March 28, 2004

Florida never ceases to amaze me. Well, actually, I guess I've only really experienced a tiny part of it... the environs of Tampa and St. Petersburg... with a few forays as far as Sarasota. I did drive across the panhandle and down a good bit of the middle of the state on the 2002 tour, but since most of that was in the middle of the night and I was borderline delirious, I don't think it counts. But I love my little piece of Florida, emanating out from my friend Lara's little beach house on Pass-a-Grille, the two-block-wide tail of a barrier island sandwiched between Tampa Bay and the Gulf. On foot, by bike, by paddle, or by bridge, any kind of transport around here is far from ordinary. And then there's WMNF, pretty much the best community radio station anywhere, as far as I can tell. And I think I'd cop to that even if they weren't so cool about letting me come play around in their studio. Ed Lehmann once again hooked me up with his Saturday morning folk show. I didn't find this out until after we showed up for the Sacred Grounds gig, but apparently one of the things that helped us score that show was that the owner had heard me on Ed's show _last_ time I was there, in 2002!

Sacred Grounds had quite a cool vibe, not the least of which was a young dreadlock-sporting college girl (yeah, they look younger all the time!)who seemed to know every word to every Dar Williams song, which of course warms my heart. Lara knows quite a few of her tunes, so she was happy to oblige and I think gained a fan for life. Adrianne, the owner, also does independent films, and was interested in the possibility of using "This Close" on a soundtrack. (If you haven't yet heard the "track in the making" of this song, it's now on the web with my other mp3's.) Overall, that show and the outdoor "amphitheatre" at Kool Beans brought out our most responsive audiences this time around. Although for pure ambience and incredible food, it's hard to beat Viva la Frida's, a day-of-the-dead/Frida Kahlo themed cafe and gallery. New World Brewery was sparsely attended (you win some, you lose some) but nonetheless a cool place, and Joe the Bartender is a real hero in my book... paid the doorman out of his own pocket and wouldn't hear of being reimbursed, encouraged us both to come back on a less dead night, and tore his attention away from an intense game of foozball he was engaged in with some co-workers to yell at me for trying to bus my own dishes after the show.

And then there is The Real Florida... which is what Lara always makes sure I get to see some of whenever I come out. This time, the highlight was gators. Tons and tons. We canoed down a river where we saw no less than 35 of them, just hanging out... basking in the sun, or floating with nostrils just above the surface in the murky water. Fun fact: the river water in that area is nearly blood-red, naturally. Apparently it's the tannins in the trees the river flows through... one local boy claimed it was mostly cypress that did it... I have yet to verify this. Tannins are not exactly new territory to me because it's the same stuff that stains my hands when I work with certain woods. Anyway, the fun part was when there was a gator stubbornly sprawled right across the area where we were supposed to beach our canoe upon our return. We annoyed him just enough to get him to duck under the surface for a bit, which at least makes you _feel_ like he's gone... One way or another, we got the boat to shore, without any sacrifice of limbs. I kind of wished there was a gator in Lara's yard the next morning around 5:45 when I had to take off for the airport... probably would have been a good enough excuse to miss the flight, don't you think?

August 15, 2002

So, a very busy 6 weeks of carpentry, gigging, freeloading, and housesitting later, here I am on the road again.  Or more accurately, in the air... Which makes toting the sound equipment quite a bit more tricky, I'm discovering.  The real reason for my trip is to help bridge the gap while my brother finishes his dissertation and my sister- in-law returns to her teaching job... which means I get to spend some quality time with my two favorite little redheads (see pictures).  While I'm there, I'll be doing a couple radio shows, playing some tunes around town, and helping some friends nail up some siding and maybe build a porch???

June 30, 2002:

So, when I woke up in Truckee, it still smelled good. As I (gracefully, as always) flipped up the hatch of my camper shell and wriggled headfirst and upside down out over my tailgate, I couldn't help but notice the postcard-blue sky. And the fact that it wasn't hot. In Philly it was even hot when it was hailing. I spent the early morning driving down out of beautiful Sierra country into... well... Sacramento. Please don't feel obligated to read anything into the lack of descriptors. Actually, I was quite surprised when I hooked up with my dear friend Petra in the same place she had lived the last time I saw her, and had it pointed out to me that just over a small and unpromising-looking hill was a big ol' river that had been there the whole time. Who knew? Sacramento is a river town! Well, probably lots of people know. But not me. And it changed my entire viewpoint on the place. We had pancakes, got my oil changed, caught up on eachother's lives, discussed international politics and issues of homelessness, had ice cream, and I was on the road again.

The great day of catching up with friends continued in San Jose with my old mental health buddies Brad and Gillian, and their dog Pablo, who I was duly honored to meet as I had previously only seen him on TV the time Gillian found a dead body... but that's another story. Anyway, we talked old times and new times, and excessively enjoyed an Indian buffet for dinner, which we had all prepared for by forgetting to eat for most of the day, which is of course the best way to do these things. I slept like a rock... which meant that I woke up feeling wonderful but a little short on time... Time? What schedule could I possibly have to meet on the last day of a month-long tour?

Well, try this one on. Mid-tour, a friend in SB had arranged with an Ohio-based internet radio station for me to do a "Featured Artist" broadcast on July 1 at 8PM... 5PM west coast time. The deal was that I was to call in at 4:55, and the DJ would play tracks off my CD, and then interview me in between. So, just in case, I programmed the number into my cell phone, and bought a phone card for in case I was out of cell range. Needless fretting, really. I mean, I'd say I managed to time the end of a 8,758 mile trip pretty handily, considering I turned the key in the front door lock of my friend's place at 4:48...

June 29, 2002:

After a hearty breakfast with Roger and Sam, I was on the road again for the longest haul yet... to Reno from Denver in a day. I took the 80 through Wyoming, which my uncle had prepared me would be terribly boring, but I actually thought for the most part it was quite nice. Then when I crossed the border into Utah, the scenery was stunning. There was a creek that wound around farmhouses, coming right up to the edge of the interstate and disappearing again. It was the coolest creek I've ever seen. Why? Hmmm... can't really say. You may have noticed by now that I am not exactly a master of description. In my songs I tend to try instead to select unique images that speak for themselves, with the result that you either experientially or instinctively know exactly what I'm talking about, or you're out of luck. Anyway, I'm afraid in this case you'll simply have to go to Utah or I can't help you. The point is, I was inexorably sucked off the interstate, and spent the next hour or so following little highways through scenic little towns, in my element once again. Why would I do this on a day when I already had nearly 1100 miles to drive? Oh, I don't know. Maybe because my tour is almost over, so I needed to prove I could... another gasp of that freedom, the lack of which slowly but surely drains the life out of me if I follow too long the unquestioning rhythm of my daily routine...

I rejoined the 80 right around Park City... also breathtaking. I was surprised at how green this whole area was, given that it is a particularly dry year in what is generally a pretty dry state...

Now comes the story of my only true Road Rookie Move of the trip. It seems 8000+ miles of uneventful travel had lulled me into a false sense of security, and led me to believe that I could count on certain Uncontested Facts. Like that the reason they list towns on those little green signs (26 miles to Knoll, 15 miles to Knoll, 6 miles to Knoll) is that there is gas there. Or that if there are no services for a long stretch, there will be a little blue sign saying "Next Services 90 miles". Perhaps you are beginning to suspect what happened.

The Utah Salt Flats... about a hundred miles of surreal dreamscape west of Salt Lake City. If you had to conjure a mental landscape for "stark and barren", this is it. I had plenty of gas to make it to Knoll, and at any rate, I had found that if one town didn't have gas (all the towns on the green signs had had gas up to this point) there would be another town in ten miles or so anyway. And here is where I can easily be faulted. My violation? Forgetting the basic rules of geography and geology. It's a salt flat. Nobody can (or wants to) live there. Why would there be a town? The first sign-wise indication that I was in a mess of trouble was when I reached the "Knoll - 1 mile" sign, to which was attached the dreaded blue "No Services" sign. Not only were there no services, there was no town. Nada. I drove a few more miles, hoping for a sign for that "next town". Turned out the next town was 42 miles away. And me with my gas light on. To make a laborious story short, let me just say there was an interesting series of phone calls between me and the local sherriff's office, which resulted in my eventual rescue from a place which would otherwise have been a half-marathon away from the nearest gas station, in 100+degree weather through a treeless moonscape. We won't go into the challenges of trying to look like I'm simply taking a scenery appreciation break, rather than being stranded by a disabled vehicle in the middle of nowhere, and my creative approaches thereto.

When the nice deputy arrived, I figured I'd go ahead and get it out on the table: "You've probably seen bigger dumb-asses, but not today, right?" He smiled and said, "Not at all... it happens all the time." I didn't grasp how sincerely he meant this until I ran into him re-filling his gas can at the nearest station. "You see what I'm doing here? I guarantee there will be three more people in your position _tonight_." We discussed the blindingly obvious idea that perhaps there ought to be an alteration or two in the local signage. He said he was going to push for it, and welcomed my idea of writing an email to the commissioner as a concerned citizen. Maybe they'll name the sign after me... my little contribution to the world...

I had planned to sleep in Reno, in one of my usual category of Safe Zones (Wal-Marts, Flying J's, or hotel parking lots) but decided against it for an important reason... casinos. Big flashing lights, 24/7. No thanks. I drove til it got darker, which happened in Truckee. And it smelled like pine trees and clean air. Best of all, being mountainous, it got cold at night. I got to sleep in my sleeping bag for the first time all trip.

June 28, 2002:

I rearranged my plans a bit to stay in Colorado one more day because I got an offer I couldn't refuse... the chance to attend a BBQ with my cousin Phillip and his kids, the latter of which I had only met once before, at a family reunion in North Carolina, for my now-deceased grandmother's 90th birthday. We had quite a feast, prepared by Phillip with strong BBQ assistance from his older son Robert. It was great to get to catch up with the family.

June 27, 2002:

Got to spend the afternoon chatting with my Aunt Sam and adjusting to 0 mph life, always interesting after a day and a half at 80 or so. The house concert in Lakeland was just great. I did something brave... I stepped out from behind the amplification equipment. I mean, the room was acoustically ideal, so there was no reason I needed it, but I sure have gotten accustomed to relying on it. Playing truly "unplugged" was a bit scary. But my wonderful hosts Kip and Luann and the audience of attentive folks were far from an intimidating crowd, so I took the plunge. I was amazed at how much better an acoustic guitar sounds un-amplified. Wow. It was a little rough on my voice, just because it's already been threatening to pack a bag and move back to Florida for the last two weeks anyway, but still worth it. I think if other house concerts are anything like this, I could easily get hooked on this type of venue. I'll bet most house concerts don't have fantastic carrot cake with a nearly illegal amount of cream cheese frosting on them though... or fresh jalapenos as one of the items on a veggie dipping plate... =) And Uncle Roger and Aunt Sam went above and beyond the call of familial loyalty, refusing to tell the curious what my real first name is. They did tell a story or two on me, but what's family for?

June 26, 2002:

After a morning running around trying to find stuff (my ritual upon leaving any place I've been for more than a day) I was off on another Big Haul... this time to Denver... even I am not crazy enough to do that in one day, so I knew I'd be stopping Somewhere in Kansas, which is, incidentally, where one spends most of one's time between Bloomington and Denver. All of it, as far as I'm concerned. But first, there was breakfast. Allie showed me with great pride and joy the picture of 3 doggies she had spent all morning crinkling. Shannon adorned her toast with peanut butter and cinammon-sugar, a delicacy of her own creation which is surprisingly not bad. Those girls have a way of being hard to leave.

Provisioned with about a million juice boxes and a few other handy victuals, I was On the Road Again. Things were uneventful until the radio issued severe thunderstorm warnings for Topeka as I was headed tht way... "highly deadly lightning, winds capable of overturning cars, just stay home if you can..." So I stopped in Independence, Missouri, in the parking lot of the Wise Guys Bar 'n' Grill (accent on the "Bar" part... didn't get the sense there was much grillin'.) I holed up in the back of my truck to watch the lightning, make some phone calls, and take a lovely nap. The rest of my thoughts on the day can best be expressed in another Road Soliloquoy...

Salina, Kansas
hunkered off the highway
hands on my geetar
so I got my pepper spray
hooked to my quick-draw belt loop
remembering Neanderthals looking like Alley Oop
howling through their toothless smiles
followed us a hundred miles
we slowed down to 30 - they slowed down to 29
sped back up to 85 and they were right behind
so we booked it off the highway
lost 'em at the KOA
guess we got lucky this time
yeah, I guess we got lucky that time.

but now I've got a good map
woke up from a long nap
travel mostly in the light
know just where to spend the night
all my stats are "need to know"
wedding band - just for show
if I go out in the evening on my own
911 on speed dial, full charge on my phone
and what would make you think
a woman's safe
when she's at
home???

June 25, 2002:

So it's a good thing my show at the Upland Brewery was at 6:30, because I found out Michelle Shocked was playing at the Bluebird, a truly cool little basement brick joint, at 8. The show at Upland was great, with a pretty big crowd of my brother's friends in attendance. There were also people who came because they heard me on the local radio, WFHB... apparently I've been getting more play than I thought! And as always, the selection of brews was top-notch. I tried to talk them out of one of their spiffy T-shirts, but the bartender said no can do... he'd have to talk to the Boss, who wasn't there.

Then I scooted out to the Bluebird and managed to catch most of Michelle's set. What a band! They called themselves the Perverse All-stars, and all-stars they were... Peter Buck on drums, the guitarist from the Hothouse Flowers, and other top-notch musicians... i hadn't heard of the bassist before, but he kicked butt in a big way. And here's the weird part... I think they must not have advertised it much, because there were _maybe_ 150 of us in attendance. We made up for it in enthusiasm. Audience members turned to eachother periodically throughout the show saying things like, "How lucky are we???" To see such a great show in such a little place, and still have room to sit down if you so desired... amazing.

June 24, 2002:

Tonight's show was at the Runcible Spoon, whose name is taken from a line of "The Owl and the Pussycat". "Runcible", my brother assures me, translates to "small, but with a really long handle" - this taken, I believe from an illustration associated with said nursery rhyme. At any rate, it was a cool little place with a fountain that looked like a coffee urn that poured into a koi pond, which was a big hit with Shannon. More interestingly, there is a bathtub in the restroom which is stopped and filled with aquarium style stuff, including several large goldfish. Not the way to get a four-year-old in and out of the bathroom quickly, let me tell you. I had a sporadic audience here, but every time I thought it was winding down and would be a good time to stop, another little wave would come in, so they kept me going for some time. I also had the opportunity to meet a fellow from the local community radio station who came out to see me, and we've tentatively arranged for me to guest on his show when I'm back out in August.

Oh yeah, I keep forgetting to mention a sad but interesting fact. Remember that gorgeous area of Arizona over which I was waxing ecstatic in the early days of this journal? Well, scratch what I said about going there, because it's on fire. Pretty much all of it, from what I can gather. Show Low itself is poised for evacuation any moment., and that whole wilderness area I described after that is charcoal and dust. On the bright side, nature has a way of coming back after a fire. It just takes a really, really long time. Now I feel even more privileged to have stumbled upon it how I did, when I did.

June 22-23, 2002:

I'm playing catch-up on my journal, whose entries seem to keep getting longer, so I'm going to try to just hit highlights. For the time being, most of my highlights have red hair. Because I now dwell in the Niece Zone. Shannon is 4, and Allie is 1, and they are both in my unbiased opinion too cute to be believed. So I pretty much hang out with them and live the Bloomington life while I'm here. I played my show at the Soma coffee house, which was fun because it was outside, and I stopped traffic a number of times, both vehicular and pedestrian. The crowd grew noticably over the hour and a half I played there. Allie, the little saboteur, tried to unplug my mike, guitar and speaker cords several times in the course of the show. Shannon contented herself with stage decoration, tying a helium balloon to my mike stand and meticulously arranging and re-arranging the associated curling ribbon.

June 21, 2002:

I learned something important today. I found that I couldn't afford to be as nonchalant about missing an exit out here in the East as I am back in California, where it is a regular part of my daily routine. Once you get going the wrong way on the Turnpike, you're pretty much screwed. I've been told that the root of the word "repentance", from the Greek, means "to turn around". If so, this is one place where the concept of divine mercy is less than evident...

Now this is not the kind of story
I find it uplifting to tell
but I hear there's a value in confession
and you could find this useful as well
if you're ever heading out of Philadelphia
and you are West Virginia bound
don't miss the turn-off for I-70
it takes 14 miles to bring you back around
repentance is the gift of God
to just turn around when you know you've gone wrong
but the Pennsylvania Turnpike
don't want to hear none of your sorry old song
I paid my toll at the 30
flipped a U and booked it straight back down the Pike
spun the dial on my stereo to keep my mind off the time
but I couldn't find a station I liked
and I do think I saw the sign for the 70
hard to say, because it happened kinda fast
and I was arguing with the preacher on the radio
when I saw that self-same exit roll right past
so now it's 19 miles to the next point east
that's 38 by the time I make it back
and if all those years of math still serve me well
that's 52 , for those of you still keeping track
and repentance is the gift of God
to just turn around when you know you've gone wrong
but the Pennsylvania Turnpike
don't have the time for your sorry old song

So, I arrived exactly one hour late for dinner in Bloomington with the folks who run the Potter's Cup. Fortunately, the dinner arrived exactly one hour late as well, so we caught up with eachother nicely. Gyros! Yum. The Cup provided a good audience of diverse ages, and I had the opportunity to tell a lot of the stories behind my songs, which was fun for me. And once more, my voice managed to not entirely die or send me into coughing fits until I was chatting with people after the show... and even then that was mostly because several folks got me started on talking about my thoughts on the civil rights of mentally ill folks... for anyone who knows me, that's probably 'nuff said. Potential highlight of the evening was when the owner of the establishment told me after the show that I reminded him a lot of Rich Mullins... more because of my approach to life than my music, from what I gathered. Rich is pretty much my hero, so it took me a while to stop smiling.

June 20, 2002:

Thankfully, despite a window right over bustling South Street, I didn't know a thing until almost one in the afternoon. This was especially crucial in that we had gotten to bed some time around 4, and you'll remember I'm still sick. We wandered Philly and had a great brunch, over which I grilled Butch's friend Mary about the logistics of going legit as a musician and the whole tax deal. Afterwards I got some sandpaper from a local hardware store and spent the afternoon hanging halfway out the 3rd floor window of Butch's place sanding teak letter blocks for my niece Alexandria and watching interesting people go by.

The gig at the Fire was great except that I hit the proverbial Wall about five minutes before I was supposed to go on. Sudden and total exhaustion. The songs went fine, but I more or less sleep-talked in between them. Fortunately it was a pretty friendly crowd, so we all got through it together. I think half of what made me tired was knowing what time I would have to get up the next morning to make Bloomington, IN by five. Ugly, ugly, ugly...

June 19-20, 2002:

Through the Holland Tunnel, and there you are. The Big Apple. Why do they call it that? That whole Never Sleeping part though - that part I get. When we left there it was probably getting on for 2AM, and the activity level on the streets was not too dissimilar from how it was when we arrived at 6:30 PM. Except it had picked up a bit. People selling books from tables on the street, all the restaurants still open, music and light streaming in from everywhere... Toto, we're not in Santa Barbara anymore. In Santa Barbara, in fact, most of the coffee peddlers close at 10. They sell caffeine, the stuff that helps you stay up, and they close at 10.

The open mike at the Raven was a great little scene. Highlight was probably when the MC joined in with what I can only call exquisite speedmetal-style gutteral screaming vocals to accent a local rapper's number... not exactly what I've come to expect from an open mike. Butch played a couple songs as well, and let me talk him into playing one of my favorites of those he had played in San Diego. I played the inflatable Godzilla song and Treehouse, because that two-song set was the closest I could manage to Edgy or Quirky or in any way Cool. (These venues are part of the AntiFolk scene in New York that launched Michelle Shocked and Beck, and I'm afraid as much as I'd like to be more hip, I had to admit by the end of the evening that I probably am more Folk than AntiFolk.) And oh yeah, I forgot to mention my voice is still shot. But I was thinking this was the one place where that might actually work in my favor...

After some great Indian food, we were off to the Sidewalk Cafe. Our arrival was timed to narrowly avoid the set of a comedian named Rick Shapiro, who Butch's poet friend insisted was "The Anti-Christ". Can't say since I haven't heard him, but he seems to be the kind of guy who illicits strong reactions, to put it mildly. The Sidewalk Care is a great little venue... well set up for serious listening. There weren't a whole lot of people there by the time I went on a little after midnight, but those who were there were unusually attentive. I made it through a half hour+ set without entirely losing my voice, so I'd say all in all it was the best I could have hoped for. After the show I got a note from the sound guy written by none other that Rick Shapiro, saying he had really enjoyed my music. On the one hand, I was quite complemented, because everyone assured me that Mr. Shapiro is well-known for detesting the vast majority of singer/songwriters. On the other hand... not sure how to feel about the enthusiastic acclaim of the AntiChrist. On a brighter note, is there any possibility at all that that could make me AntiFolk???

June 19, 2002:

Trekked to Pennsylvania today, feeling a bit better after a good night's sleep. Philly was a whole new world... my first true urban experience this tour. I was literally unable to park. Fortunately, my friend Butch was kind enough to walk downstairs from his apartment while keeping me on the cell phone, meet me in the middle of a street, join me in a chinese fire drill, and park my truck for me. After a cheese steak and a stroll around Liberty park (I think that's what it's called) we headed out for New York. On the way we took a... short cut... and ended up in some industrial section, which was cool except that it started to RAIN IN SHEETS AND DUMP HAILSTONES THE SIZE OF GOPHERS ON MY NEW TRUCK. (Keep it to yourself, Butch, I'm telling this story...) Anyway, despite my paint job-related misgivings, it was pretty darn cool. Weather. Who knew? Despite the storm, we managed to make it to New York, where I am proud to say I had very little difficulty parking. New York City deserves its own entry, so I'm gonna have to come back to that later.

June 18, 2002:

After an amazing breakfast cooked by my aunt, and enough provisions for the road to keep a small army of sick people going for some time, I valiantly took off for Virginia. Got there uneventfully, and got to meet my second cousins for the first time. (Second cousins once removed? I don't know - they're my cousins kids... you do the math). It was amazing how much my cousin Becky's 3 year old daughter reminded me of my brother's daughter Shannon... especially considering neither of them is exactly your average kid. We (my aunt , my two cousins, and my cousin's family) ordered pizza and just hung out, which was a great way to spend an evening considering I was still sick and losing my voice more by the day.

June 17, 2002:

Came down with an ugly virus. Bummer. Best part of this, however, was that I got to watch 3 DVD's and lie around on the couch while eating soup, drinking tea and taking all the medications my aunt went and got me. Nice to be taken care of. Skipped the open mike I was planning to do, since I had no voice and felt like crap anyway.

June 16, 2002:

Sang in Frankie and Mel's Unitarian church this morning and met some nice people. And apparently, this church hosts a coffee house that has had on its billing the likes of Patty Larkin and Holly Near... they're talking to Stacey Earle's booking agent right now... I told them I'd love to come back and open for any of these folks some time...

After Thai food for dinner, Frankie and I went to a David Wilcox concert. So fun! He just happened to be in town. I told Frankie after the concert that we had good balance, in that we went to her church this morning, and this evening we went to mine...=)

June 15, 2002:

Went with my aunt and uncle to visit a great little historic town called Warrenton, where friends of theirs own a B&B. The Bragg brothers and James K. Polk, among others, had country getaway homes there. The B&B was absolutely beautiful (quilted maple floors!), as was JimBob's house down the street. (No, not Jim_Bob, despite this being the south... two guys, Jim and Bob, both of whom my uncle calls JimBob just for fun.) We went for lunch at a place called the Hardware Cafe... once an ancient hardware store... on one of the walls they had some of the coolest block planes I've ever seen. So of course when I later stumbled across other vintage tools in a nearby antique store, I couldn't help but pick up a couple...

Did an 11 to 2 gig at Carolina Coffee Shop, right on the edge of UNC campus. Unfortunately, mostly drunk college kids who would have been much happier if I was playing cover tunes. They were nice enough, but clearly not listening for the most part. But then around my third set, several spanish-speaking guys came in, who were by contrast very attentive, so I decided to have some fun. "Soy carpintera de Santa Barbara. Hay otros trabajadores azui?" I spoke exclusively in my own special brand of almost spanish for the rest of the evening. Don't think the college kids noticed, and mis amigos nuevos thought it was great.

June 14, 2002:

After a good read on the balcony, a lovely breakfast and some catch-up time with my Auntie Frankie and Uncle Mel, I headed out to a nearly spur-of-the-moment party/house concert arranged in my honor by Ray, a guy who heard me on the radio in Florida, but has a house in rural North Carolina. Actually, it's not very far outside of Greensboro... but you don't have to get very far outside a city to be in the country around here. Ray lives in a 200-year-old log cabin which was a kudzu-covered wreck when he bought it, but which he has since restored and built onto in creative and wonderful ways. It's the kind of place that has to be seen. Almost all the woodwork is from poplar cut from the property where the house stands... doesn't look at all like the green stuff we paint over back home... =) Anyway, my carpenter side could go on and on about this, but I'll quit now so y'all can ask me later. The party was great fun, with great food and all the neighbors and families from miles around.

June 13, 2002:

Ugly, ugly, ugly. Never stay up til almost three when you've got to get up at 7 and drive 700 miles the next day. Good thing I had made up a mess of blackberry sage ice tea... In another unfortunate turn of events, for the first time ever it actually took me 12 hours to drive a distance the map said would take 12 hours. This was brought about by a major accident, poorly conceived construction, and a lunch place that _looked_ like it would be fairly quick... Anyway, it is a good thing that drivers in the Carolinas seem to average about 8 to 10 mph faster than those in any other state so far...

June 12, 2002 (late at night):

Well, I must admit, Limey's _was_ pretty dang cool. One of the best selections of really good beers on tap of any place I've been, a pool table, and a myriad of decoratively arranged chamber pots hanging from the ceiling right over where I was singing... can't really beat that. =) Great crowd... except there was this one table of people right by the stage who were drunk and extremely loud. But Lara got right in there and won 'em over, lounge star style ("I hear there are some folks here from Chicago tonight...") By the time she was finished with them, the poor sods were handing her five dollar tips. And to think, it was only a couple months ago she was calling cross country asking _me_ for tips on handling hecklers... =) Anyway, as I said it was a great crowd otherwise, and we weren't ready for it to be over when it was, so Lara and I, and a few last stragglers in the crowd, hung out playing some tunes til after the place closed down...

June 12, 2002:

Well, I finally got most of that stuff done. And fit in some time to carry the kayak down to the beach and paddle around, and take Jasmine the Wonder Dog for a two-mile walk. Tonight I have what could be my big Florida gig... downtown St. Petersburg, a pub called Limey's. We'll see... it'll have to go a ways to be as cool as Dunedin and the Harp...

June 11, 2002:

After a great beach walk and one-mile swim with Lara's friend Lynn (who told me I could chase the schools of stingrays as long as I got still when I was in the midst of them) I spent most of the day spinning my wheels. I find it very easy to do nothing here. Not because it's uncomfortably hot or anything... it's actually been quite pleasant. I just can't really feel much of a sense of urgency about anything here. And I think time flows differently here. I wake up and it's suddenly 11. I go for a swim and it's 5. In general, this is quite nice. But today I really needed to get some stuff done, and it was like being in some surreal nether world. Even when I did manage to get myself out to do stuff, I was thwarted in every way. Got lost in the infinite system of islands and bridges, and the places I went to get various stuff didn't have the stuff I went there to get. And then it was too late to go to the other places. But I got all my tasks organized and figured I'd give it another shot tomorrow. Another great show at the Harp and Thistle... fans of WMNF continuing to show up and request Blessings Flow... another highlight of the night: Debbie the bartender handed me the Guinness she'd poured me and I noticed my name had been written very recognizably in the foam on top...

stayed a spell in St. Pete Beach - spent the whole week lost and late
doing mostly nuthin', but feeling pretty great
washed my truck in a thunderstorm, no need for a hose
heck, it was 95 degrees - I didn't really need my clothes
got lost inside the music, never coming up for air
chasing stingrays through the water
orange hanky in my hair...

June 10, 2002:

Kayaking in a Florida bayou (didn't know they had those here... this place just keeps getting better and better) brought us within inches of a manatee that we unfortunately failed to see. A group of kids just ahead of us saw it... ah well. Still great fun. Then off to lunch at a great little seafood shack... and for the second time I feel compelled to tell you what the meal consisted of: seafood chowder, jalapeno conch fritters, blackened grouper sandwich, coleslaw. and red beans and rice. After hurriedly working through a couple of harmonies, Lara and I headed out for the Harp and Thistle, a great little Irish pub, for a fun and successful show. Even better, we got to leave all the sound equipment up because I'm playing there again tomorrow night. Almost as good as those days in the carpentry biz when you don't have to roll up your tools...

June 9, 2002:

Slept way in. Met Lara's neighbor, contraversial private investigator (of "James Earl Ray didn't act alone" fame) and country songwriter of fairly major repute, and his $165,000 Martin (a 1942, I believe, all Brazilian Rosewood with a ridiculous amount of mother-of-pearl inlay) and swapped songs for a bit. Then to the beach.... ah, so nice.

Little note on recent St. Pete Beach events... apparently, that same rainstorm I washed my car in spawned a tornado that cut a path through town, damaging forty-five houses and rendering 12 of them uninhabitable. The path ended a comfortable .7 miles from where I was standing. Welcome to life in the Frequent Evacuation Zone...

June 8, 2002 - PM:

Didn't sleep much. Surprised?

I had really been wanting to wash my car, but had been too tired and busy. Then, circumstances launched a brilliant plan. You'll remember it's pretty much hot here all the time. Well, mid-afternoon, the sky just started dumping rain. Suddenly, nothing sounded better than the idea of donning my swimsuit and heading out with a car cloth into the storm... hose-less car wash! Very effective and more than a little fun. Try that with your cold and mostly wimpy California rains! I was quite pleased with myself.

The gig at the Dunedin Brewery (pronounced, surprisingly enough, dnEEdn) was great... really nice sound operated by really nice people who make really nice beer. =) They had my respect from the moment they poured me what they called their "pale ale", which was really a dark reddish amber, comparable in color and flavor to Firestone. I figured if that was their pale ale, I would have to try their stout... I felt kind of like a rock star, because a good half of the people in the room were only there because they heard me on Da Radio and decided to come check me out. Too much fun.

I also discovered, in the process of my stage banter, that I was not alone in discovering the Creative Car Wash Solution. Apparently, a number of Floridians have taken part in this ritual at one time or another. I have to say, in a day where I played a great show and got to be on the radio, the car wash experience may well be the memory I carry with me the longest....

June 8, 2002 - AM:

I am on a total high, coming down from my first radio appearance... WMNF radio free tampa... they had me on their folk show for a couple songs and a little chat, and then were kind enough to keep me on for a couple more during their Women's show. And folks in the area really listen to this great community radio station... we got a number of calls inquiring about my show tonight, and Lara got a call back from a woman she'd been trying to get in touch with about a house concert who heard me on the radio and wanted to book me as a result. So very cool! Thanks to Ed, Mary and Arlene for the fantastic welcome to the community.

A word about St. Pete Beach... Lara's place is out on the tip of a very narrow (two blocks wide) isthmus (a word that is the first serious contender for "bayou"s long-standing position as best word ever... or at least to share that billing). Not only is isthmus a great word (very equalizing, as there is no way not to sound like you have a speech impediment when you say it) but what it means is even better. Basically, one ocean view short of an island, and even better, you can see all three remaining ocean views simultaneously. Yeup, I'm happy.

Gonna go sleep now.

June 7, 2002:

My first truly badly planned travel day. Started off well enough, then I decided to take a side trip to Biloxi. I saw the signs for Kessler AFB and I couldn't resist - you see, my dad was stationed there when he was about my age, which is one of the few things I know about my dad at that age, because he doesn't tend to talk about such stuff much. (Reality break... I realized this is no longer true... we've actually reached the point where I have a pretty fair idea what my dad was doing at my age, now that I am a whopping 29... given that by then my brother was over a year old, and I was about a year away...when he was at Kessler he must have been way younger than me... aaaaauuuggghhh...) It was HOT, so I hung out on the beach in Biloxi in the shade in my hat and ate fried chicken and drank a melting SnoBall and boy did I feel like a southerner... =)

So far so good. Then I drove a bunch more and got kind of bored (for the first time, believe it or not) and decided I should take the 98 along the Florida panhandle coast instead of the plain old interstate. Turned out to be a lot like taking PCH through Venice, Redondo, and Torrance. Way slow, lots of lights, and got me way off course. It did give me a better sense of what Florida looks like, and the second half of my detour was quite pretty as the sun was setting. However, it set me back FOUR HOURS. Coincidentally, I got up this morning (6/8) lacking those same four hours in sleep.

My first completed song of the trip...

Great Big

East of Nawlin's the 10 drops off my map
and that's where I'm going today
so if I fall off the edge of all that I've seen
could you send someone to find me someday
that's a vague request at best and I'm sure it comes through
that try as I may, not sure I care if you do

to the ages
to the land
to that Great Big Something Out There holding my hand
I am never lonely on the road
and I don't understand
because it can get lonely at home

now all my friends are local
and everyone's my neighbor
since I got me a country for my 'hood
I have always feared that I would catch this bug
and now I've gone and caught it pretty good
but for a girl my age with a case this bad
my prognosis looks better than I've any right to have

and so to the ages
to the land
to that Great Big Something Out There holding my hand
to all the Great Big friends I keep in little towns
it's harder to write letters
think I better just come around

this is no solitary life, I've got Kristi in Flag
Karla in Austin, Lara near Tampa Bay
aunts and uncles, cousins and my brother's family
and every closeted musician I breathe a little life to on the
way
to the ages
to the land
to that Great Big Something Out There holding my hand
to the love of God so rich and deep
it has carved a niche for even wandering me

east of Nawlin's the 10 drops off my map
but I'll wager it's there just the same

June 6, 2002:

The big trip to New Orleans. After you cross into Louisiana, this is one of my favorite drives of all my journeys. There's one section where the 10 is up on posts for miles because it's running right smack through the center of a big old swamp. I like to call this area Endor, because I just don't think it belongs on the same planet I've spent the rest of my life on.

Top road signs from today's journey:

• The Luline Watermelon Thump (advertised on a big banner strung across Main Street)
• More channels than Texas roads have armadillos (satellite TV billboard)
• Join the priesthood! We have a happy life. (on billboard, next to picture of man in collar smiling broadly)
• Close runners up: anything containing the word "bayou", the best word English ever borrowed, and the sign on a shack by the gas station reading "Boiled Crawfish and SnoBalls".

I got lost in backwater Louisiana as it was getting dark. Not good. And it having been HOT, I was less than entirely modestly dressed. And here I am in Deliverance country. Still, though I was appropriately sobered by my predicament, I couldn't help the occasional thrill from the images I was getting to see... swamps and shacks and all manner of cool stuff. The text of my mental soundtrack was probably something like this: "crap crap crap gotta get out of here crap WOW bitchin'!!!!! crap crap..."

I made it to the outskirts of town, got a cheap and safe hotel, and headed to JacquesImo's, where I had been told I had to be sure to eat, and where I in turn tell you now that you must eat. Blackened tuna with oysters in a light champagne brie sauce, with corn and bell peppers, mashed potatoes, cornbread and spinach salad on the side. 'Nuff said. My other mission of the evening was to be finding the Maple Leaf, where I had hung out 10 years before... that mission wasn't much of a challenge since it coincidentally turned out to be two doors down. Great delta blues combo... slide guitar, drums, muted trumpet... then I was welcomed back to Jacques' after closing time to hang out and talk music with the bartender, also a local musician. Scored free food for tomorrow due to a serendipitous duplicate order... mmm... fried chicken & all the fixin's...

June 5, 2002:

Headed out to Austin to play on the street... virtually ignored by everyone... but I suppose what can you expect from a city into which it's said 25 singer/songwriters have been moving EACH DAY for the last three years. A couple people listened and gave me a bit of a boost, but then it was hot, so I went and had lunch. =)

Back in San Marcos, I was introduced to the local survival strategy of taking an afternoon dip in the river that runs right through town. The temperature was absolutely perfect... warm enough that getting in took no psychological fortitude whatsoever, and cool enough to feel fantastic after a day of constant hotness. I had just enough time to grab a quick shower before heading out to The Coffee Pot, where Michelle behind the counter fixed me what they call a Vietnamese coffee... kind of like Thai, in that it is super sweet and yummy like candy. I had friends (including the FNB (friendly neighbor boys)) in the audience, and was even somewhat successful in slowly winning over the students who were there doing the best impression of studying I've ever seen. My efforts were never nearly so convincing.

After that we headed out to a songwriter circle at the Cheatham Street Warehouse... a venue with a history of being where people played Before They Were Country/Folk Stars. I played Keeping Track of Things and very much enjoyed a bluesy duo made up of a singer/flautist (wearing a KISS shirt) and a rhythm guitar. Wow, that guy had a voice on him.

June 4, 2002:

I had the opportunity to pay for one day of a weeklong Kerrville workshop? this day the presenters were Stacey Earle and Mark Stewart? so I got to spend the day listening to two of my favorite artists tell me exactly the things I need to know right now about publishing, copyright, and other aspects of the biz side of things.  What luck!  Found out I'm doing a lot of stuff wrong?

When I called my friend Karla to get directions to the Austin suburb of San Marcos, she informed me that I would have to stop in Luckenbach ion the way.  (Any Willy Nelson fans out there will understand.)  It's this great historic town, famous for being a stop for musicians (mostly of the Country Pickin' variety).  I almost got stuck there because there was a bit of a song circle going and the folks kept wanting to hear more of my songs and offering to buy me beers.  But I told them I had to hit the road.  As I was driving away, I started thinking of a song about what would have happened if I'd stayed for one beer too many.
So now I'm stuck here
in Luchenbach
shoulda shined that last beer
that cursed Shinerbock
but I've got an audience
and they think I rock
so I guess I'm stuck here
In Luckenbach...

From San Marcos, Karla drove me and a couple neighbor boys out to Gruene (pronounced "Green" to the un-Countrified out there).  There was a high energy rockabilly band playing in the oldest dance hall in Texas? and Karla and I got into a doubles pool game that we would have won by at least four balls if the guys we were schoolin' hadn't come real near starting a Texas style bar brawl with our friendly neighbor boys.  By the way, they're teaching me to talk Texan out here.  My favorite word so far is "tumped".  Or maybe it's "tumpt".  It seems to mean "overturned in an ugly way".  As in? "I'm fixin' ta tump over that there truck fir the dirt it's got in there?"  Yes, this was an actual quote.  By the way, they have drive-through beer barns here.  Not drive-through the way we Californian's do drive through, which is generally more like "drive up".  I'm saying you actually drive _through_ this big barn and pick out what you want, and they bring it to you.  "Hence, Texas.  Good times." (Also a direct quote.)

June 3, 2002 (later):

After my serendipitous wrong turn, I got back on track and made my way toward Deming on the 180.  I decided a backcountry highway was worth the risk since it cut about a hundred miles off my journey.  What I wasn't prepared for was how beautiful it would be? mountain country with a few surprise vistas that were so pretty they actually made me cry.  Arizona...who knew. 

The general consensus among the Texans I spoke to  from New Mexico that afternoon about my plans to arrive in Kerrville that night was that I was either off my rocker or just didn't understand how big Texas is.  I had decided to make it to the Kerrville Folk Festival? not that I had tickets or camping reservations or anything? but repeated conversations with Ed in the Kerrville office resulted in an offer to get me in and get me a tent? too bad I couldn't find Ed when I got there? but I played a few songs and made a few friends (at 1AM mind you) and ended up being the "guest" of Annika, one of the gals on staff.

Here's my musical summary of the days travels.
Didn't sound like Ed in Kerrville thought I'd make it in one
piece and still beat dawn
But I don't drive crazy, and I don't drive all that fast - I
just drive looooooooooong
And this is where my love affair with the road was born
So you can bet your life that you will see me in the morning
And I'll sing for you this ditty
I wrote way back in Silver City
Just to prove I never had the faintest shadow of a doubt
'Cuz I am more at home than I am at home
along this Texas route

June 3, 2002:

Thought I'd take a shortcut
No surprise I took a wrong turn
Got stuck behind a house being driven down the road
But the highway has its own way
Makes better plans than I do
Snowflake to Show Low is a paradise that most will never see. . .

Check it out - highway 77, south of the 40. Doesn't look too promising, does it? You'll have to take my word for it. Beautiful. Probably will never be on your way from anywhere to anywhere unless you're going from Flagstaff to Austin and you don't know your right from your left.

June 2, 2002:

The Grand Canyon is really big.  No, bigger than that.  We got out of the comfy Yukon to walk around and look at it, then drove a number of miles, then got out and walked around and looked at it again.  We did this at least five times.  It's big.

As you may have noticed, this is thus far the Goofing Off and Doing Nothing Musical in Particular Tour 2002.  =)  I'm having way too much fun...

June 1, 2002 (later):

moonrise over Kingman, moonrise over Albuquerque not sure where I'm going - maybe driving to the moon...

That's from a song I started writing almost 3 years ago, on my last trip through this part of the 40.  I have this tendency to take ridiculously long road trips over surprisingly short periods of time.  As a result, they mostly involve driving.  A lot.  Sometimes I wonder what the point of this is.  I know the majority of my friends and family wonder this as well.  But, yesterday afternoon, in what can only be described as the middle of nowhere, I remembered this song.  For a reason.  I was looking at the same exact range of mountains from the same distance and angle as I had three years before while writing that song.  The point of this is not the song (which I will most likely still not finish) but that that  four-day Santa Fe loop gave me this image I have clearly been carrying with me for three years since... not a bad souvenir, I'd say.

I arrived in Flagstaff with a deep desire to go Out.  Sort of unusual for me, actually.  But my friend Kristi and I went out for dinner and then to an Irish pub where we heard a very loud cover band that was actually quite great.  They switched lead singers every song, and one of them in particular didn't so much seem to imitate the originals as to channel them.  By the way, if you're ever in Flagstaff, let me highly recommend Fat Tire Beer. 

June 1, 2002:

Heya, this is Noelle callin' in from Barstow, California.  Sure sign I'm really on my way somewhere since this doesn't much qualify as a destination.  Quick glance at the map at the Denny's told me that Baker, California (home of the Bun Boy and the world's biggest thermometer) would not be on my route this trip and that was kind of disappointing moment.  But, as far as that stomach flu that kicked my butt yesterday is concerned, I managed to keep down a Denny's Slim Slam down today so I'm hoping I'm out of the woods or on my way.

At the Y of the 15 and the 40 you get to choose which hell you like best.  It's got to be Vegas or Needles: excess or emptiness.  Have a good day.