September 22nd, 2009.

Sometimes working at a music store is a little bit overly absurd (W). There’s an awful lot of madness and sometimes just mad – anger and frustration – but at least we’re around (E) guitars – and that’s still one of my favourite ways to blow off steam. (S) And so for five minutes here and there during a break in the action, I escape to an Alvarez or a Takamine and play (T) my little heart out… gently! I SWEAR I’M GENTLE!!! I leave the guitars in (M) drop D when I’m not thinking about it. But I tune them a lot too and so perhaps I’m doing more good than harm. (O)

Brennan and Kristen giving us heartfelt support at Michos in Reisterstown, MD. It was actually a really cool show, high energy with drunk, but fun peoples. Unfortunately, one of them eventually threw up. No-one pictured. Some other guy. On some other guy’s jacket. It was gross.

Fatigue is my enemy, coffee my friend – my coworkers my allies in a war against the world. (R) Not that the customer is our enemy, but they are an unnerving component to my day. They are always seeking (E) the unknown (today’s mystery product was a lengthy and incomprehensible German title about accordions) (L) always seeking something different (“I’m so happy you have real skins for reheading my drum! NOONE has them! But you only have goat?”) (A) and they are always, ALWAYS lost. The store CAN be hard to find, but we’re slowly learning about which landmarks work (construction, the “bandstand”, the park) (N) and which don’t (Subway? A sandwich shop or the Metro? Gazebo? What’s a gazebo? Besides – there are two of them!) (D) – and most importantly, to spell our street address very, very, very slowly.

a moment’s time out for a cat party with Cassie!

Westmoreland. Yes. One word. Avenue. I don’t know how you get here. Where are YOU? Maryland? That’s an EXCELLENT start sir. We’re in Maryland too.

Sigh.

It IS a fun job – but I think at the moment I’m really, really looking forward to our next tour.

And despite all the fatigue, it’s nearly 2am and I simply can’t sleep. My brain is whirring with the things I need to do and things that I could be creating right now, but my schedule demands that now be a time of dormancy. I don’t know if I can ever get used to that. But of course, my sheer proximity to others means that the aforementioned release of guitar is not an option, and lights and artwork are not an option – there’s a feeling of entrapment there.

At the Takoma Park Folk Festival, we’d already gathered quite a crowd, even before we began playing. Once we got started, the tent’s seating filled and the crowd gathered thick around us. It was an incredible show, so much energy. Now – if only we could follow up on the performance with some sort of show in Takoma Park – but this “artsy town” has no real music venues! The beautiful Bryn dominates our front row, but most faces are unfamiliar. It blows my mind that we can blow so MANY minds and then have so few repeat offenders (with the offense being listening to us). In the back you can see Trevor running sound (he did a marvelous job) and Bob Rychlik the overtone-flute-playing blues musician.

Tonight, for whatever reason my brain is filled with the textures of paper and the curves of illuminated letters. There is the desire to create a shimmering surface with ink stains in evidence, curling and bleeding lines. I want to be brushing paint onto paper right now, but it’s all trapped in the dark.

Heather and I performing on the Strathmore-sponsored Seventh Heaven stage at the Takoma Park Folk Festival in Takoma Park, MD. Though our first performance was full-band, our second show of the afternoon was as part of a Pete Seeger tribute, first performing “Waist Deep in the Big Muddy” and then “How Can I Keep From Singing”. As usual with our covers, some people Loved it and some people just nodded and smiled and some of the extreme traditionalists were probably none too happy. It’s our way.

The night sure is alive without me. There are crickets whirring the night away and the cats are giving chase, running rampant in the world above me, skittering from couch to floor to table and back again – no doubt on errands and missions that they’ll never admit to. The legless insects that we discover sometimes are the only evidence of the tortures and interrogations that the feline emperors mete out while we’re not watching.

At the very end of the afternoon, to celebrate Pete Seeger’s 90th year, all of the Pete Seeger tribute contributers were gathered together to sing “This Land Is Your Land”, which, like so many of the songs performed as part of the tribute, wasn’t written by Pete Seeger. There are a LOT of verses to that tune, most of which I didn’t know. Still, I hung in there with the choruses and listened to Marcy Marxer’s mandolin playing and enjoyed being a part of it – even though it’s not a culture I’m really part of – it’s good to flirt with it and the energy’s too positive to ignore. From left to right – Joe Uehlein, Heather Lloyd, Marcy Marxer, Cletus Kennelly, me and the right ear of Cathy Fink. Then there’s a tree – but behind the tree was Mark Sylvester and Lori Kelly. Quite a lineup and I was damned flattered to be a part of it.

Maybe they hate the sound of crickets as much as I do? Somehow I doubt that’s possible.

Their incessant insect chirping blends in with the hum of the refrigerator as the cats settle down to some stealthier activity and by now I’m wide-awake and wondering what I get to get up to. Maybe I’ll run from couch to floor to table? Not a chance in Hell am I THAT agile any longer, and the resultant crash and chaos would be pretty inexcusable to my more somnolent partners in residence.

Plus that cats would level judgmental glares at me. Who can stand their harsh eyes? Not I not i.

Maybe I AM tired AFTER all.