Martyred to mediocrity.


ANOTHER Waffles invite (sorry).

Kris Jensen Memorial Fund

August 17, 2006
12:03 AM

How Zac got his blog back.

Parenthetical Girls, I'm so sorry for keeping you suspended in tour this long. I didn't forget; I've just been a bit out to lunch (so to speak). How are your joints... feeling stiff? I see you've acquired some bedsores... good God. Let's flip you.

Picking up where we left off leaves us asleep on the floor of a kind advocate in Davis, CA. We collectively woke up later than our time-line allowed, which caused a rushed/hushed morning scramble, which resulted in a surly start to the miserably drawn-out journey ahead of us. But I was in relatively high spirits, considering my eyes were on the prize and all.

Boise, ID: the most anticipated show of the tour for me personally. Land of my birth, upbringing, and home to almost all of my immediate relatives. The drive turned out to be not so miserable after all, (google maps, you fickle claw), and I started to get the proverbial butterflies as we neared the Nampa (suburb of Boise) border. With a trapped-in-van audience, I directed us past my child-hood home; and on the way to my family's current abode, happened to run into my Junior High School, High School, and first job ever ("Moxie" Java).

At my parent's, Matt, Brenna, and Zac hung out in the basement (like the cool kids at Thanksgiving, who "aren't really hungry..."), while I entertained a revolving cast of relatives. In a word, this was "overwhelming".

Jensen Family Reunion 1990.

My brother Elijah had orchestrated the show we were to play that evening, in the mostly abandoned home of a few friends. And as I expected, the crowd turned out to be about 50 % non-relatives/50% Jensen family, for which I received a lot of taunting (particularly at the presence of my "Auntie Kim"). To this I retort: "Don't hate me for having a support system." I stand by this statement.

The show felt like a success, if metered solely for me by my mother's enthusiastic response (she loved it, despite all of the lyrical double entendres and mentions of menstrual blood).

That night, in homage to sleeping over at parent's, we all had a pizza party in the aforementioned basement, watching "Roseanne" and trying our damndest not to wake the slumbering bear figure that is my father. The next morning we were sent on our way, through yet another cast of relatives, and a traditional pancake gorge.

Parenthetical Girls had some time off that day, due to a sort of "scheduling" mishap at the Paradox in Seattle, (frustrating). But this allowed for a much needed oil change/post office/sno cone stop, and the leisure of driving home for a one-night sabbatical in our own beds.

We reassembled the next afternoon, for what now seems like the piddly jaunt from Portland to Seattle, for our last minute replacement show at the Gallery 1412 (Thank you Jamie!), sponsored by ...Lost Five-O: "Sippin on Ener-Gy and Juice! Lost Five-O". (I'm sorry, I'm required.)

Much to our corporate sponsor's dismay, attendance was scant-- but Zac's mom was there, marking the first show she's ever attended. Who's got the support system now?! Boo yo.


Seattle was our last evening with Reindeer/Tiger Team, for which I was legitimately forlorn. Those guys. Are so nice, I didn't want them to leave. We chased their departing vehicle down the street a little way for affect, waving our arms like nobody's business.

Godspeed, RTT.


The morning after, we reconvened from our separate sleeping residences to meet at the Marysville Walmart, from where we pressed on towards the uncharted unknown: British Columbia.

We were all a bit nervous about what might lie ahead of us at the Canadian border. Because it looks suspicious, you know. What with all of the musical instruments in tow... they might think you're crossing the border with intentions of making money (not allowed). Good thing this was not the case for us--we would be spending money in their fair province. Top dollar to record at a friend's studio, naturally. And with the truth on our side, we made it gracefully through the motive interrogation and full van search. "Phew."

It was worth all the apprehension shortly after crossing the border, when we were greeted by the stunning and futuristically industrious cityscape of Vancouver, WA.


Would you think I'm a tenderfoot if I told you I'd never been to Canada? Never mind, then.
All tour long, I had been mildly sketched out at the prospect of our Vancouver show, because all I knew was that we were playing in a "parking lot". Sketchy, right? Upon our arrival at the site though, my uneasiness evolved into mostly amusement. Stationed in an industrial area, just a ways down from all the working girls you could dream of, "Maslianskis" is one half personal residence/one half recording studio/one half barbeque/and one half lengthy oil-stained parking lot.


We were to play on the expansive porch that runs perpendicularly to this scene here.

But we'll come back later. For now, let's see what these crazy Canucks are up to.

For a proper taste, we were told (by a fellow American) to roam up and down the main drag of Commercial, which we did for a couple of hours, taking note of all the subtle differences our Northern neighbors have to offer. Of personal note: Granita style Americanoes, predominantly mid-90's garb, more calories per Coke, yellow grass in the park, exotic chips. That sort of thing.

Back at the venue, things had warmed up slightly in our absence. There was a barbeque, and keg beer of which the small crowd (and eventually us), were imbibing.


The crowd was nice, just distant enough for comfort, and seemingly "feeling it". Especially this guy, who stayed near my keyboard almost the entire time we were performing, communing and mumbling vague gratitude's.

We lived it up pretty hard after that (last night of our tour and all). Maybe I was even sort of dirty dancing. Made some friends.


Made some enemies too, I'm sure. And just so we're clear, Maslianskis was legitimately great.

The next morning, after a greasy breakfast at "the only American (who says I wanted American?) diner" in Vancouver, we met up with P:ano and his nice sister for an outing to the beach.


We hung out on this rock island.

The water was freezing, but everybody (except for Zac) jumped in and flipped around for a bit. We saw a sea lion just lazing around.


(Follow the path of Brenna's pointer finger, to the chameleonesque slug-like lump.)

I ate Canadian pre-packaged novelty ice cream, sunbathed, cut my toe open on a barnacle, fantasized about being Diana to Anne (disregarding that series took place on Prince Edward Island). Overall--beyond satisfying. I couldn't even hallucinate a nicer conclusion to our maiden voyage as a 4-piece. SS Parenthetical Girls.


(D. Horvitz, as usual!)

We were home again for good that night. Back to jobs, non-jobs, blow jobs, etc...

I want to go on tour again.

The previous entry: The Ramp Age
The next entry: ...And You Can Never Go Home Anymore.

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