Interesting night last night, all the way around. Very, very interesting. Fun, too. Let me say right here and now that on Tuesday I had a little email flurry with Janet Zinn after she got home from the Radiohead show at Madison Square Garden. In one of these emails she wrote that she was “practically levitating” during Idioteque. Practically levitating! Henceforth, you will be seeing this quite often, and always in caps. At least for the next few weeks.

Anyhow, last night me and Mark went to House of Blues to see The Walkmen. I wish beyond belief that I could copy the picture on the home page of their website where they are all in the Western garb, but alas, I cannot. I love that picture and I recommend you click on that website just to see it. If it is true that rock stars are cool (which, I have found, is generally a hit and miss theory) then The Walkmen prove it (maybe) in that photo. I am totally fascinated with it for some bizarre reason, to the point of considering bean and noodle portraits.

It’s a good thing that last night’s show started late, because we decided to take the bus downtown, since it a) stops half a block from my house, b) also stops a half a block from House of Blues, c) takes only half an hour and d) is only $2.00 to ride, instead of $25.00 for a cab. So it all sounds good, only the friggen bus never came. Well, it eventually came, but instead of getting downtown at 8:20, we got there at 9:30. NINE-THIRTY. We waited for the bus for an hour and ten minutes! I felt like I was back in San Francisco, waiting for the 22 Fillmore to arrive. Once we got on the bus, I was shocked at how skankified it was. I sort of thought, it being a San Diego bus, it would be kind of nice. Not! It was skanky. Also, there was a weird kid who kept playing with his veins and also, looking generally out-of-his-mind. Eventually the weird kid moved to the back of the bus where he proceeded to ask two guys back there if they were talking about Jesus Christ. (They were.) So then Heroin Boy says something like “Don’t look for heaven in the water, because the fishes got there first. And don’t look for heaven in the air, because there are birds already there. You have to look for heaven in yourself.” Having the added bonus of some heavy duty psychedelics or opiates may or may not help in this quest, but whatever. I nodded my head in agreement and Mark, in the seat in front of me, looked at me and said “you are fucking crazy.” To me, not Heroin Boy. Hey, whatever it takes to get through a bus ride, bring it on.

So finally we got downtown (AT NINE-THIRTY) and since The Walkmen weren’t going on until 11:15 we went into the bar at House of Blues and had a drink and some really lame food (I hate the food at that place, I don’t know why I pay for that crap) then went into the club where the second act was playing. I went up to the front and strategically placed myself in a spot where once the opener was done, I would be able to squeeze myself right on the rail. Which I did, with no problem, and thank god because that was one of the worst crowds I’ve ever witnessed at a show. So it is good that I did not have to look at them. I just got the impression that they were all a bunch of dickheads and losers, and usually my instincts are right. Except for – I kid you not – HEROIN BOY from the bus, who was right up in front, looking so out of his mind that I made Mark go talk to him to make sure he was OK. Heroin Boy was the coolest guy there. Pretty crazy.

So, The Walkmen. (PLEASE look at that picture.) It was a good show. I think I have been spoiled by my three previous shows at House of Blues, which were all so overwhelmingly stellar that I automatically think EVERY show there is going to be that good, which of course, it could never be. I will say, I am fascinated by the band, who have a pretty unique sound and also, write some songs that I think about all night (as in, are so catchy I can’t stop thinking about them.) I was sort of intrigued going in by Tom Breihan’s assertion that The Walkmen’s singer Hamilton Leithauser looks (bullshit) like (lies) Britt (what planet is this guy living on) Daniel (total fucking bullshit.) Hamilton Leithauser does NOT look like Britt Daniel, and I don’t think Britt Daniel would EVER wear a preppy Izod shirt like Leithauser was last night. I guess it is possible that Britt once wore Izod shirts, like in 1987 or whenever but he doesn’t wear them now. I would be willing to bet a lot of money. Then there is the hair, face and body.

Yeah, as soon as I saw that Hamilton Leithauser didn’t look like Britt Daniel he already had two and a half strikes against him. Just kidding. Maybe.

Really, though, they were pretty great and really and truly it made for fascinating watching. The drummer, a smallish dude, was so energetic I thought he would drum his way to the core of the earth. He was PRACTICALLY LEVITATING. At one point some chick screamed “TELL THE DRUMMER TO SIT DOWN” and it’s true, he really seemed to be sort of flying above his kit banging on his drums. The bass player and the keyboardist traded off every other song (so who IS the bass player, really? and who IS the keyboardist? hmmm…) and the one, bearded bass player was playing his bass so furiously I thought he was going to keel over and crash into the drums. So that guy and the drummer were energetic enough to keep the whole thing going, and they actually broke a sweat which the other three dudes (hello – Britt SWEATS and it is HOT) never seemed to do.

It could be the relentless tour schedule this band is on that makes them sort of lackluster and sullen, or maybe that is the way they are generally. By the end, they did start smiling a little, especially the guitar player, but for the most part they looked at each other and not much else. They are all really cute and it sounded good and there were moment – but just moments – of brilliance. It was a cool show, even with the lack of interaction.

So then it was over at only 12:30 so me and Mark went to Tony’s Bar where we ran into my brother Tom. This is where my brother uttered the following classic line: “What you have to understand about us Essas is, we are ALWAYS right and if you say something stupid, you’ll get a slap.” At which point both of us started laughing uncontrollably. GOD I love my brother.

And on that note, take care what you say. Heh.

Today is the 5th anniversary of www.slowtrav.com and the Slow Traveler’s Community. Trish from Baton Rouge put together this little collage of us all hanging out in front of the Sorrento webcam. Crafty!

The Slow Travel Community is AWESOME. For those not in the know, Slow Travel is travel utilizing vacation rentals (like villas and apartments) instead of staying in hotels. Also, Slow Travelers take it SLOW. Like, two weeks in one place. For lazy people like me, Slow Travel was a way of life before there was ever a name for it.

The creator of www.slowtrav.com, Pauline Kenny, has really done something remarkable – she has somehow created a place that not only brings people together, but keeps them together. I have made SO many friends through the message board, www.slowtalk.com.

I already posted this on slowtalk today, but here it is again. I am on a couple of music message boards and recently I posted an invitation for some Radiohead fans to come by and eat some food here the day before the first Radiohead show. Someone accused me of being a murderer and a rapist! As if! I’ve just been to so many cool Slowtrav gatherings that it didn’t even occur to me that inviting strangers over is weird. At least on Slowtrav, they know I am not a rapist, just a drunken slut. (Just kidding. Maybe.)

Ruth and I could not have written Chow! Venice without the Slowtrav folks. Well, we could have written it, but we might not have sold any, or at least it would have been harder. They are a very supportive group. They also like to drink wine and party. I feel very honored to be among them.

So, Happy Anniversary Slowtrav! Because of Slowtrav, a gazillion journeys have been more colorful and way richer. And for that, we are all very thankful, because an enthused traveler is a citizen of the world and a better person all around. Plus they are better lovers. Right? Right!

This evening I have been catching up on some Spoon action. For some reason, I didn’t check out the new video of The Two Sides of Monsieur Valentine until today. Why? I have been playing Spoon a bit here and there but lets face it, it’s all about Radiohead right now, and the Walkmen who I am seeing Friday at House of Blues.

Check this out. There is a HUGE and MAJOR surprise coming.

So I am watching it, and at first I am like, hey, that guy in the suit looks like Johnny Kat, this dude I know from San Francisco. So then I watch the guy walk into his house and I am like, wow, that kind of looks like Johnny Kat’s house. Then he started dressing in drag and I am like “HOLY FUCK, THAT IS JOHNNY KAT!”

First, I walk into a wine bar and the owner is in Pink Martini. Now, someone I have partied with on numerous occasions is IN A FUCKING SPOON VIDEO. The end of the video is filmed at Trannyshack, so I bet there are others I know in there. I think I saw Heklina, the hostess of Trannyshack, but the images are a little too quick and spotty for me to be sure.

Sorry about all the yelling but I am a little excited right now. Laurie Bushman, did you know about this, and if so did you tell me when I was drunk or something? ‘Cause I way don’t remember if you did.

Man, this is too cool. I wonder if Johnny Kat knows about my Britt Daniel bean and noodle picture that our mutual friend Jason made for me. I wonder if he GOT TO MEET BRITT DANIEL. Yo, Johnny, HOOK A SISTER UP. I want to be in the SEQUEL.

Well, I was all ready to write about Christian Rock tonight but heck, I am just way too excited for that. Calm down, calm down…

Today is my four year anniversary of living in Ocean Beach.

I still love it here. I mean, I REALLY love it here.

In my life, I have been in love with three places: San Francisco, Venice, and Ocean Beach. And I have lived in all three. My love affair with San Francisco lasted a long time, but it was sort of crash and burn with Venice. I still love Venice, but not like I did. It was probably too intense to keep that one going.

But Ocean Beach is different. Ocean Beach’s call is sweet, easy. Never exactly intense. Damp on the skin, but never very cold. It’s a small town inside of a big city on the edge of a vast sea. It’s really awesome here. I swear.

Today I did what is easy to do in Ocean Beach – nothing. Nothing by the sea. Now I am going to eat Macaroni and Cheese and Ice Cream to celebrate my anniversary here. Thank you, Ocean Beach, for letting me in.

A few years ago, I had an intense love affair with a guy on the East Coast. It was a strange relationship in the end, and an unhappy one, but in the beginning, it was good, just because it was extremely intense. I flew a few times to meet him, always flying into New Jersey. I’ve flown a lot and I sometimes get into the weird beauty of it, especially when going to a romantic place. Sex and the Jersey shore in October. Yeah.

So on these few fligths to the East Coast, I had this sort of ritual to listen to OK Computer right before we landed. Only, sometimes we circled around after the CD ended. So I would just rewind back and listen to The Tourist, the last song on OK Computer, over and over until it the attendant came over and forced me to turn it off. Those circles in flight, accompanied by that song, will live with me forever. If that makes any sense. Flying, and listening to this:

Sometimes I get overcharged
That’s when you see sparks
You ask me where the hell I’m going
At a thousand feet per second

The Tourist is one of the only songs written by Jonny Greenwood, and it has not been played much live. Until this tour. Lots of talk on the message boards about “when will I hear The Tourist?”

So I was beyond thrilled today when I found that Bradley has, once again, a fantastic show for us all to enjoy. And the final encore is The Tourist. SWEET. God I love that song, even if that relationship went nowhere. It’s weird how a song can totally bring you back to one time, one place in the history of your life.

Bradley didn’t have a ticket, but one of his readers sold him one. The crowd around him sounds really lame. The crowd around me better not talk during the show, or I am gonna smack em. Or even kill ’em. I mean, they sound AWFUL. It’s scaring me.

Three weeks to go… the Boston set list is awesome. Planet Telex? Just? Like Spinning Plates? Nude? I might pass out from happiness. Seriously.

Thanks Bradley, you have made my day, month and year a better place to live.

Perfect days happen. Yesterday was one of them.

Too bad that on Friday, Little Miss Airhead at the Doubletree Hotel didn’t tell me that all needed was to get back on the light-rail for a couple more stops to get to what I now realize is the real – and totally hip – Portland. She wasn’t very with it, because she never even checked me in, as I found out today. To them I was a ghost with a working key. I could have ordered Veuve Clicquot from room service and walked right out the door. Oh well. I’m not really that kind of person so it doesn’t make much sense to ruminate on what I could have done.

Yesterday morning, when I was writing in the hotel business center, there was another dude in there with a bunch of tattoos. We both sort of stuck out in Corporateland Hotel as not exactly corporate types so we started talking. Turns out he is in a band (actually I think he IS the band) called The Violet Burning. He gave me a CD and his phone number and told me to call him after the Eels show, plus he told me some cool areas to check out. I took this interaction as an excellent sign.

From there, I just wandered. I have visited Portland once, but I was working, then I got the flu there, so it wasn’t altogether successful as a pleasure journey; still, I remember the Saturday Market there, because I bought a bean bag lizard that sits on the dashboard of my VW Bug. That market is COOL. They have food stalls there from all over the globe – Egyptian, Himilayan, all kinds of weird shit. I ate a killer taco al pastor and watched a steel drum band. Then I walked some more, stopped in a pub for a drink, then went to an oyster bar and had oyster shooters and clams. It was hot and humid, and I never did make it to the carnival, because I wanted to take a nap before the Eels show.

This is where the day left Pretty Awesome and entered Totally Killer. I knew I wanted to go to a wine bar, but I didn’t know where one was, so I looked in the phone book and found a place called Vino Paradiso that was not too far from the venue. So I headed there. There was some festival of lights parade last night so the streets were lined with people waiting. Portland is a really cool city to walk in. I was getting pretty enamored at this point.

So, made it to Vino Paradiso where I ordered up a Pinot flight and a salad of Arugula and Seared Duck. There was a couple next to me that just moved to Portland from San Jose, California. In fact MANY of the people I met were transplantees from California. And they all love it there. So we talked and drank and I ate my salad (which was awesome.) Then Timothy, the owner, comes over and started talking to me. By now it was well known that I had come to Portland to see a show, so the owner told me he was in a band.

“Which band?” I asked him.
“Pink Martini,” he said.

HOLY FUCK. HOLY FUCKING FUCK. My jaw dropped and I swear, I almost fell off my barstool. “DUDE.” I said. “DO YOU REALIZE I AM LIKE, YOUR BIGGEST FAN IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE????”

I then proceeded to tell him everything about everything, including my blog entries on Pink Martini and China Forbes. He told me that someone had printed them out and they all read them! PINK MARTINI READ MY BLOG!

Well, after that I was totally convinced that this journey was all very, very good and that the music gods were indeed smiling down on me. I had not only found a killer wine bar, I had found one owned by one of the dudes in one of my favorite bands! I am seeing the band in three weeks, and I told Timothy that if he gets me backstage I will bring some great wines to drink. “Not too many of them drink wine,” he said. “That’s OK!” I said. Please oh please oh please….

I left there almost reluctantly, but with great anticipation to see if Mark Oliver Everett, otherwise know as E, would succeed in totally blowing my mind once again. This was the real reason I came to Portland, after all. I walked to Roseland, the venue, down streets filled with marching bands waiting to be in the parade. It was fairly surreal. Outside the venue, the parade was going by, marching band after marching band.

Roseland is one of those places that discriminates against us drinkers and makes us go upstairs and sit down to get a cocktail. Normally this would have totally bugged, but since I was on a mission to remain somewhat conscious, I didn’t care so much. I went up and got a drink and settled in for the opening band, Smoosh. There were two dudes next to me, and I tried in vain to tell them what they were in for. I said I would be leaving for the floor as soon as Eels came on and one of the guys said “why do you want to go down THERE?” But when Smoosh came on I could tell that THEY wanted to go “down there.” Smoosh is comprised of a twelve-year old girl drummer and a fourteen-year old girl keyboardist. I have never seen so many riveted dudes as I have seen during Smoosh. It’s kind of freaky, really. But it’s there.

Smoosh is good. But they are unformed. They don’t know how to act, talk or dance yet. In a description of Smoosh in one of the free Portland weeklies, the following: “When the army of young girls on my block hit the preteen mark, an unexplainable heaviness oozed over our neighborhood like “The Nothing” in The Neverending Story. Saturday night slumber parties became whirlpools of maniacal giggling and tears, powered by overactive imaginations, blossoming sex drives, and crushing self-doubt.” DUDE. At last I know where my real problem is – I never really matured past the age of thirteen. You are describing ME.

But I digress. Smoosh finished their set, I finished my drink, and I was on the floor as soon as Eels hit the stage.

Part of the reason I wanted to see this show again is, last weekend when I saw them I was pretty buzzed. As in, I remember it was a fantastic show, and I remember bits and pieces, but I had shit on my mind and that combined with the buzz messed me up. Last night I was fairly sober. So I remember it all. The guy with the “Security” T-shirt who stood glaring out at the crowd, but then in the course of the night proceeded to dance, do kung-fu moves, squirt whipped cream into people’s mouths (and then wipe them off with a tissue – TWISTED), play keyboards, make random announcements before songs, and at one point, take over the guitar from E while he went backstage. Security Guy was just a little tidbit that made one go “holy fuck, this show is INSANE.”

So then… it was so good I almost started crying a couple of times. E was dressed in some crazy jumpsuit with airplane goggles and longish hair sticking out from a cap with another pair of goggles, and there was a wind machine blowing on him… the effect was quite striking, and I think I am in love again. There were moments of great beauty, and moments of two guitars about to rip your head off. The girls from Smoosh were right next to me on the floor and were jumping up and down like they were on pogo sticks, because like I said they haven’t learned to dance yet. The crowd, though somewhat sparse, was appropriately enthralled and respectful. I think I love Portland.

Then, sadly, it was over. I didn’t bring my phone so I couldn’t call Michael from The Violet Burning, but I walked out into the rain and uptown to one of two bars he had said they would be at. It was a club, and definitely one where people were going to be taking drugs. I didn’t see him so I got out of there quick before I could get myself into trouble. See! Even I, Shannon Essa, can sometimes be good.

Out in the rain, I walked aimlessly trying to get a cab. Finally I got one and the driver got so lost he did not want to charge me. But I made him take money. Portland has cute cab drivers too, by the way.

This morning I dreamed about Mark Oliver Everett. He was at my house and I asked him what the scoop was with Security Guy. Then he looked at my CDs and asked me to put on the Living Blue. I was happy that all my Eels CDs were in plain view. “This band sucks,” E said. The rest of the dream involved unsuccessful sex and my grandmother, but I’d rather not elaborate.

During that show I had this image of myself crucified on an electric guitar. I can’t think of anything that makes me quite as happy. And I am glad.

I am in Portland. I got here last night and to be totally honest it would have been better to get here today. Last night was, kind of, well, lame. I don’t know where I got it in my head that Portland is this uber-cool city with a fantastic bistro on every corner.

I had to go through Oakland and had over an hour to kill so I went to the bar, which was packed and had a slow-as-molassas server. I mean, she was SLOW. After twenty minutes I got a drink, but in the meantime struck up a conversation from some businessman from Seattle. “Service with a smile,” he said. “I don’t care if there is a smile as long as there is service,” I said. Well this comment was going to bite me in the ass later.

In the seventh grade, in social studies, we had this project to design a city. In the city I designed, the airport was outside the city and there was a train connecting the airport to the city. Now for me, having only been to the airports in San Francisco and Orange County, this was pretty cool thinking, I thought. I didn’t know other cities actually have this. And if there is one really great thing about flying into Portland Airport, it is that you can walk out the door and get on a light rail that takes you right into town. The thing dropped me off in front of my hotel! Awesome.

I didn’t get here until almost nine and I was starving, so I immediately went out to eat something. There is a giant mall across the street. A MALL. Where am I again? The girl at the front desk had given me a really horrible mimeographed map of the area with all manner of fast food places on it. Quigno’s subs? Not. So I walked past the mall trying to find something else. I passed an Applebees that was packed. “No way” I said to myself. “I am NOT eating at fucking Applebees.” Do you sometimes feel that the hip neighborhood is very close, that if you maybe walk two more blocks there it would be, but in which direction? That is how I felt last night.

Finally I found a street with some coffeeshops and a pizza place and a pasta restaurant. The pasta place looked pretty good so I went in. Everything on the menu looked really good. And the server was not only great, he was also smiling. He did everything absolutely perfectly (like get me a second glass of wine right when the first was done, and not fire my pasta until my salad was done, because I eat slow). So when my pasta came out and it was total crap, I couldn’t send it back. Unfortunately, I had let him choose for me. It sounded good – linguini with marsala and cream, tomatoes and mushrooms. But it tasted like plain pasta. I couldn’t taste any marsala or cream, all I could taste was stale pasta water. I dumped half a pound of Parmesan cheese on it and that made it at least edible. Leaving there, I walked back past the Applebees, which was still packed. “Oh how I wish I would have eaten at fucking Applebees,” I thought.

The night wasn’t a total loss. Franz Ferdinand was on Austin City Limits and they were AWESOME. I always wondered what the big deal was about that band and now I know. I am gonna go and buy all their records.

I guess there is a carnival by the river today. I am going to try to go there. I saw it on the news, because they were showing how everyone is getting their bags searched before entry. “Makes everyone feel much safer” one dude said. “No one will get their pockets picked now.” Huh? How did that one make it past the cutting room floor?

Somewhere there is a great wine bar calling my name… I just have to find it.

Tonight is the first night of the U.S. leg of the Radiohead tour. Therefore:

All those thousands of people singing “for a minute there, I lost myself.” That shit just slays me.

I am really excited and today I impulsively (not) bought a ticket on ebay for the first show at the L.A. Greek. It was hella expensive but I DON’T CARE. It’s all I can do to strap myself down and not go to Boston and Chicago or even Canada.

I am, however, going to Portland on Saturday to see Eels again. And to drink some good Pinot and maybe eat something. I’ll try to stay out of trouble which is something I didn’t do when I saw Eels last weekend. Me, stay out of trouble. Right. It’s 1.6 miles from my hotel to the venue. How much trouble can I get in on a 1.6 mile walk? Plenty, I reckon.

June is shaping up to be Totally Killer. Maybe I’ll take a cab.

Last night was insane with the dreams again, but at least they weren’t nightmares. The dreams went on and on but there were two I remember very clearly. In one I was living in the country sometime after the civil war – like camping outside living. There were a lot of people doing the same thing. At one point I ran into a priest who had this coffee table book about the Beatles. And I was like, how can you have a book about the Beatles? They won’t be formed for a hundred years! Someone took the book from the priest and threw it to the bottom of a river. Someone else dove into the crystal clear water and retrieved the book and the priest was very happy.

Then this morning a dream that was so real… I was somewhere in Normandy, in a town by the sea that had crazy architecture. While I was there I met a family, an older couple and their daughter and I think the daughter’s boyfriend. The mother outfitted me with wings and me and her flew over the town. I landed OK but she landed in the water. Then I was in Manchester, England with my mom and we had missed our connection so we went into a little square in the town. And there was the same family – they were FROM Manchester. So they totally hooked us up and we were eating and drinking and there was live music. I remember I asked how the wine was in the bar and they all made cracks that it could remove paint from the wall, or something like that. But it was sunny and I did not miss the wine because I ordered some crazy Manchester drink.

Anyhow, in the dream I was going to call the office to tell them I missed my connection, so I was going to be in my dream for a while. But unfortunately I woke up.

And I haven’t had a dream about Britt Daniel in a really long time. What up with that?

Tracy Lord: Dexter, say something.
C. K. Dexter Haven: Well, I…
Tracy Lord: Oh, I’m such an unholy mess of a girl.
C. K. Dexter Haven: Well, now, that’s not conversation.

The Philadelphia Story, 1940

She was forty-one, an age when even romantics must admit that youth is gone….

Richard Yates, Oh Joseph I’m So Tired

Do you ever wake up and feel that everyone thinks you are totally insane? I do, but they don’t because I am not. I am too sane. THAT is why I am so fucked up.

Last night I had a series of nightmares that wouldn’t stop. A tiny baby who I guess was sleeping on my chest, then he turned into a man-eating dog that swallowed people whole. Then I was on a 747 and a series of gliders attempted to crash straight down on us. And finally, my friend’s husband electrocuted himself with an electric shaver. My friend pulled the plug, and he fell on the ground, dying. I didn’t know how to save him so he died right in front of me.

There is a train of thought that says in dreams, every person is an aspect of yourself. So am I a baby, a man-eating dog, and a dying man? Am I a person who can’t save anyone?

Everyone fucks up. I just have to get past this one. But sometimes I just don’t know what to do about myself.

On another (much better) note, I got a special treat in the mail today – bootlegs of two Radiohead shows I was at – Coors Ampitheater in September 2003 and the L.A. Greek in October 2000. After the show at the Greek my life changed drastically and within months I was living in Europe. You never can tell where life is going to take you.

So as Thom Yorke sings,

Pull me out of the aircrash
Pull me out of the lake
I’m your superhero
We are standing on the edge.