Blogg Master 2000: Produce Racker

Ok, I am over being in a new town. I am ever-so-slightly settled into my new life in Portland with the family. Work has started to settle down and also to make sense, which I was afraid would never happen - very scary it was to switch jobs mid-stream. I was prepared to go back to square one and start back at the bottom rung of the company ladder, but for some reason I seem destined to land squarely in the mid-level of the job, even if I try to jump downwards and miss. One of the things I am most pleased about has been learning how to use the smaller, stand-up forklifts. These things are cool - more highly maneuverable than the standard sit-down forklifts, they are also quite a bit more squirrel-y, and take a light touch. It was terrifying at first, making a near-fool of myself while learning something new, especially having to do it in plain sight of several younger, more-skilled forklift drivers who are constantly buzzing about, making me look like a mid-aged slowpoke. Oh well! I guess that feeling a fool comes at all stages of life, but the older you get, the less you worry about it. After a few weeks, I've definitely gotten better, but lets just say...I don't push my limits when I'm putting a heavy pallet of citrus in a 25-foot-high warehouse rack. My main focus is to manage the capacity of the warehouse so that there will be room for everyday s incoming products, which would make perfect sense if there actually was any space to manage! Scratch that - the space to manage is small and shrinking, so every bit of space that can be utilized must BE utilized, and I've got to use my imagination. It sounds corny, but this position is the first time I've really been into my job for a long time and I am grateful for the change. In other news...Tina and I had a wonderful weekend of socializing and kid-herding. Friday, our friends Father Don and his gal Cameron came over for a lovely, inspired Tina-cooked dinner consisting of spanikopita and veggies. Delightful! We stayed up late, drinking (and spilling) wine and listening to records and also playing with our household's duel Casio SK1's - the perfect nerd-party-hacker toys. Many electronic topics were discussed before our friends left late by cab. Saturday, again we had dinner with friends, this time the Kaleidoscopic Keoghs and Shanahans - Tina's bandmates from the Homemakers and their respective significant others. Pork was feasted upon, along with several more liters of wine. Brian K and I later head out to see Pellet Gun's LP release

at the Know on Alberta street, where of course we ran into a bunch of ex-Eugene people. There is, like, an entire island of ex-Eugenians here in Portland; no wonder it still feels like home. Pellet Gun rocked it; the crowd was really digging their sparse, dynamic indie rock and the sound was perfect for the small room at the Know. If you haven't checked out Pellet Gun in awhile, now is your chance. If you are interested in buying their cool slab of vinyl, it is available here. Ok lads and ladies, take care and have fun. I will speak to you telepathically thru the interwebs at some other point on the continuum. Spock Hand, Ed

Still Grinding Forward

Its funny in a way, that when you leave a place that you've been rooted to for a long while, it's like a slow divorce. Or a guillotine chop. Or both. When I first moved to Eugene in the summer of 1992, it was such a fresh, new change for me. I loved the heat that summer. When I had previously lived in Northern California on the coast, I had grown accustomed to the dreary, overcast, 40-degrees-in-the-summer gloom, so Eugene seemed lush, green and hot that summer. I was ready for the change and I drank it in like wine. The winter that followed featured a record amount of snow, deep in the streets, and I was ready for that, too. I drank a lot of good seasons in Eugene and Lane county, but somewhere along the line, while simultaneously making friends and making music and occasionally acting busy, raising my kids and family and working  and all that entails, I became thirsty again, thirsty for the difference, the change, not the same. And now that I'm there, again in a new town, with new surrounds, new weather, new wildlife and a bunch of new people, I get to drink some more of the flavors of life, more of the new. In my mind, Eugene is my reference, and I am glad I still have the formatted imprint of such a weird town. If Eugene hadn't been so weirdly accommodating,  I probably wouldn't have stayed there for nearly 20 years. But I'm glad I did.

I love this shitty, rainy weather! I guess that's why I live in the Northwest. I had a fun day tooling around on my bike - first, taking the LTD bus way out to near Autzen to get my teeth looked at by a vampire orthodontist, then riding back on the bike path, observing all the pretty things and jogging people with their earbuds in. Hopped by Buy and Sell center to buy a $12 key-of-G harmonica, grapped some meat and wine at Kiva and then off to the Wheel Works bike store for some of those little, nubby bolt screw thingys that hold on my bike rack and then, and THEN, off to Next Step recycling in search of a used Sprint phone...no luck there. It was very nice to head out for a 2-hour break from kid duty, since Tina dutifully took over and went to play group at Putters' Hot Dog and mini Golf Palace out on Highway 99. Now, I'm even sneaking in some time to write this blog. Shhhhh... don't tell anyone yet, but I think a super- awesome band called the Lovesores are gonna play with the Underlings real soon.

And my friends in FASTERS just posted a new ep on their bandcamp page:

I went to see Dengue Fever and Secret Chiefs 3 last night at the WOW hall here in beautiful Eugene, Oregon. I've missed Secret Chiefs the last two times they've played here, so I was determined to go to this show - I found a sitter for the little 'uns at the last minute and headed down to the show on my bike. I paid my way and then walked into the show. Dengue Fever was already on, and the crowd was thick for a Monday night. DF struck me as a mix of American surf-rock with a little bit of Asian influence, musically-speaking. The vocalist, Chhom Nimol, was great; the most memorable part of the set for me was her solo vocal introduction to a pop song sung in Kmher - a soulful, mournful sound that was nonetheless very lifting, and when the band came in to complete the arrangement, the sound was crushing and full. A fun act, very energetic with the bassist and guitarist pogo'ing a lot, keeping the energy high, but they didn't knock me out the way I hoped they would. Still I give them a solid B. Secret Chiefs 3 were another story. I've been familiar with trey Spruance's work since I first heard Mr. Bungle's Raging Wrath of the Easter Bunny demo waaay back in High School. I confess: I was a Mr. Bungle groupie for a spell and followed the band and it's related spin-offs pretty well over the years. SC3 is one of the best associated projects from the Mr. Bungle genom, and I have given them an ear for the past decade or so. "Middle-eastern gothic-furf-rock" is the first thing that comes to mind when scrambling for a description of SC3. They did not disappoint, hurtling into an un-introduced set of complicated, odd-time music with abandon. Trey and company hit the metaphysical nail on the head in their quasi-anonymous hoods and face-scarves. I wish I knew for certain who the other members of the band were last night - I could of sworn that it was Danny Heifitz on drums underneath that hood - but suffice it to say they were top-notch players who must be having fun playing Spruance's crazy fuckin' music. Here is a pic of a couple of Secret Chiefs fans:













and here is Dengue Fever:

Part 3 of Gasquet: revisted - Ed's version



Classic rock figures heavily into my imprinted memories of growing up in Gasquet. I don't actually think any of my siblings actually played Steve Miller Band around the house, but of course, SMB was ubiquitous in the 1970s. In my mind's eye, when I think of those hot, summer days near the Smith river, I think of my brother Mike in cut-off shorts, shirtless, riding a 10-speed with his interesting pack of partier friends, acting out some high school drama, chasing the feathered-hair beauties of the time and drinking stolen beer, jumping in the river or peeling out in whatever kind of car or truck was available. I do have snippets of true memories - being over at Brett F's house, looking at the 45 of Blondie's Heart of Glass and listening to it again and again on Brett's stereo; sleeping in the upper shelf of my sister's closet before I had my own room; playing a ukelele along with a dixieland jazz band that played in my mom's living room while a raging party ensued. That was the good stuff, and although my memory is not complete, somehow it ends up being linked to the guy that sang the Joker and Big Ol' Jet airliner. Here is the best cover version of the song by the Arcata band One Man Running from 1992:

I will hit this subject more clearly soon - I know it might be boring to read my fuzzy recollections in their present state - next time I will focus more on the 1980s and my own trials and tribulations in small-town Gasquet - Mountain School, my first band and maybe some images if I can scrape some up.

Raining outside, beer in hand, late at night, too much internetty-time. Phew! I just sent off the majority of the Underlings CD image-stuff to our design-guru. I can't wait to see what happens when it comes back. Every time I get 99% done with a cd project, I feel like throwing the whole thing away and giving up, but no, I won't do that. I think the whole package is going to come out great; I just reserve the right to express my frustration at how long the process takes. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Some folks around here are already aware of the Guilty Pleasures show that happened last weekend at Sam Bond's Garage. For those who don't know, local musician/artist/cool guy Dave Snider puts on this fun show where 29 or 30 local singers get up onstage with a band of crack musicians and sing their "guilty pleasure" pop song, a song they enjoy but don't readily admit to. I did 2 Tickets to Paradise by Eddie Money, a song I liked very much when I was 8. Other folks did songs by the Offspring, Stevie Nicks, Bette Midler, New Kids on the Block, Boz Scaggs - you get the picture. The scene was crowded beyond belief - man! So many people will show up for an event like that, it blows my mind. One of the rare chances any of us have to perform to a full house. Very fun and the band was awesome - Jake Pavlak on guitar, Ryan Tocchini on Keyboards and guitar, James West on drums and Dave Snider on bass, with occasional appearances by Kee Zublin (sax) and Tony Figoli (bongos). The mind boggles, I am glad to party with the freaks once in awhile. MOVING ON, I know I blogged last about Gasquet and I will get back to that subject soon, but I don't want to crowd this post. I will say my mind is constantly troubled, thinking about my brother, living in a tent by a river in Washington state. Do any of you readers have relatives who you'd like to help, but you know you'd be embracing absolute chaos if you stick your neck out too far to help them? And perhaps have you ever been conflicted about just living your own life, scraping by as best you can, when you can't stop thinking about someone you care about who is self-destructive and unwilling to accept help? That's where my mind is at lately. I'm sure I'm not alone in this feeling - I know some of my friends have been to the dark side and made it back, and of course we all know a few who just slid off into oblivion and never returned. 'nuff said, I guess I will just pray to the Metal Gods and hope everything turns out for the best.

Regarding Gasquet, I never meant to imply that it is a shameful place. On the contrary, I can completely understand why certain kinds of people want to live in a rural area in a beautiful part of the world. However, being raised in a rural place can be a different story. As a kid, I was filled with wonder at the nature all around me, but I felt completely isolated from my peers. I did have some interesting friends that came and went over the years, but I have to say - every family or person I knew were all coming from some other place, often, "escaping, " from something, someone, some situation. People escaping other people and ending up in a loose-knit community in the redwoods. I digress: the coolest time I spent in Gasquet was in the late 1970s. My family moved there in December 1975, about a month after my dad died. My mom, I can remember, was sighing a lot and consulting with her business associates about buying a house somewhere in rural Del Norte county. We were living temporarily in Smith River in a rather funky trailer/house combination. My mom tended to fall in love with homes that were of older construction and had unique qualities. She ended up buying the old Gasquet School house, a giant, cavernous house divided in 2 large sections, formerly classrooms I assume. Long and rectangular with giant redwood beam construction, the house was drafty but solid. The entire main dining room / living room was large and lodge-like, with high ceilings and 7 or 8 large windows along one wall, a large fireplace - later a insert stove - on one end. The other half of the house was divided into 5 bedrooms of varying sizes, a laundry room and a bathroom. The laundry room dead-ended in a pantry-sized hallway. This was my room, only big enough for my bed and alien sci-fi books. I digress: When my family moved to Gasquet, we landed in a cool little town with a fair-sized population of kids of all ages. It didn't really stay that way in the 1980s. The 70s in Gasquet were ruled by factions of rowdy youth partiers from several different families. At the least, that is how I remember it as a young kid. I was surrounded by my 3 older brothers and 1 older sister. They knew everyone in town and everyone knew us Coles. My brother Mike, 3d from the oldest in my family, was well known in this part of the world. He was a natural leader of a certain kind of tribe, the kind of tribe that exists in the Mountain Dew commercial Gasquet of my fuzzy memories, a tribe of regular, American dudes living the wholesome, mischief-laden, dope smokin', possibly thievin, small-town existence. All the dudes that were Mike's friends - guys with names like Bruce, Brett, Bob, Dan, Mike and Rocky, girls with names I can no longer remember - were typically rowdy but nice, often hanging out at, "The Forks, " the popular river spot, doing their thing, loudly, jumping off cliffs and hyperventilating for a cheap buzz. Drug use - there was plenty, and plenty of gas and glue-huffing as well. Off-roading in Datsuns and VW bugs - check. Siphoning fuel from airplanes for a high-octane kick for your Nova? - check. Running through the woods at night, tripping balls on 'shrooms - check. Fun stuff to witness, and somewhat disconcerting, but that was what was going down. Of course, my sister and other bros knew all these folks too, but Mike seemed like the head of the pack. I can remember tooling around town with my brother, going up to visit friends that lived on Gasquet loop road while riding on the back of dirt bikes, getting in car crashes every now and then, playing my first video games and first hearing, "new wave," music, like Blondie, on local turntables, all the while my bro sneakin' off to go smoke weed with his friends, always leaving me with Rush records to listen to or Atari 2600 games to play with, always Asteroids. I wish I could let drop some of the more salacious gossip of the times, but I don't want to incriminate anyone - although I'm sure the statute of limitations is long over for petty crimes of the sort that I was witness to. Stolen beer, siphoned gas, joyrides, petty theft, vandalism. I wasn't party to any of it at the time - of course I was much too young - but I have to say, it colored my outlook on life, somehow imparted a thieves' perspective on my psyche. I'm thankful that I was never witness to any truly bad shit - no white drugs, prostitution or domestic violence - not like so many of my friends, but there was a wild, permissive vibe in the air during the era. Our parents were distracted with the free, freaky, swinging 70s. We got away with entirely too much, but some of course, paid the price anyway. Next time: why Steve Miller Band wrote the soundtrack to the summer of my youth, Edward J Colesier