You've got all the trees, the flowers, the one random who has decided to build a fire in his fireplace, which adds a nice woodsy smell on top of everything. And it's warm. I found myself zipping along down streets last night, crouching low, going so fast with a bit of reckless abandon. I mean, I stopped for stop signs, but I was free beyond that. I almost wanted to yell, but that's a little too free for me.

Another thing that really makes me feel good about my situation is paying bills and balancing my checkbook. Cue the sirens - nerd on the loose... But seriously, I feel so organized and accomplished when I've paid the bills for the month. Like I can see the little pebbles that I've just chiseled off the mountain but they're all shiny and pretty and make me forget the mountain for a second. Is it weird to feel like a good citizen after I pay my bills? I certainly don't feel this way when I pay taxes, but bills, yes, they make me a good person.

I added "9/27: Leave For Berlin" into my iCal and it made me smile to myself. As scared shitless as I can be at the thought of getting into an airplane for 12 hours, I love traveling and am especially excited for this trip. I could write entry upon entry about my aerophobia (and I probably will eventually) but I'd rather not make myself anxious about a trip I'm really excited about. It's like feeding a flame that, lately, has been a small smoulder. But there's nothing anxiety-producing about adding it to your iCal, especially when you can romanticize the cushy Lufthansa seats and free transatlantic wine. YUM. Nothing like nursing a hangover in a foreign country...

I feel like there are so many sad bastard entries on this blog from earlier days and I'm hoping to unpaint that picture of myself. All my friends who read this know that I'm not a sad person, but I also wanted to let all my friends know what a huge happy nerd I am right now. A nerd who takes paying bills as her civic duty and wants to scream like a banshee on her bike at 11 pm (not that THAT would be anything out of the ordinary in our neighborhood). It's a great exercise to make lists like this and I implore my happy and sad bastard friends alike to do so.

Love,
A Sappy Sack of Crap

Mountains of Work

I wake up consistently marveled and anxious about the number of projects I have going on right now. Unlike working at the agency, however, I have time to pat myself on the back for a project well-done. As I was able to today. Though I wouldn't exactly call brunch, a bottle of champagne, and a Ciao Vito $4 plate of marinara with my friend, Dawn, a pat on the back exactly. More of a series of pats all over my belly - a belly RUB if you will...

Today, after weeks of hard manly-handy work, I finished the acoustic project in CW's studio. I drilled, wood-glued, and anchored my way to a better sonic landscape in the studio (nothing but the best for my boyfriend's comically-small-yet-well-honed ears). I realized I am excellent at covering square things in fabric (much like wrapping Christmas presents) and am exceedingly satisfied using the staple gun to hold said fabric in place. It's a very empowering tool. What's more empowering is suspending said panels from the ceiling (albeit rather imperfectly) and realizing that they will, in fact, stay on the ceiling despite gravity and my inexperience at defying gravity (my childhood was laden with injuries pertaining to my battle with gravity). I did discover that whilst drilling into the ceiling, one must wear protective eye-wear, a turtleneck, and rule of all rules, please keep your mouth closed while crap is falling from the sky. I lamented to Dawn that it's taken me 25 years to discover that I might be a mouth-breather (at least while using tools). There was so much sediment falling into my bra that I dubbed myself, "Gravel Tits." I laughed because if you were to encounter someone who had such a nickname, you might wonder "how in the hell did they get a name like that..." and I realized that today was such an occasion. From now on, it's Gravel Tits, or GT for short.

At any rate, it was satisfying to finish this project and have the privilege of invoicing my boyfriend. Dawn and I took pictures of ourselves using the self-timer on my camera (another thing I learned how to do today). I will post them when I get them developed so we can all marvel at Dawn's tiny hands in the big work gloves. I've gotten so used to seeing my own hands in those gloves that I sort of assumed it was normal. Until I saw Dawn wear them. Then I realized that I either have behemoth hands or Dawn is a shrimp. Both, likely, are true.

Today begins my week of new projects. Musicfest NW is upon me and I am trying not to stress at that workload. I feel like if I can make it through to Sunday without a heart attack, it will be a week well done. I also will be covering shifts at my friends' store, OFFICE, while they're out of town (link to the right) while watching their cat, Black, watching their house, and being the Project Manager for an event happening in October. When I got my to-do list, I almost had a heart attack (narrowly making this week a little more difficult than it needs to be).

So, friends, I hope you all are keeping busy and productive and if anyone hears of a college kid interested in being a life intern a là Kramer, please let me know. I could use an extra body...

Richard Swift tour photos coming soon. One of my photos of The Hugs got posted on the 1965 Records website (www.1965records.com), though the resolution is for crap because they tried to make my small photo bigger. When will people understand that you can't ADD information in Photoshop, you can only take it away? Ugh. LIFE INTERN, get me 1965 Records on the phone. And bring me a latte! Goddamn, good for nothing...

- Gravel Tits

The Hugs (Proper)

I spent an afternoon with The Hugs, taking pictures and walking around. Here are the results...

To Do List

More than any lack of motivation, my inability to think of introductions to my writing pieces keeps me from being more productive. I am inclined to quote my sophomore English teacher (oh, wise woman): "How can you write an introduction if you don't know what you're introducing?" The logic being that the body comes before the introduction, the introduction being the last piece of the frame. That's all well and good if you have 3 weeks to write a research paper but when I'm writing a blog, I just don't have time for rough drafts. Hence, the weird, disconnected emotional vomit or pefunctory to-do list. I have a lot of friends who are writers and I'm calling out for a little advice. Any wisdom you can relay to me would be wonderful.

So news of all news: I am touring with Broken Social Scene (aka Kevin Drew, backed by BSS or something like that) this fall. For the first time in a long while, I will simply be slinging t-shirts instead of playing babysitter. In simpler terms, this means a decent amount of money and less than half the responsibility of being a tour manager. It's like vacation but I'm getting paid. What is more exciting is that I finally get to make it back to Europe for the first time in 3 years. I wondered how I was ever going to make it there on my piddly freelance salary - and now, it won't cost me a dime. As far as cost-benefit analyses go, this ranks pretty high on the S&P charts. I am excited to drink cheap (good) wine and not understand what anyone is saying. I have been missing German continental breakfasts, umlauts, weird TV show, and being utterly disconnected from my cellphone (because I can't afford to use it over there). Plus, we'll be touring in a bunch of countries that I missed on my trip over there the last time (Scotland, Germany). And can anyone resist 2 nights in Paris with Feist? For the love of all who sing beautifully... I am also super excited to be selling merch because it's such a nice break from the equal parts stress and doldrums of being a tour manager. I get to talk to people, I get to sweat a little, and I get to tour with my favorite of all favorite ladies, Nadin Brendel (please see the MIKROKULTUR link on the side). Art museums, here I come.

It has been a pretty blissful and productive weekend. I had a champagne brunch yesterday with my lady-friends that included yogurt parfaits with berry compote, caramelized onion and gorgonzola quiche, salad, Veuve Cliquot and Argyle champagne, and french press upon french press of coffee. I have hosted many dinners before but never a brunch and I have to say my preference is leaning towards the latter. I wasn't aware that it got any better than going out to brunch on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, but making a brunch for my favorite ladies actually topped it. For recipes, please email me!

I have been taking a lot of pictures lately as you can tell from my posts. I hope to get the Richard Swift pictures up soon as well as the shots from the photo shoot I had last week with The Hugs. Which reminds me, pick up photos from Pro Photo Supply. Tomorrow is a trip to Home Depot to get supplies for the acoustic treatment I'm giving Walla's studio. Hammers, nails, saws, clamps, and wood - I can't wait!

It feels good to get your hands dirty.

Doin' it.
-Russia

Recording with So Many Dynamos: The "Up With People" Sessions (July 2007)

On Tour with The Hugs

Gypsies

As stupid as it sounds, the correlation between productivity and having something to write about is uncanny. Logically, it all makes sense but it seems so strange to realize that the more you fill up your time (the less time you have to yourself) the more you get done for yourself. It is a paradox. And the paradox, I'm happy to say, is working for me. More writing!

I fell in love with a girl a week ago. She's on the cover of a book called "Bury Me Standing" - a book about the Roma people in Eastern Europe. Being Eastern European by descent and having seen first-hand the discrimination of the Roma in Budapest, I was naturally drawn to this book. The girl looks strangely like many street-punks in Portland, though her eyes tell more stories than any kid on Stark begging for change. She's haunting and I have to say, I got the book more because of its cover, though the mystery behind "gypsies" is always intriguing. Chris brought a very good point up to me the other night when I told him about my book; he said that the only thing he associates with the word "gypsy" (besides the totally awesome Fleetwood Mac song) is the Shel Silverstein poem. More often than not, the Roma are perceived more as baby-stealers and fortune-tellers than an actual culture, who thrives on living outside of the system (often more by choice than circumstance) and being completely self-sufficient. Though impoverished and persecuted throughout the centuries, I am finding more and more that the Roma appear to have found a system that works for them despite our inability to understand this system. What I learned about nationalism in Eastern Europe (and primarily the former Yugoslavia) was that these countries were more divided by national affiliation than by clan or religion (primarily because religion was outlawed most of the time). However, the Roma people have always been loyal to the Roma history before being loyal to a sovereign government and this might explain much of their historical travails. It seems that no matter how you look at it, you realize it's not easy going against the grain, especially when you deliberately don't try to explain yourself away. These people have never tried to explain themselves, which is so unlike our cultural experience. It seems we spend more time trying to be understood and explaining our actions than actually DOING anything. I, too, wish I was satisfied being misunderstood - I, more or less, wish I was mysterious or complex enough to warrant being misunderstood, but I am neither that courageous nor that intriguing. Needless to say, I'm lost in this book...

Last week, I offered to start managing my friend Casey Dienel - I bring this up if only because if there was ever a person who walked this Earth today that SHOULD HAVE been a gypsy, it's her. She's young but she's an old soul with stories to tell, legacies to pass on, and enough recipes to feed an entire country. She wants to do things in her own organic manner and I think if she could spend her days simply picking berries in a peasant's frock, she would relish it. I want to help her navigate the music industry, get people to hear her music and love her the way I do; and simultaneously, I want some of that soul and imagination to rub off on me. She appears to live a fantasy without too much naivete - almost the perfect balance, enough to take seriously and not enough to dismiss her. She's my little breath of fresh air and I feel privileged to know her and be close to her. That's why I want to share her with you: www.caseydienel.com.

Please give a listen if you can and send her an email. You'll be happy you did!

I'm a hippie.
- Russia

Harvey Danger

I'm sure only about 4 of you know that I have booked tours for Harvey Danger for over a year now. Though I am completely unaffiliated with an agency and have no place to advertise tour dates (because my website is still in the works), I am choosing to announce tour dates here. Without further ado, I present to you the 2 exclusive east-coast dates for Sean Nelson and Jeff Lin's solo Harvey Danger shows! Should be fucking sweet, in my expert opinion.

8/25: Maxwell's, Hoboken, NJ ($8.00 Advanced / $10.00 Day of Show)
8/26: Mercury Lounge, New York, NY ($10.00 Advanced / $10.00 Day of Show)

Support is still undecided for Maxwell's but support for the Mercury is as follows: The Fatales, The Little Heroes, and Uh Huh Her. I am in support of the PJ Harvey reference and therefore do not mind that it's a 4-band bill. However, if the name had completely sucked, I would have been all hell fury because I hate it when more than 3 bands play within a span of 4 hours - it's too many bands and way too long to be stuck in a venue. But I digress...

I'm pretty sure that none of you who actually read my blog live in the NYC area, but feel free to spread the word to the people you DO know who are brave enough to live near that urban jungle. I, on the other hand, prefer to keep far far away from any place where $60 easily flies out of my pockets within 10 minutes of leaving the hotel. Maybe I'm a wimp. And then, maybe I speak more sense than the average person. Hard to say - you be the judge.

-Russia

Awwwww...

I was 7 in this photo - it was still the 80's. I think that was the first and only time I have ever had my hair curled. I suppose it could be worse.

Continuing On

I have been making myself constant to-do lists the last few days, all of them including "Blog." As time has gone on, there have been additions of underlines, exclamation points, and empty promises of the 'today is the day' variety. I finally had to be honest with myself about a few things:

(1) I am a nerd.
(2) I cannot continue on with my productive life until I finish Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows (please refer to Item 1 to understand my motivation).

As it stands, I am finished. I have been through 2 days (would have been 1 but I did have a few obligations outside of the house and had they been anything less than birthdays or the need to eat, I might have pushed them aside as well)... where was I?... Oh yes, 2 days of shock, awe, sadness, delight, and heart-pounding expectation and suspense and it has dawned on me that these feelings were in no way connected to my real life and this whole thing sounds rather pathetic. Ha ha...ha...ugh. But it is over now, I know how it ends, like I said, I can go back to my real life (a hearty thank you to my friends who were so understanding when I said, "When I get back from tour, I will be incommunicado for a few days after that" and not thinking it too worrisome...).

So yes, tour! I spent 4 days on the road with a local band called The Hugs. Our first show was technically in Portland last Saturday night with them opening for You Am I and Bobby Bare Jr. Being that it was a local show, I'm not entirely sure it counts as part of the tour under normal circumstances. But being that I was working and dealt with a fair amount of drama that night, I consider it under the broad category of "Tour: Not Exactly A Highlight." We had seen Tegan and Sara the night before in Portland and, lest there be any doubt, it was wonderful. Absolutely spot on fantastic. The new record (which they played from end to beginning) translated so well live, my mind was blown too many times and yet I still managed to be social afterward. It's a strange thing when you're around for the creation of an album (only really hearing snippets over and over again - through the floor and the walls, as it mostly was for me), looking into the microscope, and having the privilege to watch it evolve from snippets to actual record to live show. You begin to understand how an art becomes its own machine after it has left the hands of its creator. The creator has some control over the path of its machine, but mostly its left to whims and circumstances. And the machine that is The Con is unstoppable despite many circumstances that could have prevented it from reaching our ears. My kudos to you, ladies.

Moving on. After the love-fest that ensued the night before, my first show with The Hugs appeared to be a success until about 2 hours afterward when I got a call from a few folks at the venue, telling me that the guitar player had, with camera footage as proof, stolen 2 guitars from the You Am I/BBJ camp. Denied it, of course. Then got caught. There are so many things that I could say about this situation but I know they have already been said, to Jon from others, to Jon from himself, and to other parties involved that night. I have no doubt he is kicking himself at many opportunities lost but that is for him to sort out. Needless to say, The Hugs became a 3-piece a day before we left for tour. I was doing merch for The Decemberists the next day (again, fantastic show!) and had to deal with the previous nights' drama while lugging, counting, sorting, and drying boxes of merch (thanks to a Chicago rainstorm that left a quarter of the merch soaking wet). It was a rough day but there were so many people there that meant so much to me, I could momentarily forget all the bullshit. It was also that day that I learned about the passing of my grandmother the day before. I do not bring this up for pity's sake. I bring it up because life changes are a funny thing: sometimes you have time to pay attention, sometimes you don't. Some things hit you at the moment, others sneak up on you. But when it rains it usually pours and I can safely say it poured that day.

The Hugs and I flew to San Diego the next morning for the first of three of our shows opening for Sean Na Na and The Cribs. It was super fun as I had become buddies with The Cribs last year and my friend Mark was (and still is) tour managing for them. It was a big ol' friend-a-thon, which included in the other cities, my friends Autumn, Justin, Yenie, Jordan, and Paul. So good to see all of you! The tour went off with very few hitches and I can almost say that it was a success - the baby birds learned to fly under my tutelage and they had a blast at the same time. However, as happens when bands are getting their feet wet in the touring aspect of their careers, some stupid stuff happened. Namely, the purchase of a medicinal stash of pot from a bum in a park in LA. I swear, I let them out from under my watchful eye for 3 hours (so mommy could have a little time to herself and get caught up on emails) and I come back to three boys stoned out of their gourd on contraband that was, let's face it, a little risky. They made it through, however. Though I think they'd do it again if given the chance so it's safe to say maybe we didn't learn much that day.

We had a total of 7 CDs for the entire ride up the west coast (not an abundance) so we listened to Weezer's Pinkerton about 4 times, Queen's Greatest hits twice, The Velvet Underground twice, and a number of Belle and Sebastian CDs (because I found a stash of OOP singles in San Diego and bought them all - NERD ALERT!). One thing I definitely learned: there is always a good time for Queen. And then there is the PERFECT time for Queen. About 20 miles north of Eugene, we popped Queen back in and it proved to be the magic that laughed and sang us the entire way home. I wish I could have taken a picture of everyone singing, doing the air drumfills, and mouth-guitaring the solos... But I was driving. It's the way all tours need to end - in laughter.

I have a lot of pictures to show you from Alaska and from this tour. I keep hoping that I will be able to wait until I get my website up but when in the hell is that going to happen? I dunno, soon? Working on it. I would go and join Flickr or something but I've never been a huge fan. So until then I will try to describe these pictures in words in the hope that you can use your imagination and fill in the blank spots where my writing just doesn't cut it.

Signing off.

-Russia

Feast or Famine: A Tale of Rachel's Professional Life

So many of you know know that about 9 months ago, I took a gigantic leap back from the music industry in order to preserve what got me into the music industry in the first place: my love of music. Once you find yourself in the middle of the hubbub, you realize that slowly, slowly over however long a period of time, your passion, your absolute devotion to music has sort of, well, petered out, been compromised, what have you. Very few people are exempt and there are definitely upsides to working in the music industry. Free music, for one. All of a sudden the people you've admired for so long are well within your circle of friends. It's all very exciting. There are downsides, too many to name depending on your mood. I won't go into it. I suppose what I'm really trying to emphasize here is that I had to break up with music in order to love music again and I have been actively searching for a job in the business side of things that will allow me to keep up the romance.

It's a lot like dating. Too much of a good thing and you want to strangle your good thing. Sometimes it takes that break up to help you realize what it is you really lost. Sometimes a little vacation can help that too. My aim was never to break up with the music industry all together - I mean, I'm pretty good at it. We can't always pick what we're good at - this is one of my curses. I suppose if I was a total hack, it would be a lot easier for me to give up the ghost, go get an office job, settle for finding happiness somewhere between the hours of 7 and 10 pm. But I maintain hope. I say, "Music, this is only temporary. I have to miss you for once. You're too available. You're too manic - and then you're depressive. I can't quite figure out what you want from me. I need to see someone else for a little while. I hope you understand. Call me sometime."

So over the past few months, I've been doing the equivalent of job dating - just realizing that putting yourself out there again is a hell of a lot better than sitting in your house, being miserable and self-destructive. I recently put myself throught that ill-fated phase of "Maybe I can work retail again..." For a moment, there was nothing more appealing than being employed in a place where I felt absolutely no desire (negative desire, even) to bring my work home with me. Kind of like the "Sure, I'll have a drink with you even though you're not my type and it would be doomed from the beginning, but hey, a free drink sounds great" situation. And you have polite (possibly psychotic) conversation while your eyes, fingers, toes, ears and whatnot are looking for the nearest emergency exit. I never doubted that I would be heartily dissatisfied with the HUGE pay cut that working at the shoe store would entail - I guess I just never realized that I would actually rather sit at home and drink myself to death than get paid $9 an hour to sell ugly wedges to fat ladies. Call it my achilles heel, I dunno. Working at the shoe store was a lot like going on a mercy date... And then being forced to pay for dinner, drive the guy home to his mother's house, walk him in, meet his mother, and curse of all curses, feel obligated to do it again. Ugh. I shudder to think... I lasted 3 shifts.

This is all following a period of 9 months where there was either a ton of work or none at all. That last entry was at the point that I really felt I was doomed to start over professionally. I had a great tour in April and I was certain that it was the beginning of something really good. The whole situation was much like a great first date with no invitation for a second and you wonder, "Did I say something weird at the end? Was there something in my teeth? Shit..." I know that I really can't take it personally - the music industry is just like that. It's business, as they say. But you can never help but wonder if someone just isn't telling you something (like how I had my fly down for the final speech of my junior year mythology class; I thought people were laughing at my wit. I found out later that was not the case...). And every time you swear, "This is the last time! Never again! We are OVER!" you find yourself crawling back like a little abused puppy. The music industry has that power - no one ever really leaves. You'd think someone would start a shelter for people like us, an AA for people who swear they are finished with the biz but are always tempted to take that first drink again and again and again.

So with that in mind, I thought I was done. And within 4 days of that last entry, I got 3 job offers (all temporary, contractual work) in one day. So I guess music and I are back on. I mean, when things are good, they're really good. No one understands how we are when we're alone. He's really sweet, really - I mean, you'd never be able to tell but he's so romantic. I know I said I didn't love him, but I was just going through a phase...

- Russia

Real Life

I have been completely out of touch and for the 2 readers I have, I apologize. I've been in a weird place and it has made quite a number of things pretty joyless for me. I have attempted to watch Amelie to get some joy back (she's an old reliable) but I'm on the 3rd time and, still, nothing. I hope to be back in an inspired place soon, with many stories and odd things to write about.

I hope you all are hanging in there.

-Russia

Heavy Cat

I just emailed with a friend who used the phrase 'heavy cat' as an excuse for bad typing and I decided that, though it probably makes no sense to any of you, it is quite brilliant. Hence, Paul wins the award for titling my entry. Congrats, Paul! ::crickets in the darkness::

I am at a bit of a loss to figure out what to write about when I'm not on a fantastical adventure. While Real Life has a way of kicking the creativity out of a person, so does sitting in one's comfortable bed. A Word On My Bed: I have missed this bed and I have been attempting to write an "Ode To My Bed" for years now but have not been able to convey my exact feelings due to the limitations of language (and, well, the limitations of my writing in general). What I can say is that it offers mind-blowing back support and a comfort that no hotel bed, no matter how fancy, can ever give to me. I can relish this bed for 12 hours at a time, where my maximum stay in a hotel bed has been clocked at 10 (usually owing to one very zealous maid who takes no joy in acknowledging the 'Do Not Disturb' sign).

Lest you think I can remain sedentary for too long, I am leaving for San Francisco tomorrow morning. It's about an 11-hour drive from here and I'm really excited about solo road trip. It has nothing to do with my travel partner and everything to do with how I am wired. The key to being a really good travel partner is compromise and accommodation and you should have enough of both to adequately disguise your controlling tendencies over the stereo, pit stops, and choice of eateries. Anyway, yes, going to San Francisco for business and pleasure. See some friends, see if I can convince someone to take me on tour with them. And if I can get both in the same person, well aren't I a lucky girl? We will also have the privilege of seeing The New Year tomorrow night, which should sufficiently conclude a nice 12-hour day in the car.

Then, as far as I know, I'm home for realz on the 27th (unless some pressing vacationary matters arise). I have a birthday party coming up which gives me every excuse in the book to wear a silly hat, yell indiscriminately at people (and inanimate objects, depending on where the night takes me), and demand presents. While I will probably only wear a birthday cone on my head and jump for joy if the chef decides to give me free appetizers, I love to pretend that I can be a brash, demanding princess on "my day." Hell, it might be more profitable - but it just ain't me. And technically, "my day" was a few weeks ago so we'll see if I can even finagle a free drink.

That's the update for now. I promise to have more actual stories once my focus steers away from "How in the hell am I going to pay that bill?" and settles once again on "I was riding the bus and this crackhead sat down next to me..." I wish I had a heavy cat to blame for my awkward set of priorities (thanks again, Paul. Heavy cat is a slam dunk! ::crickets::)...

Meeeeowrawrumph.

- Russia

Finale

All apologies to my friends for the lack of an update. Coming home after a month-long vacation is hardly a relaxing affair - it makes me long for the days spent on Lake Louise, of which I am 4 days removed. A lot has happened since my last update, so let's jump in.

Shortly after my last blog (Birfday), we spent a leisurely day on the ferry to get to Whitehorse (again). The thing about the Great North is that there are very few highways, lending to the limitation of routes to get from here to there. Hence, you backtrack a lot. We avoided a huge backtrack by taking a ferry from Haines, AK to Skagway, AK - a short one hour ferry ride that saved us 2 hours of charted territory. Unfortunately for Alaska, the ferry system is kind of a joke. Granted, my scope and opinion is based solely on this tiny ferry ride, but really, I'm not sure it's that much different writ large. The lack of organization of automobiles underneath forced us to pull a 180 getting off the boat, not to mention the hour-long delay in getting 30 cars off the boat when it arrived. They told us to arrive 2 hours before boarding, which we did, and proceeded to wait almost 3 to get on the stupid thing. In its defense, the boat was in excellent shape and the beer in the lounge was as delicious as the velvet Elvises that adorned the walls. This would have been the boat we might have spent 4 days on to get to Bellingham had "The Inside Passage On The Way Home: Plan A" worked.

Our plan to get to Juneau for a few days failed as we realized two things: (1) We were getting itchy to get back down South and the trip to Juneau wasn't going to get us South fast enough, and (2) We sort of, kind of, ahem, realized, ahem, that we likeCanadamuchbetterthanAlaskaanyway. So with that said, we busted ass from Whitehorse (where we spent 4 hours cooking snacks for the long drives ahead and dealing with a house-alarm faux pas - sorry Rita!!), to Fort Nelson (at the tiki hotel with nasty shag carpeting that I hated putting my bare feet on - still not as bad as Palmer, AK...), and to Edmonton, where we spent a nice night relaxing in the very pleasing Coast Hotel. It really is unfathomable how huge British Columbia really is. Moo.

The next morning, we hit Whyte Street in Edmonton, which is like any other hip street in any other city. The record store was excellent - I bought the newest Shannon Wright record which I feel is her best to date (it sounds as though she learned a lot about composition from her collaboration with Yann Tiersen - beautiful songs!) and: THE NEW SHELLAC RECORD (on vinyl)!!! Holy God. Okay, so, to preface: I like Shellac a bunch. I have never disliked a Shellac or Big Black record. To be honest, the actual record is going to take some warming up to (there is no "Copper" on it). However, the artwork alone is enough reason to buy the damn thing. Artwork is always better on vinyl and this is no exception: the Italian Greyhound photoshoot is the most brilliant thing I have ever seen and you all must see it. Please do not hesitate. Get thee to your local vinyl section and witness it for yourself. I had to pull it out at least 3 times on the way to Calgary to remind myself how amazing it is - I giggled a million times over. In fact, I should pull it out and look at it today. I am not a music critic - I mean, I'm critical of the music I listen to but I would never tell anyone what to like or make people feel stupid for not having heard this band or another. In fact, my small foray into music criticism was short due to my own limitation of not knowing how to say why I liked or hated something. Believe it or not, even a college newspaper doesn't accept "It's awesome!" or "This suuuuucks!" as a thorough review, despite the crap they actually do print. But I can tell you without shame what is brilliant in the album artwork world without feeling too guilty. And I will tell you that if you do not at least LOOK at the Shellac record, you are missing out. I might even venture to say you are uncultured. En guarde!

Alright, sooooo... Where was I? Yes, Calgary. We made it. Two goals for Calgary: (1) Enjoy much needed city life. (2) Find Bundaberg rum - the only city in North America that carries this Australian import. We succeeded on both fronts and much more: We discovered this brilliant little vegetarian restaurant called The Coup, where we proceeded to eat twice within the same 24 hours. Our server both days was this rad lady, Sonya, who is a design-kid and apparently has a scarf business. I aim to put a link to her page here in a few days. Our last night in town, we had Japanese food at this sushi restaurant on the north side of town. At the end of our meal, close to closing time, we had them call a cab for us - we waited 45 minutes (after closing time) and it never came. They were apologetic and it was really no issue to walk back to the hotel. But the cute Japanese couple that worked there flagged us down on the street and drove us back to our hotel out of the goodness of their hearts. I tell you, they were the sweetest, most generous folks we had met the entire trip. On top of their hospitality, we received free drinks in the hotel bar, thanks to our "regular" bartender (who served us the night before) and the owner of the bar who took a liking to us (the only explanation I can think of). So we got all squishy inside upon our departure from Calgary - which is why, Jesse, we will remember it fondly. Look out.

Now to the best part. Our last stop before the drive home was Lake Louis, AB, about 60 km from Banff. CW really went for it in the accommodations department, to the point where there was a "guard" at the front with a list of people checking in that day. If you weren't checking in, you weren't allowed on the premises. Holy shit, my first hotel guest list experience. Swank. All of the valets were dressed up like Swiss mountain folk, complete with knee-high green socks and the little feather in the hat. I wanted to hug them all - I have a real soft-spot for Switzerland. The logistical question was whether or not we'd be able to check in to our room early (noon). Of course, our room was ready because this was a classy joint. *Note: I aim to write a dissertation on hotel quality, for I have many qualms about the state of accommodations these days.*

Our room was a lake-view affair and the lake is indescribably blue. Also, like Switzerland, the mountains came right out of this pristine body of water. Numerous times a day, either of us were found staring mesmerized out the window. THIS is livin'! And what do we do when we are "livin'"? We order champagne. Lest you doubt. We opted to go to the Lakeview Lounge (exactly what it sounds like), have some sandwiches (lobster and bay shrimp with pea shoots and sprouts on a grilled ciabatta, mmmm), and gaze at each other across the table, thanking God and each other that we didn't have two little screaming boys with us like the couple 5 feet over. Nothing LESS relaxing than children - it's nothing against kids, it's just true. Hard to enjoy a Moet & Chandon when you are trying to shove animal crackers into your kid's gullet so they won't scream. Mommy has a headache just thinking about it. Our waiter informed us that Lake Louise is the 2nd most photographed place in the world. Naturally we asked what the first is, but he didn't know. (We think it is the Eiffel Tower. Anyone? Bueller? Bueller? Dianna, my French ambassador?)

You might ask yourself if the day ends after a bottle of champagne is drained at 3 pm. Well, I'm the first to tell you that it does not. We went back to the room and had two more drinks (a White Lady on the bed whilst embroidering) (a scotch on the rocks in the bathtub with my book, Special Topics in Calamity Physics by Marisha Pessl - absolutely brilliant). We made reservations for the fondue restaurant downstairs (when in Rome...), where we had a pre-dinner cocktail and a bottle of wine with our fancy queso cheese. I would like to say that it stopped there and it would have had we not spent enough money on dinner to warrant a free glass of Canadian ice wine. I do stand by my statement that "ice wine is some pansy-ass crap" but it was actually really good. At that point, both of us got the hiccups and giggled, hiccupped, tip-toed and skipped to our room. We promptly put ourselves to bed because we were two very useless individuals at this point. I smile just thinking about that day.

The next day was as lush and relaxed as the day before, sans alcohol. We rented a canoe and rowed around the lake for an hour - advice: if you don't get absolutely sauced the day before and you find yourself in a canoe on a pristine lake, please do me a favor and bring a bottle of champagne and a beret. There is no other way to do it. The rest of the day consisted of naps, reading, and baths. I had succeeded in making my bath too hot so I could not lounge as long as the day before, sadly. We ate in the steakhouse downstairs where there were free appetizers and vegetarian entrees. Wow, food again. I am becoming one-dimensional.

Truth be told, there is not much more to report after than a long-ass drive to Tacoma (to visit the parental units) and then our arrival at home. I would like to say that it was a happy arrival and it was, had I not been faced with how broke I really am upon entrance into our house. Reality has a funny way of knocking your feet out from under you to remind you that it is still, in fact, there. So I have been scrambling around looking for things to sell, preparing myself to make some real decisions in this next few weeks. Is it time to get a Job again? Or can I find a job until my next tour? There is a war being waged in my head right now and if anyone has any ideas, sound advice, or military strategy, I am all ears.

Thank you for your very attentive eyes and giving, productive hands.

- Russia

Birfday

Yesterday, the 3rd of June, in the year of our Lord, 2007, I celebrated my 25th birthday. It has come. It has now gone. I was all set to write a supremely well thought out and maybe funny blog about my annual personal assessment. I even got about 5 paragraphs into it before something clicked and I didn't have the energy to write anymore. Some other thing clicked (not a joint this time) and I got a little sad, too. I can't explain why, really, because my birthday is such a happy time for me and usually lasts about a week: Rachel Gras, I like to call it.

This time was different. It isn't so much that I got sad by the assessment, like I was confronted with aging or mortality or something. That's not even what my assessments are about. They're sort of like my New Years resolutions in a way, where I count my blessings, make lists, prioritize, find motivation, evaluate my relationships and friendships - all that. Very healthy I think. What made me sad this time around is that usually these assessments are conducted because during the rest of the year I don't really have time to do these. I'm usually very busy and these feel like a much needed break from the daily grind so I can achieve a little perspective.

Owing to the fact that I quit my job 8 months ago and have had nothing but time these last 8 months to analyze EVERYTHING, this assessment started to feel like well-trodden ground and almost egotistical gluttony. Just another excuse to go over the same shit I have been dealing with, most of it difficult, and I still without answers. So rather than it being a release and lightbulbs firing up like neurons, I began to feel myself sinking into the same puddle of crap that I've done a supreme job of getting out of.

To tell you the truth, I'm getting weary at the amount of time I spend thinking about myself. It has become unhealthy because it isn't about all the things I'm happy with or all of the ways I think I am so wonderful. It's about the minutiae, all the things I can pick apart about myself that no one notices. I then proceed to blow them out of proportion, whether they be physical or environmental insecurities. It is absolutely stupid. I'm tired of not only thinking about myself all the time, but spending all of my time on me (which is no doubt a pendulum from all the years I had to ignore myself for work/school) and always WRITING ABOUT ME. I swear to God, all of the writing I've done in the last 2 years has been nothing more than a chain of "Dear Diary" pieces. I remember having a voice that extended beyond myself as well as having an imagination. So aside from all practical goals this year (money, life, etc.), I'm searching for a voice and the imagination that I grew so fond of but forgot which box I packed it into.

All existential hubbub aside, my birthday was wonderful. We were in Haines, AK and we vowed that the day would consist of nothing more than the 2 bottles of Champagne we purchased, cake, and the hotel room. The day also gave us breakfast at the health food store, dinner at the local bar (CALAMARI!), and the Democratic debates. You all may not know this but I was a Political Science major in college but chose not to go into politics for obvious reasons (fear of the loss of soul, ethics, etc. as well as an overarching tendency towards political theory instead of political practice). I find it difficult to even watch or discuss these sorts of affairs due to how overly emotional and paralyzed I become. I will say this, though: I was given a tiny bit of hope yesterday. I will not say how or why or explain why I liked who said what, but I will say that for the first time in a while, it felt like dialogue. I and my fellow citizens have endured 7 years of being talked down to by someone I deem a "curmudgeon" and, though debates and TV are highly politicized, I am beginning to feel like we might be on the right track. Just a hunch, a hunch that makes me smile and want to pay attention.

We are currently about to embark on 3 long drives to get ourselves to Calgary and then Banff, an idea that turned into a plan of action about a week ago. We will drive the rest of the Alaska Highway to Alberta, have some city living, a little getaway in some more beautiful mountains, and then we start the drive home. Truth be told, we are missing many things about home life which is all the criteria required for a successful vacation. It isn't over yet, however. We are up to a bear count of 26, having not seen even 1 bear in Alaska - they've all been Canadian. The death count on the windshield is upwards of 45,000 and the colors run the spectrum of all visible light. It's breathtaking.

My love to you all who continue to read this and comment. It means more than you know to have support even if it's a silly thing that we all do on the internet.

Auf wiedersehen!

-Russia

Denali

We spent 3 days in this esteemed national park in the calm few weeks before the place is completely inundated with tourists. We were stoked being tourists ourselves. We were told by all books/guides/people-in-the-know that we would not be lucky enough to see Mt. McKinley due to the frequency of overcast conditions. Our luck has been such that we've avoided all bad weather everywhere we've gone, contrary to all Farmer's Almanacs everywhere. Clear skies the whole way. So we thought nothing of the fact that we saw "The Great One" as the locals dub it on the first day of our visit. Let me tell you one thing: that mountain is fucking huge. It creates its own meteorological conditions. Let me reiterate, Mt. McKinley is fucking huge.

We stayed about 6 miles south in a cabin that had a steamboat theme named (appropriately) "Steamboat Captain." The Captain, as we fondly referred to it, was the replacement room to the mold-ridden tent cabin we had down on the river. CW was convinced he was going to die of spore-poisoning spending a night in the place and I could not disagree. It was a rad place to stay other than the fact that it wasn't insulated so it was hot during the day and excruciatingly cold in the middle of the night. But between freezing my tail off and becoming a bear-snack, I pick freezing tail.

The drawback to coming a few weeks before the tourists is that not all of the programs are running, nor do the restaurants and coffeeshops have all of their supplies. So when you get your heart set on that bagel and cream cheese, make sure they have it first. Otherwise you're in for some bitter disappointment with your morning americano. We had planned on taking a ranger-guided tour to feel things out before we jumped into Denali on our own and those too were not running yet. However, the sled-dog kennel was open and I had a field day with the puppies. I'm a cheap date.

We made the mistake of taking a bus into the park (because after Mile 15 on Parks Road, the road is closed to private vehicles to "preserve the wilderness of Denali!!!"). We discovered that many families and Golden Years team members had the same idea so we essentially lost 4 hours of our day feeling like refugees with cameras, school bus and all. We took the day back with a hike in the park, bears or no bears. Somehow becoming a bear snack was infinitely better than sitting on a bus. And look, I'm here to type about it.

The highlight of our trip to Denali was our choice to go whitewater rafting at 10 am on a cold, rainy day in Alaska. It was my third time rafting and my esteemed boyfriend's first time. For a guy that doesn't like water, he was exceedingly brave to get a face full of a glacier river and potentially giardia. Despite the dry suits and gloves, we froze ass and limbs and received facial enemas. But we had a blast and got a bigger dose of nature than the previous two days combined. I also feel like we might have earned a few bragging rights on this part of the trip. That, of course, presupposes that people are jealous of our escapades. We can dream.

High five.

-Russia

The Road

It's been quite awhile since I've last posted, primarily because I have lost all bearing on what day it is or what time it is (as there seems to be 22 hours of sincere, honest-to-god daylight in these parts). Surprisingly, the weird daylight issue does not affect me negatively at all. In fact, if we had 22 hours of daylight in Portland I might get a lot more done. There's something funny that happens when the sun sets, no matter how early, that makes you feel like you need to cease what you're doing, grab a glass of wine, and take it easy. There's no shortage of taking it easy here, but still...
I digress.

We spent 5 days on the road after Stewart, BC. We succeeded in driving to Watson Lake, Yukon in one day (thanks to all that daylight), to Whitehorse, to Dawson City, to Tok, AK, to Denali. All of these drives were roughly 7 hours each and both my cohort and I began to feel like we were on tour again. It's funny that many things can happen on the road but there's nothing worth writing more than a few blurbs about (which makes Kerouac seem like more of a genius, due to his endless supply of motivation despite spending days and days in a car). Since I am no Kerouac, I give you a list.

During those 5 days:

*We saw 23 bears (5 of them being grizzlies), 5 moose, 3 caribou, 4 bunnies, and a fox.

*We listened to many records including (but not limited to):
"If You're Feeling Sinister" - Belle and Sebastian
"The Reminder" - Feist
"Tender Buttons" - Broadcast
"Avenue of the Flags" - Buellton
"Yellow House" - Grizzly Bear
"Phylactery Factory" - Casey Dienel
"Automatic" - The Jesus and Mary Chain
"Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me" - NPR Podcast
"Strand" - The Spinanes
"Navy Blues" - Sloan
"Amazing Grace" - Spiritualized
"Complete Bill Munroe Recordings, Disc 1" - Bill Munroe
"Mountain Rock" - Dear Nora
"What's The Story, Morning Glory" - Oasis
"One Beat" - Sleater-Kinney
"Jailbreak" - Thin Lizzy
"Number of the Beast" - Iron Maiden
"Deep End" - Tsunami
"Strangers Almanac" - Whiskeytown

*A few of my favorite conversations were:
-The things that make me feel like a genius.
-The only two times that CW has been stung by a bee was when he was mowing the lawn and he ran into a spiderweb and got stung - the bees were dead. Mind you, this happened twice.
-How much we love Man Vs. Wild on the Discovery Channel. I figure the TV reference will help me fit in a little better...
-Fibonacci's numbers and Pascal's triangle (we did not make it to Pascal's Wager yet but there is still 2400 miles until we make it home).
-A little game that consists of guessing how far it is until the next landmark - you'd be surprised how long a mile is and how difficult they are to measure with the naked eye.
-The many ways we could potentially be mauled by bears and other justifications for not camping.
-How crazy it is that it NEVER GETS DARK UP HERE.
-Maybe it's not such a crazy idea to drive to Inuvik, Northwest Territories. I mean it is only 700 miles out of our way on a gravel highway... And it is recommended that you email the mayor or whoever is in charge to let him know that you're coming. Something tells me they are so grateful for your tourism up there they might just welcome you with a cake.

*The few epiphanies I had were:
-I really don't enjoy outhouses. There is nothing about a dark hole in the ground that makes me want to have a leisurely sit-down. Absolutely nothing.
-Mountains are pretty.
-The further north you go, the man-made things get uglier and the nature-, god-, big bang-made things get more beautiful.
-It really is possible to lower your standards so far that a cup of Folgers, some Coffeemate, and 3 packets of sugar signify an acceptable morning beverage.

*Bad habits broken: none

*Good habits created: exercising.

I've been doing an herbal cleanse (for my internal organs and stuff) for the last 13 days. It consists of taking 4 pills a day on an empty stomach and eating a simple diet of easily-digestible grains, organics, etc. It is recommended that you don't drink caffeine or alcohol. The simple diet part has been easier than the caffeine-less, alcohol-free lifestyle so the way I figure it is this: with the excercise and the pills, I'm probably just cancelling out the caffeine/alcohol if not completely eliminating them. I can live with that. I feel much cleaner than I normally do.

CW has proven himself to be a goddamn gourmet chef on our camp stove. I can rule it in the kitchen but get this guy behind a tiny propane tank and a titanium pot and there's so much magic it kills me. Leprauchans dance, planets align, and deer eat out of hands when he makes dinner in the hotel courtyard. Mama is so proud!

Denali on the horizon.

-Russia

We have arrived at the end of the world...

And it's pretty rad. After our 1-night stay in Prince Rupert, we headed out on the highway (THE highway, as there is only one) in an easterly direction. The landscape changed faster than we expected. Suddenly we are in the most mountainous of all mountainous regions, the vegetation transforming into the ever-familiar pine, birch, and spruce. We like trees where I come from and it is nice to see so many that remind me of home (because I am anywhere but right now).

We pass a small town every 200 km or so and they consist of a gas station, a bunch of run-down shanties, and (if we're lucky) a Walmart. Here's to being open-minded. *Clink* We headed north at the junction of the Trans-Canada 16 (the Yellowhead Highway) to the BC-37 which is the westernmost highway (sometimes just gravel) that will take us the Yukon and intersect with the Al-Can Highway. If you haven't guessed, I love maps and routes (which should have made me a great booking agent had I been able to stick with it). At the Mezidian Junction, you have the option of continuing north into the middle of nowhere or head west for 60 km to a remote place called Stewart, BC/Hyder, AK. Unlike me in every way, I voted for the detour. Here's me being "adventurous" - here's my boyfriend rolling his eyes. Ho hum.

We drove for all of 5 km before we saw our first bear on the side of the road. Side note: all of our guidebooks/Lonely Planets give us no indication of what to expect. This place is in fact forgotten. Anyway, we slowed down, took pictures, exuded the courage one would expect from two wimps in a big car. After the third bear, we realized there is probably a good reason that they named it "Bear River" (the river we were driving next to) and "Bear Glacier" (this unfathomably HUGE moutainside glacier halfway down the road to town). By the way, this is a small road wedged between millions of the largest mountains you have ever seen. Avalanche zone, rockslide zone, avalanche zone. Oh, you also know you're in the middle of nowhere when you are surprised to see other cars - we began to understand what it must be like for small-town folks in Kentucky to have a car drive down their road. We stared and wondered, "How did you GET HERE? How did WE get here?"

Finally, we happened upon the town of Stewart, BC (located at the tip of the Portland Canal). We thought we heard the all-too-familiar Deliverance soundtrack when we drove in and wondered how much gas it would take to turn around. While gut instincts can save your life, sometimes they can be wrong. When we turned onto the main street in town, we were blessed with three small blocks of hotels, restaurants, and shops. We found an inn that looked promising and decided to check in, thwarting our plans to sleep in the car that night. Oh bother. We were greeted by a sweet man, his pet goose Ripley, a small bird sanctuary he (the owner not the goose) maintains, and the cutest cabin-esque room overlooking the canal. His wife owns the cafe we ate at and truthfully the food is as good as any city can offer (me being a huge snob).

We walked to the brother town of Hyder, AK today (2 miles from Stewart, BC and entirely forgotten by the USA). We met a lovely lady named Caroline who owns the fudge shop/post office/gift shop in town. She's a dulcimer player and is, strangely enough, from Portland. I would love to highlight all of this woman's character and personality but my writing can do her no justice. Just know that these small towns are a goldmine of strong, courageous, hospitable people and tend to be way more satisfying than a stay in a big city. Also, it's really fun to walk into Alaska and walk back into Canada, whose customs officers are sweet and laid back and only care about whether or not you have firearms (which I didn't find in Hyder).

I wish that I could bottle up these two towns, keep them intact and show them to you all but it is impossible to truly capture how wonderful and untouched this place is. They deal with avalanches, 30 feet of snow, isolation, and numerous other things we can only imagine. In turn, they are soulful and interesting. We are lucky/blessed to have clear blue skies today (who knew?) and we are aware that it is a privilege to see all of the best things these small, forgotten towns have to offer. I hope that from here on out I can remember what happens when I choose the detour over the shortest-distance-between-two-points.

I promise not to be so sappy next time.
To the north!

-Russia

Greetings From Prince Rupert!

I do not have much time to type this so I fear this entry will be devoid of wit and hilarity. Oh well. We are in Prince Rupert, BC (about halfway up the country, 70 km below the panhandle of Alaska). We are about to embark upon a very long drive through nowhere in order to get to the Yukon Territory and shortly after (laughable), Alaska. There is no way to get up to Alaska from where we are, considering we have a car and you can only access the panhandle by boat or float plane. Boat = expensive and Float Plane = never gonna happen (much to the chagrin of my traveling partner).

So we are going to drive through the beariest of Bear Country (what BC actually stands for) and sleep in the car for a few nights (because we're pansies and realized we are actually scared of bears despite the fact that we have 3 cans of bear spray and a knife). We discovered this our first night camping at Elk Falls Provincial Park (just west of Campbell River on Vancouver Island). We were getting ready to settle in our tent (Miss Russia a bit weary of the woods on her side of the tent), finishing our glass of wine (for nerves), when we heard an animal chattering like nothing we have ever heard before (mountain cat?), followed by an awkward grunting from the bushes on my side of the tent (run-on sentence). I proceeded to lose my shit, got my cohort to unlock the car (thank you, Toyota, for keyless entry), ran to the car in my fancy-ass long underwear (they look a lot like a 6-year-olds pajamas), and had an asthma attack (with a waterfall of tears). We slept in the car that night.

It donned on us: If we cannot handle animal noises, we cannot handle animals. So until we grow some cajones, get used to the sounds of nature (which, in our concrete jungle, is generally just a meth-head in an alley), it will be camping Toyota Highlander style.

On a lighter note, we took a ferry for 20 hours to get to Prince Rupert and saw some whales. There were also porpoises and an abundance of British Columbians, French people, and a few Scandihoovians to boot. We discovered that black bears are way cuter when you're in the car (they run rampant on Vancouver Island and we saw a few fluffy clans).

Until I get another wireless connection!

-Russia

Oh, I've really done it now...

I've become a person I never thought I could (have the money to) become. I have become a Four Seasons devotee and, in the larger scheme of things, a fan of all things she cannot afford (known commonly as a "yuppie"). I suppose we figured that a nice jumping-off point to our vacation in the middle of nowhere would be an overly-indulgent foray into the world of "How The Other Half Lives." And do you know what? It's pretty damn nice over here.

Picture this, if you can stomach it: king-sized bed, bathrobe, 16th-floor view, sunny Vancouver, and temptation of all temptations: a perfectly stocked mini-bar. What suprises me (read: scares me) most is how easy it is for me to acclimate to such an environment, as though I have always done this, as though it is written in the stars for me to prance amongst the Jim Dandies (as well as the Jack Daniels in the tiny fridge). Money can buy you illusions! It is so amazing.

What is not an illusion is how beautiful and amazing Vancouver, BC is. Allow me to highlight my Favorites in my favorite west-coast-Canadian city:

*Vij's Indian Restaurant:
We are slated to embark upon this wondrous gastronomical establishment in a little less than 30 minutes (which reminds
me that Vij's would probably prefer I not wear a bathrobe). I can say, with no doubt or shame, that this is THE BEST INDIAN
FOOD I HAVE EVER HAD THE PRIVILEGE OF WAITING 2.5 HOURS FOR. Yes, you will wait that long for a table. In most places,
this would be the kiss of death. However, due to Vij's very just "First Come, First Served, No Reservations No Matter Who
You Are" policy (which cause rich people to wonder where they misplaced their sense of entitlement), Vij's offers the next
best thing: SNACKS! No one, no matter how rich and entitled and snubbed, can resist free snacks. So you wait for 2.5 hours
in the bar but you get little tiny appetizers and mind-blowing drinks (not free, sadly). I recommend it to anyone who can
commit to THE BEST INDIAN FOOD EVER. (Note! Vij's website has recipes!!! Hot damn!)

*The Hot Dog Stands On The Corners Of The City (Look! Another food entry...):
They have veggie dogs. They have CLEAN containers of sauerkraut, hot peppers, sweet peppers, salsa, onions, dear God my
mouth is watering. That's all you need to know about that. I keep wishing that our tofu-loving city would jump on this
band-wagon but alas, it seems to be something the hippies have skipped.

*Canadians:
Completely sweet, accomodating people. Not a far cry from the amazing Americans I have the privilege of knowing, but they
do have a funny way of speaking English. I was not aware that RESOURCES was pronounced "Ree-ZOR-ses" but okay, if you
say so.

*Neil, The Accomodating Concierge At The Hotel Vancouver:
This man helped me make reservations for a hoity-toity afternoon tea with champagne (again, who am I?). I have this urge
from time to time to pretend as though I am a proper English lady, complete with pearls, accent, and dramatics. Neil played
his part SWIMMINGLY and made me feel like the 85-year-old Duchess I must be inside. Bravo, Neil.

*Smoking Lily, A Boutique:
Somewhere on Main Street on the other side of town. They have men's and women's hand-made/silk-screened garments. It
is just good. Come visit or Google it. I don't know what else to say.

*The Reef (Lest you doubt my love of food, another food recommendation):
This place is like Pirates of the Caribbean with a touch of Trader Vic's. The rum list is unbelievably long. I have been to the
Caribbean a few times (lest you doubt my flair for culture and money... Again, what??) and I have still never seen this much
good rum. I don't know about you all, but I had no idea rum had anything to offer me but Bacardi Limon. They also have
fried plantains and tofu roti that will blow your mind (as well as make you sweat). What is this, a food blog? Okay, no more.

*Champagne (alright, one more):
I think champagne just tastes better up here. It must be due to the latitudinal closeness to God.

I am sure I could add miles to this list but there are only about 2 of you (related to me) who are actually paying attention anymore. I will spare you because we are blood and therefore control the contents of my pending birthday presents.

With love,
Russia

Welcome?

Hello, my friends. As hard as I tried, I could not avoid the cookie-cutter-website-substitution. I normally wouldn't feel compelled to share my details with the world had I not been confronted with the communication dillemma that will occur once I get to Alaska. Mass emails are impersonal so I opted for a less-personal-yet-more-socially-acceptable form of the mass email. This thing will not contain links for websites that insist that Bill Gates is giving away his money (!!!!) nor will you find yourself on a downward spiral should you forget to forward this to 7 of your closest friends.

However, this "place" will contain information on my whereabouts whilst in the middle of nowhere, a copious amount of hyphens and elipses, as well as random thoughts that somehow met the quality control check of my rather shoddy brain/sense of humor/finger coordination. I will laugh more at this stuff than most of you will, guaranteed. It was the case when I had full reign of the last website at my disposal and I, a creature of habit.

I apologize in advance that I will not be able to keep in adequate touch with most of you while I am gone, but consider it a fair trade that I will not send 2 GB sized emails to your inbox, telling you about the funny small-town folk I will be meeting or the bear I encountered on a trail that caused me to publicly pee my pants. I will also be posting very few photos because in most of them I will not have showered for 3 days and I will be wearing hiking boots. Shame. This information is given on a need-to-know basis so if you're here, well, I'll assume you need to know. I will be sure to keep you posted on all bear-maulings and other such time-sensitive affairs.

Oh, before I go, one more apology: this blog thing is kind of boring looking. It will not be the case when I get my website going. It will be a Shangri-La of good design, an Eden of delicious fonts, and a utopia of color (because someone very talented will be designing it). There might be no real purpose or direction but, hot damn, it will look good. I thought I would have it up before my 25th birthday (to have something to show for my quarter-of-a-century on this planet) but I could not get my shit together (which I fear will ACTUALLY be my legacy once I leave this Earth). So until then...

I love you all.

-Russia