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.