"New Destinations, Old Friends, AND The Latest Addition to Our Crew"

     Hello there my good looking readers, I see you've come back to my warm literary embrace once again. Excellent timing!
    I was just about to share my latest travel plans here among the inter-webs, along with some more of my candid-- and more often then not, blurry-- photographs that you say you like so much (just pretend for me). So go ahead, take off your shoes and get comfortable. Play some soft classical in the background. Burn one down if thats your thing, and if not, well, do whatever it is that you do. You get the idea…

    As you may or may not already know, my decision to hit the road after graduating art school was synonymous with my dream to someday write a great american novel. Whatever that means. What you probably didn't know though, was that my reasoning was two-fold.
    Because I went to High School in the suburbs of Milwaukee, and then went directly to college in the city afterwords, I found myself in a uniquely new life situation upon graduating. For the first time in my young life, I actually had control over my living situation. This is why my immediate inclination upon graduating was to avoid the midwest winter at all costs. It also explains some of my earliest endeavors painfully hitchhiking through Florida, as well as the gem of a card I've had up my sleeve for damn near two years now...
    The gem I speak of, is none other then the Southern Texas Coast, which is our current general direction.

    Running from the Southern coastal city of Corpus Christie, all the way down to the Mexican border, is a vast stretch of barrier reefs broadly known as the Padre Islands. Of course, closer investigation quickly reveals that the various stretches of islands have different names and unique features, but for my immediate purposes, one outstanding attribute unites this enormous sprawl of beaches. Three words my friends. Three simple, delightful, freedom-loving words: FREE BEACH CAMPING.
    As it turns out, the Texas Coast is uniquely preserved by a policy declaring that most Texas beaches remain public land, and therefore, cannot be sold as private property. Because of this beautiful intervention by land management officials, the South Padre Islands remain the largest undeveloped barrier reef in the United States. Thank you Texas, for hitting this one out of the park! After a few months of 80 hour work weeks in North Dakota- I think its about time to go live on a beach for a while and work on my art and writing.
    Those of you who've kept up with me since my earlier travels know that I nearly made my way down to the Padres after one of my earlier couch surfing stints through Austin. It never ended up happening (which was probably for the best considering what I had for "gear") but ever since I looked into it, I've been slyly holding this card for a much needed winter escape. Why is now the perfect time? Context my friends. Context is everything…

 













"The Broader Picture"
    I absolutely love my life, the characters, the adventures, and all the remarkable experiences I've had therein. The fact is though, that I need to start writing this book in the near future. I've written TONS, and documented everything in just about every imaginable medium, but as I realized in my first year of traveling, I need to be within sight of the "end" before I can properly start from the "beginning." What this means, essentially, is that I need to be seeing a great deal of America in the next year. I've covered a lot of ground in the past few years, but the N.E. has remained mostly untouched in my travels. I certainly can't write a book about the United States when I haven't even spent any time in New York City!
    What it comes down to then, is that I have some time to kill before I drag my journey through the NE. Why? Well, because as I have already prefaced with some conviction-- I'm just not a fan of the cold. This is why I'm headed for the Southern Gulf Coast of Texas!

"The New Crew" 
    When I first began this crazy nomadic study, I was naive enough to expect my traveling partners to be the same old crew, through and through. Three years later, I can tell you with more then a few chuckles that this is not at all the case. Throughout a fond mess of trials, tribulations, destinations, fallouts, and excruciating circumstances, I've learned that whatever my goals may be-- they are unique to me. People have come and gone, and I no longer see it as something to be fickle about. Everyone has their own journey, after all, and who should better understand that then me?
    So with that notion in mind, I will take this quick moment to introduce my current crew of freelance travelers. It doesn't matter if they are momentary vagabonds caught in the freeze-frame during the kicks, or tried and true champions of the unknown-- they're both in it for the ride, and in the end, thats all I'm really positive they'll get out of it! 

  CHASTAINE TALLON, a.k.a. "Chassy," "Chass," or "C- Word"

   















     
     Chassy is the tough yet tender gal who survived one of the hardest, most rewarding stints I've had so far. Myself, Chassy, and The Great B.O., traveled 6 passengers deep from Milwaukee to San Francisco, and then lived in our Buick Le Sabre while spending the summer traveling up the Pacific Northwest Coast. We ran out of money in Portland, so I got a job cooking while we spent the summer living in the back yards of people who are now some of my best friends. I've been prolonging much of a detailed account of this time so far, because it was too meaningful to be spit out in blog form for your immediate entertainment. Rest assured, nobody and nothing will be forgotten about this memorable time of my travels.
         Anyhow, Chassy has the wits of a bullfighter, the heart of a saint, and a mean enough right hook to keep my antics in order. She's had my heart since I've known her, and I'm a lucky man to have her joining me out on the open road.                 

    AARON STASIC, a.k.a. "Staz," "A.J."

       














    
    
     Staz is probably my oldest friend in the world. We've been out exploring life, getting into trouble, and making a ruckus since we were neighbors at seven years old! We've always spent our time together dreaming and contemplating various forms of world domination, and now, it appears that we might finally be in the right time and place to bring such a reality to fruition. If not, we can at least keep exploring life, getting into trouble, and creating a general ruckus, right?
    Staz went with me on my first family vacation throughout the states, where we sat crammed into the hot back-seat trying to figure out how to read a map. Many years later, we would embark on both of our first college-aged road trips to florida, where we sat as driver and navigator together putting those map reading skills to the test on the open road as young adults. Now, finally, for the next installment of our lives as travelers (and surely not the last), Staz will join me out on the open road as we make for the beaches of the Texas coast.
    I'm absolutely elated to have his company for however long he joins me... 
 
    Before I make my departure, I'll leave you with some photographs of one of my last nights in Milwaukee, and some of the great friends who made it out to say good-bye to me. Thanks to everyone who made it out!
    Stay tuned for the details of my adventure down to Texas, my time there, and whatever else I get around to sharing.

    Until We Meet Again…

    Regards,
    Joseph R. Reeves

STATUS UPDATE: A Farewell To Friends And Co-Workers from North Dakota

      A very gracious 'hello,' 'how do you do,' and slap on the ass to my ongoing readers, as well as some of my new friends following along here from North Dakota. I'm glad to see you found me here, and remember, that slap on the ass was consensual. It's been far too long since I've made an appearance here on my blog, but what can I say, 85 hour work weeks will do that to a man. Even a man as hearty as I. My apologies as always.
    With all that out of the way though, I'll move along with the agenda at hand because as usual, I'm way behind. Where I left off (in terms of a tangible/chronological sort of narrative), I was just beginning to get down to some of the details about my amazing summer spent working on a trail crew in the mountainous washington backcountry. I assure you that this is where I plan to continue "chapter posting" from in the near future, but for the moment, I'm going to have to interrupt that series to take a moment to thank some of the truly amazing people who played significant roles in showing me North Dakota from a whole different perspective (though they might not have known it).
    My whole experience in North Dakota was far richer then I could have possibly imagined, so I'll mention as a side note that the bulk of the content of this period will be accounted for in future postings at greater detail. The content of this post will only very briefly touch on my time in N.D., because translating the experience would require much more time and thought then I have to put down at this moment. Plus, I have my current plans to share.

NO DIRECTION
    After the trail crew season ended in late October, I left my simple life of mountain labor, and cooking at the Trout Lake Country Inn. It wasn't as simple, or as easy as all that of course, but because I'm short on time I'll spare you the details for now. With a grand chariot of slurry, sullen comrades, we bar-hopped our way from Trout Lake, to White Salmon, to Hood River, and I eventually woke up sore at the aptly titled "Craft House" in Portland. I was among old friends and Advil. The universe was apparently in a very good mood.
    As much as I truly love my Portland friends, this transitional period was very rough for me. The five months I had spent out in Washington went by and ended so abruptly, that my puzzled caricature was among the few things left behind after the whirlwind of ceremonious good-bye's. With writerly aspirations, I was blankly trying to contemplate the deeper meaning of what had happened, and what the hell I was doing next. All I concretely knew, was that I was somewhere in the middle of writing a book about the american dream, and that the main character was struggling triumphantly to figure out where things went from here. I had created an entirely different life and persona for myself out there in Trout Lake, I was "Shovelin' Joe," for chrissakes! Now, wearily wandering from bar, to bus stop, to bar among the rainy city lights- I felt like a ghost.
    I hung around Portland for two weeks (another story in itself that I will hold off on sharing in this post), had some kicks, and eventually, I caught a train to North Dakota.

WHY NORTH DAKOTA?
    Well, a great friend and brother of mine "Jay," happened to be running a store at the mall in Minot, North Dakota selling Cowboy Stuff. The name of the store was in fact called, "Cowboy Stuff."
    Jay told me about the current oil rush out in N.D., how the unemployment rate was nearly 0%, and how crazy the town had gotten since Minot had been nearly destroyed in a devastating flood from the earlier spring. Jay explained to me that housing was at about 0% as a result, but that he had a spare room I could stay in if I decided to head out that way. After researching some of the stories surrounding this contemporary oil rush, and looking at the massive need Minot had for workers- I decided I would indeed head out to Minot N.D..
    I left with the general goals in mind to see new parts of the country; observe the social, political, and soon-to-be historical discourse of the bakken-shale oil boom; and lastly, to make some damn money. In my hard pressed, life-consuming investigation of the ambiguously phrased: "American Dream," the fact cannot be ignored that money is largely at the roots of the general publics' life goals and aspirations. Though I could never share this dream, I've learned to despise the general premise less and less, and have began to simply consider it an americanizing feature of mainstream culture.
    This wasn't just about my american dream, it was about the american dream. With that realization, it suddenly began to seem fitting that I anchor myself there in the blistering midwest winter to chase the buck. As much as I might despise centering a life around money, I realized that much of my Washington life that focused on the value of work ethic would carry over easily. With loan company's constantly harassing my parents and family about the MASSIVE student loans I owe, I figured maybe it was time to make a bit of money and see exactly what the commonly sought, plasticized rendition of the American Dream was all about.
    So I headed to Minot North Dakota to get a job working in the oil fields.

"On The Road... Again" (Cover) w Jordan Meier


EVERYDAY HUSTLER
    During my stint there in North Dakota, I got very little time to work on my art and writing, which would inevitably be the deal-breaker for me. The economy out there was not only turbulent, but to a guy with a do-all resume, it was damn near compelling. I arrived in Minot N.D. Sunday night, and by Tuesday morning, I was putting in full days welding live-stock fencing. It was grueling labor, but I was entirely in charge of my own schedule, I was making 15-20 bucks an hour, and I was welding for the first time in a while. It felt great, but once I got good at the local job searching game, I saw more, and wanted more.
        I spent almost all my free time applying for jobs and going to interviews. The hourly rates in Minot N.D. are incredible compared to the rest of the country, so I considered every option with the intention of pushing my schedule to the absolute max, working myself to the bone, and making as much money as possible. The streets were lined with help wanted signs, and even fast food places were starting at 11 bucks an hour- so the key was finding two good full time jobs that paid well, and didn't have conflicting schedules. The other option was taking a job on the oil rigs, but since the rigs were all outside of the city, Id have been forced to live in a man camp on the outskirts of town.
    After about 30 applications and 20 interviews within two weeks, I finally found the right combination. I got a job working at a Cabinet shop from 7:30- 5:00 pm M-F, and then I'd walk to the restaurant across the street and work from 5:30- 12:30 as a line cook. It worked out well for several reasons. The restaurant was willing to give me 40+ hours a week, and I got a guaranteed 45 hours a week from the cabinet shop. I made a little less at the cabinet shop because I was taken in as somewhat of an apprentice, but I saw it as an educational experience, and I was happy to be working with my hands in a shop, and making things once again. Sure it wasn't all flowers and roses, but I learned a hell of a lot, and I believe that much of what I was doing will find a way into my artistic practice in the near future. We'll see.
    Everyone liked me pretty well at the shop, but I was always having to ask a lot of questions. I was pretty quick to catch on to things, and though I worked hard, there was still no shortage of mistakes for me to own up to and get hollered at for. It was all part of the learning process, and although most of the time I didn't let it didn't get to me, I still sometimes got tired of being the new guy. This is where my job cooking on the line fit in especially well.  
    I love cooking, plain and simple. I started working as a dishwasher for a small Italian restaurant when I was twelve years old, and fell in love with cooking before I even began art or writing. Thirteen years later, I can now say I've worked in restaurants over half of my life. I chose to go to Art school instead of Culinary school, because I knew I could use cooking as a means to support myself as an artist. It has always been a trade that I excel in, which is exactly why it filled a fundamental purpose for me in my 80+ hour work weeks. Because I was damn good at it.
    It might seem small of me to really "need" to be good at something, but after the nine hour shift, the cabinet shop usually had me worn thin on all levels. I was physically tired from all the lifting and hauling, mentally tired from learning all the new things, and I was even emotionally spent from the daily frustrations of having had a good, bad, or awful day. My twenty minute walk from the shop to the kitchen through the cold, was a good time to reflect and prepare myself for another shift.
    My shifts there in the kitchen were the complete opposite of the cabinet shop, which helped to make the 17 hour days more bearable. Of course your first week, the cooks kick you around a bit and aren't very nice- but kitchens are a competitive atmosphere, and if you're on anything more then a four man line, the dogging is pretty much customary. Anyhow, this short period didn't last too long for me. I learned the menu pretty quick, and in no time, I was able to keep up with the best of 'em. It worked out nicely not only because I had a job where I knew what I was doing, but because I was usually getting pounded so hard with orders, that by the time I had a second to even look at the clock- it was closing time.
    That was my day to day life in North Dakota. I was home by one, asleep by two, and I had a short four hours before I had to wake up and get ready to do it all over again. I learned a lot, I met many wonderful people, and I scraped together a pretty decent amount of cash as well. In the end though, sacrificing my work was the hardest part of it all…

     Before I get to the details of my current situation, and the news of my latest departure, I'm gonna put some necessary thank you's out there to all the amazing people I met in Minot who taught me so much, and essentially made my experience as enriching as it was.

TO THE BOYS IN THE CABINET SHOP:
        Clayton,
    I cannot thank you enough for giving me the opportunity you did in your cabinet shop, and believing in me to the fullest. I respect and admire everything you've done with your company, and I hope that in it's exponential growth, you remain devoted to the creative integrity that sets you apart from the competition. I hope to keep in touch. Cabinet making is a trade I would like to continue developing. Lastly, kudos on putting together a shop made up of North Dakota's finest cabinet makers.
    Scott,
    You were as consistently up my ass about doing 'this' or 'that,' as you were about showing me HOW to do this or that, and in my mind, that makes you an excellent teacher. You were as good at breaking my balls as you were at encouraging me to think for myself, and I cannot thank you enough for patiently teaching me how to fix my mistakes, and never giving me the easy way out. I won't forget all the things I learned from you Scott, and you can expect that next time I come through town, I'll be calling you about getting a drink. You were a great mentor to me, and I hope you continue to take pride in watching people grow, learn, and develop. Lastly, don't sell yourself short buddy- whether you believe it or not, your an artist in your own way. I've seen it. 
    Steve (Watson),
    You were an inspiring character, with a tough-as-nails mentality that I'd expect from a fellow Milwaukee native. Though you came across as soft spoken, it didn't take me very long to realize that you're the wild card in the shop. Its always the quiet ones. Thank you for sharing your stories with me, I can only hope mine will someday compare. I remember the look in your eyes when you asked me if I was leaving, and I remember realizing that I am probably not much different then you were at my age. I can only hope to be so rich someday, Watson. Keep in touch, and keep the shop in line for me!   
    Josh,
    Thanks for always giving me a hand when I needed it, inserting the proper sarcasm where it was necessary, and really sharing so much of your knowledge with me whenever you were given the opportunity. We shared a lot of laughs, and your diligent pessimism always helped to pass the time... "Does this rag smell like lacquer to you?"  
    Cody,
    Your about the nicest damn fellow a guy could ever hope to work with, and I thank you for that. Any time a part was mis-stained, or the veneer was sanded through, or I shot a staple at the wrong angle- you reluctantly laughed and said "we've all been there," even though you were the one who had to cut an entirely new piece. Your patience was appreciated Cody, and I wish you well on your future house hunt.
    Doug,
    Having a low tolerance to lacquer fumes certainly prompted some interesting conversations between us, Doug. And who could forget the whole mess of fun it was cluelessly running the finishing room when Larry was out?! I'll have fond memory's of frantic sanding, and trying to figure out which coat of sanding sealer pieces were on. In the end we got them all done, and you were even starting to spray like a pro- but thats why you make the big bucks, right?  Either way, I'm glad to have known you. Wear a damn respirator, and keep in touch. I noticed that cough getting worse as time went on (we don't all have lungs of steel like Larry).
    Larry,
    I always loved working in the finish room with you because you knew how to get the job done without stressing out. You were always ready to save the day with your handy colored pencils, which is probably why you always seemed fairly confident in saying, "ehhh, It'll be alright." Your stain matching abilities are superb, and your a cowboy with that lacquer gun. Keep on keeping on my friend, and don't lose your mind there in the finish room.
    Chris,
    Thanks for always watching my back man. Every time I was about to do something I wasn't sure about, I would look up, and you were right there already to show me what I was doing wrong. When I was wandering, you usually had work to keep me busy, and when the entire shop was pissed off and stressing, you'd usually tell me what I could be doing so I didn't get yelled at. You seemed to be one of the few people that fully knew that I really had NO PREVIOUS KNOWLEDGE of cabinets, and you never made me feel stupid for asking you so many questions. Thanks for looking out for me, and telling me what's what. If I had a big brother in that shop, it was you. Next time I roll through town, expect a random call.     
    Brady,
    Your various projects kept you out of the shop most of the time, so I didn't get to talk to you as much as I'd have liked. I'd very much like to see some of your work, so maybe we could make that happen somehow. Anyways, thank you for teaching me a bit on the install, and thanks for recommending some good places to see music in Minot. Every time I listen to "Trampled by Turtles," I think of you. My art blog is JosephReeves.blogspot.com if your ever curious about seeing some of my stuff. As I said, it is interdisciplinary, and pretty weird. Shoot me a message if you ever travel. I wouldn't be surprised if our paths cross again. Also, expect a call when I come through town. I'll buy the beer.
    Steve,
    Your plum crazy, but hell, who isn't. After getting out of a summer of trail building on the mountains, I found myself sitting in a break room with a man insisting that anyone who wanted to climb a mountain was nuts, and should simply be shot. Seriously? Shot? Should we all just be happy with model airplanes and two and a half men? I only wish that out of the fifty times I heard you suggest someone be lynched or shot for thinking differently then you, that even ONE of those times, you seemed like you were kidding. You never did though. Like the Charleton Heston of Cabinet makers or something. Theres really no getting through to stubborn old guys like you, but in a strange sort of way, I guess that is admirable. As different as we may be, I respect you very much for your convictions- even if I think they are crazy. Your one of the best in the business Steve, so screw being sociable. Keep telling it like you think it is, and who knows, maybe someday I'll vote for Nugent too.

TO MY FAMILY AT THE RESTAURANT:
    To All,
    My Thank you's will be brief for the restaurant because I'm already connected with most of you on Facebook, and unlike the cabinet shop, I had a chance to say goodbye to most of you. 
    Sue,
    In my mind, you are the heart, soul, and voice of the midwest (don'tcha' know). Thank you for giving me this great opportunity, and making me a part of your wonderfully family. Thanks for being understanding of my schedule, and always insisting that I preserve my "quality of life." Please keep in touch. I will be checking in with the kitchen whenever possible. Lastly, you NEED a J.U.I.C.E. tattoo!  
    Lyle,
    You remind me of me when I was your age, so don't let me down. Chase your dreams, and think big. Don't get stuck in one place. Cooking is a trade you can travel the world with! Thanks for the couch to crash on, you'll see me again.
     Will,
    Your inner J.U.I.C.E. is remarkable brother, and I can't wait to introduce you to your ever growing family. Till then, keep hustling, and keep setting that bar ever higher to those who look up to you. Until we meet again!
    Cameron,
    I saw you go from punk kid, to the man with the plan. You've got mad potential in whatever you set your mind to Cameron, so set it to something good.   
    Jacob,
    My fellow new guy! I had a great time getting to know you buddy. We shared some great laughs and conversations, and I was always stoked when I was working flat top next to you. 
    Jake,
    Let me know when you start that band Jake. I'm working on metal spoons, alt. spoons, and death spoons as well. Keep your nephew in order, that kid is nuts.
    Derek,
    Keep 'girl pants' in check when he starts crying about his phone. With him around now, you've got two kids to look after. Give my best regards to your young family. You've got the skills to pay the bills, and I don't doubt your a great father. Keep it up buddy.
    Matt,
    Sorry about the pants burn. High school sucks, but you'll get over it. I had fun working with you except when you got whiney or lazy. Don't be whiney or lazy any more.
    Kyle,
    I'll miss walking in and out of your random ass conversations in the prep area, buddy.Though your take on culture wasn't always enlightening, it was at least humorous. I'll be sure to call you and laugh in the future when your daughter marries someone you (ahem) disapprove of.
    Krishna,
    It was great getting to know you, and thank you for halving all those chickens for me. Your a true american hero.
    Chauncey,
    Your one crazy dude, and I wish you the best of luck in prep. Next time I come into town, I'll pitch you a yam, and I expect a home run.  
    Kenzie and Brea,
    Thanks for keeping me hydrated and entertained from the other side of the line. You girls are absolute sweethearts, and I'll be keeping in touch as promised.
    Josh,
    Dub Spoons? Lets talk! Hit me up online so I can check out some more of your stuff.
    Miriam,
    Hope school goes well for you, hit me up if your ever in Portland again. Thanks for getting Matt straight on the Nacho's.    
    Dan-O, Amanda, Alisha, Sloan,
    Thanks for everything you guys. You were really good managers. I really enjoyed working for you all, and I can't wait to come back, visit, and make you all get utterly wasted with me. Since I won't be a cook there, we can talk shit about the cooks together (sorry fellow cooks).

Will and Kenzie got J.U.I.C.E. tattoo's! I'll be sure to explain JUICE in a future posting, but to sum it up- it is a program signifying a lifetime devoted to excellence. Join Us In Creating Excellence! I'll have more on JUICE soon.

     As this is a very busy week of hello's and good-bye's and packing and un-packing here in Milwaukee, I'll cut this post off here. Expect something in the next few days about where we're headed next- (I'll give you a hint: it rhymes with Gulf Coast), and who 'we' is this time around. (we've got a special guest traveling with us!)

Until We Meet Again...

Regards,

Joseph R. Reeves

Plea for 'Followers,' and Ruthless Self Promotion via Evil Cross-Marketing Strategies...

Hello my precious-es, glad to see your back already to check on my progressive study of our country, and the fine people and experiences contained therein. Its so nice to know that you care- it really makes me warm in the pants, and the heart and other such tender places of my anatomy, or emotions, or whatever. Anyhow, I'm not here to share my writing with you as I don't do nearly often enough, I'm here to harass you for a quick moment. I mean, c'mon, I put a post out last week for crissakes, what do you think I am, some kind of writing monkey here to amuse you? Actually, the reality is not too far off from that, depressingly enough... But that is why I feel justified to harass you a bit on two small points. I'll thank you in advance for taking the time to read this, digest the words remorsefully, and follow suit by doing what I am desperately pleading you to do for me.

   

1. New Direction for Art Blog (JOSEPH R. REEVES INTEGRATED ARTS)

   The first order of business, is really more of a self indulgent cross marketing scheme with the aim to inform you that I've made some changes to the way I am handling my formerly charming little art blog. In my devotion to delivering such riveting literary illustrations to you here at TLGaJ, I've really fallen off the wagon on managing my art blog, josephREEVES.blogspot.com. This would be okay if I had stopped making art, or if I had a consistent venue to be sharing my work with people- but the pathetic fact, is that I've been making art as madly and consistently as ever, and since I haven't had any time to put down quality writing about it on the art blog, I've been completely neglecting to share it with anyone. For an admittedly depressive and somewhat ego-maniacally bent artist who has come to terms with the fact that he desperately wants people to see what he is doing, this is an unhealthy place to be. So what I did, was, I went ahead and fixed the problem.

   What was formerly a thoughtful forum for my art, is now going to be re-shaped into a creative depository for any and all artistic endeavors I am pursuing. If I have time to write, I will, and if I don't, well, then I'll just be delivering the bare bones, and you'll have to suffer through seeing my work without my endless blabbing about such pretentious topics as "conceptual direction" and so forth. So basically, this site should be on point with delivering the actual products I'm working to produce, and will no longer emphasize the behind-the-scenes kind of commentary on such work, unless I have the time. I was simply being to "precious" with my posting, and it proved to be antithetical to my use of the blog as a format to showcase work. 

2. Become a "FOLLOWER" of this blog because you like my writing (but mostly cause you feel sorry for me).

   The implications of my asking you to become a follower of the blog here, are on par with asking someone for a compliment, which by the way, is twice as sad as fishing for a compliment. I don't know how I could be satisfied with the results of such a disingenuous action, but I'm done beating around the bush here people, cause it really comes down to an unflatteryingly professional strategy. Here's the scoop people. This is how it is. 

   I'm not only an unconventional writer aiming to publish a book about my adventures throughout the great states, I'm an unpublished writer. Both are serious obstacles to overcome in a pretentious industry. When I first set out on this journey, I though I could just write the book as I went along, which was nearly as silly as my thought that I could see and experience our country within one year. I wrote 120 pages or so in a span of maybe five months, and though it will still serve some purpose to me, I now realize that the beginning of the book can only be written when I have the vantage point of being at the end of the journey. I don't want to write a memoir, and that was good to learn. Since this realization I've focused on the blog here, taking avid notes, working on my short stories, and loosely composing an outline that will tell the story I want told. One of the best things about me having written so much in that first stint, was that it gave me the opportunity to test the waters of the publishing world, and see if it was indeed a realistic dream. I spent a month in the house researching the publishing process, and wrote an ambitious query letter so I could send to a bunch of publishers and see what kind of reactions I got. I sent twenty query letters out to a mixture of small and large publishing houses, and the cumulative results, were about seven requests for a "sample chapter." I sent a solid forty page sample chapter to these publishers, and from there, got a few rejections, and three requests to see a full manuscript. Two were from obscure little publishing houses, and one was surprisingly from a large publishing house. Needless to say, I was ecstatic. My travels thus forth were pursued with the notion in mind that I need to be creating fodder for what will at some point become a great manuscript. That's what I'm still doing, and I'm still convinced I can and will succeed. Call it part of my great "American Dream" if you will.

   I learned allot in my little experiment. Firstly, that I will need to work with an editor, because my passion for breaking conventions can work to my advantage, but must also be done with a certain finesse that I am willing to admit to lacking. Secondly, I learned that the more I can use the blog format here to prove to publishing houses that people do indeed enjoy my stories, voice, and writing style- the easier it will be for me to market this book in its final stages. What does that mean? It means it is time for me to put my pride aside, and INSIST THAT YOU BECOME A FOLLOWER OF MY FUCKING BLOG! It is free, you won't get bullshit e-mails from me or anyone else, and if I'm desperate enough to ask, then things must be getting pretty bad, right? Right. Oh, also, you'd like to help an aspiring young writer I'm sure too, right? Probably not...
   I was hoping it wouldn't get to this point, but the numbers just aren't adding up here guys. Out of the 20- 100 views I'm getting here daily (over half of them somehow coming from the U.K. oddly), I'm remaining entirely stagnant in my number of followers, and that is not cool. That is the one number that can potentially make publishers say, 'oh shit, people already like this kid- maybe we should give him a shot.' So do me a favor, and pleeeeease sign up. Not a facebook follower, a follower on "blogger." Though it says the word "subscribe," they are not charging you. I promise.
   I'll never be one of those deusch-bag blog nerds who starts selling crap on my site to blog full time. I'd rather kill myself. The only real reimbursement I get from this writing, is the satisfaction of knowing people are actually reading it. Please help me out here.
    More to come soon regarding the craziness of my jobs out here in N.D., near-future plans of using that money to get a van for this coming spring and the tentative NE tour, as well as my continued sharing of this last summers amazing experience in Trout Lake Washington.

Until We Meet Again...

Regards,
Joseph R. Reeves 

STATUS UPDATE: "My New Life In Trout Lake, WA and a Crazy Weekend In PDX"

    Hello my wonderful friends, and thank you so much for keeping up with me here at TLGAJ!
    If I didn't have such a splendid forum and handsome audience to be sharing my hectic quest for the american dream, I'm not even sure where I would be right now. Lord knows I've struggled with the blog as a literary medium, but despite my troubles, it has served me greatly as a tool to share my stories and photography, expand my audience, and give me the much needed comfort in knowing that folks are actually interested in my aim of this vagabond study of our country.  
    Those of you who've been following along from the beginning, have seen me live a multitude of lives since my jovial post-college departure now over two years ago. I've somehow prospered, struggled, and survived simultaneously on a slimmer budget then even I could have fathomed, and the strangest thing I have come to realize, is that my achievements have largely been earned through my experiences of failing so relentlessly. All I can say with a crooked smile, and a deep sigh, is 'what a life!'
     What am I up to now?, is a question I can either invest my entire writing efforts toward today, or I can put aside for the time being. Since I have such a massive backlog of stories, experiences, and photography to catch everyone up on, I'm going to just put that inquiry to rest for now, and work on moving the blog forward since, unfortunately, I cannot seem to write at the pace of my living as-of-late.
    Where did I last leave off? is perhaps a better question to focus on for the moment…

    My last post left off as I was just arriving in Portland after a 48 hour greyhound trip from Milwaukee. As it went, I arrived Friday evening and had the entire weekend to blow off steam before I was to be ready for the shuttle arriving at the PDX airport Monday morning to take me to Trout Lake. Suffice it to say that I had one hell of a turbulent weekend visiting all my portland friends from the previous summer, killing off mass amounts of brain cells, and trying my best not to focus on drama in Milwaukee, or how nervous I was for my new life in Americorps beginning Monday.    
    For now, I'm going to hold off on sharing the bulk of my messy, blurry, punk-infused Portland weekend of grand delusions, strip clubs, good friends, and cheap wine. I know this is likely to displease you, but I really must keep things moving along. I assure you that this meaningful weekend spent between lives will be detailed further in the book, and possibly as a short story that you might see sooner than later… Anyhow….

Cameron and Sarah, quite literally, chillin' like villians in PDX. Don't be mad at me Sarah!!

    Though I really needed to let it all out that weekend, as I indeed did do on more than one level- by the time Monday morning came around, I was an absolute mess. Anxiety on an emotional and physical level struck me like lightning as I woke up to fly around the house and regain the order to my bags that I had spent the weekend dismantling. I felt as if there was a steady flow of electricity pulsing through my nerves, and as my trembling hands and scattered thoughts struggled to piece my baggage back together, I couldn't help but count and re-count all the items on the Americorps "required gear" list that I either didn't have, or that I had an inadequate version of.
    I was sure it would be like grade school all over again, everyone laughing at the "poor kid" who had to go shopping at Goodwill. I even had the audacity to buy an inflatable pool floating device, since I didn't have enough money to buy a real backpacking ground pad. I wish I could tell you that I was joking. (As it turned out, I didn't even have the guts to take the stupid thing out to float on the lake that summer, for fear someone might ask me why I'd had it in the first place.)   
    I cursed myself for assessing this scenario a week ago, and naively deciding it would somehow work out for the better in its own way. Why couldn't I just do things like everyone else and make life easier on myself for a change? I wondered to myself pitifully.
    My good friend Corey- one of the people from the house I was staying at, was kind enough to offer me a ride to the airport that morning, effectively sparing me a multi-transfer bus trip across town with a bulky 60 pounds strapped to my back. What a saint! I'd met Corey through the previous summer of yard-surfing in Portland, when me and Chassy had spent a month there in his back yard.
    After a frenzied series of pacing back and forth through the house, I got all my gear in one place, and decided I was as ready as I was ever going to be. With a good twenty minutes left to kill, I went to the Plaid Pantry to buy a vitamin water. I was fairly sure I was going to vomit, and I figured maybe the walk would get it out of me.
    By the time I returned, I still hadn't puked. Along with the sun-induced nausea I was now feeling, my stomach began fluidly grumbling with a diarrhetic groan of despair indicative of potential catastrophe that I needn't describe further. I spent a moment in the bathroom hovering over the toilet bowl, trying to figure out which end of me was going to erupt, but nothing was happening. I gave up on it, and one last glimpse in the mirror confirmed to me that I did indeed look as bad as I felt. Like a final blow to my already smoldering confidence. I wiped my dampened brow with my sleeve, and put my neon yellow shades on. Determined to continue fighting the good fight, I left the bathroom prepared to shit myself with style.
    It was time to go. Corey sipped his water casually, asking me if I was ready. Through desperate beads of sweat I said, 'giddy-up' with a meek smile, and grabbed my massive backpack. We made our way to the airport, and Corey dropped me off with my heaping bags and gave me a solemn goodbye. I told him I'd be no stranger to Portland, and assured him he'd hear from me every chance I got. 

    Though I was relatively unaware of it, my first steps into the terminal there signified the beginning of this next new adventure for me. I didn't really realize it till the end of that first day, but my feelings that I was about to vomit, or even shit myself- all the physical distress and anxiety I was experiencing, vanished from me as I began to simply search for the meeting point of a shuttle I was supposed to take. I suppose it was all an overwhelming crescendo of self-induced anxiousness the whole time. A tightly wound mess of emotions that I only had time to dwell upon in the stages leading up to the start. Now that I was actually there, and that this big new change was finally upon me- I only had time to react to my immediate concerns, which at that moment, were locating my new peers, and finding the place we were to wait for our shuttle to Trout Lake.
    It really is incredible what we're capable of putting ourselves through as human beings. The pain we create for ourselves can be real, and the suffering can be a tangible thing. In so many ways, it explains allot.

     Our shuttle ride from Portland to Trout Lake was between an hour and a half, to two hours maximum. To be honest, I always had a hard time remembering how long it took to get between the two, because it was such an absolutely gorgeous ride through the Columbia River Gorge. The twelve or so fellow NWSA members I met in the terminal were all extremely nice folks, and the ride to Trout Lake was spent holding casual conversation, and taking in the landscape.
     It was a meaningful drive for me, not only because I would later become so fond of the whole Columbia River Valley, but because after spending those months cooped up in the Midwestern winter, I had become somewhat out of touch with the whole premise of my "Journey" overall. The previous summer I had spent traveling up the coast from San Francisco was idyllic, and taking in all the new scenery was a charge to my spirit that I had nearly forgotten. We ran out of money and I inevitably got a job for a few months cooking in Portland, and since I returned to Milwaukee to participate in the "2010 Performance Art Showcase," I hadn't been any further North since. The simple fact that I was taking in an entirely new landscape, and seeing something I had never seen once again, was an immediate reminder of why I was out here in the first place, and if that simple notion wasn't enough to run with- the stunning allure of the Columbia River Gorge would certainly suffice. 

"THE GIG"
     So, as many of my regular readers already know, a six month commitment to a volunteer Americorps position is unlike any of the other highly spontaneous endeavors I've chased around our beautiful country. For a multitude of reasons though, it has surely been one of the most influential stints I've had. I'll keep myself from focusing on the infrastructural jargon too much here, and champion the many experiential aspects of the program, but there are some details you should know in terms of understanding the simple nuts and bolts, as well as the context of the experiences within the larger scope of things.
     The position I took was through the "Northwest Service Acadamy," which is referred to as the NWSA because it is both shorter, and closer sounding to the hip-hop group, NWA. Even non-profits understand that the closer you can get to Dr. Dre, the more success your going to have. Plus, the non-profit world, and the rap game are not nearly as far off as you might think. Anyhow, all fooling aside, the NWSA is funded through Americorps, which is a government program that helps fund and operate non-profits throughout the US with the aim to aid in issues such as poverty, disaster relief, education, environment, etc.
     In this way, a comparable analogy would be: Americorps is to Dr. Dre, as the Northwest Service Academy is to Eminem. Though both are essentially separate entities, they still operate within a generally co-existing financial framework, and under a common set of moral and ethical guidelines that are understood and agreed upon. Put another way: one may have love for the streets, and one may have love for the forests- but in the end, they still have each others back. (If your conclusion from my analogy's is that Dr. Dre funds the Northwest Service Academy, please either re-read, or give up on analogy's all together.)

     So, being that this was my first experience in any sort of government program, there was plenty of things for me to get used to. On top of just that, there was the added fact that this was also a program with the general aim of using the work experience to both facilitate, and contribute to a larger set of social goals; goals that are in line with Americorps principals. These principals tend to emphasize community involvement, team work, and the development of leadership skills. The immediate reaction in my head was: 'You mean working my ass off isn't going to just be enough?!' Well, in short, no. It isn't.
     In staying true to my general tone here, I might have to be a bit cautious, or even re-iterate things, because this program really was so meaningful in so many different ways, that I want to be absolutely sure my sarcasm doesn't offset the importance of what the folks at the Northwest Service Academy were doing at the end of the day. Many different people were in the program for many different reasons, and much to my surprise, not a whole lot of them were as intrigued with the "grueling physical labor" or "trail work" portion of the job as I was. In hindsight, I'm not sure why I was surprised.
     Anyhow, what it all essentially boiled down to, was that this program really made me grow a whole hell of a lot in many different respects. As socially adaptable and friendly as I really can be, I am quite an extreme personality in many different regards, and it took allot of effort, and communication on my part to make sure I was working towards a healthy team dynamic. Spending six months together living out in the woods, or on a ranger compound, on such close quarters with the same people is much more of a challenge then I'd originally assumed. I felt damn near blessed to have been surrounded with the amazing people that my team was comprised of, but as a person known to need to "do his own thing" sometimes, there was certainly many challenges I would face.
     Because of the intensity of such an experience, the first week was mostly devoted to a balance between team building exercises, ice-breakers, and government paperwork. Though I can now realize how necessary that time really was, weeks like these put me to the test nearly as much as weeks later in the season where we were camping among frigid craters in endless rainfall. As much as I despised cold wet clothes, I could be just as inclined to lose my mind doing paperwork, or throwing a beach ball around and having to remember the name of the person I'm throwing to. I know that seems ridiculous, but I'm just a certain type I suppose...
   

      One great thing about having some time devoted to getting to know one another- as well as the 600 person town of Trout Lake- was that we got to explore a bit locally with the rest of the members. After the first two weeks of training, paperwork, and social exercises, the 7 different teams all go off to their own sites scattered throughout the NW. Aside from occasional visits, teams are mostly on their own the season, and only ONE team stays there in Trout Lake to work the local Gifford Pinchot National Forest. Luckily for me, I was on the G.P. team, and Trout Lake would fondly become my home for the next 6 months.
The picture above, is a few of us blindly setting out toward the NAP (natural area preserve) after dinner, as recommended by one of the staff. We had no idea for the view we were in for.   

Just as we turned the bend down the old gravel road, and made it past a small handful of tree's, there she was in all her glory! Mt. Adams.

Coming from a city life in the Midwest, I'd never seen something so magnificent up close like Mt. Adams was. The idea of living right there, and even being assigned to work in the Mt. Adams wilderness often times, was nothing short of invigorating. I had no idea that this little spot on the lake known as the nap (natural area preserve) would soon become a social sanctuary of sorts, for me and Sean to come work on music, and have a few cold beers after a long day of dragging timbers and digging drainage's.  

Meet "Crazy Dave!" He's a gentleman, a scholar, and one hell of a fine singer. Dave was among one of my first drinking buddy's there from the academy, and being one of the few with a car, he facilitated the needs of fellow degenerates such as myself who were always looking to go out and cut loose a bit after work. When the local Inn wasn't open, it was a 45 minute drive to the nearest bar! We would show up early in the morning for work after long rowdy nights, proceed to work long rigorous days, and damned if we didn't do it all over again. Call it what you will, but we had ourselves a fine time, and I wouldn't expect any less of myself in taking in a fully loaded experience on all fronts. 

Often times, the end of the night at the Inn really did look as blurry as this photo! My first time going there, I knew I had found a special place. I won't even get into the mushy details at the moment, because I have much writing to do about the Trout Lake Country Inn, the saints who own it, and the important role it inevitably had in my life out in Trout Lake.

The current hipster craze of drinking PBR and other blue collar beers has brought the price of PBR's up in Milwaukee to nearly that of Miller High Life! I know, crazy right? Well the Trout Lake Country Inn is a place that knows no craze, or particular time period even, and thus forth, the Pabst's flow like wine at minimum expense. Thanks be to god!

"THE CHEESE CAVES"
     In my first few days there in Trout Lake, we were lucky enough to have found out about a storied point of interest called "The Cheese Caves." The local area is known to be riddled with mysterious little caves all over the place, some well known as attractions, and others only found via bar napkin treasure maps or intricate landmarks. "The Cheese Caves," are somewhere in between the two, but are certainly only told of through locals. After a mile or so into the "back 40," a few wrong turns, and a few strange landmarks, we finally found an enormous hole in the ground with a makeshift ladder poking out that appeared to be our destination. The Cheese Caves were named as such because at one point back before efficient refrigerating methods were developed, they were used by local cheese makers to store large quantities of cheese that apparently benefited in the stable temperature. Interestingly, when we went far enough down there, we actually stumbled upon a decent amount of old rotting wood which was apparently evidence of dismantled shelving used to store the cheese way back when.
     The Cheese Caves became a place to frequently return to and explore. People would have "monster wars" (I'll explain later), and once toward the end of the season, there was even a Cheese Cave Rave complete with glow sticks, i pods, bongo's, and other general implements of dance. Throughout the NWSA's history, an intense challenge eventually came about that entailed crawling back into the smallest rat-hole in the cave, turning your head lamp off, and remaining there in the absolute darkness for an entire 24 hours. I wish I could say I took the challenge, but I didn't.        

So in the next few posts detailing my experiences living and working in Trout Lake, you'll get a chance to better know the fine people of the fabled "G.P. Team" (Gifford Pinchot), and the trials and tribulations of our turbulent little family. In the meantime, I'll share some of the fun photo's we collected in the first week while exploring the local area together.

Here's Erin posing in the foreground of "Sleeping Beauty," a famous local hiking destination, with one of the most spectacular views in the area. "Sleeping Beauty," can vaguely be seen in the distance there, and is meant to represent Erin's pose of the fabled sleeping beauty as depicted. I didn't see it very clearly at first, but after spending the summer in the area, it strangely became more and more clear to me. The rocky peak directly above Erin's face is the face of sleeping beauty, and the rounded sort of peak just next to it is meant to represent her folded hands on her chest. The white line of snow running down the peak, is said to be a tear drop from the fabled princess. Later in the season, we would not only get to hike to the summit, but buck out all the fallen tree's in the way of the trail, and dig drain dips along the way. Talk about living the dream!  

Here we are in Pats farm. Pat raises chickens, and supply's the local area with delicious organic eggs. When raspberry comes around, she can always use pickers!
One amazing thing about Trout Lake, and the NW in general, is that folks tend to know exactly where everything they are eating comes from. I can't say there wasn't a dietary transition involved on my part, but I also can't say that it wasn't entirely for the better either! I got spoiled eating out there, and now that I'm in the mid-west living on ramen noodles once again, and my only source of protein is canned tuna- I can say that I absolutely appreciate the food culture, and the emphasis on sustainability, and eating local. Don't tell my vegetarian leader, Jen- but I even secretly crave tofu once and a while to replace my hot dog intake... Shhhhh!

There's about a total of three establishments in Trout Lake. The Post Office, the previously mentioned and highly regarded Trout Lake Country Inn, and the General store, fondly referred to by anyone who's anyone as "The G store." The G-Store is where you go if you need anything that isn't lodging, music, beer, or company (found at the Inn). I guess there's also the ranger station where you can buy maps or whatnot, and there is also Andy's gas station. Attached to Andy's gas station is an evil little cafe which serves burgers, but we will not speak of this place, as I consider myself forever a patron, advocate, and wandering employee of the Inn. In all fairness, I should just go ahead and admit to my prejudices. On my days off from the trails, I was a loyal employee at the Trout Lake Country Inn, and the owners, Christian and Danica quickly became beloved friends of mine. As I mentioned, I'll save my ranting and raving of the Inn for future posts that focus a bit more on my later life in Trout Lake.
Anyways, The G-Store is A-okay in my book, and if it wasn't, I'd be S.O.L. anyhow, because your in for a bit of a drive if you can't buy what you need at the G Store. Since there is a no alcohol policy on NWSA grounds, it didn't take much more then a few weeks for me and my fellow collaborator in music/shenanigans to profess an efficient system of stashing beer off campus so we could have a few cold ones after work and relax at the NAP. The G Store was good enough to supply us with an affordable variety of cheap beer that usually rotated between Hamms, PBR, Raineer, or Olympia. If we were really feeling ritzy, we went with sessions, but those were special days... 

Here we are at the... well, between the picture above and below, I think you can figure it out. Pretty sweet though, eh?

And here's the man of the hour himself, Mr. Sean O'Neill. I knew from the beginning that this guy was trouble, and being that trouble is pretty much my preferred medium now'a days, it was no surprise that we got along famously. There was a total of 7 or so teams, with 7 or so people on each (numbers aren't my forte), but Sean's unique role was "the ROVER," which was an appropriate title for this colorful Irishman. The job of "the ROVER," was to potentially bounce between teams who were down a person due to injury, or who had to leave the program for unforeseen reasons. I was glad that the team I was on, G.P., was supposed to be his home base when the other teams were in healthy order, but when we all grew attached to good old Sean, we knew it would suck to lose him to his roving ways.
Sean was also my room mate in the small two person rooms we were assigned, which worked out splendidly since we were both broke, smelly, Irish work-horses with irregular schedules and unconventional backgrounds. As close as I inevitably became with most everyone in the program, I'm frankly not sure many other people could have put up with living on such close quarters with me. I suppose I would have adapted to what other people expected, but you can only do so much. We drew a line down the middle of the room that my mess would most often times mark, and that worked pretty well for us. There was even a foul sort of undertone of amusement to the strange man cave, and the fact that the two oddest of the odd balls had been lumped together worked as a natural sort of dialogue.
I often wondered why Sean was able to put up with some of my ridiculous tendency's, but I guess with any other room mate, it would have been him in the position of having to work to meet someone else's expectations. With me, it was a constant reminder that you could be far, far worse off. Thanks for putting up with me buddy, and sorry for my ridiculous alarms, and the infamous CORE-4 sleep schedule!      

The Trout Lake CSA is a meaningful local institution of sorts that works off the premise of everyone contributing time and effort to the land and crops, and everyone reaping the benefits. CSA stands for Community Supported Agriculture, and the CSA puts out a hearty amount of vegetables throughout the year that are divided among the people who either pay a portion, spend a certain amount of time working on the land, or a mixture of both. The CSA is a great way to get involved with the local community in Trout Lake, and in the very modest amount of time I did put in volunteering, I managed to learn a good amount about farming and gardening. CSA's aren't only found in Trout Lake, they exist all over the country, and similar models are even popping up all over cities in the U.S. If you don't know anything about farming, getting involved in some of these local efforts is the best way to learn. It is highly rewarding!   

Despite T.L.C.'s popular advice, we went "chasing waterfalls." I don't see what was so wrong about doing so, and frankly, I find that sticking to the rivers and the lakes that I'm used to, gets rather boring... have you had enough yet? I'm done.

Erin and Olivia hanging out with good 'ol Ollie! Ollie is Christians loyal dog, and when he's not out exploring the town, he lives at the Inn. I'm generally a cat person, but Ollie has real charm, and he's treated like royalty there at the Inn. Dogs in Trout Lake tend to have there own lives, and get to do pretty much whatever they want. It isn't uncommon at all for a dog to disappear for days in Trout Lake, and wander back on home whenever the hell it so desires... What a life!

Although I wasn't always altogether thrilled with some of the activities the first two weeks of member training entailed during the day, it was all necessary to prepare us for what we had ahead of us, and we all had a grand time hanging out and exploring the area together during the evenings off. When the two weeks was finally up, we had all made some great friends among the various teams, and though I was ready to get on the trails, it was sad when all the teams finally went there separate ways. Of course it wasn't any final good-bye, at the half way point of the season, everyone meets back up in Trout Lake for a week of fun during the grand "Summer Summit," which I will be sure to detail to you.
Until then, our small team was about to have the unique experience of living in the small little town of Trout Lake, and working under the Forest Service in the beautiful Gifford Pinchot National Forest. It was an experience that certainly changed my life and my perspectives, and I'm looking forward to sharing it.    

Good old James gets a bottle of wine in him, and not only does he get sentimental, but he gets remarkably photogenic- wouldn't you say? One helluva good fella, who has an interesting role in the scheme of this story.

Sara, an ex art major turned political-science, always had something interesting to say.  She was also among a handful of us rapscallions that with pure enough intent, didn't always do things by the book. I enjoyed her very much for that, and we always got along great as overwhelmingly sarcastic buddy's.  

Ellen was a sweetheart and a half reigning from the U.P., and boy howdy could this gal hold her own as only a mid-westerner could! The wonderfully quirky subtleties of her personality make her a remarkably complex character, and when you pair that with her golden laugh, you've got a winning combo! 

As it turned out, we all drank a bit too much wine this day, and though I suffered a bit of a pain in my head, James apparently went back to the commons and spewed red wine all over the floor. Of course this was all after getting into an overwhelmingly emotional argument about 9/11, crying a bit, and inevitably insulting each other... The next day, all was fine and dandy, and it was just another thing to laugh about, but maaan- don't mix those red and white wines, buddy. 

QUICK UPDATE: WHERE I'M AT NOW

      Currently, I'm in a small oil boomtown called Minot, ND, currently welding live-stock fencing on my own schedule, and looking for a good paying job. Though I have nobody to collaborate with, I've been working on several new songs that I am excited to play around with once I find some willing participants. Since this leaves me relatively isolated from music- directly at least- I've been taking a serious interest in studying folk rhythm. I've been playing the spoons for a week or two now, and I'm starting to get pretty good at 'em. I also just picked up a washboard at an antique shop to play around on, and I've been steadily playing my harmonica's a bit each day as well. Here in the frigid winds of the central plains, music has really been a necessary, and therapeutic outlet. I've also been working on allot of video, and writing some poetry as well. I'd like to get going on more visual art, but it has been difficult to do so out here. 

     I'll leave you off with a raw recording of the first song me and Sean managed to put together for our music project "The Whiskey Economy." Its called "Okay Enough." Since we have a handful of these crude, laptop recorded songs, I figure I'll leave one or two with my next few posts so they can be enjoyed in the context of where they were created. I had a blast bringing music back into my life, writing lyrics, and collaborating with Sean, so I hope you enjoy listening to them as much as we enjoyed making 'em!

Until We Meet Again...

Regards,

Joseph R. Reeves

"Okay Enough," The Whiskey Economy w/ Joseph Reeves, and Sean O'Neill