the last few days...

I guess I was caught in the crossfire. I can’t recall much but it hurt pretty bad to pull the bullet out. It was protruding from the front of my belly, but had entered from the back. Flesh tore back as I wrestled it away from my intestines and, holding the thing in my hands, I shuddered at the magnitude of it all – the heavy piece of golden metal in my hand, the insides of me spilling from the wound. I was falling apart. I could see entire undigested meals, whole sandwiches pushing their way through my system. I really had to get to the hospital but there were so many errands to run, all these vague business transactions to make. I had to take care of it all before I could allow myself to be tended to…

Bryce woke me up. I asked what time it was. 11:30 - we were planning to leave a half hour ago. No rush he says, we have two days to get from Salt Lake to Austin. I peeled myself from the basement floor, slid apprehensively from my warm sleeping bag. The guys were ready to go, but I begged 20 minutes to make coffee and eat a bowl of cereal, shoot the shit with our beyond-generous hosts.

Now we are a couple minutes from Moab, Utah. The Rockies, capped in snow, lift up to our left and sheer cliffs of deep red rock surround us. It is desolate as any moment in America. I keep saying “Oh My God! Are you seeing this?” …Will nods but his eyes don’t stray from his iPod – something’s on his mind.

We saw a matinee and went bowling with a pitcher of 3.2% beer on our day off in Salt Lake City yesterday. The show the night before was wonderful, it was so nice to see so many supportive people come out to see us in a town we’ve only visited a few times.

Seattle was a quick fling, hot as hell on stage, Mike from State Radio burst up there during Dead Cliché and pretty much ruined it – it was amazing, nothing mattered after that, made the rest of the show so fun to play. We left for our overnight drive immediately after the show…

… And I was pretty out of it in Portland. Didn’t allow myself much sleep the night before. I'd been sort of getting sick for a bit and not taking good care of myself. I was enjoying my life thoroughly though. I don't know which is more important. Its sort of a long term vs. short term thing. I was exhausted all day and wandered down Hawthorne in that northwestern mist that always veils the city. I was looking for a cup of coffee but passed by a branch of Powell's books. I went in to get a new copy of Tropic of Cancer (I joined a book club on Spin.com with some other music-people and I chose that as the club's next read. Look for news on that soon) but realized that I had entered a newly published author's bookreading. He was clearly on his first tour for his first book. I got in just in time to see him finish reading an excerpt and field some questions. I enjoyed seeing someone in a position like ours, a reflection of us in another industry. He was putting himself out there in an unfamiliar town, in front of unfamiliar people, at the mercy of a huge corporation that allows him to earn his living with his art, that has the potential to put him on bookshelves in houses across the country but could pull the plug at any time - that book is in the store, but if no one's heard of it, no one buys it. He knows he should be speaking to more than a handful of people (give or take the shuffle of randoms like myself and the kid with the sketeboard next to me). He knows that but I’m certain he understands that he, himself, is not an institution yet - he is clearly working hard and taking this very seriously - he will listen to every person who wants his ear, shake every hand. He is honored to sign your book. He tells himself that this is all one step in the journey, that he should feel lucky to be at this point, he makes sure that everyone knows he is not taking this for granted and realizes that those people don't know how hard he slaved on this book, how he has struggled for years and years. He is a little scared. He doesn't understand why people are anxious to talk to him.

Certainly this is all a means to an end, but everyday itself should be a satisfying little end. I returned to the venue with such a perspective.