Belleville had an amazing profusion of vanity plates… we need to figure out why. These were all shot within about 15 minutes of one another on our way out of the city
So, I know I’m slacking on the Journal. So much happens, and so much of it leaves us exhausted. I forget to write about the moments that make me want to do this forever. Heather encountered a “sketchy” looking couple today who were begging for money at a Deleware Turnpike gas station to fill their tank – knowing that we’re hanging by our fingertips above the precipice of begging, but know that when it comes down to it, we could frankly sit down and set out our guitar case, and at least then it’s not quite “begging”, and chances are, we’d do better than that couple asking for change by the pump.
Heather sometimes sits back and realizes what we’re doing. In one of the most dismal economic atmospheres of our Lives, we’ve said “no” to our careers, and created a job for ourselves out of NOTHING.
Thoughts of things to write about. Adam, Phish, re-encountering Mark Robinson, and the nudist colony.
I have so many artist friends who have forgotten that they are artists – we encounter them all of the time. They forget their reason for being. I think WE forget sometimes, that we are giving lots of people a lot of inspiration. I think for some people, we don’t need to give them the inspiration to actually DO something, but that often it’s enough to inpire them with the thought that SOMETHING can be done, and that SOMEONE’S doing it.
And if we ever DO make it “big”, or get signed (with a deal that WE decide upon), no-one will ever be able to point to us and say “they didn’t deserve it”. We work our fingers to the bone.
We are stopped in traffic once again. It’s easy to forget about multi-mile backups while we’re out in the Midwest. We’ve driven 2000 miles in the last month, and never once have we gotten stuck in traffic. But here we are, returned to our native East and we’re caught in a back up caused by people rubbernecking, hoping to catch a glimpse of the injured or the dead.
Anywho, just a couple of days ago, we were trying to sneak a friend’s van into a Phish show. Adam was the guy we picked up in Indianapolis. He’s a spectacular percussionist, and the more I listen to the recordings he gave us, the more respect I have for him as a musicians and songwriter.
So, last Wednesday he decided we’d all have a great time playing in the parking lot at the Phish concert, so we all pile into his big ass white van (the kind we all looked for during the sniper shootings) and go through much convoluted wheeling and dealing to get it through the gates and into the vast travelling bazaar that springs up wherever Phish plays. They ARE the modern-day Grateful Dead, and they have the dreaded HIPPIE fans to prove it.
All in all, it was a good idea, and the eye candy was fascinating (I’m cursing myself for not having had fully-charged batteries), but we came away with $15 in tips and a pretty amazing rock, tans and fatigue. We walked away as the music came up, recovered our van, and continued on our way.
On a random note, I encountered my old drummer – we were walking out, he was walking in – I haven’t seen him for about four years, and we were 800 miles away from home… but there he was. Crazy.
After Indianapolis, it was off to Paw Paw, West Virginia for THE premier DC Area Clothing Optional Resort. Heather and I were both a little bit nervous about the gig. Not, I think, because we weird about being around lots of naked people, but because we’d never BEEN around a lot of naked people, and were afraid that we MIGHT be weird. It’s a subtle distinction, but distinct, I assure you it is.
It wasn’t strange at all. We beat the thunderstorms into the mountains, and we wandered the dripping grounds, chasing rabbits and cats and half-heard forest sounds. We played a relaxed set to a relaxed room, and a couple of relaxing people, and slept the best we’d slept in weeks.
In short, we’ve got to play more Clothing Optional Resorts.
Oh and, YEAH we played naked. Of course we did. Well… they turned up the heat till I took off my boots, at least.
And why IS traffic like this? Is it just the density out here? This is fucking absurd. We were stuck in a back up for forty minutes because a couple of brightly-coloured motorbikes had been pulled over and we ALL had to watch, and we got ten minutes before slowing to a crawl again. 60 miles left to go and Heather’s ready to kill someone. Urgh. I’m already planning our next trip West.
