Druks. Rondelles. Fire Polish. Faceted Rounds. You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you? Neither did I, until about three months ago. Had you said any of those words I would have probably guessed that they were band names (and then thought you were a hipster, because I'd never heard of them). But now I know. I know what they are, and I'm about to eat, sleep, and shit them (not literally in any way): BEADS.

  Let me back it up a little. My name is Chris. I live in Portland, OR, and until about eight months ago I was living what was by now, the stereotypical Portland life. I was 35 and delivering pizza for a living (a job I'd had, on and off, for six years) while trying to get my art career off the ground. And by that I mean, half heartedly trying to sell an extremely novelty art form (black velvet paintings). I'd recently hit a wall of borderline suicidal depression, complete with rampant alcoholism, and heavy drug use. I was bitter, angry, miserable, and jaded. I hated where I lived, I hated where I worked, I even kind of hated my friends. The only thing not fitting the Portland Never-Neverland complex was that I wasn't in a single band (though I did write, and record an entire country album about my woes), and I only have a few stupid tattoos, not a whole body full.

  But then, little by little, things I started to change things. I started going to therapy. I moved out of the apartment I hated. I stopped getting black out drunk three nights a week, and stopped partying until seven in the morning. Because of a crash and burn romance that is another tale unto itself, I quit my shitty job, and started doing my art full time. I slowly started to crawl out of my hole, and bit by bit, started to feel better. My family noticed I was happier. My friends were more comfortable around me. I liked me more.

  Things were getting better, but they still weren't exactly great. I was scraping by with the money I made from my paintings (sold online, and through word of mouth), but barely. If I hadn't have been getting financial help from my parents (another oh so Portland trait), I'd truly be living the starving artist life. I felt a lot better than I had before, but I still was just floating around, my head barely above the water.

  Then one night in March, half drunk of red wine and chatting with one of my best, and oldest friends, Chrissy, I found out about this job. You see, Chrissy is a jewelry designer (and a dozen other amazing things, but she makes awesome jewelry for a living), and had just recently ended her 14 year long career at a bead shop in our hometown of Eureka, CA. Through of the bead vendors they'd been buying from for years, Nirvana Beads, she learned that they were looking for a new west coast rep. Chrissy  about to start of her full time jewelry career, considered the idea of driving around the western half of the country selling beads out of a van for about…five seconds, before she said, "Fuck no, but….I might know someone who WOULD be interested".

  And to a half drunk, directionless dude sitting on his couch at 10:30 at night, it didn't sound half bad. Sure, why not? I thought. Let the company know I'm interested! And after about a month of emails with the co-owner of Nirvana, Nir, he flew me to New York for an interview. After he was sure I wasn't a total freak, I spent the next two days riding around with him in his bead van, watching the process of bead slinging. 

  A month later, I was flying down to Long Beach, CA, to be picked up, and trained by the salesman I'd be replacing, Amal. Over the next week, I went with him to all his appointments, where he taught me all the tricks of the trade. After eight days, he handed over the keys to the van in San Jose, and I was on my own. After another week of appointments, sleeping on floors, couches, in campgrounds, eating everything from Taco Bell to Whole Food salads, a bout with exhaustion, three days of diarrhea, and a whole lot of driving, I was back home in Portland.

  And now, I'm about to start my official first tour. Everywhere from the Mississippi River to the Pacific Ocean is where I'm headed for the next four months. A lot of people I've told the job about told me it would be a good idea to start writing a blog about it. There've been theories that I'm going to become a beard growing, vest donning gypsy, that I'm going to start filming pornos in the back of my van in every town I go to, and that I've finally realized my dream to become a serial killer. The likelihood of any of these things happening is slim to none, but if you have any interest in reading what it's like to be a traveling bead salesman, well count your lucky stars, because that's exactly what I'm going to write about.

  So, hop in the van, buddy. Let's go for a ride.