Jan. 18th - 9:04PM. Saint Augustine, FL.

We went to the bar because there's a neon flamingo playing a saxophone on the side of the building. We went to the bar because it's just down the street from our house and I felt like having a drink. We knew it wasn't our scene but I'm not sure where our scene is here. I'm not sure it's here to be found. There is no shortage of bars in this town where one could go if they really wanted to hear Sublime while having a drink. At the very least, neon sax flamingo didn't look like the type of place that would be packed with dickhead jocks, which this town has it's fair share of.
The guitar player was rocking a paisley tie-dyed Fender Stratocaster through a Line 6 combo amp. On top of the P.A., which was sitting on a chair just to his right, he had placed a small black light. This brought out the full effect of his custom painted axe. He was dressed head to toe in denim. I wouldn't be surprised if his socks and underwear, briefs not boxers, were denim as well. The solos were drunk, sloppy, indulgent, and awesome. The drummer wore a "Trilby"-esque hat; the bass player a black and white swirls shirt that matched his black and white Fender Jazz bass. It was the true spirit of the mall store "Spencer's embodied in a shirt. You could tell he saw it and just had to have it for gigging. The back up singer, who stood on the floor because there was no room for her on stage, not that the stage was not just a foot tall riser, was dressed like a legal secretary. When she wasn't singing or dancing with the audience she was a playing a P.A. speaker like it was a bongo. She was my favourite. Before they started playing I thought they were patrons, standing around the bar drinking and laughing, loudly conversing.
They opened with a cover of "Second That Emotion" originally by The Miracles. During the outro the lyrics were changed to "I'll rub your ass with lotion". They followed with Stevie Wonder's "Superstitious". Everyone was having a good time, it was the weekend, tear it up. There was the Billy Ray Cyrus wanna-be, new school Billy Ray, not old school Billy Ray, who moments before owning the dance floor had been sitting at the bar with a blond plastic surgery disaster, kissing the top of her exposed breasts. There was the elderly gentleman who i heard telling a group of people how when his wife died he became the "hot item on the block". There was skinny lawyer looking guy with salt and pepper hair. There was bulky zoot suit guy with white shoes in the back of the room. There was girl too cute for guy couple. There was open eyed kissing in the corner totally wasted couple who at one point got ready to go, then decided to stay and dance some more. There were others. It wasn't even 11 but you could tell most of them weren't going to make it much longer. Soon there would be a lot of sloppy sex happening. Billy Ray and P.S.Disaster weren't waiting until they got home, all but fucking right on the dance floor. Heather and I were perplexed at first when we saw them both start dancing with other people for the bands next song, Prince's "Purple Rain". We were perplexed because we didn't understand why anyone else would want to dance with either of them after the gratuitous leg humping session that had just ended. We guessed they were swingers looking to bring a 3rd or 4th party home with them for the evening. When the band started playing Pink Floyd, shaved head with a goatee guy was overwhelmed by everything that was happening, he took out his Nikon and started taking photos of the band. He had to be a part of the moment, he had to document the glory.
I was drinking whiskey and beer, a shot for every bottle. Heather was drinking wine. I felt warm; I felt fondness towards the band. I wanted to talk with them, I wanted to rap about gear, I wanted to let them know that I was also a musician. All of a sudden we were the only people left in the room besides the bar staff and the band. It was time to go. I left with a cd and a business card. What was the band called? I'm not sure. I was told two different names, and the cd they gave me had a third on it. They were "El Toro Loco", "BrokedDickDog" or "Speed Dial: Love", but anyway you look at it they were brilliant. Fuck, I'm not even sure they were real.

Guns N' Roses - Chinese Democracy

The question of whether or not you personally like "Chinese Democracy" is irrelevant, as this is a question of taste, and taste is often influenced by fickle pop culture trends that change with the times. While obviously a different medium, music should not be measured with any different standards (as it always is) than painting, literature or acting. The validity of any art should not be determined by whether or not people immediately understand the artist's vision, whether or not they find it immediately aesthetically palpable.
Unfortunately it is inevitable that "Chinese Democracy" will be measured by all the wrong standards, especially considering the line up changes in the band, the cost and length of time it took to finally see the light of day. Is it better than "Appetite For Destruction"? Where did it debut on the Billboard Charts? How many copies will it sell? Using these points of comparison to judge the merit of work contained in the 14 songs that comprise the album would yield results that are false, as none of these were goals of the artist when creating the art.
A comparison is necessary to understand what I'm talking about so let's compare the two very different paths taken by Guns N' Roses and their contemporary and rival band, Metallica. Compare "Chinese Democracy" to "Death Magnetic". "Chinese Democracy" has been one man's sole focus; one man's vision, his manic obsession, for 14 years. Axl is Captain Ahab, "Chinese Democracy" is Moby Dick. "Death Magnetic" is just another album, another tour in support of said album, just the next marketing campaign in a long procession of album cycles. Metallica needs a producer to give them direction, to tell them what kind of band they should be this time around, to coax performance, and in the case of "Death Magnetic", to help them return to their roots; to what originally made them popular, since their last few albums haven't sold so well.
Axl is his own producer, he doesn't care about returning to his roots, he is moving forward, he doesn't care who believes in his mission. Meanwhile, Metallica grasp at straws, employing a psychiatrist to help them get along together as a band, to help them communicate as people. Axl does not care about communicating. You got a problem? You're out of the band! It's his vision and no one else's. Axl needs a psychiatrist because he has deep rooted psychological issues, he's "fucking crazy". Remember?
Need proof? Just look at him, the way he dresses, the braids in his hair, the way he behaves, tell me this isn't undeniable evidence that he just completely does not give a shit what you or anyone else thinks. He is only concerned with his own self-perception. For fucks sake he hired a guitarist named "Buckethead" who plays with a white face-mask and an empty bucket from Kentucky Fried Chicken on his head. Why did he hire Buckethead? Because Buckethead shreds on the guitar. Metallica are sporting leather jackets this time around, hoping to convey a tough unified Rock n' Roll image, a back to the streets look. Axl is demonstrating the difference between Artist and Rock Star, a trapping that he has transcended. Axl is demonstrating the difference between self-delusion and self-obsession. Metallica are self-deluded. They need to be the biggest band in the world; they crave the money, the critical praise, and the fame. Metallica's think all these things matter and that they will make them happy.
Axl is self-obsessed. All he cares about is his masterpiece, his monument to himself. Think about it, who else is he writing about? Do you think Axl dates anymore? These songs seemingly sung about some mystery girl, do you really think there is one? Axl is singing to himself about himself. He is in love with himself and at the same time hates himself; he is at war with the demons inside his head. This album is a self-portrait. Metallica are paint by numbers. Axl is Van Gogh. Is his self-mutilation not completely evident? Has he not completely isolated himself into a prison of his own paranoia? Metallica surround themselves with 'yes' men who all tell them that they're still the greatest, still the hardest rocking band out there. No one dares tell Axl anything (except maybe Dizzy. Dizzy is probably a total 'yes' man. But let's give Axl the one). Since "The Black Album", their true high water mark, Metallica have kept on shitting out mediocre record after mediocre record, each time hoping they've recaptured the magic they used to have. They're doing it because it's all they know how to do. It is their profession. Axl is lost in his illusions, following the voices in his head. He's doing it because something uncontrollable inside compels him to do so.
So, the question of whether or not you personally like "Chinese Democracy" is irrelevant. The question is how does Axl feel about "Chinese Democracy". You would have to understand "Chinese Democracy" in order to decide whether or not you liked it, and how could you, or anyone else possibly understand this album better than Axl himself? Axl may have killed the whale, but he lost part of himself to the sea in the process.

November 15th - November 28th, 2008.

November 15th - 2:12PM. Driving to Birmingham.

I didn't remember his name, but I knew the face.
"My name's #*&."
With a snide undertone he helped me to remember.
What can I say? The road is long, the road is hard, the road is often times drunk and blurry.
It was obvious that #*& thought I was a jerk and he didn't really care how I was doing, and there was no real point to him asking what I've been up to.
"You should come back to Memphis and play a house show."
It wasn't a statement, it was thinly veiled criticism.
When it becomes obvious that people are not your friends, never were your friends, and you have no interest in building a friendship with them, nor do they with you, why would you feign the interest to do so?
I don't have to remember your name to be a good person. I wish I had that kind of memory, but I just don't.
See #*& it's not that I have anything against playing house shows, it's just that I don't want to play at your house.


November 16th - 10:46AM. Driving to Columbia, SC.

Today is the last day of the Revival Tour. I'm sorry to see it end. I'm truly thankful for the experience. It will be weird carrying on for the next week of shows without everyone else. Chuck's been talking about possibly doing a Revival Tour in the UK sometime this spring. If it happens I want in. Chuck, Ben, Tim, Jon, Digger, Todd, Jill, Jimmy, Matt, thank you for everything.

I wrote a song last night after soundcheck and played it first in my set. I think I'm going to call it "Bob Dylan Dream #12 & 35".


November 19th - 2:08AM. New Jersey.

I like the thought that the lyrics and melody were a gift from my guitars.
I volunteered to go out to the van and get the directions notebook. Once out there I realized I wanted to bring a guitar inside the house to play. But carry both guitars in? That would be a hassle. I started to bring in my Gibson, out of loyalty. I've only owned the Takamine for 3 days. But then I worried the Takamine would be lonely, cold and lonely, so I brought them both in. Once inside I sat down on the floor and wrote a song. I like the thought that the lyrics and melody were a gift from my guitars for bringing them both inside the warm house.


November 21st - 3:18PM. Driving Connecticut.

Kevin Mahon is the only person who has ever broken my heart. We used to be best friends. We used to spend every minute of every day together. When we went on our first tour his parents made me his legal guardian. Since Kevin was under 18 they wanted me to be able to bail him out of jail in the event he should be arrested.
Kevin and I had a musical connection unlike any I've felt before or since. We didn't have to verbally communicate ideas or direction, we both just knew what the other was thinking. If I played a chord progression he knew the beat to go along with it. If he played a beat, the chord progression to match would come to me.
I loved Kevin.
When I was 8 years old I decided that playing music was what I wanted to do with my life. Kevin didn't feel the same way and there eventually came a point in our relationship when he wanted to pursue other interests. I had a really hard time coping with it and felt that if we didn't play music together, we couldn't be friends. I didn't know what to do with the hurt and disappointment I felt. In many ways I acted immaturely and I'm sorry for it.
I'm sorry Kevin.
We've seen each other sporadically over the years; tried hanging out once or twice, had a drunken argument in a bar, shared a couple phone conversations, traded emails, but the exchanges were always awkward and stilted. you could compare it to the way you'd feel talking to an ex-boyfriend or ex-girlfriend. I continued playing music and Kevin followed his interest to Brooklyn, were he now lives. Last time the band played in NYC he came out to the show. We went out drinking afterwards. It was a fun time.
Driving into the city yesterday I texted Kevin on a whim and asked if he wanted to come and play a song with me at the Knitting Factory.
"Sure, want to play a couple?"
It was the first time we'd played music together, been onstage together, in 7 years. Without any more practice than running through the songs at sound check, it felt like not a day had passed since our last show together in Gainesville.
A lot of the songs we played I've refused to play for years, and some fans of those songs have never quite been able to understand. They were songs that Kevin and I made together and their association to my broken heart turned me cynical and jaded towards them.
Talking to Kevin after the show I spilled my guts. I was lit, both on the moment and vodka. I told him that I missed him and that if he ever wanted to play music together again, on whatever terms, I'd love to. Compare it to begging your ex to take you back, that's how I felt waking up this morning, like I had slept with my ex-girlfriend and then begged her to take me back...
but maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it isn't really like that and my metaphors are all off. Maybe we can play music together again someday, for fun, because it feels good. Maybe sometimes I just over think things.


November 23rd - 1:34PM. Driving to Pittsburgh, PA.

Originally we intended to drive for at least two hours after the Connecticut show, make it past the city and find a hotel. I made it about fifteen minutes before deciding I didn't want to drive anymore. We slept the night then drove to Allentown, our planned destination for our day off. I found a much needed Kinko's/Fed Ex, where I was able to send some overdue mail. We found a Target and did some much needed shopping (a new toothbrush and toothpaste). We ate dinner at Carraba's. We got a room at a Comfort Suites. We had drinks at the bar and played mega-touch. We went back to the room, watched "Burn After Reading" (my second time seeing it). We passed out. Today, I'm hungover. My stomach is doing backflips from all the cheap wine. Three more shows this year.


November 24th - Time?. Somewhere outside Pittsburgh, PA.

I'm faced with choice, possibility. I am without a plan. Everything is uncertain. It's time to decide though, the road is running out. Where you gonna go?
I talked with Kevin today about the possibility of playing together again. What would it mean? How would it work? Neither of us are sure. We plan on talking again tomorrow.


November 25th - 12:26PM. Driving to Grand Rapids, MI

"At school you dream, in life you have to make adjustments. You come up against a reality older than yourself, to which you have to adapt yourself. You don't become what you would like to become."

-Bread And Wine
By Ignazio Silone

Today is the last day of tour. Today is the last show of the year. We'll drive to Heather's parents house in Detroit tomorrow. We'll spend Thanksgiving there, and then, when it comes time to leave, we'll have nowhere to go, we'll have anywhere we want to go. I'm anxious to be some place. It won't take much to make me happy, a bed to sleep in, a desk to write at, and the freedom to sing and play guitar without offending neighbors. We have a storage unit full of our belongings back in Gainesville. With the exception of my records, books, photographs, old journals, my grandmother's couch and the $300-400 in rolled pennies, dimes, nickels, and quarters, I could really care less about going back for any of it.


November 26th - 2:42AM. Clarion Suites, Grand Rapids, MI.

Playing tonight I kept hoping that James, Andrew, and Warren would jump onstage out of nowhere and we'd finish the year together.


November 27th - 1:37AM. Grosse Point, MI.

This is my first time visiting the house that Heather grew up in, my first time visiting the neighborhood that Heather grew up in.
We're sleeping in Patrick, her brother's old bedroom, as it has a double bed in it and Heather's old bedroom now has two twins in it.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. A year ago on Thanksgiving I was playing a show in Chicago. Two years ago I was in L.A. recording an album. Three years ago we were on a tour of all 50 states eating dinner in a hotel room somewhere in America.


November 28th - 1:12AM. Grosse Point, MI

After dinner I washed the dishes. I wanted to wash the dishes. I like to wash dishes. I was paid to wash dishes once and I hated it. The soap and water ruined the callous' on my fingers which were necessary for playing guitar. So I quit. I didn't quit in person, I just stopped showing up. They mailed me my paycheck.
It was a classic vision of Thanksgiving, add in the Tofurkey. Sitting at the table I took in the moment. The people surrounding me are now part of my family. This is my wife. This is the person I grew up to become. This is where I am in life. This is what I'm doing. This is where I hope to go. I'm thankful.

" 'All our life is lived provisionally,' he said. 'We think that for the time being things are bad, that for the time being we must adapt ourselves, even humiliate ourselves but that is all just temporary, and that one day life, real life, will begin. We get ready to die, still complaining that we have never really lived. Sometimes I am obsessed with the idea that we have only one life and spend the whole of it living provisionally, waiting for real life to being. And thus time passes. Nobody lives in the present. Nobody has any profit from his daily life. Nobody can say: On that day, on that occasion, my life began. Even those who enjoy all the advantages of belonging to the governmental party have to live by intrigue, and are thoroughly nauseated by the dominant stupidity. They too live provisionally and spend their lives waiting.' "

- Bread And Wine
By Ignazio Silone

October 31st - November 14th, 2008.

October 30th - 11:09AM. Driving to San Francisco, CA.

With my eyes tightly shut, I held onto the neck of my guitar for dear life. I stumbled through chords. I mixed up verses. I played the songs I wanted to play, and then I played the songs people said they'd like to hear. It was a start.


October 31st - 11:50AM. Driving to Pomona, CA.

I felt excitement like I haven't felt in years. The thrill of playing material that's still new and fresh. The thrill of being completely unsure of yourself, of playing with new musicians, of being scared to death. Conceptually this is nothing different than what you've done thousands of times before, but you've been taken out of your comfort zone.


November 3rd - 2:47PM. Driving to Las Vegas, NV.

We didn't end up getting to Tom Whalley's house until after 1AM. The directions were confusing; we got lost on our way there. We had a couple glasses of wine, made a couple introductions, had some quick conversations and picked at the hors de oeuvres. Tom Whalley ended the party at 2AM. No formal announcement was made that the party was over, but all at once everyone knew it was time to go. He has that kind of ability.
I felt bad for going to the party at Whalley's instead of the after show party that Side One Dummy was throwing. I wanted to spend time with my new tour mates, be a part of the team but I've had limited experiences with Whalley and since opportunities to make new ones are rare, I wanted to take advantage of this one. Tom Whalley was a founder of Interscope records, he now runs Warner Brothers. He told me that when he started Interscope it was with the intention of creating a label were artists could be artistically free to do what they wanted.
Heather and I had brunch with Butch, Beth and Bo before heading down to sound check at the Knitting Factory. We went to a place called "Hugo's" in Studio City. I adore Butch, Beth, and of course Bo. While we were eating they asked if we had given any more thought to moving out there to Los Angeles. Being in the city and feeling like you already have the start of a social life reinvigorates the internal argument of where to move.
The LA show was sold out. It was by far the best of the dates thus far for me. I'm gradually feeling more and more confident about my place in the show. I have an immense respect for all of the musicians on this tour. I'm thankful that I was invited to be a part of it.
We left earlier than needed for San Diego. I was hung-over and could have used the extra hour of sleep. However, being that we were early for the in-store performance, we had time to eat before hand. In-stores are usually awkward experiences. Rarely do record stores have any kind of atmosphere suitable for anything other than shopping. M-Theory Records was no exception. I never know where to look when I'm eye level with an audience, so I close my eyes. The turnout was good and I had fun playing. We stocked up on music for the road while we were there, buying the new album from "High Places", "Vivian Girls", "Times New Viking" and "Lady Ga-Ga", all recommendations from Chris Norris.


November 4th - 1:18PM. Driving To The Grand Canyon.

I softly tapped Cheryl Hines on her shoulder and asked if she would mind taking a picture with me. She smiled and nodded yes. I put my arm around her shoulder and she put her arm around my back. It was a gentle embrace from both sides. Heather snapped the photo and then we all went our separate ways. We were standing on Fremont Street, in the old strip, watching a band play a cover of Loverboy's "Working For The Weekend" when Heather pointed Cheryl out.
"Look, it's the lady from Curb Your Enthusiasm!"
Cheryl was with another woman and two small kids. She was dancing with the kids as the band played. When I looked the way Heather directed, my eyes immediately met Cheryl's. She quickly looked away. She realized she had been recognized.

There was no backstage at the venue. I was in a bad mood, I wasn't sure why. While sitting down on a plastic beach chair behind the stage, watching Ben play, a guy came up to me, squatted down in front of me and put both his hands on my left knee as he started talking. I cut him off and pushed his hands off my knee. I told him I wasn't cool with being touched like that. Sometimes it's unsettling to be touched by a stranger. He asked if I would come take a picture with his friend who he said was too shy to ask.
"Sure, no problem."
I followed him over to two girls standing on the side of the stage. I introduced myself and shook both of their hands. His friend didn't want a photo; she looked annoyed with him for creating the situation. He started prodding and pushing, trying to convince her that she did in fact want the photo taken. Anxiety flushed through my body. It was a commotion, he was loud, and Ben was playing four feet away from us. The girl finally relented and we both posed for the photo. The guy started in to telling me about how much he liked my new album, he talked loud and close to my face, his breath was wretched. Then the other girl exclaimed that she wanted a photo. They started arguing about which camera to use and whether or not to take it together. I had to go. I walked away.
"I'm gonna leave now."

I don't feel right. I didn't feel right last night during the show. I didn't feel right standing at the bar afterwards. I didn't feel right driving to the hotel. I didn't feel right lying in bed waiting to fall asleep. I didn't feel right when I woke up this morning.


November 5th - 2:05AM. Flagstaff, AZ. Quality Inn.

I saw the Grand Canyon for the first time today. After walking along the north rim for a half an hour we raced to Flagstaff and checked into a room. We listened to the election results start to come in on the radio, NPR. Sitting on the hotel room bed we watched as CNN called the election in Obama's favor. We watched John McCain concede defeat from the Biltmore Hotel in Phoenix, just down the interstate from us. Then we watched Obama take the stage in Chicago's Grant Park and address the gathered crowd. It was a moment where I truly felt no cynicism.


November 6th - 12:12PM. Driving to Albuquerque, NM.

It's a seven-hour drive from Tempe to Albuquerque. We left immediately after the show last night to knock out a couple miles of the drive. Checked into a no-name motel, in a no-name town about halfway to Flagstaff. I fell asleep without effort. When I got up to play last night my amp started cutting in and out so I played the whole set on my acoustic. I think I may go ahead and do the same tonight. I think I want to try throwing some different songs in there as well. I still don't feel totally confident in my ability as a solo performer. I'm learning how to talk to the audience. I'm learning how to stand as I play.


November 7th - 12:19PM. Driving to Lubbock, TX.

I remember when I first heard Avail, Tim Barry's band. It was the album "4AM Friday". I was 17 years old and about to embark on my first real road trip, driving to Naples, Florida to Success, MO where my father lives. I had stopped in St. Petersburg, FL for a week to hang out with James. While there I had dubbed a couple albums onto cassette to listen to on the long drive, "4AM Friday" was one of them. It still astounds me that they were able to capture that much energy on a recording. I listened to that album repeatedly on my trip and for years to come. I still have the cassette.
With his hat pulled down low, the stage lights casting shadows on his face, Tim Barry is the spitting image of my father. The similarity is most noticeable from the side, around the eyes. I haven't told Tim about the resemblance as I think that might be an odd thing to say to someone who you don't really know.

The show last night was horrible. The stage sounded completely different than it had at sound check. My guitar sounded thin. I felt like I was playing ukulele. The input jack on my Gibson was also giving me a little bit of trouble, cutting in and out.


November 8th - 10:36AM. Driving to Dallas, TX.

We've been pulled over for speeding twice now in the past 24 hours. Once when I was driving, and once when Heather was driving. Both times the Texas Highway Patrol officer walked up to the side of the car, asked for our respective licenses, asked if we knew why we had been pulled over, asked if there was an emergency, and then proceeded to let us off with just a warning.
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't speed in the state of Texas."
The behavior seems completely uncharacteristic of stereotypical Texas Highway Patrol.
We left before the show ended last night, having to be in Dallas today for a 2PM in-store performance, and it being a 6-hour drive from Lubbock to Dallas. Last nights show got off to a late start and we're lucky the show happened at all. Driving into Lubbock I was under the impression that the show was at "Tequila Jungle". About half an hour away from the city Jill texted Heather to say that the show had been moved to a place called "The Foundation". We redirected ourselves. After load in and sound check we went down the street with Chuck, Jill, Ben, and Jon to the least Irish "Irish Pub" I have ever been to where I drank the worst pint of Guinness I have ever tasted. While ordering my pint I overheard a local pontificate bigotry against the country's new president elect. I bit my tongue. Coming back to the venue we found that in our absence a fire marshal had come and shut the show down. The promoter scrambled to find a new venue. The show ended up moving back to Tequila Jungle, which I was happy about. Given the choice, just based on namesake alone, which would you rather play? "The Foundation" or "Tequila Jungle"?
We listened to Ben's new "mini-album", "Last Pale Light In The West" as we drove out of Lubbock. The perfect songs for empty Texas roads.


November 9th - 12:04PM. Driving to Austin, TX.

I wanted retribution. The in-store at Good Records in Dallas was a horrible experience. The performance was plagued with technical difficulties. There was dead silence in between each song. I tried drowning my frustration in sake at a sushi restaurant afterwards to no avail. All I accomplished was making myself tired and thus more irritable. We check into a La Quinta just outside of downtown and promptly fell asleep for an hour. I had something to prove when I got onstage later that evening at The Prophet Bar. Yesterday was my birthday and I was determined to have a good show. I did just that. Heather got me a book of Bob Dylan's paintings, a Crass 7", two bird prints, and a decoupage letter tray with birds on it. She also had a cake waiting for me back at the hotel after the show. I drunkenly blew out the candles. If I made a wish it has been forgotten.


November 10th - 12:07PM. Driving to Houston, TX.

I have another in-store today at 2PM. Tomorrow is a day off. We plan on driving to New Orleans to stay with Heather's father. I plan on sleeping in before we start heading that way. I'm tired, very tired. It was a long day yesterday. The first meal I had was after 7PM. Not having had the chance to eat breakfast or lunch I relied on beer and gin to get me through the show. After playing I had Oliver Peck tattoo Heather's name on my chest, just above my heart, in her handwriting. I've though about the tattoo for a while now and I'm glad to have finally gotten it done.


November 11th - 5:17PM. Driving to New Orleans, LA.

"Check out time!" and the line went dead.
I looked at my cell phone. It was 10AM. With the air conditioner set to "High Cool" I was wrapped in blankets, wrapped in sleep. So much for sleeping in...
Having been told that a lot of hotels were booked up in anticipation of a hurricane that night be heading this way we decided that we wouldn't drive far. Calling around from hotel to hotel we got the same response, no vacancy. The Scottish Inn had rooms. $50 rooms, just on the edge of Houston.
What makes a hotel quality is often misunderstood. A mini-fridge means nothing unless it has a mini-bar inside of it, mini-bottles of liquor, a couple cans of beer, wine, and snacks. HBO is a joke, and the question isn't "Does the room have 'Movies On Demand'?" the question is "How many movies are available on demand?" What's the shampoo like? What color is it? Orange is a bad sign. Is it name brand or generic two in one shampoo plus conditioner? What's the presentation like? HOw are the bottles arranged? Was effort made? How much effort? Are there logos on the towels? How white are the towels? What about the toilet paper? When you check into the room is the end of the roll neatly folded into a perfect triangle? And then there's the wi-fi. Ironically enough, the more you have to pay for wi-fi, the nicer the hotel is. How many pillows are on the bed? Are there different types of pillows? What about the bedding? Is it an actual comforter? And the sheets, how high is the thread count? Is there a restaurant in the lobby? Room Service? Laundry? Business center? Is there a workout room? If so is it more that just a treadmill and an elliptical machine? Is there a water cooler? Towels? A TV so you can watch CNN while you exercise? Continental breakfast? What does the continental breakfast consist of? What time is check out? Are they flexible on it? Do they leave a paper outside your door in the morning? Do they slip the bill under your door to expedite check out? What about a points program? Are you rewarded for staying?
The Scottish Inn was 30 grit toilet paper and stained towels. The ceiling was painted to look like a cloudy blue sky. The door latch could no longer be locked due to multiple kick ins in the past. One of the previous occupants had reheated fast food in the microwave so the whole room stank of McDonald's french fries. I felt greasy. My hopes of sleeping in on this day off had been shattered. We got dressed, loaded up the mini-van and got on the road.


November 14th - 3:25PM. Driving to Memphis, TN.

"Are you bored or isolated?"
"What?"
"Are you bored or isolated?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Well you're back here playing video games..."
"Do you usually go up to strangers and ask them questions like that?"
"Well it's just that you're doing that whole rock star thing lately and..."
I just wanted to play video games. It wasn't my fault that the bar had put the games in the back of the room. What kind of fucking question is that? And do you have to ask it while I'm in the middle of playing a fucking video game? If you absolutely cannot restrain yourself from asking such a dumb melodramatic question can you at least give me a quarter to make up for ruining my game? Fucking jerk.

Oct. 22nd - 8:47PM. Salt Lake City, UT

Everyone was asleep when it happened. I didn't want to wake up. Moments before I was sleeping so deeply. I was annoyed. I woke to the sound of my friends screaming, various expletives, inarticulate gasps, the sensation of spinning, and the sound of crashing inside and outside the bus. My eyes opened to blackness. I immediately pressed my hands and feet into the roof of my bunk as hard as I could, bracing for what I did not know.
When it ended, when we stopped moving, our driver Jeremy immediately started calling out names, one by one, checking to make sure everyone was okay. It wasn't until I got out of my bunk that I realized how completely unleveled the bus was to the ground. We were almost on our side. The hallway was a mess of luggage and bags. The front lounge was an explosion of food items, appliances, and broken glass. I looked out the front window and saw that our trailer was laying on it's side in front of us, the contents now littering the highway. Jeremy was outside trying to push it all off to the side of the interstate. Everyone got out to help. Although we were in a van accident years ago, this is the first time anything like this has happened to us in a bus. I always sleep with my pants on just in case something like this happens so that the last thing I have to worry about in the event of an emergency is where my pants are.
Apparently, around 6AM we were driving west on I-80 when we hit a patch of ice. Jeremy lost control of the bus and we spun out of control. Our trailer broke free from it's hitch (it actually ripped the hitch clear off) and slammed into the front of the passenger side of the bus as we spun, not completely shattering a window, but cracking it and breaking it out of the frame inwards. The rear trailer door flew completely off and most of our equipment, and merchandise (t-shirts, cds, records, stickers, pins) were strewn out along the road. We landed, with the trailer on it's side in front of us, in a ditch in the median of the interstate.
A light snow was falling from the sky and the cold was biting despite the adrenaline. The eastbound lanes of I-80, the lanes most of our stuff was laying in (not the direction we had been driving though mind you) was closed to traffic. The westbound lane was not, and, as we all scrambled in the breaking morning light to gather our gear on the side of the road, a semi-truck hit the same patch ice we had. It spun out of control, narrowly missed crashing into the bus, and slid into the same ditch a couple feet behind us. At this point a couple of emergency vehicles had shown up on the scene and it was recommended that we stay out of the bus. Jeremy ran back in for his smokes. I ran back in for my cell phone so that I could call Heather. Shortly after another semi-truck was driving by alongside a car. It clipped the edge of the semi-trailer that was stuck behind us and swerved into the right lane, pushing the car driving alongside it off into the snowy embankment. Then, further down the road, another truck started jack-knifing. It slid to a slow halt in the middle of the interstate blocking all traffic behind it. Both sides of the interstate where then closed.
The semi behind us was pulled out of the ditch by a tow truck first. After emptying the remaining contents of the trailer out onto the side of the road, the tow truck then flipped it right side up and dragged it out of the ditch. Then the bus was finally pulled out. Jordan caught a ride into Rawlins, Wyoming, which was the closest town, and rented a U-Haul Truck. We waited there on the side of the road, with the interstate still closed, for him to come back so we could load the U-Haul with our battered and broken gear. Andrew and I drove the U-Haul to Salt Lake City with the bus following behind us. We had to cancel the show tonight. I feel drained akin to jet lag. I am glad to be alive. First and foremost I am glad that we are unharmed, safe, alive.

October 1st through 7th, 2008.

October 1st 2008 - 2:03AM. Birmingham, AL.

After sound check I drove around town with Ryan Russell and took some photos, photos for the purpose of publicity. I appreciated getting away from the venue, seeing some parts of Birmingham that I've never seen before. The city has a certain feel to it that I can't quite put into words. It's the sum of many different parts, the type of business' that comprise the local economy, the architecture of the buildings, the local fashion trends and the landscape. As we drive around I silently cursed myself for not having a more photographic memory to take it all in better. After we finished with photos we ate dinner at The Bottletree Cafe. They have an excellent Buffalo Tofu Wrap.


October 2nd, 2008 - 4:08AM. Driving to South Carolina.

Marty was in the (Young) Pioneers, one of my all time favourite bands. He now plays bass with Ted Leo and The Pharmacists. I talked to him tonight for a second backstage. I tried not to punish him too hard. I tried to play it cool. We usually close our set with a song that references his band, which I brought up to him. He said he was aware of the fact. I felt self-conscious singing it tonight, I imagine I will for the rest of the tour.


October 3rd, 2008 - 2:04AM. Hilton Head, SC.

I watched the first half of the vice presidential debate before our set tonight, I watched the full rebroadcast after. I found myself wanting to physically fight the TV every time Sarah Palin said the word "maverick", every time she winked at the camera, every time she opened her dumb fucking mouth. I hate her face. It is her obvious lack of capacity, lack of intelligence that makes me feel like I have to stoop to throwing elementary school level insults at her.


October 5th, 2008 - 2:51AM. Gainesville, FL.

Tonight's show was somewhat lackluster, something felt off. Maybe it was the venue, the House Of Blues in "Downtown Disney". Maybe it was the fact that last night at Jannus Landing was an amazing rush. I couldn't help but measure the two in comparison while on stage.
I am an honest fan of both Future Of The Left and Ted Leo and The Pharmacists. Sometimes I worry that I don't come off to them as such. I feel like I have a hard time projecting sincerity in person. It's a little easier with Future Of The Left. Since we've toured with them before we already have a relationship. I don't know Ted, Chris, Marty, or James, but I love their band.
Everyone except Andy, Emily, and John went home to Gainesville after the show. Heather and I drove back with Jordan and Sarah. They dropped us off at the Holiday Inn. I haven't been in Gainesville since June.


October 6th, 2008 - 1:09AM. Gainesville, FL.

I met Philipe and Jannick at Leonardo's this morning. They came into town to shoot a piece on Gainesville and my EP for Current TV. We had talked about doing it back in September when I was in Montreal. Philipe's idea was that I would give a guided tour of Gainesville, pointing out areas of both personal significance and spots that are of significance to the local scene and he would mix in some of the music from "Heart Burns". We drove around town for about 2 hours. I showed them No Idea Records, Wayward Council, The Civic Media Center (all of which were closed) and the warehouse spaces on the edge of town where a good majority of Gainesville bands practice. I showed them where the Hardback used to be, where the Ark used to be. I showed them La Casita Blanca, the house where I lived under the staircase when I was 19. I showed them the curb out front that I used to sit on late into the night, watching prostitutes down the street come and go as I wrote lyrics. I showed them the plasma center on Main Street that I used to frequent a couple times a week, selling my plasma for rent and drinking money. And finally I showed them the one and only Laundry mat that I have ever played a show in. The experience was awkward for me and I'm worried that I came across negative at times in answering Philipe's questions about Gainesville.


October 7th, 2008 - 1:00AM. Driving to North Carolina.

My throat is shredded. Today was supposed to be a day off but we ended up booking a last minute show in St. Augustine at Cafe 11. The show was worth it but I could have used the day of rest for my voice. We also missed seeing Jonathan Richman play at Common Grounds in Gainesville. Our next day off is a week away. I've developed a nasty habit of slamming 2 or 3 Red Bulls before playing. It's been my one vice on this tour. It's horrible for my voice, it also wreaks havoc on my stomach, but I love the caffeine high.
I picked up my absentee ballot today.

Sept. 10th - 3:18AM. Driving to Winnipeg.

It doesn't feel like today was a day off. When I woke up, a little before noon, the bus was stopped but the engine was still running. I assumed we were at our hotel, waiting for Jordan to check in and figure out parking. I went into the front lounge to investigate. We were stopped in traffic due to construction; we still had about 80 miles to go. I tried to go back to sleep but I couldn't. I opened up my computer, no internet signal. I checked my cell phone, no reception.
It doesn't feel like today was a day off. I went to sleep with the bus in motion and I woke up still en route. Oh, the monotony of bus life, the ground hog day effect of going to sleep in the parking lot of one club and waking up in the parking lot of another. Each night you pull the grey vinyl curtain of your bunk shut and tuck yourself into bed, falling asleep trying not to imagine all of the horrible acts that have been committed in the name of rock and roll by a 1000 sleazy band dudes on the very mattress underneath your body. Just because the sheets and blankets have been washed doesn't mean the memory of semen, vomit, urine, and god knows what else is gone.
It doesn't feel like today was a day off. Once we actually arrived at the hotel it was almost 2PM. I had an hour's worth of phone interviews followed by at least two hours of computer work to catch up on. I drank a small pot of coffee while doing the interviews. The caffeine hit me hard, not having had any since Los Angeles. Things got manic quickly. I took a walk around 5PM across the highway to the shopping center. Spent an hour walking aimlessly through Future Shop (Canadian version of Best Buy), Chapters (Canadian version of Barnes and Noble) and Wal-Mart (Canadian version of Wal-Mart). All the while feeling paranoid that employees were eyeballing me like I was about to steal something. Suddenly my clothes are that much more dirty, I was in that much more need of a shave and a haircut, my dandruff was that much more uncontrollable. I was hoping to find a Warren Zevon album at the Future Shop (I refuse to buy music from Wal-Mart) but no dice. I came back to the hotel with Listerine, 4 metal forks, 4 metal spoons (I hate using plastic ones) and some anti-biotic ointment for the developing rash on my chest.
It doesn't feel like today was a day off. It's hard to relax when your body is so out of whack, when you have no cycle, no routine, no regular eating times other than "sometime before the show". There were no real food options around the hotel. McDonalds, Taco Time, and some kind of Canadian version of Chili's, Applebee's, Ruby Tuesday, T.G.I Friday, Bennigan's. I ate bus food for dinner, a fake ham and fake cheese sandwich, microwave chili. Drank red wine until my teeth were stained purple and I was calmed down from the caffeine. My curtain is pulled shut and we're on our way again. It doesn't feel like today was a day off.