April 23rd – 2:50PM. Driving to Little Rock, AR
Someone hammered a screw driver into the drivers side door lock and broke into the van last night. Suprisingly all they stole was an I-Pod transmitter and our receipt pouch. We found the receipt pouch, still full of receipts laying on the ground across the parking lot as we were driving away.

April 25th – 4:31AM. Huntsville, AL. @Andrew’s partents house.
Tonights show was the biggest of the tour; it was an energetic crowd. We’re staying at Andrew’s parents house. Andrew’s dad got us all loaded on Schnapps. I’ll be lucky if I don’t vomit.

April 27th – 5:30AM. Somewhere.
Is today my brothers birthday or is it tomorrow?

April 28th – 4:06AM. Hyatt Hotel outside of Atlanta, GA.
I ate dinner alone, the same chain restaurant, the same meal I had last Monday; washed down by a margarita. I popped a vicodin (for the toothache) on the walk back.

April 29th – 3:00AM. Charlotte, SC.
Three more shows, Athens, Wilmington, Columbia, and then I go to Australia.

May 1st – 4:13AM. Wilmington, NC.
An hour into my turn behind the wheel I remember pissing in the stairwell of the hotel last night. John and I had been drunkenly arguing in the hallway, I don’t remember what about specifically, and then the next thing I knew I was all alone. I had lost my room key, not that I could remember what room I was in, I couldn’t remember what room anyone else was in either. The indoor stairwell seemed like a better urinal than the hallway carpet. In my drunken state of mind I thought for some reason that pissing on the handrail would be more discrete, more courteous than pissing directly onto the actual stairs. I don’t know how I got back into my room. I woke up half an hour after van call. Once in the van I immediately passed out on the back bench seat.

We told Warren this afternoon that we are going to look for a new drummer. Andrew, James and I made the decision a couple days ago over lunch. I told them that I didn’t want to play music with Warren anymore. They both agreed that this was a necessary step, it’s been a long time coming. Warren’s heart hasn’t been in this for a while now.


May 1st - 2:42PM. Driving to Columbia, SC
If I hadn’t turned around and come back in through the door that night in Providence, November, 2007, then the band would have ended right then and there, nothing that’s happened since would have transpired. Andrew quit, Warren readily agreed with him that it was time to end. I admit I was being an asshole, I provoked Andrew. At the same time I didn’t know about what all was happening in Andrew’s personal life. I was heading for the bus, I was going to grab my bags, find a cab to take me to a hotel, figure out how I was going to get back to Florida in the morning. But, a couple feet outside the rear exit of the club I stopped, turned around, walked back inside, tail between legs, and begged Andrew not to quit. Minutes later we went back onstage for an encore. I’m still hoping that it wasn’t a mistake to not let things end then and there.

After load in today Warren asked if he could talk with us all again. He said that after thinking about it over night he completely agreed that this was the best decision to make, that he realized his actions as of late have been, if not subconcious, indicitive of him not being fully invested. With his Mexican Restaurant opening soon, he seems ready to start a new chapter in his life. I wish him luck.

Tonight’s show at the New Brooklyn Tavern will be our last with Warren.

"This paper is your skin,
this ink is my blood,
I'm pressing on my pen."
-Jules Et Jim

April 13th - 2:50AM. Saint Augustine, FL.
Started the day off with a big breakfast. Tofu scramble with fresh cut kale from our garden, soy sausage, toast, coffee. We ate while watching a collection of Danzig music videos. "She Rides" has to be one of the greatest music videos ever made. And then there's all the behind the scenes footage in between the videos. Glenn Danzig slamming a box of milk duds before going back out onstage for an encore, amazing. He tries so hard to look tough and evil, but it's just so obvious that he's just a big comic book collecting nerd from Jersey.
Later we washed the car, inside and out, worked on the garden, cleaned up around the house. Then we went to the beach, sat in the sand, split a tomato sandwich, stared up and down the coast. I have a couple of days at home between the tour I leave on tomorrow and the Australia tour; it should be hot enough then to really appreciate a swim in the ocean, I'm looking forward to it.
We had talked about going out for dinner but ended up eating at home. WHile Heather made pasta I packed. We ate dinner while watching the recent remake of "The Day The Earth Stood Still", followed by the original "Amityville Horror". We have another doctors appointment tomorrow, we should be able to hear our babies heartbeat.

April 13th - 7:00PM. Driving To Savannah, GA.
One hundred and twenty three miles to Savannah. Sitting on the front bench seat behind Warren riding shotgun, Andrew driving. I'm looking forward to the 24 hour gym at the hotel tonight.

April 14th - 1:14AM. Savannah, GA.
I left my journal open on the table in the hotel room when I went down to Jordan's room to get my forgotten van keys; did Andrew read it? I hate feeling like I have to censor myself in my journal out of fear that someone might read it. If Andrew didn't read my journal it's a testament to his character, it's a credit to his parents.

April 14th - 3:11AM. Savannah, GA.
Bedtime. Worry about everything tomorrow.

April 15th - 2:58AM. Greenville, SC.
I've become repulsed by the idea of my own body hair.
I'm not sure what to make of tonights show, it started off strong but then it fizzled. I'm not sure why.

April 15th - 12:52PM. Driving.
Andrew and Jordan are singing made up songs about the stimulation of their anus', in the front of the van.

April 16th - 2:37AM. Raleigh, NC.
Tripped up on a couple of lyrics tonight. I don't remember what I was thinking about but it wasn't the song. I have deep wrinkles developing under my eyes.

April 17th - 1:28AM. Driving.
That's what Anarchy means to the Anarchists, that's the extent of their revolution, a shit filled diaper left on the windshield of our van. Something about being a "sellout" written on it.

April 17th - 9:55AM. Driving.
I feel nauseous from drinks last night. Every bump in the road makes it worse. I got tattoo'd by Jay Chastain yesterday in Asheville, the word "HOWL" across the knuckles on my right hand. I'm hoping there's no problem with it healing up, being on the road and all.
Ian, our manager came to the show last night. I don't like the way any of us act when he's around, myself included. It seems so forced, so fake.

April 18th - 11:54AM. Driving to Virginia Beach, VA.
Ian gave me a copy of the new Dylan record, I'm listening now as I write; it's good. I love how weathered his voice has grown.

April 19th - 12:30AM. Driving To Hotel.
The show had already started, I had been hanging out in the van by myself writing, playing guitar. I decided to go in and check out the scene, watch some of the local opener. Standing just past the two people taking tickets at the door was a group of security guards. I walked up to them, being that they were unavoidable to walk into if going into the show, and met face to face for a moment with a young female security guard. As I started to look down at my ringing cell phone the girl fell over backwards. With a slap her head slammed into the ground, she began convulsing. She was having a seizure. It took me a second to realize what was happening, I thought it was a joke at first. Not knowing what to do I stood there watching as the other security guards scrambled. It was yelled out for someone to call 911, and phones were picked up as if the number was called, although no ambulance ever came. With a short haired, stout, female security guard kneeling down beside her the girl came to. The slowly moved her into a chair, gave her a coca-cola. I asked her if she was okay. She seemed dazed. That was the first time I've ever seen someone have a seizure. I felt helpless.

April 20th - 5:31PM. Nashville, TN. Day off.
Applebee's was my best option for food, so here I sit, waiting for a waitress to place my order with. I have time to kill. My laundry spinning away in the washing machine of the neighboring hotel to ours. We are staying at a Hyatt Place hotel, despite not having guest laundry it is my favourite type of chain hotel to stay in. I spent the morning wandering around the outlet mall right next door to the Grand Old Opry, down the street from our hotel. I did some shopping, clothes, a new suitcase. I prefer to be by myself most of the time, unless with Heather.

April 21st - 5:07AM. Nashville, TN.
If no one ever came to get me, would I ever leave this hotel room?

"She wore a black dress with a transparent lace yoke - the crescent of her chemise could be seen through it - from the lower edge of which the silk hung down in a finely cut frill."
-Pg. 3-
"The Complete Stories"
"Description Of A Struggle"
Franz Kafka

April 22nd - 2:38AM. Nashville, TN.
Our child can make a fist, it can suck it's thumb. His or her skull and bones are solidifying, soon it will have ribs. Intestines are in the right place, vocal chords ready to wail. 13 weeks old.

March 24th - 1:13Pm. Gainesville, FL

In the corner of "The Clock" restaurant which I have been seated, there is a faint smell of fecal matter. The mutant to my left has his gut hanging out all over the lap of his blue sweat pants. I prefer the atmosphere here late at night, but I enjoy the company (and the food, mmmm grits and home fries) offered in the morning. At this time of day there is an almost zero percent chance that I'll run into anyone I know; which is what I prefer to happen when I'm in Gainesville. The coffee works equally well at all hours. I didn't fall asleep last night until just before 6AM. It's easy to lose track of time at the practice space, with no windows, once you turn that dead-bolt lock it's almost as if the outside world doesn't exist. Almost. The lack of windows also makes it extremely hard to wake up in the morning. There's no fresh sunlight to let you know it's time to start a new day. Last night I moved from sleeping on my cot to sleeping directly on the floor; it is much more comfortable. The past couple of weeks have been a black hole.

Feb. 15th, 2009.

This is the view from the front steps of my house. People wave and say "hello" as they walk by, in couples, with dogs. Sometimes they'll stop and chat for a second, ask your name, introduce themselves, point out which house is theirs, mention they knew and were fond of the previous residents of the house.
Our neighbors to the right always have random objects laying about in their yard. They seem to be constantly starting landscape projects, which are never finished and wouldn't look good if they were. The lady of the house parks her black Cadillac in the front yard. The man of the house parks his white GMC work truck and his camouflaged Chevy Suburban on the street. There's a covered car, an old Corvette judging by the shape, parked in the grass on the side of the house. None of their vehicles are ever parked on the driveway. They keep two very large dogs locked in a makeshift corral built in the backyard. It smells of dog shit. I've never seen them taken out.
Our neighbor to the left just moved in, she is young, blonde, in her early 20's, has a small dog, and drives a red Audi. She smokes cigarettes while standing in her screened in front porch. I have never seen her face but Heather says she is cute.
On weekends young boys and girls sporadically run through the backyard. They play made up games with rules beyond adult comprehension, battling imaginary cyborgs and the like. Their friendships with each other begin and end countless times every hour, accusations of "cheating" and cries of "I hate you" being shortly followed with the game resuming, the quarrel forgotten.
Our street, our house, is only a couple of blocks north of the Fountain of Youth, or at least what Ponce De Leon believed was the Fountain of Youth, and is now a national archaeological park. Open daily from 9AM to 5PM (closed Christmas Day), the Fountain is actually a natural spring coming up from the Anastasia aquifer, which also supplies us with out tap water. This is my favourite feature of the house. Every morning I wake up, shower, brush my teeth, make coffee with water coming from an aquifer, which supplies a spring, that 500 years ago a Spaniard believed gave those who drank from it eternal youth.
I've gotten in the habit of taking short walks around the block, mostly when my stomach feels upset. At night you can hear an owl somewhere up in the trees. I wouldn't be surprised if the majority of front doors in the neighborhood were left unlocked. We've signed a year lease, but if the owner would sell the house to us, if we had the money she was asking for, we would buy it.

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