New tour photos are up on our Photo Journal

Freezing Rain

Getting on an airplane tomorrow morning. Will be alone in a big-dark-cold-Brooklyn-house for New Years weekend. I couldn't ask for more.

...and the jacket that Joey and I had only seen in visions, on the backs of apparitions(disappearing in subway steam along desolate Manhattan avenues), was finally located on a crowded rack on the second floor of the woman's section... we put it on 24 hour hold to confirm that it was indeed stitched with the thread of dreams. Today that was confirmed.

...meh, nevermind then, i'll just talk about the band..

I was more nervous going to Live 105 for an on air interview than I had been for any event in a long time. Will accompanied me and I confessed my anxiety to him as I careened around the streets of downtown San Francisco, stopping at green lights, slamming on the brakes, circling aimlessly in an attempt to park the car but forgetting to actually look for open spaces. I think my nerves were a little over-sensitive after our humiliating TV interview (for which I refused to sign a waiver) where I became clearly embarrassed as I attempted clumsily to change the subject as the host drilled me on such topics as “sealing the deal” and “eating pussy” (maybe would have been appropriate for an interview with Hinder??). Anyway, we got to the radio station and I calmed down. I’ve been on air there several times before and I was only 19 for my first visit so it’s become a safe environment. I no longer receive a dozen text messages from friends when our song is on the radio and I no longer run frantically past my neighbors, screaming into my cell phone, to hear my voice on my car radio. Not to say it doesn’t still fill me with the most satisfying of satisfactions but I have learned to contain it.

I sat in the chair closest to the door, across the console from all the knobs and wires and switches, computers and CD players. I pulled a microphone against my guitar and one up to my face, plugged into my guitar tuner, shifted in my seat. I had never met the DJ, Kat, before but she welcomed us with some soothing small talk, discussing with Will how he went to high school with the girl from Shiny Toy Guns (dread shot through me at the -- luckily unfulfilled -- notion that perhaps our interview would end up about her and not us…). Finally, there was 30 seconds left in the dwindling Three Doors Down song, and all of a sudden we’re being introduced, our voices transmitting through car antennas as eager teenagers tune in to our conversation and jaded commuters flip over to KFOG. The listeners of the bay area are doing homework and dishes, making out and getting high, getting lost and getting home all to the murmur of my voice and the strumming of my acoustic. Maybe my thoughts and my song are now connected to an important moment in someone’s life. There’s such enormity in that, but it’s difficult to channel it without being able to see or hear the audience.

Kat was totally prepared for the interview which was awesome. I expected to discuss how the band begun, how we got a record deal, how I won a Live 105 battle of the bands a few years back which really got my foot in the door (and how I pretty much owe them my soul for being able to do this with my life… which really is pretty true and amazing… but shockingly they’ve never asked for it!). Instead I found out that she had read my journal, asked me about being “anchorless” on the road, about thanksgiving at Denny’s and my ever-developing view of America. The next night she came to our show at Popscene and apologized, asking if she put me on the spot. I told her that she did put me on the spot but I appreciated it so much, that it challenged me but allowed me a forum to actually talk about what’s important to me, and was probably good for my interview skills. She told me i did fine, but not to focus on media, to aim my concerns at music and performing, the things that I’m really actually getting paid to do… I appreciated that as well.

Having these experiences has completely changed my perspective when watching people being interviewed or perform or speak on camera -- especially for a wide audience. I can see the tension and nerves. I can see the insecurity. I respect them when they exude comfort and I don’t fault them if appear otherwise. We’re all human after all.

defeated stepfathers of the immaculately-conceived

(I think Christmas may be the holiday most thickly layered in lies) Having just subconsciously ingested its undeniable soundtrack and smoothed out story (refined and refined and..) in the department stores and starbucks and televisions of America for the last 2 months... I have finally taken an actual interest: Joseph. How slighted must the stepfather of Christ felt when he found that another impregnated his Mary? (be it God or a handsome drifter, that was his girl!). How could a man not forever settle his defeated eyes at his saintly wife's skirt hem, never again to peer into hers with confidence, to tend to her holy morning sickness with a hard-on...

Maybe I'll look into that in a hotel-drawer Bible someday.

Hope everyone is managing to find some unfeigned happiness amidst the chaos that lingers around this corner of the year.

Just pulled out this quote for a friend who was born on xmas, thought ya'll might dig it:

"Everything  that happened to me happened too late to
mean much to me. It was even so  with my birth. Slated for  Christmas  I was
born a half hour too late. It always seemed to me that I was meant to be the
sort of individual that one is destined to be by virtue of being born on the
25th day of December.  Admiral Dewey was born  on that day and  so was Jesus
Christ  . .  .  perhaps Krishnamurti too,  for all I know. Anyway that's the
sort of guy  I  was intended to be. But due to the fact that my mother had a
clutching womb,  that she  held me in  her  grip like an octopus, I came out
under another configuration -  with a bad set-up, in other words. They say -
the  astrologers, I mean -that it  will get better and better for me as I go
on; the future in fact, is supposed to be quite glorious. But what do I care
about the future?  It would have been better if my mother had tripped on the
stairs the morning  of the 25th of  December and broken her neck: that would
have given  me  a fair start! When I try to  think, therefore, of  where the
break occurred I keep putting it back further and further, until there is no
other way  of accounting  for it than by the retarded hour of birth. Even my
mother,  with her caustic tongue,  seemed to understand it somewhat. "Always
dragging behind,  like a cow's tail" - that's  how she characterized me. But
is it my fault that she held me locked inside her until the hour had passed?
Destiny had prepared  me to be such and such a person; the stars were in the
right conjunction and I was right with the stars and kicking to get out. But
I had no choice about the mother who was to deliver me.  Perhaps I was lucky
not to have been born an idiot, considering all the circumstances. One thing
seems clear, however  -  and this is a hangover from the  25th  - that I was
born with a crucifixion complex. That  is, to be more precise,  I was born a
fanatic."

-Henry Miller, Tropic of Capricorn

Destroy Your Body At Your Own Pace

Our heartbeats are the tick of the death bomb's clock.
 Living is a synonym for aging.
Each year we are stamped with a new number
 to define our expectations, our capabilities, our desires.
Are we on par with all of our numeral-brethren?
Do we think, laugh, cry, walk, fuck, feel,
 breath, eat, shit, worry, sleep, love...
  all at the same rate as them?

Destroy your body at your own pace.
 Are 27 well enjoyed years
 worth more than 72 cautious years?
Does it matter who knows your name? 
 The fundamentals don't change.
A lot who care a little are worth less
 than a few who care unconditionally.
Sterilize. We are unfit for paternity.

(My head hurts)
Sleeping pills to sleep, waking pills to wake.  
I want a red flannel shirt dyed with the
 blood of Kurdt Cobain.
My mind is not where my body is.
 My mind itches.  
We are slander written across the
 entire inhabitable western tapestry.  
Clichés are mostly true. 
Nothing is concrete but everything is NOT relative.  
Listen to others or don't, but don't listen to me.
Don't be a burden, don't burden yourself.
Many things can't be expressed with words,
 - Listen to your gut.
   (hear your father and mother)
Stop clenching your teeth. Never try not to think.

   You'll always want more.
There is only such thing as self-education
 - you learn what you want.
 (Who remembers how to solve for x???).
Know the consequences to your actions!!!
Dance outside the bathroom door -
  you owe nothing to the dance floor
 you aren't a dancer. 
Its ok to be sad, sadness is clarity.  
Be old in soul and young in heart.  
 Respect and listen.

Drive aimlessly.  
Get drunk, get high, see a movie.
(the actor didn't write what he said).
  Escape!!
Believe in perfection, accept imperfection. 
Don't call back if you don't want to.  
Don't string people along.
 Singing heals. 
Have nervous breakdowns.
 Break nervously down.

Don't stop! Don't stop! Don't stop!
 Be picky.
 Be a hypocrite.
Forget who Paris Hilton and Thomas Jefferson are.  
Kiss beneath monuments (fucking make out beneath monuments!!).
If you don't like where you live
 - leave.
Don't tie yourself down,
 Break ties. 
  Save your money,
   sleep in your car,
    stay up all night,
     get out, get away!
     Rationalize. Be irrational.
     Explode. 
     Laugh!!!!
      Trick yourself -
     Smile!!!!! 

Destroy Your Body At Your Own Pace

Our heartbeats are the tick of the death bomb's clock. Living is a
synonym for aging.  Each year we are stamped with a new number to define
our expectations, our capabilities, our desires.  Are we on par with all
of our numeral-brethren? Do we think, laugh, cry, walk, fuck, feel,
breath, eat, shit, worry, sleep, love... all at the same rate as them?
Destroy your body at your own pace. Are 27 well enjoyed years worth
more than 72 cautious years? Does it matter who knows your name?  The
fundamentals don't change. A lot who care a little are worth less than a
few who care unconditionally. Sterilize. We are unfit for paternity. (My
head hurts). Sleeping pills to sleep, waking pills to wake.  I want a
red flannel shirt dyed with the blood of Kurdt Cobain. My mind is not
where my body is. My mind itches.  We are slander written across the
inhabitable western tapestry.  Cliches are mostly true.  Nothing is
concrete but everything is NOT relative.  Listen to others or don't, but don't listen to me. Don't be a burden, don't burden yourself. Many
things can't be expressed with words, listen to your gut. Stop clenching
your teeth. Never try not to think.  You'll always want more. There is only
such thing as self-education - you learn what you want. (Who remembers
how to solve for x???) Know the consequences to your actions!!! Dance
outside the bathroom door - you owe nothing to the dancefloor.  Its ok to be sad, sadness is clarity.  Be old
in soul and young in heart.  Respect and listen. Drive aimlessly.  Get drunk, get high, see a movie. (the actor didn't
write what he said). Escape!!  Be perfect. Accept imperfection.  Don't call back if
you don't want to.  Don't string people along.  Singing heals.  Have
nervous breakdowns. Don't stop! Don't stop! Don't stop! Be picky. Be a hypocrite. Forget
who Paris Hilton and Thomas Jefferson are.  Kiss beneath monuments (fucking kiss beneath monuments!!). If you don't like where
you live - leave. Don't tie yourself down, break ties.  Save your money,
sleep in your car, stay up all night, get out, get away! Rationalize.
Be irrational.  Explode.  Laugh!!!! Trick yourself - Smile!!!! 

Tourist/Traveler

I was getting my teeth cleaned the other day and my hygienist was about a decade deep into his mid-life crisis. Needless to say, we hit it off. He apologized for running late, he had just rode his motorcycle over the bridge and got held up. We talked about his divorce, connected on dropping out of universities, on getting wasted in strange cities. When he was in his twenties, he hitchhiked across Europe and met his ex-wife in Israel on a kibbutz. He regretted not joining some guys who were going overland from there to India and Nepal, and told me when he retires in a year and a half, that’s where he’s going. Somewhere in the conversation, (which was pretty one sided, considering I had metal tools and hoses and vacuums in my mouth) he declared that he prefers to visit places as a

“traveler and not a tourist.”

When it was time to rinse and spit, I took the opportunity to tell him that I had never heard the discrepancy between those two words before and I could really relate. I get quite excited by quotes like that, words that meet and tangle and twist and compliment and reject and dichotomize and synthesize… I like quips that feel like squeezing a rubber stress ball in your brain, that make you sort of twitch and crane your neck and grind your teeth, that feel a little like trying to understand infinity… alright, this wasn't quite one of those, but it caught my attention.

Anyway, I am constantly in strange towns and I get sort of self conscious about the fact that I am just passing through and don’t really belong. But now I have a new mindset to come through with… I am not a tourist -- even though I tend to pass through ‘on tour’…and I am often clumsily brandishing my camera at a crooked angle out the van window at a tree, or town hall, or billboard for an “adult bookstore.” -- I may take a peek at the main attractions, but I am more fascinated by finding the secret restaurants and coffee shops where my sort of folk hang out... I like to find the part of town with the dive bars and tattoo parlors, vegans and hipsters... I am a traveler, and a traveler is noble and wise and learned and clever and quick and mysterious and, he'll never tell you, but just once he may have killed a guy…

alright...

...this blog thing could be pretty cool after all!

Thanks so much to those who commented on the last entry, thanks for sharing yourself!

I'm at my parent's house for the holidays. I can smell the grease of frying Latkas coming from the kitchen. fuck yes! Dual Judeo-Christian-Heritage/Catholic-High-School-Influenced-Atheism is really the way to go (for me at least, find your own path). I'm fascinated with religion, we'll get into that on a rainy day.

Just felt an earthquake while writing this,
haven't felt one since 2 am on my 16th birthday (after seeing Iron Maiden in front of a half empty amphitheater - a little high).

yet another reason for me to go to NY in a week.

more to come...

the spewing exhaust of worry

I think I've always felt alone in sadness. I use the word 'felt' intentionally because my knowledge has always been contrary, I've always known to the core that I've been privileged to grow up in my family, in my hometown. And its not really a personal sadness, its a more general hollow feeling, rooted in the vastness of the earth, the collective loneliness of the human race, the multitudes hold up in apartments and divorces, out of work and out of love, belittled and burdened in the course of an average person's routine... Steinbeck called it a "World Sadness" -- I like that term... I've always felt on the outside, as an observer, as a person that maybe the fundamentals of life we're somehow not quite meant for, and I guess I've tailored my life around this, - at least for the time being - traveling, meeting dozens of people every day, seeing what pools up in people's eyes. We understand each other more than I think we let on, but are so anxious about letting eachother know. I am privileged to have a unique path through life -- it excuses all these normal and simple and satisfying and supposedly easy things that I seem to be clumsily alien to...

Somewhere in Virginia we're at a cafe and a strikingly overweight man comes in to inquire about a cooking position. The white-haired waitress informs him that the help wanted ad was printed wrong and its actually another branch of the chain restaurant across town that may have a job in the kitchen. He walks out and she turns and walks past our table, stops, and asks me what's wrong. I tell her how it troubles me that that man didn't have a job. The humility that he nervously lowered himself to in order to ask was so crushing to me. I told her it made me not take for granted that I have a job. She responded that folks often look for more work around the holidays to afford presents (now a crushingly hopeful thought that this sad man had love in his life after all, someone to care about, someone who cares for him, knows the intricacies of his life). She went on to tell us that she might need to get another job at night for the holidays ("that's the price of freedom" -- whoa!) that her boyfriend was getting out of prison after four years next Monday. As she came back around again and again we learned more about her various boyfriends who had been in and out of prison for long terms. One of them was an "outlaw biker" who had done time in Detroit and California. The other was a musician who played guitar in a band in prison. She told us how he had sold his guitar and amplifier and she bought him a new one... the greatest sign of desperation, addiction, general trouble for any real musician is a sold off instrument.

Sometimes when I'm alone (and alone is where my thoughts bloom, my imagination flourishes), when I'm sitting in traffic or outside a busy coffee shop, I'll picture the exhaust of worry spewing out from each individual, watch it collect in a dark plume above us. The multitudes are clenching their teeth in unison, sweating as they tear down the sidewalk, muttering to themselves in speech of deadlines and timetables, wringing the steering wheel in their hands...... But when I'm alone, when I'm truly and wonderfully alone, outside of this stress march... I smile. I feel the muscles in my face move like interlocking gears, they crash into each other one by one until the whole machine is moving, until I feel it in my heart, in my gut, in the soles of my feet. I focus on something beautiful, something intricate, something desolate but hopeful. I focus and I try to stay there as long as I can.

We got home safe. (I know you were worried!).

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Will is asleep on my couch. Its raining, but its bay area rain... not Colorado snow. I fell asleep last night watching giant flakes swarm around the van as we crawled through the Rockies... I awoke in Vegas traffic.

Its been an amazing 6 months or so of non-stop touring... for the first time in ages there is only one lonely show posted on our profile. I'm going to miss traveling for the next month and change, I'll miss the constant movement, the daily high of performing, the people we meet, the trouble we get ourselves into...

I got home 45 minutes ago, but before I go to bed (in my own bed!) I just want to extend my deepest appreciation to all of those people out there who have allowed our music to mean something to them. Thank you for taking us in. Thank you for giving us life in your life. (Thank you for giving me a purpose). Thank you for letting us get drunk in your apartment and crash on your floor. We'll be back before you know it

Ice. Hives. TV.

Friday, December 08, 2006

Icicles cling to the rocks along highway 70. Rural Pennsylvania is quiet, the sun shimmers through the open spaces between tangling branches, sparkling on placid creeks, laying down on the cutest fucking farmhouses, barns, silos, and trembling green hillsides I think I've ever seen. The van windows are cold and the afternoon restless as we tear west, towards home. Chicago tomorrow, then Iowa, Denver, Home.

The tour climaxed on Sunday at The Bowery Ballroom in NYC, hometown for the other three bands. I was sick as hell and gave the last of my broken voice to that show, my head was so congested that I got all dizzy singing, but I had so much goddamn fun! I find at the end of every tour I start to melt down. As the show came to a close, my cough was getting bad, my sinuses were all stuffed up, my throat was like sandpaper, and upon looking in the mirror at my friends brooklyn apartment I found that a nasty allergic reaction to shellfish had covered my back, neck and face in hives!! Fuuuuuuuuck!! (Back to full fledged vegetarianism for me!)

Thankfully, dim red lights in dark and empty Brooklyn bars hide skin conditions well, alcohal increases the sedative effects of Benedryl, and that hollow far-from-home/I-have-no-home feeling can be temporarily subdued with take out thai food, a dvd of Anchorman, and Will's sense of humor... So yeah, somehow I got through that long Monday. I was sick, but I was happy. mostly.

I woke up feeling a lot better on all fronts on Tuesday. The last show of the tour was that night in Philly. (Note: I need to spend a day exploring that city. Its all ancient American architecture, history, statues... and I'm sure a whole lot of other shit). The show was a great closer. All the bands snuck on stage to sing along on eachother's sets and Gabe, our soon-to-be-missed-merch-guy, managed to be invited on stage to dance or yell or play tambourine more than anyone in any band. I hugged everyone a half a dozen times, awkwardly said goodbye, thank you, I'll miss you, I love your music, hope to see ya soon etc....

Now we're outside Chicago. There's snow in drifts along the roadsides, smoke billowing from old smokestacks, power lines, train tracks, tanker-cars, pathetic naked trees, rusted steel and corroding brick, the lake touching the horizon. Last night I stayed in the van outside our hotel and played guitar, tried to get some of my thoughts, my concerns, my anxieties out in some sort of melody. Eventually little flakes began to drift down outside the window. I zipped my jacket up tight and walked with all the purpose one can derive from ice and wind chill and loneliess up the steps to our room.

Inside it was alive. The television warmed the room like a hearth, blue light spilling out between the window shades. Will was curled up under the covers facing the wall, Joey, Gabe, and Bryce spread on the beds with snacks, laughing, making light of everything on the screen. I have to ask what every show is, who each celebrity is, why we are honoring this person in the first place. TV makes me uncomfortable. I just see the advertisements, the unatainable and unrealistic women, the misogynist meatheads spouting buzz-words, the producers behind the camera asking for a more dramatic delivery... Such role-models! I just can't stand that someone else chooses what I'm to see, what I'm supposed to look like, how I should talk... Why are there so few spokespeople for our popular culture?

I took a shower, laughed along with them, brushed my teeth, fell asleep and woke up shivering...

...Piles of snow frozen solid on the Chicago sidewalks, pedestrians steaming with breath, laying on my back in the third bench against the window staring upwards at the Sears Tower from the warmth of the van. We loaded our gear into the venue in record time. We're here physically but our minds are already home. The soundguy came upstairs to give us a five minute warning and we hyped eachother up on our way down stairs, ready! ready! ready! here we go! We walked through the bar and pushed open the door to the stage room... Empty. Completely empty!

Select people from the random other bands clung to the corners of the room watching our set. Now don't get me wrong, we have played for the soundguy, and just the soundguy, many times before, and I always take pride in performing for him with the same tenacity as I would at a hometown headlining show, but after such a crazy year of shows, I started breaking the rules...

...I wasn't pissed off. Not by a long shot. And i delivered the songs with genuine emotion... I just saw it as an oppurtunity for us to play some songs we don't usually play... And I felt that I performed the hell out of the full band rendition of "Georgia, Can You Hear Me?" But I guess that the other guys may have appreciated it if I had prepared them for it a bit... It was a hell of a good time for me, but we were a bit divided after the show. We healed our wounds by exhausting our drink tickets (I forgot that I had taken an antihistamine before our set... Things got sleepy quick!). I was falling asleep on the floor of the green room by the time the show was over and the drive from the venue to the hotel felt like those drives home with my family when I was a small child, tuckered out at relative or a close friend of the familys house after a dinner party, carried to the car in my father's arms, asleep against the backseat door, splotchy memories of being tucked into bed. I crashed with the lights on, with my ipod still playing in my ear as the other guys drank icy beer from the trailer, played poker and tore into eachother...

Etta James was claiming "At Last" through my headphones when I awoke. We brunched at a riverboat casino buffet, I drank coffee while some of the guys lost money. Then we drove west as the sun set early overever-passing snow covered Iowan fields.

Southern Sunrise

11/26/06

Today is the one year anniversary of the CD Release show for'Charmingly Awkward.' We're on the outskirts of Houston, just passing a 40foot white statue of Sam Houston that towers amongst the trees along thefreeway (controversial character, I believe he led TX to independence fromMexico). Traffic is nearly stopped on either side of the freeway due torubberneckers disrupting the flow as they pass a fender-bender gettingcleared on the shoulder. I just discovered that we will be slicing rightthrough Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama on tomorrow's drive. Neverbeen! ...I burst of excitement upon this discovery, slamming the atlasagainst the car seat, declaring it to the sedated van, my four companionsresponding in nods and shrugs and sighs... Oh well, I'm looking forward toseeing it, this is what I live for: the spaces between the things I've seen!(Though I find the more I vocalize my anticipation of such things, the morethe rest of the guys descend into apathy... Product of being isolatedtogether in this machine for weeks and weeks I'd imagine)

Anyway back to the 'Charmingly Awkward' CD release show... We booked it atBottom of the Hill months before the album was even finished, mostly to justgive ourselves a recording deadline. I spent all my free time handing outflyers around town, preparing a band to play the show (only Bryce had signedon with me at that point), and sending the album to anyone we knew that waseven remotely connected to the music industry. The show itself coupled withthe album blossomed into probably the greatest feeling of accomplishmentI've ever had! We rotated musicians in our band for nearly every song tobring on stage as many of the various friends that played on the record aspossible. The show sold out in advance and we played with the greatestsatisfaction, despite still awkwardly figuring out how to play some of thesongs live.... Its fun to reminisce... The last year has been surreal....

....People are drawing in the dirt on the side of our van and trailer.Somewhere in the mountains of Colo-Wyo-Utah-Zona it got caked in a brownfilm. Every few days we plan to wash it but the time we set aside alwaysslips away. At gas stations we take liberal advantage of the free windowwashing liquid so portions of the vehicle have clean white streaks amongstthe filth and the temporary graffiti of show attendees... mostly "I loveSTN" "[any-city-USA] 'hearts' you!" and, of course, cartoon phallusesa-plenty (which I scrape off with the toe of my shoe)...

Fast forward. I'm once again sitting shotgun. Quarter to five (AM!), 45miles west of Baton Rouge, blocking out Bryce's hard and heavystay-awake-rock with my calm and/or nostalgic dozing-off-rock on a shufflingiPod: The Beach Boys, Weezer, White Stripes, Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen (oops,too soft... mesa boogie, sound replaced kick and snare, car stereo fadingin), Spacehog (remember that one song, 'In The Meantime', makes me think ofthe stack of CD on my brother's dresser, a thin cover of dust, sometime backthere, say 1997?), Nada Surf ('Inside of love' but still thinkingnineties), Interstate Love Song? Goo Goo Dolls? Sparklehorse? What year isit?...

Tonight we played the venue where Two Gallants got tazed. Look it up onYouTube... Fucked up. Fucked up. Shitty police officer... Anyway we had agreat show, didn't get any noise complaints. Straylight Run's sound guy hadme try in-ear monitors for the first time so it felt like I was in a studioon stage. Its silly for small shows for a few dozen people in woodenshacks, (veiled in graffiti, guarded by dirt lots and chain link, piss andbeer, crumbling streets, vacant dilapidations, crack houses)... but forbigger, more cut-off-from-the-crowd stages I'll probably invest in a set formyself, I could actually hear my own voice tonight above my own crankedguitar and Joey's drums, but I felt so distant from the audience, wecouldn't even crack jokes together...

...Well, The hard night sky is starting to fray a bit along the edges...Yawn... I might as well wait for sunrise at this point, catch a realsouthern sunrise, gotta stay awake... So foggy outside, so sleepy inside.Maybe I'll just recline the seat. That's nice. And I'll grab my pillow,yeeeaaah... take off my glasses... kinda twist sideways into the door...cuddle up... feet on the dash... yawn... I guess I could just rest my eyesfor a bit...

Thanksgiving (...or ungrateful-taking?)

Friday, November 24, 2006

Thanksgiving passed by us in an El Paso Denny's. That is to say we huddled, the five of us, in a booth for four, waiting on desolate service from apathetic servers, burnt coffee, screwed up orders, worn out jokes and sighs as time inched to the midnight mark and beyond. No apologies needed, thanks for even looking us in the eye tonight, thanks for comping the drinks. Gabe, our bubbling merch-guy, spilling over the side in perpetual positivity (that ever disolves the muttering ingrate in me) managed to remember to wish the waitress a happy thanksgiving to which she was clearly and genuinely grateful. I'll admit to you all that the true "meaning" of today has evaded me until just moments ago, until the day itself had actually passed. I've spent the greater portion of the day dwelling on what I lack (save for the few hours we lucked upon with our friend Aaron's unbelievably welcoming family for an early thanksgiving dinner, conversation, warmth, pie, backyard soccer, Arizona weather, hugs... That flew by in a satisfied yawn of unfeigned comfort and appreciation). I have more to be thankful for than ever this year, I have so much of the real important thanksgiving-ish 'things' to list off this year, but I'm finding that the more you get, the more you desire. (That one lost piece of the puzzle is never much of a frustration until only the empty space of its intended resting spot is glaring at you!). I won't get into the things missing from my life at length but I'll mention just the obvious one: that I have chosen a profession that leaves me anchorless and spending a day like thanksgiving driving through the wide and empty southwest is vivid and shimmering proof...

...But I do love not being tied down. We have become such learned houseguests, such veteran travelers in a matter of months (Joey of course being the exception with more than a decade under his belt)... Its just the tease of your own bed for one night mid-tour, the unconditional ear of good friends that appear in strange settings and disapear, the kisses that you forget to fully appreciate until the girl is a million miles away... But fuck it!! All these complaints go out the window when we're sweating on stage or beating inside jokes to death between the aisles of a truckstop convenience store.

I'm sitting shotgun. Joey is behind the wheel, ipod a-shuffle. Dane Cook, David Cross, Mitch Hedburg, Bill Hicks, Neutral Milk Hotel, Alkaline Trio, Deftones, disbanded and forgotten underground bands of his earlier days of touring... Ok -- now its just an Alkaline Trio Album -- Its 3 AM Texas time, I'm on 3 hours of sleep and 3 cups of coffee. Woke in a friend's strange house after going out to a strangely preppy Scottsdale bar...

We stop at a TX border patrol checkpoint. A jumpy drug-sniffing dog on a chain leash, two uniformed officers, desperate orange lights. "How many of you in the vehicle?" "All American Citizens?" ..."Five of us, we're on tour, yes we're American" ...eyes drop fron our van, an apathetic but rigidly official gesture of the hand sends us along again.

I spoke to my highschool friend just now until his voice became brittle on the other end and (beep beep beep) I lost service. Apparently the bay area wasn't actually errupting in joyous celebration without me, I wasn't missing reunions akin to "Garden State", emotional run-ins with teenage crushes, bar hopping, nostalgia... He was bored, sorting out matters of the business of life, playing scrabble, confiding in me... I guess I texted him happy thanksgiving while drunk last night. He's good people.

So many good people. I sent a few dozen personal texts from the back of the van, Happy Thanksgiving, Happy TG, Happy T-Day, Happy Day, Hope you are well, Hope all is wonderful, Miss ya buddy, See ya in December, Have a great feast, Hope you are stuffed, Hope tour is going well, Tell them hello, Send my love, Love You, Exclamation Point, Exclamation Point, Exclamation Point...

Thankful for all of you. I should think about that more often. I should say that more often.

Love,
Dave

P.S. Just passed Straylight Run's van on the long and open interstate 10. Head out the window. Arms Flailing. Laughing, bearing teeth. We drive way faster. What are the chances?

Big Rig Death March

11/15/06

I was swimming with sharks... Its hazy now, but the ocean floor was too deep below me to be seen. It was dark and I was swarmed with fish. I passed over a great white and the anxiety woke me up.

It was about 8 am. The sun was a burning circle just at eye level. I tried to move but I guess I woke up too fast and I couldn't move my legs. For what could have been a matter of minutes or an hour I struggled with falling back asleep and half-waking-up paralyzed. Finally I was awake enough to see how beautiful the waning sunrise was, casting an orange glow to the snow-packed plains just outside of Cheyenne. I was uncomfortably warm in my sleeping bag but the windows were freezing to the touch. I ripped it off and downed a bottle of water...

Winter befell Wyoming weeks ago. Its now 10 or 11 AM. Ice has layered itself thick along the ground around the gas station pumps and I'm hungry... Its my turn to drive but I forego coffee until a further stop. As we pass over the continental divide, temporary orange road signs warn us, "WRECK AHEAD." Keeping it slow, we descend the hill to a long straitaway. Confident big rigs are roaring by me to the left, shaking us with a heavy wind, my confidence lowering on the ice.

Eventually we come upon the first wreck, a big rig jackknifed between the two strips of opposing traffic. Less than a mile ahead, another semi is pulled awkwardly off to the right, then a pickup to the left hanging rightside up from a rolled camper trailer... Half a dozen or more vehicles with trailers are sprawled awkwardly along the side of the road within a few miles. It looked like the aftermath of a big rig death march, but I managed to hold it down and deliver us safe into Salt Lake.

Winter Is Closing In

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Its almost bearably cold in Colorado Springs. One of those blue sky days where out the window from a warm house it looks like it could be a mild spring afternoon. I just walked out to our van for a pain killer and the chill caught me in a t-shirt. The trees are skeletal against the sky and the fallen leaves scrape along the ground in the wind. Not far in the distance snow is scattered across The Rockies.

Sarah and Al have taken us in. Yesterday we arrived in the late evening to hot lasagna and bread, pumpkin cake and movies. They handed us a bag full of candy and poetry books for the road. All of you amazingly generous people who have put us up, allowed us to tromp wearily up to your apartment and pass out on your couch... I can't express how much we appreciate it, but I have to admit, this is quite possibly the best we have ever been taken care of.

The guys are sprawled out in the living room with Sarah watching Blazing Saddles. Al will be home in a matter of minutes and we're going to go to Sarah's Record store where I plan to purchase the new Damien Rice record which comes out today! I can distinctly hear Will and Joey's laughs drifting in through the laundry room.

The glands under the sides of my jaw are swollen and just aching enough to be annoying. I have phone calls to make. Now I'm in the back of Al's car. Bryce is beside me on his Blackberry….

I drove the second shift last night and the sun set somewhere in western Kansas. The breadth of the orange strip along the horizon was greater than I think I've ever seen, save for possible Caribbean sunsets over the ocean. It stretched from somewhere behind my right eye to somewhere behind my left, silhouetting trees, barns, silos.... I was drinking coffee. Euphoria.

We're now driving back to Sarah and Al's after the show. The streets are covered with a thin layer of fresh snow and we've decided to sleep a few hours until daybreak to continue on to Salt Lake City. The heater in the van is blasting behind me and I've yet to take off my scarf or jacket. I'm savoring the warmth. I've just begun to cough.

I'm thinking about ice on the road. I'm thinking about how we opted to stay overnight at a Michigan State house party instead of driving overnight a few days back. In the morning we collected ourselves in the beer soaked living room and looked out at the snow falling into the flooded street. I'm thinking about nightmares our loved ones have had. I'm thinking about the van wrecks that become lore amongst us van and trailer bands, getting towed out of embankments, rolling over on the ice, falling asleep at the wheel.... I'm thinking about Bayside and The Exploding Hearts...

(Between the van and house with my sleeping bag and pillow bunched up in my arms it feels like a movie set. The lawn is caked in untouched powder and trembling flakes float down around me. Its still as death. Bells are lightly ringing in the wind. I'm not making this up...)

...My stomach hurts. Is it ever truly heroic to take any risk to make a show? Shows can be rescheduled and I am positive that anyone who buys a ticket to see us would rather have us alive in a few months than to lose us. What we are doing is entertainment and I don't understand how we can get caught up in thinking we are appealing to some greater good or fighting some epic battle. Let's be rational here. Let's wait until the sun is up.

Killing Time In NYC

11/6/06

A lot of people in the bay area have been writing us recently asking if we don't love them anymore. I guess it may come off that way since we've been having less and less chances to play hometown shows. I assure you that Oakland will always be the city I call my true home, the setting for the vast majority of my important memories, and the place that I know is most densely filled with those who care for me and my band and our music. But if I had to choose a second home from all the places I've been fortunate enough to visit, I would doubtlessly choose New York City.

Our succession of shows with lostprophets ended at Irving Plaza about 10 days ago. After the show we took up residency on the couch and floor of my old friend, Emily's Brooklyn apartment. She lives in Williamsburg which is essentially a hipster's paradise. Tons of cute artsy cafes and restaurants and bookstores and art spaces and bars are mixed about amongst aging warehouses and apartments, funeral homes and delis, embroidery shops and furniture stores. Its the sort of place where the most packed bars are the ones with no sign out front and the record stores are playing Antony and The Johnsons over their speakers. Not to say I'm proclaiming myself to be a hipster or anything, but I was excited to have our days off between tours land in a place where every person and establishment is unique. You just can't find that everywhere in this country.

Emily's apartment is only a few blocks away from the L Train which delivered me fresh into Manhattan's Union Square each afternoon and brought us back a little less sober early each morning. I tend to enjoy my wine and whiskey more than usual every time we visit NY but this time we not only landed there on halloween weekend, but also just in time for the CMJ festival which brings out hundreds of bands and music industry folks for five packed days of shows at venues all over the city. These two events may be helpful in explaining how Joey and I ended up in the 5th floor of a classroom building at NYU at one AM last saturday, or how we shook Noel Gallagher's hand in a hotel bar.

This last week was like an ending scene in some epic fantasy movie. All the characters from the past year came out of the woodwork and greeted us. There was The Format at a mexican restaurant and the Matches at a village bar, Matt who produced our record for drinks and a movie,, and Josh who took our promo shots at breakfast. At our show, old friends from labels we had met with earlier in the year, and even relocated bay area folks we hadn't seen in forever came out to see us. And there were many hugs and drinks had by all.

This stay was one of those times where I just kept asking myself, "Holy Shit! How did I end up on the path that led me here?" Sitting on the stoop of a Brooklyn apartment handing out candy to tiny trick or treaters, riding the subway in full face paint, meeting old friends in bars in the village, getting back to that rad coffee shop in greenpoint and sitting for hours, making out under the arch in washington square park, seeing the Cardigans acoustic, stumbling upon awesome new bands that I've never heard of, finding my 'new favorite restaurant' every day....... I know all my blog postings end up as lists of my most recent bewilderements... I do tend to get very listy, I know they are unfocused, but such is my memory out here, Its a constant slideshow of new interesting images and people...

We just stopped at a gas station outside of Detroit and some metalheads outside asked me about our band, how I like the Michigan weather?, How is it getting out of the van every day 500 miles from where I was last night... I told them I'm used to it, how days blend together out here and you grow to accept your fate, like a dog who's master is at work all day. I just hope that I never cease to be overwhelmed with that feeling of amazement as I stare out of the window, I hope these images and memories that I shuffle through as I write these journals don't become watered down with time.....

Of all the places we pass through in this country I think have the most difficult time leaving New York. I'll admit to my infatuation, but now its time to let the city and the people and places there fade behind our van and trailer as we do with each city, each day. Time to bury my New York self somewhere close to the surface, where I can dig it up every couple months when we return. Time to see what the rest of the country has in store for us this time around...

-Dave

Epilogue: (11/8/06)

Sitting at a truck stop Waffle House I hear a good ol' boy at the counter say to his clearly working class cohorts, "Man I wish George W Bush would walk in here right now so I could tell him what I think. Talking 'bout immigration and the war in Iraq. He's a talker man, but... he's not doing anything." His buddies nod in agreement and I would bet they voted for him in the last couple elections. I swear I'm feeling the tide of discontent rising. The day after election day, here we California kids are passing through the heart of America where for the first time in years a leadership of checks and balances has been voted back in place. Can I declare that the pendulum has reached the extent of its arc? May we once again begin to tumble back into the fundamentels that we've been told this country was found upon?

Stir Crazy

Stir Crazy - October 22nd 2006

Its sunday. We're passing through Maryland. Been in the van since thursday about 11am pacific time when we left Oakland, driving all night that night, crashing with some friends in Springfield MO on Friday, and finding a single vacant Days Inn Suite at 4:30 am after stopping at every hotel we passed after crossing from Kentucky into West Virginia around 2. After giving a a couple minutes attention to the seemingly rough sex being had in the room next door, I passed out.

Its been a month since we played our last show. I'm hoping that we won't be too rusty when we take the stage tomorrow to open up for lostprophets. Whatever. It'll be good to get back up there no matter what. We're playing at the Webster Theater in Hartford CT. Last time we played there a gaggle of goth kids spray painted "emo sucks" on the back of The Format's trailer and we found the dressing room walls covered in such an overwhelming amount of sharpie-drawn cartoon falices that it crossed the line from lewd to hilarious. I just hope the backstage bathroom works this time.

Anyway, I'll admit to getting a bit stir crazy on the drive, and I'll admit that I've allowed insignificant things drag me down, but we've all found ways to get our own space in the van. Each of us has tagged an extra couple hours on each driving shift to shake off the boredom. Joey has declared that he is going to drive the entire day today. Oh, looks like we're in PA now.... Anyway I've spent most of my time staring out at the turning leaves, at the passing country that I've been sheltered from by the cover of California upbringing. Hills and valleys are bursting with reds, yellows, browns, and greens, that I never would have believed to be so vivid.... though out on the east coast more and more trees are leafless, limbs zig-zagging naked in all directions, creating my most favorite sillouette.

At night I switch on my headlamp and page relentlessly through a book which really speeds up the passing of time.. I was towards the end of Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being when we began and just finished a long overdue rereading of Huck Finn, which made our crossing of the Mississippi all the more exciting. Both of these books really reminded me of the reality of what we're doing. Its in the adventure that the most happiness can be achieved. The goal we put in front of ourselves is an abstract thing that we perpetually hang just out of reach. Its the moments where we're on stage doing what we love, or where we're in some backwoods roadside diner and I'm laughing my lungs out over my third cup of coffee, its those moments where we pull up to hotel after hotel in the middle of the night only to be turned away, when we're deciphering what sort of activity was going with those anonymous lovers in the room next to us.... It's these moments that are actually part of our reality and all those plans and all those regrets don't exist, they just guide our way. So why be angry about the past? Why fret about the future? I guess I'll keep asking these questions while the actual moments of existance fly by me.....

oh, its my turn to drive.

bye for now,

dave