06)18(05 its 406pm

The gray choppy waters of the Atlantic splash and and splish as the truck rides smoothly over the white horizon. We are on a ferry between North Carolina’s mainland and the Outer Banks, and Kate is napping while I lean the laptop against her in the back of the truck.

The week has ben good and full, back on track you could say, from the pitiful small setbacks we had experienced in Asheville. After the remnants of the hurricane and the last night in a Super 8 I hope to spend in a very long time, we finally were able to remove the dead mouse from the air conditioning and head into the humid south again.

As we headed north, as far up as central Kentucky, we both agreed that there was something about the south that we hated to leave so soon… something about the people, the allure, the feeling and pace of life. Something about the south, the Louisiana, Mississippi part of the trip had embraced us in a friendly way, and so we were really looking forward to getting down to Savannah, Georgia, for a last glimpse of the steamy south, at least for this summer.

We pulled into the most perfect of Charleston afternoons, almost shocked to find ourselves looking straight at the unthought of and (in my case) rare Atlantic Ocean. It came as a surprise that we could now look at a map and trace a line from Mendocino to Charleston and cut the country in half along our trip’s jagged lines. The breeze was blowing, joggers were jogging by the handful, and the statues and palm trees and civil war cannons were glowing in the warm afternoon sun.

It was nice to be there, to have made it, but unfortunately the reality of needing a place to stay is never far behind us on this trip, especially a place that we can afford. We kind of had to face the reality, finally, that it was summer, and that summer means tourism, and that we no longer are the only people out poking around other people’s towns. And so motel prices skyrocket, and availability dries up, and we find ourselves staying 20 minutes out of town to the north, in the ghetto of Charleston, in a STILL overpriced Best Value Motel. But Kate was still a little sick, and it was worth it to not have to struggle so much for the day.

We threw our backpacks on the grey blue carpet, turned on the rattling a/c and headed back out into a Charleston evening.

Charleston is renowned and loveable for its amazing clusters of historic buildings and its arched cobblestone streets. At night the alleys glow amid the humidity with history, and the way the wrap around in that European way makes you feel like you could explore them for hours just enjoying the view as you turn each new corner.

And did I mention that the days are hot? The next morning we set out with no real determined end and found ourselves gasping and bickering in the intense heat reflected between the bricks and stones and the sponge like air. At 11:30 we found ourselves in a bar for lack of a better place to go and ordered ice water as the sweat evaporated from every inch of our body. It was somewhere in that moment of lightheadedness that we decided to just trek to Savannah that day, it was only an hour and a half away, and we had been waiting so long to see it.

We accepted that with the campgrounds being full and or as expensive nearly as a cheap motel room that we would spend the night outside of the city and head in. The drive through South Carolina’s lowlands was hot and slow, but soon enough we crossed the Georgia border and immediately had Ray Charles singing “Georgia On My Mind” stuck in my head. We found another Best Value Motel amid an oasis of McDonalds, Subway, every other fast food chain and several other motels. It was becoming normal to be staying in places like this and after a short nap we were almost comfortable with its dingy interior. And again we headed off into a Savannah Night.

Savannah’s historic district is pretty large and pretty amazing. There are 22 separate but geometrically equally distributed park/courtyards, often with creepy gothic fountains and statues in the middle and pleasant park benches spread out underneath the moss draped live oaks. So you can be in one of these plazas, walk a few blocks in and be in another, they are like their own little worlds, and they are a godsend in the brutal humidity and heat. And so walking Savannah is amazingly pleasant, even with the air sticking to you and making your brain nearly inoperable. We passed the evening walking along the riverfront, where once slaveships and cotton bundles were shipped in enormous quantities to and from the old world. Savannah’s strategic port clearly made it a major power in the boat dominated industries of the past.

For now Savannah is enjoying its place among travelers as being one of the more exotic American cities, and rightfully so. It is clear that the successes of “Forrest Gump” and “Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evil” has attracted a great number of tourists to the musty allure of its streets. But for us it was simply the feel of the place, the idea that mystery and shady secrets lurked along the quiet waterfront, in the strangely silent statues, below the ever hanging spanish moss.

Some of the shady secrets are buried even deeper into Savannah’s unconscious. We visited the civil rights museum there that detailed the influential and monumental fight for basic respect and rights for the cities huge African-American population. The underbelly of the city , the sad reality of the place is that brutal racism has not fully gone away, and didn’t even come close to not being the status quo all the way up to the 1960’s and 70’s. It was only through the courage, perseverance and effectiveness of black boycotts on white business, sit ins in “white only” restaurants and stores, and integration of schools that progress was made. To imagine the brutality of racism before some changes were made is impossible to imagine, and perhaps for many, to forget.

We spent our day in Savannah taking pictures and slouching through the heat. At first I was ready to get somewhere, anywhere just to avoid the intensity of humidity and hazy weather, but by the end of the day I was truly sad to go. Its such an amazing city that in one city I had fallen in love with its simple pleasures, its lusty feeling, its gorgeous ghosts.

Now, almost by accident we are headed to the outer banks, being lulled by the Atlantic’s quiet pull, ready to spend some crystalline days on gusty dunes.

06)12(05 its 443pm

The interesting thing about the week after Natchez, even the two weeks after Natchez, is that we were suddenly restless. Or at least, we weren’t comfortable staying in any place for a very long time.

Following our thunderstormy night outside of Natchez, we headed up north through Mississippi, along its muddy river. The Delta region of Mississippi is absolutely astounding when it comes to its feel, its contribution to America, and its brooding undercurrent. We really only passed through, as opposed to relished, The Birthplace of The Blues, and yet the feeling of the place slung to our skin like smoke from a crowded juke joint.

The towns that edge the Mississippi as you head north along its banks are gritty, worn, revolving around the abandoned city centers of 40’s and 50’s glitz no more. When we headed into most of these places it was obvious, so obvious that we were the only white kids to be cruising through town in a long time. Faces turned towards us out of curiosity, as curious what we were doing there as we were. Despite any initial trepidation, I was again amazed by how friendly people were, with a genuine concern and politeness that I’ve only seen in the South.

The rain drops are sticking hesitantly to the Super 8 Motel window which looks out at the lush green hills of Asheville, North Carolina. Kate is sprawled out on the tacky bedcover, sick from some sort of quick flu. Her sickness set in this morning unexpectedly as we were lying in the back of the truck listening to the storm that had been pushing and pulling all night. We hoped that finally for once the rain would let up, but it was in vain. I knew when she said she was feeling sick that we needed to abandon our ridiculously soaked camp and head for civilization. Our tarps that had been set up were ragged, our equipment completely muddy and soaked. In the pouring rain I pulled it all down and cramped it into the back of the poor beat up truck.

Its been a rough week, the weather unrelenting, and the small mishaps piling up. It peaked for me as I backed the truck into the front bumper of a ’75 Chevy, smashed the taillight and crunched the rear panel. It broke my heart that the truck should be looking as beat as we were feeling. Too many one night camp outs in haphazard locations, too few complete night sleeps, and too much worry about money and timing. And still the weather charts for the week ahead picture five straight lightning bolts poling out of dark gray clouds. How perfect then that I’m listening to Bob Dylan sing “Hard Travel”, wailing on his harmonica, ‘carrying a load on my worried mind, looking for a woman that is hard to find…’.

In Leland Mississippi we stopped into the Jim Henson museum and browsed through the nostalgic shelves full of Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy memorabilia. It was sweet to be there, where Jim Henson was born a poor creative boy in the heart of Mississippi, feeling parts of my childhood resurface and remind me that they were there. It made me think of my brother Pete, of us sitting on Saturday mornings making forts out of blankets and camping out in front of the cartoons for innocent hours on end. Kermit was our friend, and it was good to hang out with him again.

We headed west towards Clarksdale, where Robert Johnson was born and lived. Robert Johnson was in many ways the predecessor to rock and roll as we know it, his fingerstyle playing and dark lyrics, together with the voodoo mysticism that he has come to embody make him live as a legend to this day. The story goes that Mr. Johnson took his guitar one night to the crossroads of Clarksdale. He sat down to play and a large figure approached him, dark like a shadow. The figure took the guitar and retuned it, and then played the most amazing music. He handed the guitar back to Robert Johnson, and to his amazement he was able to play with the same grace. Its interesting that most people refer to this shadowy character as the devil, it could be a voodoo God, or in my mind, it could be the artist accepting his self, the part of him that was genius.

So the town of Clarksdale was old, felt old. Old traditions, old ways, old buildings, old streets, worn and rubbed down. The feeling of poverty cracked the sidewalks, and the isolation of the delta, its limited opportunities, weighed heavily on my mind. I felt that this was a part of the world that was hard to escape. i felt that this black America was suffering the weight of a brutal and strange past. I felt that this was a place that should be worshiped by all Americans, for the legacy that it holds in its broken neon signs. But I was only passing through. We stayed in a $29 hotel in the heart of downtown, and walked through the warm evening streets peacefully as groups of people met and passed by on foot. It could have been 1956, 1975, or 2005, it was so specific of a place and feel.

Oxford, Mississippi, home of William Faulkner and Ole Miss U. was a stark contrast to Clarksdale. Shimmering clean sidewalks and a renovated downtown was filled with hopeful Mississippi college kids, mostly white. Coffee shops and book stores overflowed with tradition and vitality, there was a definite sense of pride in the town. We sat down in the early afternoon to a good hearty southern meal, fried catfish, collard greens, sweet potatoes and eggplant and felt too full for words. Weather again was a factor, but we decided to tough it out. Even at $29 a night, motels were stressing our budget, so we were going to camp out, and nothing was going to stop us, not even the rain, or the fact that the only campsite available to us was 30 minutes away into the woods and empty save for us. We set up a screenhouse on the misty shores of a beautiful lake and drank bourbon into the night to tide away the strange lonely feeling of the campsite. We talked about life and friends and laughed and recalled the trip until we were far too detached to care about how strange it felt to be so far from civilization that we knew. It kept raining through the night but we both slept sound until a groggy wake up.

We both had Memphis, Tennessee on our minds. The allure of rock and roll, and the home of Elvis Presley was just too strong for us to miss. We had basically come this far north to see the city on the Mississippi that was as vital as New Orleans. So many musicians had earned their place on its famous Beale St. Strip, so many battle for civil rights had found a center there.

Asheville, NC

Here in the coffee shop. OK, so my excuse for being out of touch is the whirlwind of destinations all packed together into one week. Memphis to Land Between The Lakes, KY to Bardstown, KY to Lexington, KY to Big South Fork, TN, to Great Smoky Mountains National Park, TN and here, to Asheville. No time to write, or should say, having to keep the laptop out of the thundrestorms we’ve had. And the constant setting up and taking down a major factor. Unfortunately, the weather isn’t really giving us a break anytime soon, so we have to keep on our toes, and be prepared for more of the same for at least a little while. Next stop is Savannah, GA and from there up the East Coast. The Atlantic Ocean! We are approaching 2 months on the road and we both feel like road warriors… it would be great to take a break soon, and breathe in a little, but until then the motion continues.

I will, of course, post the latest entry on the actual stories as I have a chance. Take Care!

06)02(05 its 620pm

Memphis. Elvis. BB King. Sultry Mississippi river blues clubs. Memphis, Tennessee.

Its one of those place that is nice to say out loud. It makes you feel good to know that you are in Memphis though you don’t know why. Here we are in a Super 8 motel, exhausted from the flurry of a week, relaxing before we head out to Beale Street for a bit of music.

In short, this week we headed from New Orleans to Memphis, roughly following the Mississippi River as it winded up and up. That in itself is poetic somehow.

New Orleans was difficult to let go of, hard to say goodbye to. It filled us both with sort of passionate feelings and a sense of place that was something like home, and made us want to unravel the knot of southern culture just a little bit, enough for us to squeeze through. New Orleans made me think of jazz and vampires, music, history and beauty through the ages. New Orleans introduced us to this swath of the earth that is so fertile and laden with a heavy and sometimes bitter past.

We drove across the shallow and vast Lake Pontchartrain from New Orleans to a state park that sat on the opposite side, once the site of a sugar mill and plantation. We landed at Fountainebleu State Park on the eve of Memorial Day weekend and already the park was swarming with masses of Louisiana tourists all barbequeing and unloading their RV palaces. Our campsite was minimal and buzzing with mosquitoes but the nights we sat on the white sanded shore of the Lake were peaceful and made us talkative as the warm wind from across the lake blew steadily against us. The Louisiana sunsets were slow and mellow and we ate grilled shrimp and vegetables for dinner. The massive Live Oak trees that once shaded the plantation still drooped sadly in the pink rays of the evening sun, and in the days we walked around farmers markets in the tiny towns nearby and waded in the almost hot water amongst the hundreds of happy kids and parents, the never getting deep enough to actually swim in, even as we walked hundreds of feet off shore. The nights were so hot and the mornings humid too, and it was hard to wake and shake off the heavy feeling of sleep while already sweating in the morning sunshine.

Both my Dad and Kate’s Dad had off the cuff told us before the trip that Natchez, MS would be a great place to see. Its antebellum houses and old cobbled downtown sit on the banks of the Mississippi with a guilty grandeur that has worn just enough with time. Natchez was the first permanent settlement by Europeans along the Mississippi River, and its importance as the main trading port along the Mississippi from Saint Louis to New Orleans made it a powerhouse economically and politically in the days of slave trading and cotton exports. It was held by the Union toward the end of the Civil War, and Grant made his temporary home there in one of the many old and ridiculously grandiose Mansions that overlooked the river.

As we drove out to the Natchez Trace State Park, our radio broadcast was interrupted by the emergency broadcast system, which told us in a sort of frantic way that a tremendous and potentially dangerous thunderstorm was headed directly our way, in about 25 minutes time. We stood on the dock of a nice little Mississippi Lake while the fishermen out for the day obliviously cast their lines into the evening water, somehow the epitomy of Mississippi living to us. The sky above us was blackening steadily and the massive rumbles of thunder slowly echoed our way across the Lake. We decided that camping out wouldn’t do, albeit reluctantly, but as we headed back into Natchez it became clear that this was no subtle sprinkling of a storm. The sky quickly became a wall of water, with so much rain falling so quickly that it was nearly impossible to see the road through the thick film of rainfall that covered it in a matter of seconds. Lightning crashed all around us and the thunder rocked the truck with its intensity. We would be checking into a hotel it was decided, we would be checking into a hotel or be blown away by this storm. We were really fortunate to be in town on a Sunday, and out of desperation I checked with the downtown hotel, you know the grand old style hotel that sits prominently in most old American small towns with gold lettering and brick walls, and somehow the price was just low enough for us to take it. We had come really close to staying in the “Scottish Inn”, out on the freeway a few miles outside of town, whose parking lot was lined with drug dealer looking cars and whose neighborhood was less than pleasant. But now here we were checking into this enormously posh Hotel with marble statues, fountains lit by fire and painted gilded ceilings. I pushed it a little bit further and asked if we could have a room with a view, and the receptionist kindly upgraded us at no extra cost to a 6th floor suite with a balcony that looked out over the Mississippi. It was a grand feeling being up there on that deck with its little table and Southern Style outdoor fan, looking out over the fading light of the glorious river and peaceful Louisiana farmlands across it while thunderstorm after thunderstorm raced by, lighting up the horizon irregularly with streaks of lightning.

We wanted to at least catch a peek at one of the insides of the Mansions that dominated the history of Natchez, and so we shelled out for a guided tour of the Rosalie House, where Grant had holed up while the union controlled the Mississippi River traffic. The opulence was almost over the top, but it was a good departure point from which to view the troubled past of the region. This is the place where Southern women became Ladies, and men became Gentlemen, and black people became slaves. The almost strange part of all of the revery given nowadays toward the architecture of the area by tourists is that the whole issue of slavery, that the houses themselves were often built by slaves, is barely mentioned at all, almost succinctly avoided.

We just returned from Beale St., the heart of Memphis. This is the proclaimed birthplace of rock and roll, and it revels in its roots, even though the tourist aspect of the whole party is hard to miss. Live music streams out from every bar of the three block neon lit stretch that is the modern Beale Street. Musicians work their fingers to the bone on the sidewalk and in the bars, while folks of all ages and races meander around and through the spirit of it with legal beers in hand, partying while the cops surround it all. It all felt very safe, very easy, very clean, and it was a nice experience even so. I don’t even begin to think that anything we saw was ‘authentic’, as in, where it really all comes from, the blues, rock and roll…. but somewhere behind the facade is the birth, somewhere many years back is the root of the music that shaped my life so profoundly. Sometime way back then, in the heyday of the blues, in the 30’s and 40’s, underpaid working class musicians made music to make music, and they made music that felt right and felt good and made people dance and somehow changed the course of history. It makes me really humbled, the respect that I have for those musicians and the whatever it was that made it happened, and I don’t even claim to know what it was that made it… the depths of poverty? the struggle of being black in America? the honesty of good souls with no purpose, no cause, no bullshit reason, just music. I think that that is what it comes down to, just music, no rules, no reason. Now, its kind of recycled. Its music for the sanitized sake of the tourists that want to see it sans poverty, sans struggle, sans passion really. But that was me, the tourist, passing through, and I’m glad, I’m glad we’re in Memphis and that we saw it, whatever it was. I feel that as a musician it gives me something to live up to, and it forces me to remember, as hard as it is to put in to words, what its all about.

We left Natchez determined to camp, even though the weather was still looking pretty miserable. We headed Northeast up the Natchez Trace, which is, in short, one of the oldest roads in America, that was used by Native American tribes, traders and was the most important road in the pre civil war America up until the advent of the steamboat up and down the Mississippi. Parts of the trace are still walkable, and we ended up stomping along it quite by accident that night. The terrain was so swampy and dense, with vines hanging down over the ancient road, and we were walking as the sun was setting, out in the middle of nowhere while the rain started to fall. It was not the kind of place I would feel comfortable getting stuck in, and it was good to finally find our way back to our campsite. The rain was coming in strong, and we were forced to put up the tarps and set up a screen house around the truck. We sat underneath the brown and green tarp for hours that night while the fierce wind and thick rain pounded the landscape around us. It was strange to be sitting outside in such ferocious weather, but it was nice to say that we were in Mississippi, in a Mississippi storm, drinking cheap beer on the oldest road we’d ever been on.

05)25(05, its 745pm

New Orleans combines all its energy into everyday, and works the senses till you think it would implode, but it is a hardy, reckless city, old and vibrant and inexhaustible.

Yesterday we crossed over the Mississippi River south of New Orleans, and yes it is a big river. I have had this vision of myself seeing the Mississippi for some time now, a romantic vision of the huge body of water singing its way down to the Gulf Of Mexico with tugboats and steamships pushing by, the wild call of the Deep south all around me. I wasn’t let down in any way really, the vastness of the moment, of my life coming around to being somewhere so exotic and American was heavy on me. The only thing I needed was more of a knowledge of what went on on this river, what battles had been fought on it, what lives spent working in some way or another this magnificent stream of deep currents and history.

Little towns stand in the shadow of the giant levee along its banks, heavily weathered and barely standing in the humid heat, signs from the 1930’s through the 1980’s advertising long forgotten brands of beer and ice, restaurants promising pool tables and live entertainment all wrapped in vines and forgotten by the roadside. It doesn’t take long to realize when you are there that there is no economic influx to be found, nor will there be for some time, but it seems strange to not have pictured that poverty stricken reality until driving through, only allowed to be a tourist, too high on opportunity to really stop and take part in a life that is not your own.

The Mississippi winds its way down through New Orleans methodically and slowly, and when it hits the city it seems to overflow the essence of all its miles and time and silt into the bloodstream of the life here. I had expected New Orleans to be comprised of the cute little French Quarter and old mansions of the Garden District, but its a true Metropolis, with skyscrapers jutting out between the two touristed parts of town, and sprawling suburbs reaching out all around it. In fact, the parts of town where people live outside of the famous districts are somewhat ragged, old buildings everywhere there too, but no such preservation and influx of old money.

The crux of New Orleans tourist and history life lies in the French Quarter, a narrow streets and cast iron balcony section of town that is for the overwhelming part preserved in its brilliant original state. Gas lanterns hang over cobbled sidewalks, and bar after bar after antique shop after gallery after apartment after bed and breakfast cram the streets in that oh so European way. The atmosphere is lively and unique, to say the very least. The ornamentation and exotic feeling of a 19th century neighborhood, French and Spanish and Black and White and old is enough to send the mind drifting into different periods of time and history. At night last night I got the feeling that there were indeed ghosts and spirits roaming around the street, if not with us, then perfectly encapsulated in the past we were walking through.

I find myself frustrated even because New Orleans, like Venice, or Prague, or even the Old Growth Redwood forests of California, is a place that defies a suitable description with words. Its fantastic.

And it has a darker side too that is obvious to the corners of the eye. As we were walking down into the French Quarter last night we were passed by four different police cars within five minutes, followed by a team of four policemen on horses patrolling. As we wandered the night away I probably spotted at least 15 more cop cars on patrol. Its not that I’ve never seen excessive cops before, but this was in a way unprecedented for me, and it made me wonder what would pull a necessary police presence down into the streets. The answers come when you mix the elements of New Orleans all together. Poverty, availability of drugs, excess of alcohol (you can drink liquor on the street as long as it’s not in a glass container), combined with the swarms of tourists and their pocketbooks all make for a charged atmosphere. And so you feel safe, but you are weary, and you are not sure why so many cops but you are kind of glad to see them rolling around so regularly. I realize too that New Orleans and its Mardi Gras are synonymous with over the top rowdiness and antics, and that the city must employ a huge police squad just for the week long festival every year. Like New York and San Francisco, and every other major American city, there are places that you shouldn’t really venture alone, but the warnings of avoiding the public cemeteries especially gives New Orleans this gothic threat. There is a vampire like quality to the underbelly of the city, and a feeling that all the voodoo mixes into the modern translation of junkies and drunken tourists walking all over the footsteps of the past.

Newest pics are here!

05)22(05 its 735pm

Kate’s watercolor in varying greens and golden brown is beginning to take shape. We’re sitting on the dock at our campsite, on top of the waters that are mainly still save for the frequent jumping of catfish, slow quiet swimming of alligators, and skimming of huge dragonflies. The air is warm and sweaty, my shirt that was clean and fresh as of noon today is gross and limp, and the skin on my face feels like a light layer of butter was smeared evenly over it.

The light is beautiful end of the day light, cranes cross the pale blue and orange sky above us, and birds sing exotic calls to eachother out over the bayou.

This is one of the more interesting places I’ve ever been, and its a good thing I’m more or less tolerant of the natural world and all of its strange almost threatening existence, otherwise I would be scared immobile by the immensity and abundance of life of all forms flying and slithering and swimming and buzzing and moaning.

Two nights ago was our first experience of the dense bayou environment. We pulled into camp at Sam Houston Jones State Park, 15 minutes north of Lake Charles, LA. It still hasn’t quite settled in how thick and pervading the ambience is here, and it is difficult for me to get used to how much wildlife there is, how much humidity there is, how much water there is. Right now I’m particularly affected, as we just abandoned our perch on our little dock because these enormous wasps were hovering around and walking into the wood bannisters, as if it were home to them, and definitely not to us. Lots of things I can deal with in a sane way, wasps, however, are another story. I just don’t react in a rational manner, I freeze up, and if anything even remotely seems to come near me I writhe in a manic way and close my eyes. Wasps are not really my friends. And man are they big here. Really really big wasps.

But this is not to say that I am not thoroughly enjoying the scenery and experience… I like it. I love that we are sitting on a bayou right now, and that we are in the heart of cajun country. It was Sunday today, and all day long we passed fisherman after fisherman and encountered the friendliest people everywhere. I mean genuinely friendly, friendly like our neighbors at the campsite, whom we had not spoken to yet, offering to get us anything we needed from town because they were making a run for supplies. And further proceeding to walk over to our site and chat with us about life, travel, family and Louisiana. This same neighbor, who truly just genuinely was being friendly, insisted that we take an oscillating fan, brand new, so that we could have some relief from the humid Louisiana nights while camping. It was amazing, and based on our experience thus far, not uncommon at all.

We found ourselves in a fantastic vacant museum yesterday in Lake Charles. Its few rooms were filled with civil war artifacts and recreations of early to mid century pharmacies and stores. The gallery adjacent to it was filled with remarkable 5′ by 5′ charcoal drawings of people, insects and dogs done with intricate detail. And out back this magnificent 300 year old white oak sprawled wider than I’ve seen a tree reach before, with limbs over 100 feet long with the bottom of the limbs sometimes resting on the ground because of the enormous weight.

Now the light has faded a bit, and it is still warm, and suddenly very peaceful. An ideal time for sitting and sipping the ice tea we made. We’ve seen scores of immaculate southern mansions standing guard over well huge and well kept front yards, and I can just imagine the feeling of this country, sitting on a screened porch and watching the night finally settle in. Its nearly impossible to sleep in the heat that lingers in the jungle like night, and so we’ve been crawling out of bed in the middle of the night to just sit and talk until a cool breeze settled in. It becomes a pace of life, this blanket of heat and languidness. Its as slow as possible.

We left Austin with our head replaced on our shoulders, refreshed and ready for the traveler’s life again. East Texas was a long easy drive, save for Houston, whose massive oil company skyscrapers reach out of the hazy polluted sky. From roadside appearances it is a huge city, that kind of reaches for miles in every direction. East of there, there are a few spotted tiny towns, mostly based around the traffic of Interstate 10. As soon as we crossed into Louisiana it felt like a whole different world, the thick swamp atmosphere taking over everything. The highway becomes a blanket of 20 to 30 foot high trees and dense undergrowth, and the bridges over fingers of water begin to mark the path regularly.

As we explored the sprawled city of Lake Charles the population became different as well, a heavily mixed community with black and white folks generally being very friendly, polite and helpful. Crawfish and seafood shacks lined the roads, pointed at often by rusted and hastily arranged lettered signs, the most common and charming being the big red arrow with yellow lightbulbs pointing off the road with the plastic letters often falling and misplaced. The accents begin to change as well, with a sort of heavy drawl gracefully finishing words in interesting ways, usually with a casual sort of tone. I feel very obvious in my ignorance of what Louisiana is all about, but it is beginning to set in and rest over me like the humid, almost edible air.

The humidity doesn’t let up for today, but that’s ok, we’ve had a great time anyway. Tess and Arnold (and Gabriel too) have done such a magnificent job of hosting us that I’m truly sad to go… we feel so at home here it will be tough. But tomorrow morning we head out for Louisianna. We’ve decided to bypass East Texas entirely as it seems to be riddled with meth addicts and satan worshippers and corporations such as Enron and Halliburton. Which is worse is questionable. We want to hang out in swamps and eat cajun food so we’re heading farther east.

South Congress is the district that Tess and Arnold live in. The atmosphere is lively and upbeat, even in the sweltering heat, and the coffee shops are cool and plenty. We’ve been treated to great food and good hang out time and gosh just overwhelming generosity and kindness. We did a last stock up stop at the giant Austin Whole Foods, where we got soy milk, granola, black beans, road food in short.

Below is the next installment of Luke and Kate’s fascinating trip adventures and fantastic accounts thereof:

Tucson, Arizona

The red mud splattered Toyota cruisd out from Beaver Creek into the Spring dryness of central arizona. The plan of action was to avoid too much desert, and or too much Phoenix, which by all accounts had been described as treacherous, bad and foreboding, to say the least. So we decided that Tucson was the place to be.

But its interesting to note here that even the idea of going to Tucson was not in our original plan… its just that as we arrived in Flagstaff just a few nights before, it was snowing heavily and it was cold. So the next day or two I kind of gazed obsessively at weather predictions for the Taos Santa Fe area, where by all accounts there would be thunderstorms and highs in the 40s. It was hard for us to let go of the idea of going to and through Santa Fe, but at the same time we felt that happiness and sunny weather go hand in hand, especially when camping and traveling. So we headed south intentionally, and somewhat reluctantly.

But as it turns out of course it was the ‘right’ decision.

Phoenix was avoidable, even from the safe distance of the Freeway around the edge of it. We stopped a couple of times at various spots, once at this supposedly interesting artists commune type place in the middle of the desert called Arcosanti. The idea of the place is to, was to create ‘an ideal urban living space’, where art and architecture intermingled with people living harmoniously and using less natural resources. The only problem was that people weren’t nice. Or happy apparently, and I know that we got a superficial glimpse of the whole deal, but wow, just unfriendly kind of aging hippies, surrounded by this cracking concrete style architecture that was quite faded and funky. I was disappointed because I thought the idea was fantastic, that architecture should lend heavily to a more utopian method of living, wherein community and creativity and resourcefulness are much more strongly encouraged than in the typical worldwide city. But it wasn’t to be for us that day at least. Arcosanti was lame.

So we got into Tucson in the very warm afternoon. Though the weather reports said 80, the real temperatures were in the high nineties, warm even for Tucson in early May. We checked into the Flamingo Hotel, a faded budget locale that glorified the glamorous years of Tucson’s movie boom, apparently the area outside of Tucson was where Westerns were filmed in their early conception. John Wayne, Paul Newman “Hombre”, and many forgotten others are displayed on movie posters outside of each of the rooms. Palm trees surround a modest swimming pool, and aside from the obvious faded glory it was an interesting place to stay.

We were surprised as we wandered around downtown Tucson that NO ONE was out and about, it was a perfect evening, it was tuesday but still, it was quiet, more quiet than most small towns. We ambled over to the Congress Cafe, which I had heard of through searching for places to play around the country, and had a sidewalk Boca Burger in the perfect warm spring air. The colors of a desert sunset linger for a really long time and it was nice to see them fade over the quiet city.

The next day we realized that we had kind of missed the exciting part of town by only a few blocks. Tucson has this mysteriously large collection of young people, college age and up, who have opened coffee shops and art galleries and thrift stores and places like that and have done it with a lot of color and flair. It was great to be among so many creative types and in the bright colors of the desert city streets, wandering through endless vintage clothes and muraled walls of health food co-ops. It was hot though, really truly hot, in a dry way, and I wondered how I or anyone could make it through the summers there. They have got to be absolutely brutal, and nothing subtle about it.

I’m back in Silver Springs, NM, in many ways a perfect small town in SW New Mexico. The weather is great, the people charming, and the atmosphere very relaxed. There is a fantastic river front city park, and just a lot of interesting ness. It reminds me of the tv show Northern Exposure, the way that things feel here, very innocent.

We spend that past couple of days and nights up in the pristine Gila National Forest, camping in a canopy under willow trees alongside the Gila River. The days were slow and the nights warm, we had everything we needed, right down to my homemade fishing pole that I made from a stick.

We made the very worthwhile trek up to the Gila Cliff Dwellings, and observed in a kind of ecstatic awe the left over civilization markers, far removed by time and history. These homes were built over 800 years ago deep into enormous caves situated 200 feet or so above a year round creek, and a five minute walk from a trout healthy river and plenty of flat fertile land. It must have been paradise then, it still is in many ways.

I’m liking New Mexico, the relaxed atmosphere. In that spirit, I am off and out of this coffeeshop (its so hard to do these updates while travelling, its such a break from the action but well worth it…).

I updated the pictures page, check it out, take care…

L & K

We had such a good time at our last campsite at Rose Canyon Lake that I was actually sad to leave it this morning. It was a nice short temporary home, and the pine trees were soothing with the wind rustling through them. We spent the day at the lake while the fishermen tried their luck at the many many fish that appeared in the shallow clear waters. At night we played uno and had huge bonfires, enjoying the warm evenings and the solitude.

I don’t have any pictures to post right now, but Will have some of tucson soon.

We are headed toward Silver City, New Mexico today, to camp out by some Gila Cliff Dwellings. Should be interesting. Very intersting, and then in a couple of days, carlsbad caverns, roswell? and onto Austin.

Hey there. I’m in a cafe called Epic Cafe in Tucson, near the University here. It is eery how similar this town’s kids and art scene seems to be to Portland, ambitious, driven, and yet still a small city. But its nice. The weather is nice too… SUN SUN SUN. Today we’re heading out to find some neat thrift stores, take pictures of Airplane Graveyards, and find a campsite in the mountains nearby.

Last night we found ourselves staying at the fabulous 😉 Flamingo Hotel on the strip outside of town. NEat sign, nice old movie theme, each room had old movie posters all around it and a theme, a LOT of westerns apparently were filmed here back when Cowboy and Indian flix were the big new thing. My favorite quote from the poster on the way to our room was “Hombre means man, and Paul Newman is Hombre”.

So I’m still catching up obviously, but I hope that this brings you closer to us in our travels. We are full of life and having a great time. Our next stop is… uh, Roswell ? New Mexico, and then, uh, Austin? We’re not sure right now. The sun is getting to my head, in a good way. Encourages a slow down certainly.

So anyways, I am still writing out the larger panorama of the trip which you can read below, the next part. I hope to repolish all of this writing and pictures and put it into an interesting book. I admit, its rough right now, but with some time I will be able to hopefully make the trip live up to what it feels like… to some extent.

Also, I have more pics HERE, enjoy!

In short San Luis Obispo, while charming, kind of left us with something to be desired. Or probably more precisely, we had some really high expectations for it. It is more or less a peaceful college town, with prevailing frat party atmosphere. The time we spent at our campsite was ideal, long afternoons on the beach, making mobiles and painting, eating grilled salmon off the campfire. We spent two nights at a simple but tantalizingly close to the ocean site called Montana De Oro. And then we headed south again.

Our initial impression of Santa Barbara was fantastic, wide streets with people walking everywhere, our first palm trees, and sun everywhere. It doesn’t take long there to realize how well off the general population is. Grandparents dye their hair and wear designer jeans, and the fancy shmancy restaurants line State St, the main strip of the town. There is plenty to check out on foot in the area, my favorite city park so far being the coy ponds there. Its a fantastically landscaped small park with a living pool, surrounded by palm trees, grassy areas and native plants. We sat on the edge of it and watched the turtles bask in the sun and even approach us, hungry for treats from human friends. The coy fish in the pond are huge and peaceful. We could have stayed there for hours.

Our home-base was about 25 minutes northeast of town at a charming 50’s style county campground called Lake Cachuma. It sits around a dammed lake, with hundreds of oak tree lined simple campsites. There is a general store there, and a marina, and its the kind of place that feels like it has had its heyday, a kind of destination for RV living, with plenty of family campsites. Our site sat just at a spot where you could watch the sun set over the placid lake, with a tiny little trail winding down to some good sitting rocks. The only hindrance was the wind, in the time we were there it was constant, strong and persistent. We cooked and talked and set up tarps in the wind, anticipating rain at any moment, but it passed us by. We stayed a record three nights there, just kind of taking in the area and slowing down a bit. We didn’t want to hit LA during the weekend, when hotel rates were considerably higher. So on Sunday morning we set off, down 101, and the Pacific Coast highway, cruising in California traffic past surfers setting off into the crystal blue waves, and into the jungle that is the outskirts of LA.

Both Kate and I had pretty much negative preconceptions of what LA was all about. We both kind of saw it as a gigantic parking lot, swarming with crime and superficiality. We were wrong, thankfully. LA is not as ugly as Northern Californians would like to think it is, the burghs that we saw, Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Santa Monica, and Venice are all shaded with trees.

The biggest surprise for me personally was Beverly Hills. I half expected to see bleach blonde plastic surgery victims walking chihuahuas and talking on cell phones, but there was none of that to be seen, though it may go on behind the massive gates of the massive houses in that rightfully famous neighborhood. We drove our ever modest camping mobile around the winding hills looking in awe at not only the ridiculous mansions, but kind of reveling in how actually pretty it was, and how, hey, if we had a spare ten million dollars to spend on a small house, that would be a good place to do it.

In the evening we found ourselves in Santa Monica, and walked the busy pier their, while the ever bustling crowds swarmed everywhere around us. It was sunny and 74 degrees outside, the breeze was light, and it was gorgeous. It was living up to the stereotypes, but in a good way. We spent the late evening in an outdoor seating bar named Bugsy’s along the 3rd St. Promenade, a really nice pedestrian walk area where extremely talented street musicians entertain the wildly diverse crowds walking around the warm night air.

Hey there. Update: In Flagstaff, Northern Arizona. I got sick while carousing in Las Vegas, and am still recovering, bitter that I have to take it so slow. We’re staying an extra night in a budget hotel here, in hopes that I’ll be feeling peppy again. Its just as well in a way, it was snowing in Flagstaff as we got in, and we thought we were going to be camping.

I’ve got some new pics, that I’m about to post, and a lot of stories to tell.

Since the last update, wow, so much has happened, breezed down through Santa Barbara, L.A., Joshua Tree Natl. Park, Las Vegas, and now Flagstaff. I’m trying to write it in this interesting manner, but geez somehow I just can’t write when ill, which is too bad, because Hotels are great for that kind of thing. Perhaps I’ll try again tonight.

The weather is looking bad all the way through next week for any semi northern route at all, mainly to Santa Fe, Taos area, which we were both looking forward to seeing very much, so we may have to cut south, through tucson. Its too bad really, we’ve actually had a rough week, in terms of the small details, travel wise. Otherwise, everything is great.

link to pics:

http://www.lukejanela.com/images/trip photos/trip photos.html

I’ve figured an easy enough way to post new pics from the road. Check out for updates here, and go direct to my site. lukejanela.com

04212005 its 902pm

Yosemite got to be getting full just as we darted out of there. We snapped the last tourist pictures and bid goodbye, just as, at the entrance station to the park, a line of 50 or so cars waited to get in for the quick weekend in Yosemite, the first real campable weekend of the spring.

We were heading back to familiar territory, the Bay Area, where my brother and a few friends I know are stationed, and where I had spent a few weekends over the winter showing up to play shows in little cafes. We had vowed to do the tourist thing though, North Beach and Chinatown, maybe even Fisherman’s Wharf, snapping pictures gleefully the whole time and compiling footage for our great road trip movie.

The heart of San Francisco is so vagrant and eclectic, it is impossible to sum it up in a few descriptions. North Beach is such a genuine if touristy neighborhood proud of its Italian heritage and beatnik heyday. And Chinatown is its own universe of swirling colors and neighborhood type ancient Asian men leaning over vegetables as little kids wind their way around.

It was brilliant, but we kind of hit a shrill note when we realized that staying at my brother’s apartment in the Mission District of the city was not as easy as letting him know we were in town and ok, great, here is a place to stay. We decided not to burden him with our young roadtrip and headed out of the city south, determined to find camping along the coast, between SF and Santa Cruz.

We were optimistic, but the evening shadows grew longer, and our plans got less and less ambitious, the first two (and only on the map) campgrounds were packed full of the weekenders, and there was not a single site to be had. We sat on the hood of the truck in the now darkening sky and discusses our options, and decided to push East to one last option, which turned out to be the only, a county park also nearly full and compensating for any empty spaces by the amount of rowdy partying going on around us, all night. The highlight of the campground was pulling into our site, and promptly witnessing the neighboring campers attempting to get their fire going by pouring white gas on their smoldering coals. Of course the line of gas lit up in the drunk young man’s hands, and in fear he threw the can onto the ground. They then attempted to put the fire out with water, and by hovering around the now ready to blow gas can. I kind of grabbed my blanket from the truck in a reluctant haze and walked quickly over.

“Smother it, you’ve got to smother it.” I said, frustrated. I threw the blanket over it and walked away. “You can bring it back to me in a while. DON’T lift it off anytime soon” I was very tired, it had been a long day. 7.5 hours of driving. 10 hours on the road.

***

The plan for a place to stay the next day was clear, and we were exc ited, for we would be staying in a friend’s house, and friend’s houses have showers (and of course, dear friends).

Our luck had kind of faltered with the whole of the evening before, but we were determined, in our sleeplessness, to make the day a full one.

Santa Cruz was familiar territory for me, I spent my formative college years there, grand and crazy, busy and alive. I had left it with sour memories of a relationship gone south, but I had let go of that by the time we rolled into town, and as we cruised past all my old houses and dorm rooms on the tour of my past I kind of felt a nonchalant detachment from it all, which was refreshing. I just knew where the streets went, and the cool places to get coffee, and where to sit and watch the sunset.

We spent the afternoon taking in a concert by friends of friends which happened to take place in the UCSC hall that I had played many concerts before. It was interesting, very interesting in fact to see that quite a few of my former classmates were there at the concert, still hanging out. Its very easy to do that in Santa Cruz, and its a good life there, which, though its hard to explain, is why I had to leave there in the first place. Seeing all these people in the same place made me feel at peace about the whole thing, no matter which path you take in life, perhaps its just happiness that should be the guide. I was glad to say that I had lived a different life, in Europe, Portland and Mendocino, and that coming back was like coming back to a new world again.

Our idealistic visions of the extended bathing sessions were kind of smashed by the reality of college roommates partying with 24 packs of Pabst (ah college) and blasting punk rock from the paper thin walls right by our temporary bed. The encore was drunken audible sex , extended showers and lights left on, windows left open. Again, we were nearly sleepless.

In the morning, with the Santa Cruz light streaming through the window, we groaned out of bed and packed resolutely and quickly, out the door in less than ten minutes, off to greener pastures, on with the adventure.

We zoomed down Highway 1 to Monterey, towards the Aquarium there, which we had been planning to see and talking about going to for months. We finally made it, and shelled out $20 bucks to wander around the sharks and jellyfish in a meditative state broken up by the throngs of children, even more captivated then we were.

In the early afternoon we grabbed the compulsory tourist Clam Chowder from the bustling fisherman’s wharf, and then headed south, looking for the perfect campsite to call home for the night.

BTW –

its the 20th of April now, and we are finding ourselves in San Luis Obispo, downtown, camping out near the beach. I’ve got some catching up to do in my story telling, hopefully it will all be up here soon. Until then, the plan is tomorrow to head to Santa Barbara, and then LA, for a day, and then up to Joshua Tree National Park.

Wish us luck

Kate Painting At Mirror Lake

Vernal Falls From Above

Yosemite Falls From Afar

Kate With New Friend

we woke early enough and had a modest breakfast of leftover hummus from the night before, the portion that the bears didn’t get to, and some coffee. Coffee is always magical on camping mornings. I talked to the ranger about getting a better campsite, but realized it was such a busy weekend it wasn’t even worth trying. It was to be a hectic day for the rangers, and by the time we hit the trail towards vernal falls, you could see why, the modest trail was like a pedestrian freeway. I had never seen so many people on a hike before, and the crowds only increased. This is definitely a par tof the modern spectacle that is yosemite.

The rivers flowed around us with a spring rush and roar to them, and the hike uphill was accented by stretches of warm sun, not unbearably hot but smooth and even sun.

The hike was much more extreme than we had expected, and still the crowds were there. It was well worth it though, up past the misty rocks, up and up and up steep stairways in the stone with railings holding you from falling a couple hundred feet, cool mist nice on the skin. At the top, the smooth rocks melted toward vernal falls, where the vista down into the valleys, ancient and glacial, was incredible. It was a relief and satisfaction to be standing there at one of those spots you peered in awe at from the Valley floor. We found a perfect flat rock to hang out at, next to a very shallow run of the river, where it rolled steadily into Emerald Lake. Another waterfall fed the smooth shallow run from above. When I hiked up to that one, to the bridge that ran across it, I took some pictures of Kate painting on the rocks. Zooming in as far as the camera would go, i captured her in the viewfinder, and then as I zoomed out and took more pictures, I realized the complete and confounding immensity of the little scene we had found so humble and pleasing.

We spent a good couple of hours up there, where Yosemite breaks you heart in its beauty. I napped warmly on the smooth rocks, and daydreamed with little else but a certain peacefulness to caress my senses. At this point up, I began to admire my fellow Yosemite crashers, and the endurance they had shown to appreciate the place from where we were, caravans of little kids, old and young alike, appreciating the grandeur that makes all the Yosemite hype worth it.

We blissfully skipped down the trail, much easier going down of course, brushing past other hikers and kind of enjoying our youthful abundance and freedom.

When we got back to the campground, it was clear that it was to be a full house, and a busy weekend indeed on the valley floor. But we didn’t stay there long. We made a bit of coffee, rested a little and then embarked on another, shorter hike back up to Mirror Lake. The night before had filled me with a certain reverence for the place, and I wanted to spend more time by it.

We sat on the river bed beneath Half Dome and just let the time slip away, Kate painting some more and me reading my books, and trotting about taking pictures.

The pinnacle of the camping experience may be for some the complete absorbtion into nature while sipping ice cold canned beer and eating canned chili. For me it is different, and I don’t know yet what it is… but I felt a great thrill last night to be sitting on top of a giant boulder overlooking Mirror Lake, truly the only humans in the world, Kate and I out there and awake at all.

Kate was finishing her beer and suggested that we walk unarmed and unaware of where we were going by the faint moonlight of a setting quarter moon. “Great” I of course said.

So we walked a bit trotted some throguh the almost sickly thin pines of the campground, over a ghostly quiet bridge, and a long the rushing roaring Tenaya Creek. Eventually the roar hushed down, and we were left to sit in solitude above the water so still that the stars were reflecting. Above us, Half dome mightily caught every last drop of moonshine, and the snow on its rim sparkled pure white.

Yesterday was of course, The Day. My birthday. And so symbolically we had been planning to take off on this epic trip for two months now. And its been all waiting.

And in the final days it was all packing. Pack the bags, the lanterns, the towels, the stove, the mattresses, the jackets socks shirts the flashlights batteries. And then take them all out and repack since they dont fit all that well. And then get all stressed out about it becaues you are subconsciously thinkking the whole trip will be a disaster inevitably because you will die in the woods attempting to camp. from a truck.

Yesterday I woke up, showered, made coffee and packed. As opposed to the previous three days where I woke up and packed. Its just finding places for things. Kate rearranged food boxes, containers were shed, and a certain sense of ‘fuck it’ just kind of creeped in. And I went with it. We’d be alright. Its a camping trip not the end of the world.

The leaving is the best part of driving. Cruising down 80 East going 75mph just to keep up with the big rigs riding your tail is a glorious feeling.

Wow. Last day of being 26. Day of departure for road trip. All in all, things are pretty surreral for me right now, I’m anxious.

The truck is all packed. Everything from velcro to batteries to tylenol to long johns.

today I leave Hopland, and head for Auburn, and then tomorrow, Kate and I leave for Yosemite, where we have reservations for a couple of nights.

At this point, having the last two weeks at home with my parents has probably been the best thing, I’ve spent every single day of it preparing for some aspect or another of the trip. Yesterday I made mosquito netting and curtains for the back of the truck where we will sleep. Today before I leave for the road I am going to polish and shine the truck.

O dang I forgot to back up my hard drive… and, o, I have to call the insurance company… o, all these things before leaving. I had better get off the computer and get serious.

This is our home for the next many weeks:

I think that my mind is going through pages and pages of code trying to decipher something that may or may not be anything… I’m frazzled lately, unable to focus in many ways, and, as the potential cure, unable to sleep very well at all. I awaken at the very first sign of light in the morning, and then I struggle to get enough sleep (having gone to bed at o, 230 the earliest). So that’s that.

Last night, Blue Danube, once again, but kind of highly affirming in many ways. Had a great conversation there about kind of not only sticking with the music, but also not allowing yourself to discount the talent and reality of it, which I have been doing too much of lately.

That is why a refreshing change of scene would be ideal.

And that is why I’m having agreat time at my parent’s house, relaxing, not thinking about much… scarily, at all.

I’m sitting in the blessedly awful Coffee Critic of all the stupid places in the world, catching a Giants game on the TV after driving from Auburn to Ukiah High, in a dire effort to get my brother Sam his tennis racket, for a match that was cancelled. So all in all, pretty classic, in a NorCal way.

Ukiah has this magnetism, a strange backwards magnetism that creates a vortex of strange crossings and paths. And wow the town is the same, the random alterna loner, the smitterings of just like, S L O W E d down 40 + men and women, and of course the bubbly high schoolers just sort of eternally killing time.

And the Giants are winning, which redeems everything in a small way.

In news, the show on Sunday was, well, to say the least, akward… I had broke a cello string and my whole set was based around my newer cello songs, but of course, it being Sunday afternoon I was unable to find a string anywhere in Northern California. So I get to the Edinburgh Cstle, which is this danky bar, the best diver bars that there are, dirty loud, packed with hipsters who haven’t showered for the weekend. I had an awful set personally, but I have to thank everyone that was there, because they didn’t make me feel it that way… They were super supportive and appreciative, even when my guitar strap broke mid song and the sound was all off and everything. I’m not even mentioning yet the best part of the gig for me, which was Ayla Davila sitting in, learning three songs in like, three seconds, and making them sound a lot better than I would have that night on my own.

The rest of the night was kind of beautiful in my kind of way… A 3 hour drive North leaving at midnight, to Auburn, CA, where my girl Kate is temporarily staying with her parents, who are fantastically good to me. I love driving 8 lane freeways when i’m the only one on them at 230am. Its a beautiful feeling of freedom. I listened to M.I.A.‘s new album, John Vanderslice, and just slowly careened along happily… Happier still to see Kate, whom I have missed a lot these few days that we’ve been apart… its interesting how in depth you get with a person living with them very closely for a year. I think its a good sign that after all that closeness and time, we didn’t get tired of eachother… we still miss eachother. This trip we are taking is going to be brilliant.

So that’s that for now… in short, a lot of things going on in the past few days. I’m getting ready for a show in SF on Thursday night, at the Blue Danube. I’ll have to go find a cello string now…

You all should check out my brother’s photography sites… the work is great, and its updated regularly. His work amazes me, he manages to make it look easy.

petegeniella.com

I’m sitting in a corner in the cabin with a bare bulb lightling the now empty room. This is the last night in the cabin, our Eden for the year, my perfect little home for the perfect amount of time. Its of course bittersweet. I am thankful for how satisfying this place has been for us. I hope that the next place I live is as cool and cooler than this. I am thankful for Kate, so many amazing days and nights just living the right way.

I’ve spent all day clearing the corners and packing the camping gear. Last minute details. Its been hard, truly, listening to loud music all day to help me get through. Catching the sunset in Mendocino the wind on the headlands was so strong that I couldn’t stand up against it. To see a year go by, and pass, like a single day. I have this feeling that I am onto better and bigger things, and so I’m not worried about it in the end… this trip is the kind of spark you need to ignite things in your life I think.

And so I won’t miss it… and I mean that I won’t miss it in the sense that, of course I will think fondly on the people and the setting, and will urge myself to always live in a way that is similar to what we started out here… but you can’t spend your life missing things. Its better sometimes to pick up, let the bridges fall behind you and accept that it is not your responsibility to nurture the sanctity of your cherished places and times…

‘the falling of the past, the raising of your mast. Its all right’.

Moving as you may know, is not fun

But nonetheless, I take part in it everyday for the last week or so, sweeping, moving, being sad, being glad et cetera. At this point its just super surreal and I wouldn’t mind getting it over with.

Its making me tired.

Plus Kate is leaving tomorrow and its all too huge to even really think about. So at this point I just pretend like I’m busy and push forward. Like most people.

I met up with my brother Nate today in Montgomery Woods, which is approximately halfway between where I’m living and Ukiah, where I was living. Its too bad I haven’t visited it much since living here, it is still astounding, and for me a great source of peace and quiet.

When I was in High School and College I would go up to Montgomery Woods every week or so, sometimes with friends in the middle of the night at the full moon, sometimes by myself when I needed to think. It was like church to me, or the only true church I’ve had since that age. It is an amazing place, that no matter what was troubling me I could walk out of there feeling enlightened and ready to take it all on.

I talked with Nate alot about college and the future and whatnot, jobs… the stuff you think of all the time but never quite have answers for. Nate is doing really well and I think he is on the right path: working really hard and creating opportunities for himself by pursuing adamantly his goals. Me, well, I hope the same can be said for me. Anyone who knows me well knows that music, and hopefully MY music is the key and the goal to future prospects. And anyone even those who don’t know me know that it is tough to make a living as a musician. I know this. I am aware, nonetheless, I keep pulling for it, and I keep trying to make a more amazing album than the last, and to push it as much as I can. Could something happen there…? Yes, and it will on some level.

Anyways, the trees in the main grove of Montgomery Woods look like this:

and there were so many wildflowers out, one orchid looking one looked like this:

it was nice. I feel peaceful now. Thanks Nate.

Up at our house it is bright and light again, for the first time in months not soggy and dank… Its nice. In the evening a couple of nights ago it looked like this:

and the view towards the ocean through the trees was like this:

So, yes, it is hard too be letting go of this place when it is getting to be SO beautiful again, but at the same time its amazingly exciting.

I fixed up the back of my truck with a bed and storage cupboards for our roadtrip. next is to rig a tarp tent set up that will reach from the back of the truck outward, so that we have some privacy to change clothes and whatnot, and a place to hang out in the rain. Its pretty neat. I’m loving my truck right now.

Online, well, not a whole lot of action out there. Pitchfork is a decent place to look at some music info for indie type bands if you are into it. I’ve been listening to and enjoying Enon lately, just ingenuitive and somehow not trite and boring like too many ‘alternative’ bands these days. Still too, AFI is well, what it is is that everytime their music comes on I want to listen to it… unlike most other music, I just flip through so easily.

Back from another show in the city, this one at a small little place with excellent ambience called Epic Arts. A few of my friends that I haven’t seen in years and was really happy to see showed up and that was good. The sound was great, the other performers were on it, and all in all it was a good gig. I feel like I’m reaching a peak with my performance, especially with the whole cello/singing thing. Its coming together, finally able to get the sounds out of my cello that I want, and to be able to sing marginally in tune is nice too.

The day though yesterday was LONG, and in the longest kind of way. Scissors my kitty decided to wake me up and keep me awake at 430am, and of course knowing that I had a show that night I kind of did this non reverse psychology to get myself to sleep which didn’t work. I kind of had one of those nights that is similar to a fever dream, where you incessantly think about your life and where it is all going et cetera et cetera. And all these thoughts just seemed so much… leaving on the road trip, leaving everything again, needing change… not knowing what comes next. Not wanting to serve tables, yada yada the same old thing that everyone knows about.

Today we cruised around Berkeley a little bit and had a nice time of it, being in college land and then up through Napa, which I imagined to be a lot better that it actually is… kind of disappointed, I had no idea how bloated Napa has become, whatever charm it is supposed to have I feel has been swallowed by an odd mall culture. O well.

Geyserville and a few of the other stops along that amazing road 29North and 128West are still charming and the scenery is just fantastic this time of year, with all the trees starting to come alive again.

It was such a long drive, but again, nice to come back to Mendocino and call it home… for now. I think we still want to live here if we can find a decent place to live that is more connected to community. To be able to walk to the grocery store, and the post office and the ocean would be fantastic. But we’ll see, we’ll see what else is out there in America for us.

So that’s not all that interesting, and I don’t have any cool links to sites or anything right now, except the lastsoundofsummer which made note of my instrumental album being up and sent a bunch of people to the site, which made me kind of gleeful. In one day 400 songs were downloaded from my site, which is a lot, to me at least.

Or something along those lines. I don’t know what it is that would cause an epiphany but I believe there is a cause for one out there.

I’ve been down the past couple of days, just the blues, the mid February, the change, the uncertainty, the dwindling funds, the feeling of stuck…

I’m having such a hard time booking shows which is what I think saps my confidence the most right now… I want obviously to do my music for a living, and if I can’t even get some live shows lined up, how am I to effectively promote? I wish that my CD would land in the right hands or whatever, or that I had that insight into what I need to be doing better, more effectively. I know that I am working hard, but perhaps not efficient enough.

SO, big news for us is that the road trip is absolutely on. We will not be moving into the house that I mentioned earlier, last post, because of a lot of reasons, mainly that it was too temporary, and too much money to pay for a temporary house for a month that we won’t even be there. And we’ve given notice to our current landlord. And I’ve told my job I’ll be gone for a month at least.

So if I can get some gigs for at least the West Coast part of the trip, I think i will feel very good about the whole thing.

Its not a question of IF, I will dammit.

O, and I should be raving about this, that my instrumental album “You Are The Driver” is mixed masterd and done.

Tomorrow I will be posting the whole thing on my site for a week or so of free downloads. And then when I’m done with the trip and whatnot, I’ll get it on iTunes and print a few CDs. I’m listening to it right now and I’m really happy with it, I’ve never heard an album like it… in the sense that it is blending these worlds of classical and electronic pretty well… taking acoustic sounds and manipulating them into a new thing… its neat. Its like Godspeed You Black Emperor on E and Red Bull, but not as lame.

Or something.

And sometimes you just go for it. I’m thinking we’re moving out of our cabin here soon… Staying in Mendocino, but looking for another place to live, more light, closer to the ocean.

We’ve actually found this really nice place for the Summer, and I think that after much debate we are looking to move there… It has a view of the ocean from high above Mendocino, is about 3 minutes from town, has a huge yard, lots of light, two decks…

Pretty nice actually.

It makes me sad in some way and is actually even hard to admit in this format on the blog, because everything up to now has been about how perfect life is in that little cabin.

But your desires and needs change, and the reality of a situation changes in a New York minute.

Can one pay for happiness? I think honestly, in a sense yes. Especially in this country. And if you can, you should.

Nothing is more important than health and happiness (?)

What do you think?

after wading through the crazies and battling for parking spots, things we dont do in mendocino, we are off to go home.

The show was beatiful, a warm night, my brother and his friends and my friends some driving all the way from ukiah.

And tonight we’ll be in the woods. Giving scissors some company, who we left all locked up with a lot of food for company.

We got to see the aquarium, thanks to T, and all the little ants in the ant display. Maybe pics later, I sure feel like a tourist, espcecially sitting here again in Caffe Trieste.

Onto the road again, into another phase…

No we haven’t found Walnut yet. We’ve hiked in a mile radius around the property, whistelled with different whistles, peered up trees with binoculars, put up flyers, put an ad on the radio and no go.

Its a loss because it means Walnut is hurt or was hurt or is at very least afraid and lost. Its a loss because I miss her every day and night. Its a loss because she was really representative of our new idyllic life… happy, sweet. I’ve never had something so precious and to have her just disappear… it makes me scared.

On the homefront we are both trying not to be ridiculously obsessed with it. I just finishd the mixes for You Are The Driver. Which I am considering calling something else. “Eskimo” maybe. or something like that. I think that I will release it under a moniker, “Drama Club” is to be the name of my electronic ‘band’. Or whatever. Who cares.

I do. I’m thinking so much on my music career. I hope I have the guts to do everything possible to get my stuff out there. Its hard to do… and its a lot if not everything about confidence, and the vision you have of yourself. Sometimes I get this hint of a vision of myself as this brilliant electronic/rock/songwriter/classical/composer/artist/photographer/carpenter person who is a visionary and held to his path and never waivered. Sometimes I feel like another dumb 20 something trying to not waste his time. I mean, is everyone like this to some extent? Is this stuff I’m creating, putting more hours of my life into than ANYTHING else, is it good enough? Et cetera. Thoughts like this on and on in the winter. on and on.

So I’m going to watch Harry Potter movie tonight. and drink Makers. next… next is next.

so here i am at the blue danube again, kinda numb really. Excited about playing again, and seeing my brother.

but recently I experienced a loss that hit home and that I kind of want to write about later, but in short, Walnut is missing. And it has been really sad for Kate and I. So send vibes to Walnut to come home.

Just kind of doing a lot of things, making it through the January. I got some stickers from cafepress today and I’m into to giving them at my show next Thursday the 27th. I love having packaged copies of Blue Star available to send out to the world, and am trying to maximize my efforts there.

I’ve never been the type (for some stupid reason, modesty, insecurity?) to just mail out my CD to everyone in the world and hope that someone cares. I know its not the most practical strategy, but it always seems like that is how it happens for some people, the initial connections at least. I can’t for the life of me really think of any record labels nowadays that consistently put out music that is along my lines. Maybe you have some ideas there.

The interesting world of Mendocino moves along. All is well and not well, change hangs in the air. I would certainly hope that I get it all together to go on our much anticipated tour/road trip this April. I know that we are needing a dose of both inspiration and the real world. (whatever that is)

ESA Portal – New images from Titan

I’ve been watching ‘From The Earth To The Moon’ for the past few nights, and it is amazing to think about how inspired we can become by the exploration of the world. This kind of thing is so exciting to me. Check out the audio samples of what it sounds like to fly through Titan’s atmosphere. Its not very wow inspiring, but you can imagine being there and realize that humans sent a spaceship there and feel pretty neat about the whole thing.

Austin Booth

My friend Austin has some nice pictures on his site right now. You should check it.

For days it has been raining and raining. About an hour ago the sun came out for the first time in a long while. It was like a rush of endorphins for me. I had been huffing and hauling wood down the hill to my cabin and then chopping it up and then stacking it and I got all out of breath and then I noticed the sun shining. Very nice.

Crazy storm patterns though, interesting enough if you think about climate change.

It makes me mad in the end that there was no warning system for the tsunami that has devastated SE Asia… it makes me mad that something so crucial and preventable was overlooked. We can learn a lot from this, or we can just be sad about it.

I’ve been honestly trying to detach myself from the news in general lately… its (as usual) so depressing.

Yes its great that ONE senator had the… oh the GALL to question the Bush regime election TACTICS, but, ONE?! and really, once again, as in “Rathergate”, doesn’t this seem a bit misdirected, the blame? Thank you Karl Rove, I suppose. And thank you, fellow Americans, for your willingness to cooperate.

I feel American, but I suppose in the more traditional way: loving my freedom, glad to have the rights that I have, glad to live in THIS country frankly. But not in the modern way: I’m not proud of the limp and lukewarm passions that prevail, not proud of the roll over and let it pass attitude that most people maintain (for sanity of course)…

I think that the United States is a great country, I think that there still is not a better place to live your life in the world… but we’re kind of like prescription drug addicts, together, as a collective consciousness, oblivious to the roots of our problems, and obsessed with the symptoms.

Before the year ends, I am putting, right now, a last song up for downloads from my instrumental dance/classical album YOU ARE THE DRIVER. So you should check that out: at my site, here.

I wish I had time to write a big retrospective of the year, if for myself only, not to bore you but just to kind of sum it up. But in short, this has easily been the best year of life for me, and I look forward hungrily to 2005. The big world is still crazy and messed, but what can I do or say about that from here? Just living the best… et cetera et cetera. I suppose if you’ve been reading all along you get the point.

So I will have more to say, happy new year!

dot dot dot

It flew by so fast, and I am back near the ocean.

My only regret is not being able to spend more time with my family… it was really great to talk and catch up with my many aunts and uncles, to see my Grandma, kick it with my brothers, even see Kate’s family briefly.

I always feel this intense self examinatory period after being with family, I suppose its because I incessantly talked about what I am doing with my time, and even I have to listen and think about what exactly I am up to.

One thing that I realize is that I am ready to be done with the retreat like repose and take the music career more seriously. Even though I’m bubbling over with material, I’d like to focus on my live shows, get my gear that I need and work on the overall presentation. I listened to BLUE STAR again on the way home from Ukiah, along with Sing The Sorrow, (AFI),, and I decided that it needs more promotion, even though I am WAY over it artistically. The sound engineering by Keith Feigin is just, I mean, I listen to a lot of stuff and with this album he did such a crystalline job. It really is a bit of a triumph for me, and I hope for him too.

I have had revelations that the thing I really miss most about Portland, besides my friends in general, is the band. Not just a band, but THE band. And other than that I don’t really miss much.

The sun is starting to peek out. I need to run some errands and then I think I might start a hot fire and record some music.

Happy to say that my feelings on the whole Christmas thing are better now… especially since I got my brothers, who are a major pain in the ass to get presents for mind you, some good gifts.

I took some photos to put on christmas cards that will never be sent, but I figured I’d post them here, taken with a long exposure and a flashlight.

i don’t know why

maybe its because i just don’t know what to get people. maybe its because i have made no $$$ this month. maybe its because its just not what christmas used to be about.

me and my brother would start planning christmas eve about two months in advance. we would draw up elaborate plans for the purchase of piles of candy, to be consumed as we played rented video games. we would draw maps of the house and work out ways to sneak out and catch santa (or watch mom as we got older). it went so far as to know which boards in the hallways creaked when you walked on them, and practicing ways to walk ninja like out.

i still have the journal we kept from one christmas eve, i must have been 9 or 10, and we did checks every 15 minutes, with status reports, notes on how many presents, what the current mom situation was, where we hid out. et cetera. we wished we had walkie talkies and we never DID get a pair. we could hardly contain the excitement when it looked like it was time, and mom would go to bed. but she always took her sweet time, sometimes even falling asleep on the couch.

when she finally did go to bed we would wait 2 minutes (we told ourselves it was a half hour) and then sneak out. that moment, the flashlights reflecting off unopened presents, the stockings stuffed full, the crisp cool air in the big living room… it was palpable and brilliant. and then one of us would plug in the christmas tree lights, and their glow added a solemn beauty to the whole scene. we would find the santa presents, written in a mysterious style, all caps and almost… primitive like, FROM SANTA.

also, leading up to christmas we took each ritual very seriously, the hanging of the lights outside, the placement of the ornaments on the christmas tree. tyler let us know of this cool trick where you could lay underneath the tree and stare up into the lights sparkling against the ornaments and be in your OWN world entirely. tyler never had as elaborate plans, mainly cuz his brother was too young to conspire with him, and we always found that to be really strange.

it was cool to make things in elementary school for gifts, the aluminum foil ornaments, the stuff from woodshop that said your name in cursive. it was cool to kind of fall into the advent calendars in awe, and i loved the baby jesus scenes with mini porcelaine statues. it all seemed so magical, and i suppose the distinctive feeling was that these things, these THINGS were actually a place i could go to… somewhere special, only once a year. when christmas was over it was such a let down, even if you made mom and dad keep the tree up until it was hazardously toasted and dry.

i guess this is when people start thinking having kids would be a cool idea… that joy is so much… more exciting than the stuff i’m kind of feeling right now. like, having to beg to get christmas off from the restaurant, but still having to compromise and WORK, can you believe that WORK on that once sacred childhood night christmas eve. and wanting to get people you love things that they really want cuz you do care about them, but kind of remembering a time when what they wanted was something much less simple than an item… they wanted a gift. you gave a gift. you got a gift.

i suppose i am a bit disappointed in myself, as i have been since age 17 or so, for not really feeling the magic as much. i know that i want to, but now i don’t even know if i know how… it scares me. how to fall into a world and live it, and be ecstatic from the fact that that private world exists. i mean, i don’t smoke pot anymore and don’t want to… i used to think that pot did that for me, but pot is a kind of downer, it just is escapism on a non imaginative level.

my childhood was so important to me… i knew it at the time. i hope it doesn’t come back and devour me, how strongly i felt then. i would like to be the same person, and worry less about selling cars and paying bills.

to quote morrissey (and i’m sure i’m taking it out of context) “i’ve seen this happen in other people’s lives, and now its happening in mine”

well, that was depressing. just had to get that out there. i mean, can you relate? am i missing something here? i want more magic. AND i’m really happy to be at this point in my life too, but… do you know what i mean?

Blue Star @ Cafe Press

ok, so along the lines of thinking of my career and stuff i figured i might as well take advantage of the wonderful cafepress. so i’m using other products to promote my album blue star.

while i don’t expect anyone to flock to this and start a hysteria, you gotta admit, the products make for great gifts, that are unique, and that “promote” your friend, the unknown songwriter. and i tried to not be too annoying with the design, so that i would actually want to wear them around.

but i actually will more likely use the bulk discount to affordably do short runs of product for my shows.

nothing makes you appreciate the simplicity of being healthy like lying in bed for two days staring at patterns in the ceiling feverishly and not being able to taste food and not being able to comprehend simple romantic comedies because of your fever.

i got better, thankfully, and then kate got the same sickness, so we’ve just been chilling, being sick.

i felt a lot better today and took a short walk around the house… everytime i take a walk i appreciate where i live SO much, its a kind of paradise. the rain in the redwoods is one of my favorite settings in general, the fogs kind of hang in a misty wonderland, and now that the creek right by our house finally has water, we are surrounded by the sounds of water. its very new age. the creek runs steep down the canyon below us, and there are little pools and waterfalls everywhere. i hiked around our canyon to the next canyon on 15 year old logging roads all overgrown, and found another beautiful little creek, and then came upon a really amazing meadow, all misty and full of mushrooms everywhere. i can’t explain how happy the walk made me, to come back to the cabin as it was getting dark and looking up at our christmas lights glowing so solitary in the middle of the woods, the middle of nowhere. we are very much perched on a steep steep larger canyon, which leads to Big River (thats its name), which, i mean, conservative guess is at least a mile down, and we are only like, 1/4 mile from it, so in other words, steep.

so that’s good. and its good to be in the cabin all toasty right now, both of us feeling better.

i’m not working much lately, which freaks me out on some level because it means i’m broke and soon to be broker, but on another level this has been a good break for me. its a good time to re evaluate what i’m doing for a living. sometimes tough pinches make you decide to make big changes. which i need to do.

so i’d hope to land a better job, or even go back into the freelancing world of design and cello lessons… which can be very gratifying, if unsteady. but a job… i mean, what jobs are there really that i would be into? it seems like everyone around me manages to at least find a decent job at some point… hopefully the same will happen for me, i mean, i’ll do the work and all to get it, but i hope to at least be able to find and see a reasonably stimulating job in this area. that would be… the second to ideal. the ideal, of course would be able to make music, compose and tour. and i need to get my act together in terms of that… i’ve been putting off touring, even a small regional tour here and there, for no good reason except lack of time to put it all together. and so that is what i intend to do with this winter time off…

wish me luck. i might need some come rent time and all that… not that i believe in luck but still…

so i am sick. very very sick. i’ve spent the past two days in bed, complete waste of time, very lame. my head and my chest and my stomach are all about to explode and all in all i’m very tired, and spaced out.

all this probably a combination of two weekends in a row of travels, money and holiday and job worries, not enough sleep, and anxiety about shows. well

get over it, i will

fine

i’m hanging out on a very bright and warm san francisco day, its good to be in the city again, to get that fix for energy that only the city can bring. like, waking up to the sound of traffic and knowing that not only were people up and about, but thousands of people really near to you were out and about.

the show last night was great. jake (the organizer) has no idea how kind he is and how good he is at putting the shows together… it was just a good experience, especially compared to a lot of gigs i’ve had to deal with in the past. i was however, oddly incapacitated all day yesterday by our early rise time, i mean, i could NOT wake myself up all day, and the driving for 3+ hours and the nervous stress that i always get to the extreme every time i play, and the lack of food, and the presence of beer and coffee it just broke me down, to the extent that i wondered if i wasn’t really ill or something. but, no, i feel MUCH better after a good night’s rest at jake’s apartment (thanks! also thanks to tyler and pete and t for offering places to stay).

kate and i are to go out ‘shopping’ today, you know, strolling the streets while holiday music fills the air and i will be weighed down with all the packages and stuffed animals i bought and it will start snowing. although i think its too warm to snow.

so i find myself oddly in the cold confines of a sterile yuppie ish and NICE holiday inn room with my girl watching mtv (first tv watching in months). its interesting

last night o yes, thanksgiving with my family, highly successful and a really great gathering in hopland with members of the fetzer family and a few other families that i didn’t know… lots of good wine, and nice to of course, hang out with my family

more on that, and this

for now, i’m rather obsessed lately with this person music maker “mylo”, again, not the first by any means to discover him b ut if you are into dance electro dj stuff this seems to be innovative and quality to my ears

Mylo:Discography

Mylo’s Record Label

me and kate and the kitties went mushroom hunting today. not the kind of thing that i could’ve predicted i’d be into, but we live in this mushroom paradise where there are SO many around, everywhere you look. so i got an identification book, and we went tripping and stumbling through all kinds of logging roads and thickets and found hundreds of mushrooms.

we don’t eat any yet, but its fun to identify them. we took these home to identify.

the kitties literally followed us up and down steep hills, and through underbrush and everything. they are the coolest cats in the world… they are so loyal like dogs except they don’t drool on you and make huge piles of shit everywhere. i mean, i love dogs a lot, and that’s why i’m into my cats being doglike, don’t get me wrong. o, they also don’t bark.

they were really tired when we got home, we walked for miles.

scissors makes us give her all our money when we get home from work

and then she rolls around in it

also, it is VERY interesting these election results from florida?

i am one who does not buy into hype, but should we expect anything less than absolute lies and fraud from these fucks who are sending my young american peers off to die in a war based on lies?

ustogether.org

my kitty scissors has this really odd habit (for a cat) of lying on her back with her legs outstretched

and something about it is really creepy, but also adorable

our house is really pretty this time of the year. i’ve been working on the property a lot, and everytime i stand in this apple and cherry orchard my head swims with how cool it will be when it is all fixed up

and tonight we sit by the warmed fireplace, holding out for more warm, and a few raindrops drop erratic from the fir and redwood trees down on the cabin roof. kate now mixes paint and draws her straight line rendition of the woodstove, a smoky blue and a blood red mixing.

got back from ukiah tonight, it was my dad’s birthday so kate and i jumped into my truck last night after 3pm, of course wanting to leave at o, 10am, well, whatever, and woozing back and forth curvy curvy the only way to ukiah. usually the though of ukiah depresses me but i arrived and it was kind of um, bucolic, (is that the right word) with a few big trucks, and the south south side of town the thunderbird motel and the airport infused with you know, memory and life or whatever was in between it, joe’s father’s house, the pear sheds, ayla’s house there, dora street, et cetera, nostalgia fumes waking you out of present identity.

right, as if we wouldn’t head straight for ross dress for less. after all, i wanted some designer ass jacket to feel fashionable in knowing wittily that i wasn’t, and kate NEEDED and i stress need some warm snuggly long socks. instead i got a ‘personal grooming kit’ which is, like the iPod, creepy and consumerist of me, (but useful, that electric nosehair trimmer, o so useful) and o, what else did i find, o yes, isotoner gloves, which i admit i bought ONLY because back in the 90’s when steve young of 49er fame was advertising them they were way too exclusive and useless for my high school existence, though i must shamefully, and accentuate the shame here, admit that i had a pair of gloves, rabbit fur lined and all that were my great grandfather’s that i lost. i also lost a pocketknife on keith’s property and i also admit that in the midst of college one of my friends borrowed his tux that fit me perfectly and never gave it back, and of course, me, being who i was back then, too fucking unconcerned to hunt it down. yes i admit it i lost them. and so i bought these gloves, hopefully someday some grandchild of mine will lose them, hopefully they will last the winter.

anyways, point is we oddly devoured this shopping experience, and then it was over that enthusiasm, and so we drove south to my parent’s NEW house in hopland, which, with each visit, is becoming more and more the perfect spot for things to kind of end up, its so beautiful out there, the vineyards, the distant freeway at night, the mist on the hills, the dog, buddy, the bedroom for sam and nate where the old posters and guitars still linger.

it was a good trip, to sum it all up, facing a lot of things, november a good time for that…

i’m really inspired by my family, sam is amazing, nate has discovered this intense new drive, pete is more brilliant than i really ever got a chance to know, my dad becoming you know more healthy, more happy, and my mom ever the shining light.

that’s the bright side, the down side being that whenever i am in the presence of my family i seriously doubt who i AM, like, am i interesting at all, am i you know, completely out of touch? i feel out of touch because i don’t ever talk straight, prefer to listen, except for my music, and except i suppose with my lovely girl, or my best of friends over a serious home run derby game.

by the way check this out it actually is funny, and true: sorryeverybody.com

so, yeah, you know, family= insecurity all that.

whatever.

enjoying the futureheads more, and snow patrol, not into boards of canada right now, into makers mark, and into just, you know, waking up and working and working and working and not really questioning that… meaning, i have come to this realization that when i do the things i WANT to do i just do and do and do and burn both ends of the candle but do not ever complain. and that feels good.

and stuff.

and pop culture, and cool things. and nose hair trimmers, defying the news, painfully, arrogantly free.