On the Road Again

I haven’t said anything about Leg 2 of the road trip yet, because I didn’t really think it would start in earnest until after I’ve made it up to Brooklyn to check out the place and drop off my stuff.

So far I’ve been to Nashville, where I spent the night at Shelley‘s place. We went to the Broken Spoke Songwriter’s Cafe where she played a few tunes and we watched some other songwriters play their tunes. Very laid-back, very few people there – it was really fun. Then we went over to The Basement to see Hotpipes, who were very good. Shelley is an amazing singer and songwriter. Check out her tunes, especially “The Time” (a true story) and “Me.”

We were having breakfast on Sunday morning at a local coffee shop, and while we’re waiting for our food, she was reading the paper and started quietly singing “All is Forgiven” by Jellyfish. Now, Jellyfish is my favorite band in the world. I can’t recall if I’ve told her this but I suspect I haven’t. She just happened to have their CD, Spilt Milk, in her car’s disc changer. Anyway I started singing it with her, and afterward we drove home singing along with the CD. Life rarely gets better than that.

Of course, life also rarely gets better than eating fudge, drinking blackberry tea and watching snow fall, which is what I’m currently doing in Alexandria, Virginia. I’m staying with my friend Tracy, who works for the State Department analyzing information about Cuba[1]. It’s snowing pretty hard right now, and my people in Brooklyn say that it should hit New York tonight, so I’m going to delay a while. My future/potential roommate Hayden will be working late on Thursday so I’m going to stay here with Tracy until Friday.

I also stopped off in Roanoke, Virginia, for a night to hang out with my Internet chum, Trina. We met years ago on a Dweezil Zappa fan list. We share an interest in guitars and guitar players, especially Mike Keneally and Frank Zappa. I haven’t seen her since 2001’s maiden voyage road trip of my vehicle. We played tunes, made CDs, and jammed in her music room. She has the distinction of owning Dweezil Zappa’s 5149 1/2 “Shamer” guitar[2]. I got its sister, the white/black version. Dweezil had a big garage sale at Zappa.com a few years back and we picked them up dirt cheap.

So it’s only been a few days and I’ve had some big fun. No pictures yet, though. I’ll rectify that soon.

1.) That may be classified information, so you didn’t hear it from me.
2.) Non-guitar monkeys should know that this is Eddie Van Halen’s trademark style, but his was a “Kramer” and had the number “5150” on it.

Deus ex Machina

Up until last week, my plan had been to go up to New York on Tuesday, making my way up at a leisurely pace, staying with friends, and arriving somewhere around the 11th. A couple of things happened last weekend to prevent this:

  1. Chris in Memphis called and said his dad was in the hospital in Searcy. I had intended to spend the first couple days of my trip in Memphis with Chris, so that put the kibosh on that.
  2. I talked to Arika, my friend in Brooklyn with whom I was planning on staying for a few days while I looked for a place, and she recently had her second child. She has developed some blood clots and will have to have surgery in the next week or so. So my presence would add an extra degree of complexity to their lives and I’d rather not do that. I had to find a new place to stay.

So for a time there was the potential for panic. Item 2 was resolved shortly after I sent out an email to my NY peeps, and Tom offered his place for me to hang for a few days, although he won’t be home from the Debbie Harry tour until the 10th or 11th.

Also, one hour after I sent the same email, I got a forward from Elizabeth from a friend of a friend looking for a roommate. I’ve been talking back and forth for the last few days with her, and it looks like I have a place lined up! It’s in the Carroll Gardens/Gowanus area of Brooklyn. The room is furnished, so I don’t have to worry about getting a bed. More details when I get up there, and here’s the new plan: I leave tomorrow with my stuff (guitars, clothes, etc), going directly up there via Nashville, Roanoke and DC. I’ll install myself, stay a few days, then hit the road for part 2 of the Road Trip where I’ll spend more time leisurely exploring the Eastern United States on my way back to Arkansas for Christmas. I’ll probably stay in Arkansas from Christmas to New Year’s.

It’s really kinda spooky how many things have just fallen into place. It’s almost enough to make me believe in The Secret. I’ll settle for the Power of Intention, though.

Mental Alarm Clocks and Post-It Notes

The human brain has so many applications of which most of us aren’t even aware. Video playback machine, audio receiver, computer, calculator…these are the applications with which most people are familiar. But did you know that the brain can also function as an alarm clock and Post-It note pad?

We hear a lot about the internal clock, but it has an alarm feature and snooze function if you know how to operate it. I remember as a child my grandmother would take naps and always wake up at 4PM because that’s what she would tell her brain to do. She would just focus on that particular hour and she would always wake up at that time. I’ve learned that you can even teach your brain to snooze in as little as 15 minute increments. Sometimes at the office during lunch I would take naps in the workout room and I wouldn’t let myself sleep longer than 15-20 minutes. Most of the time, it worked.

Recently I’ve also discovered the wonders of the Post-It note capacity. If you have a task that you need to accomplish at some point in the future, you can associate it in your mind with some other non-unique coinciding task. For example, the other day as I was going to bed I knew I needed to email my friend Robin, so I focused on my morning routine of opening the laptop, and I attached her name to that task. Or last month when I was leaving Heath’s place I knew that I’d be getting into my car to leave at some point, so I associated the word “pizza” to that task to remind myself not to leave my pizza in Heath’s fridge.

Try these on your own and let me know how it goes.

Fame

Last week Katherine and I were perusing the wares of Freebee’s in North Little Rock (she having just purchased a house in Park Hill, I was showing her the neighborhood). As we were on our way out, the lady who works there asked me, “do you have a blog?”

I think this is the first time I’ve been recognized for my blog in public by a stranger. Turns out she had Googled “Frostop” (Freebee’s and nearby Frostop are under the same ownership) and found this page in my photoblog, and surfed around enough to find a picture of me, I guess.

So that was a pleasantly random surprise.

Sad Realization

Today it occurred to me that I could make a mix CD of my all-time favorite pieces of music and I don’t know anyone who would want to listen to it more than once. I’ve always known that there is no one person who really likes what I like, but the distillation of that fact into the idea that my ultimate mix CD would appeal to no one is pretty depressing.

The USPS Is Doomed

Via a series of MySpace messages, I said to one of my old students the other day: “send me your address and i’ll mail you a box of blah busting materials.” She replied, “my mailing address is [whatever]@gmail.com.” Then I said, “I meant your snail mail address.” And she said, “snail mail? [whatever]@gmail.com is the only other email I have. Other than my Zune one and one I use for MSN messenger.”

So I sent her this MySpace comment:

“Snail mail” is a system whereby a guy in a little truck drives or walks from house to house delivering actual, physical messages inside things called “envelopes” or “packages.” He has a little office where he sells things called “stamps” that you affix to whatever you’re sending. Outdated and quaint, yes, but far more handy a system for delivering three dimensional objects than conventional internet protocols allow.

Gender and Class Divisions in the Toy Department

Experiencing the toy department in Dalhart’s Alco reminded me that, particularly when I was growing up, there were always the same divisions among the toy aisles. The Baby aisle, the Girl aisle, the Boy aisle, and…the Motorhead aisle. Technically also a Boy aisle, the Motorhead aisle is filled entirely with cars of various sorts. From what I recall as a youngster, the denizens of the Motorhead aisle were from the lower end of the socio-economic spectrum. What does it say about that demographic that their toys are entirely based on real-life objects? The Boy Aisle contains spacemen, pirates, talking animals, Lords of Rings, robots…all these fantasy characters. And these toys are more expensive. I guess it’s just another way that lower class kids are cut off from dreams and things larger than the day-to-day grind by lack of access. Not to say that they’re entirely prevented from having an imagination, there’s just no commercial support from toy companies. And Hasbro with its $8 Star Wars figures isn’t helping any lower-income parents. Of course having no money for toys certainly can force some kids to make their own fun and be more creative, but I’d wager that’s a much smaller portion of the total audience than those who just end up playing with cars and not using their imagination.

Yes I know this blog entry is rambling and thesis-free, but these are just thoughts running through my head that I’ve attempted and failed to organize and you’re the beneficiary of my failure.

Public Service Announcement

It has been brought to my attention that I have entirely omitted mention of Jessica and Josh Ebert, Our People in Tacoma. They accompanied me to the Space Needle (forewarning me of the photographic troll planted at the entry, with whom I regrettably tangled) and the EMP/Sci-Fi Museum. Sadly I only got to hang out with them for that one afternoon, but this should not in any way diminish the intense significance of Jessica in my larger existence. I also neglected to take any pictures of them[1], further establishing my status as foppish churl and itinerant mountebank. I hereby apologize unreservedly.

1.) Taking pictures of people is something I have to really work hard to remember to do. In fact, after having dinner with Odie and Mona in Arlington, we said our goodbyes, and I had made it almost to the edge of their neighborhood when I realized I didn’t get a picture of them, so I turned around and went back to snap this shot. Here is a list of people I neglected to photograph on this trip:

  • Heath and Mary Beth in Oklahoma City
  • Kevin, Michelle and Chris in Kansas City
  • Cousin David in Los Angeles

The little mechanism in my brain that says “ooh grab the camera” is so attuned to the strange and unusual that I forget that my own friends need to be photographed for purposes of personal reflection and posterity. So I try to remember to do it.

Debbie Harry Eats Spiraling

So my friend Tom, frontman for Spiraling, got hired as Debbie Harry’s music director and keyboard player awhile back. He brought in his drummer Paul, and when I saw them on The Today Show last month[1], I noticed they had no bass player. But now I see by this picture at New York Magazine that bassist Bob has joined the group, thus making 3/4 of Spiraling into Debbie’s backing band.

These are the guys who make me want to move to NYC. Here are pics of them jamming in my music room last year.

1.) That was particularly freaky to watch, since I kept reminding myself, “these guys have slept on my living room floor. Now they’re on my living room TV.”