Wherever you go, there you are

I had full intentions of writing something new today, but as I opened up my WordPress “dashboard” to clean out the half-dozen sentence-long drafts, I came across this little gem that I never got around to posting. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste, and my reflecting on trips weeks (or months) after they happen is hardly uncharacteristic. So, everyone pretend that it’s January 24th and enjoy:

You'll eventually figure out what you're doing there, but not until you get back.

“…perhaps admiration for his journey does not preclude a degree of sympathy for those who, in fascinating cities, have occasionally been visited by a strong wish to remain in bed and take the next flight home.”

Andre de Button, from “The Art of Travel”

The most stressful part of travel just may be figuring out how to enjoy it. For the last few weeks any mention of my eminent South American excursion was met nothing but unbridled enthusiasm and jealousy.  In response, all I could think was, “wow, I hope I can figure out how to enjoy it as much as you would.” I had a pretty good idea of what was going to (and did) happen. After a lengthy plane ride, the plane touched down in Buenos Aires. I paid for my visa, picked up my luggage, and stepped out of the airport to be struck by the feeling that…I was in another country.

That’s it.

Sure, it’s stimulating (and a little overwhelming) to look around and play “look what’s different” as we depart the airport. It seems slightly ingenuine to have an embassy escort everywhere I go, but it beats the utter terror I imagine of trying to get around myself.  I’m a horrible tourist, and it makes me feel more comfortable knowing that I’ve got a definite objective beyond “be there and enjoy it.” Now don’t get me wrong, I still enjoy this adventure I’m on, I’m just glad I don’t have to deal with the pressure of my own expectations of how much I’m supposed to enjoy it.

I have to admit, this sense of purpose (“oh, I’m a performer in the folk festival…”) has become really the foundation of my experience to the point that I couldn’t imagine traveling without it. I couldn’t in months—let alone days—become possessive of any aspect of Argentina, so really all I’m left with are isolated moments, places, and even transits that I could really call my own. I’d even grant a certain degree of possessiveness to my bandmates who recognized the Buenos Aires terminal that they had spent a half day in on two separate occasions.

Without my objective, what else do I have of my own? Of course, there’s the universal language of pop music, Coca Cola, and credit cards that seems to follow everywhere,  hovering above our heads and ready to annihilate our sense of time and place. Perhaps one day, it will. In the meantime, I’ll enjoy not knowing what I’m supposed to do or feel, and leave that concern for another day.

***Update 3/14/2011***

Ah, I’m supposed to play a show for 15,000 people and feel awesome about it. Done.

I knew I’d figure it out eventually.

Road Gig!!!

The Student Loan headed south for a show at the Axe & Fiddle in Cottage Grove, slogging through a couple hours of traffic in the

I-5 wasn't particularly kind to us today.

process. It brings to mind a quote by Jerry Seinfeld who said “we only truly live our lives when we’re neither going somewhere nor waiting for something.” A car ride happens to combine all the fun of both. Combatting this feeling of anti-being can be difficult, since the limited space of a cabin complicates engaging activities such as juggling, gardening, or soccer. Since my companions are not keen on “I Spy,” I’ve decided to perform the death-defying act of blogging while inside a moving vehicle.

It’s a little known fact that the car ride actually outdates the car itself. People dreamed about the state of being inside a fast moving wheeled pod decades before the automobile was invented. In the mid-19^th century there actually was a sleep disorder (named “Gregory”) in which people would actually experience sleep in real-time, while riding in a car across nameless country counting mile markers. Of course, those having these automobilic visions had no idea what they were seeing and would typically wake up with an urgent need to use the bathroom and purchase dried meat products. Shortly after the invention of the automobile, these real-time going/waiting visions were replaced by extended periods inside long, pressurized cylinder with reheated egg products and ginger snaps.

Some o' the scenery.

On an unrelated note, I’ve been having recurring dreams of being mounted atop winged, metallic dragon in the vacuum of space. I’ve yet to discern what these visions could possibly mean. Also, since I’m in “one of those moods,” I present you with 20 Unlikely Ice Cream Flavors:

1. Iceberg Lettuce
2. Onion Ring
3. Testosterone
4. Cinnamon (unsweetened)
5. Corned Beef
6. MSG
7. Tap water.
8. Birth Control Pill
9. Bay Leaf
10. Margarine
11. Labrador Retriever
12. Soy Sauce
13. Parmesan Cheese
14. Shitake Mushroom
15. White Rice
16. Refried Bean
17. Seaweed
18. Wheat Germ
19. Fillet o’ Fish
20. Soul

It’s all about who you know.

I’m a musician for people who hate music. I don’t say this because I’m particularly accessible to the musical layperson, but rather because I’m not really much of a music aficionado. I don’t like buying CDs (or downloading mp3s), listening to the radio, or physically getting off my lazy keister to go appreciate some good live music. I seem to only discover new artists when I’m in their immediate vicinity. I’ve found that this is often the best way to do it, since I then get the pleasure of getting to know the musicians that I so admire. There are many, but I’ll take a moment to selfishly acknowledge a few independent musicians that deserve to be A-listers that could make me feel more important by association.

Joel Smith

Joel Smith is fresh on my mind since I am watching him perform with his band The Hands of Plenty at this very moment at a tragically under-attended show at The Mandolin Cafe in my hometown, Tac-town, Washington. Joel holds the distinction of being the first guy to recruit me to play a two-step bass line, which has since proven to be a valuable skill for me to have picked up. Anyways, I experienced my own personal folk revival as I re-listened to Joel’s debut album/senior project River Roads, and was so taken in by his songwriting that I woke up three days later at a cafe in Chattanooga, TN wearing only a pink Snuggie blanet and a pair of brand new Levi Strauss jeans with $230 stuffed in the pockets. The guy’s got so much talent it may very well be dangerous. I hear Spokane, WA may change it’s name to “Joel Smith.”

Endah and Rhesa

I first heard Endah N Rhesa while setting up for our show at the 2009 Jakarta International Java Jazz Festival. While we bickered with the sound engineers and our mandolinist battled illness, I had a diva-esque hissy fit at our embassy attache demanding that he retrieve the CD of whoever it was performing at “that stage over there.” I had no idea who they were, but from my vantage point, it was a travel-sized guitarista with, like, three voices and a statuesque bassist who could lay down grooves like nobody’s business. While I was unable to go see them myself, they flattered us with their presence at our performance. Afterward, we gushed our admiration for each other (“If I were famous, I’d make you famous!” I believe is what I said) swapped CDs, and took a few pictures together. I’ve since made it a weekly ritual to check YouTube for more videos of them. These two epitomize the trifecta of  depth, taste, and chemistry, and their website is a thing of beauty. Love them. It’s the law.

Fruition String Band

I met the musical miscreants of Fruition String Band my very second day in Portland, as Chad and I were giving busking on Hawthorne Blvd. the ol’ college try. It was scorching hot and we made close to nothing, but we did run into some individuals making a more lucrative pull. The lady and gentlemen of Fruition String band sing it up with soul, walking a line between the purely traditional and a fresh, contemporary energy that’ll bite you in the ass if you take it too lightly. The Student Loan split a show with them at the Goodfoot Pub & Lounge a few weeks back and I’m still recovering from their rendition of Stevie Wonder’s “Signed, Sealed, Delivered.” I done danced so hard I broke my femur, and that’s no joke. I mean, dude, the femur is a big bone.

Mom, you really know how to hydrate a pizza.

San Francisco Airport - Free coffee courtesy of hotels.com

Woke up in Palm Springs at 4:30 AM to catch a flight. Used the wireless internet to prepare a blog post about a Canadian show that ran its course in 2008 that I’m catching up with through online streaming video. Forgot my Lakewood shuttle reservation and pulled it from my email using my mobile phone (fortunately the terminal had a USB wall charger for free use). Landed in San Francisco at 8:30 AM, where I plugged into the wireless network using a Boingo subscription I picked up five months ago in New York. Tried to catch a friend in San Francisco whose number I didn’t have, so I tossed him a facebook message and found out he was back in Boston, which reminded me that I needed to update a document from a a tech conference which I had left on a 2 gig Mini card back in Palm Springs. My flight was late so I called my fiancee, who I missed terribly. I then napped for an hour on the floor.

Caught my flight at 11:47 AM and, upon reaching cruising altitude, watched a video game review (produced by a British-born Australian) which I had downloaded several hours prior. Was delayed in catching my shuttle since my carry-on luggage was checked when an elderly gentleman took the last overhead bin with a box containing a set of digital picture frames. After another short nap, I would be further delayed when the descending escalator in the terminal wouldn’t allow me to reach floor 3 of the parking garage, and a malfunctioning GPS system held up my shuttle. Somehow I was able to get back to my mother’s home in Tacoma by 5:30 PM where I prepared a frozen pizza before watching ’90s cartoon on reruns YouTube with my brother. Finished up by buying a 2002 comic using a borrowed Barnes & Noble membership accessed via cell phone number.

Just another run-of-the-mill 21st century day.

Starbucks yo, what?

If you look closely, you can see a birthday present in a Starbucks bag.