Jam Bands, My new favorite bad TV, and Living life on the commuter rail

So this Friday, I had just had a pie & a pint at Pies & Pints with a friend, decided to get in touch with another friend and see what her plans were for the weekend. She just happened to be headed my direction to go see her boyfriend's friend's band and invited me to join. I had no idea what I was getting myself into but figured I'd get a chance to see a friend and have yet another pint.

Man-oh-man. I mean... wow. So we drive way up north, past Seattle, to a tiny little bar called Darrel's, next to a Fred Meyers and a Jack in the Box. From inside I hear it... the beginning cords of my new jam band experience. I walk in and, on the left hand side of the stage is a Jamiroquai looking guy... white, facial hair, big stupid hat filled with dread locks. And then the horrible assault on my ears known as jam banding. This first band wasn't my friend's friend's friend's band... that came later. The cause for our foray into Darrel's was far less assaulting, though still the kind of music that leaves me slightly embarrassed to be listening. The guys on the saxophones, however, were skillful with their instruments, and one of them could sing like a champ. During their set, I spent most of my time observing the crowd. Two heavyset, older women (late 40's, early 50's)  seriously "grooving" on the dance floor between breathless sets of tonsel hockey with the two construction workers at the pool table. Then there was the lady who came with the band... tie dye shirt with long, long, long flowing bell sleeves "grooving" even groovier, all by herself, near the stage. I played Big Buck Hunter. Like 3 times. I spent most of the evening in awe.

Much the way I feel about my new favorite bad tv obsession (which apparently won't last long with all of its 2 seasons, 1 of which I've already finished). The name of this little gem? JERICHO. Skeet Ulrich, with all of his magical cheekbones, stars in this post apocalyptic series (meaning nuclear bombing of 15 major cities in the US, which resulted in turning America into some sort of Mad Maxian world-- everywhere except the small town of Jericho, which ends up like something out of a Wendell Berry essay). They plant crops and share food and everybody loves each other. A little mini utopia. Living in the stone age did nothing to prevent their little mini dramas about cheating on wives and still loving old flames who were engaged to new people, yadda, yadda, yadda. The performances are... well... laughable often. And yet I can't wait to start in on season 2. Why? I'm not sure. But after 8 hours of work, and 4 hours of commuting each day, I pretty much get home wanting nothing but a glass of wine and an episode of this show.

Soon, though, I'll have a little garden of my own. Since I've returned, during the 4 hours a day I get to commute, I've been reading a lot of about food, cooking, farming. I have intense farming fantasies... having a garden that leads to canning and cooking everything from scratch. Anybody reading this have a lot of money that wants to support me? I'll cook for you! Seriously. These days it's seems like an ideal life. Cooking, cleaning, reading. I could be happy.

Not that I'm not happy now. I totally am. Really good job with really good people. Occasional trips to Portland to see friends. Occasional happy hours in Seattle at places like Pies & Pints (which I missed dearly-- damned good pies and sweet potato fries). Time to watch shows like Jericho and go to the farmer's market on Saturday ... oh yeah... Life is good.

Notes from the Other Coast: My Relationship with the Founding Fathers

So. Things are older on the East Coast. It took me living NOT in New England to fully realize this. I suppose our whole country has a relatively short history (I know, I know...there were people here before Europe scampered in with their diseases and guns and written words). But we've got all these years of history on the West Coast--like giving the Redcoats a hawaiian punch in the face, for example, which might, in part, explain New England snobbery, while Idaho was sort of...land West of the Mississippi. I now notice the inevitable old school white church in every town, the random stars people affix to their houses, the porches, and obviously, the Dunkin Donuts (cultural artifacts, each and every one!). Even my hometown, a town you could find in any state--all chain restaurants and vinyl siding--has 18th century backstory. "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," the sermon by Johnny Edwards, often found in American Lit anthologies, was preached in my hometown. Edwards went on a tear about how the Enfield parishioners were pretty much the suck, and were going to be smited (smote?) down pretty soon. OH YEAH. Apparently Edwards was PMSing, because he was usually more of a gentle hippie-like figure. I remember a professor in college telling me that SITHOAAG being what Edwards is remembered for is like when a band you really like all of a sudden gets famous for a song that's atypical for them..and one you don't really like.

ANYWAY, all of this history has got me thinking about American Independence. After all, it was just the Fourth of July. (Fun Fact: Jefferson AND Adams died on the same day. July Fourth.)I wish to share my very own mini-history with the Founding Fathers.

I'm not sure whether it's the way the books were written, or some strange personal bias, but I was always on Team Federalist when reading textbooks in grade school and beyond. I was not cool with Thomas Jefferson. My favorite founding father was Alexander Hamilton. I mean, kind of a no brainer. He was young when he was killed in a duel (badassly tragic), he was a genius, and he laid the framework for a national bank. I even went to Hamilton College. Of course AHam was my favorite. I have drunkenly groped a statue of him.

THEN, I started reading more. And watching more miniseries. And my world was shattered. I think Hamilton may or may not have been like Brain in Pinky and the Brain. Who knows if he really would have taken over the world, but it seems like it might have been an option. John Adams emerged as really honest and earnest, almost to the point where I didn't like him. Like Desdemona. (Though Abigail was a total BAMF.) I was even sympathetic to Jefferson, in spite of him being kind of a dandy, because he wrote good sentences. And I even found BFrank, so infuriating to Adams at times, to be so charming in his ability to mack it with the French ladies when he was way old. So I was torn. Who really deserves to be my favorite founding father? I was tempted to just say someone like John Jay, a dark horse candidate...

And then I saw this commercial.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ezk0e1VL80o


And then I thought about this youtube video.


And then I went to Mount Washington in New Hampshire. The evidence was overwhelming.

It's sort of an obvious choice--first president, army hero. But George Washington is the ultimate badass. Even if he drives a dodge.