Home, sweet home.

Somehow, I didn’t take any pictures in Phoenix. That fact does not reflect the quality of our time spent there. We had a great time. The show was at our friend, Tristan’s house. Tristan plays in a rad project called Dogbreth. I’m not typically into pop punk, but Tristan has got me sold. Not only does he shred on guitar, Tristan also shreds at life. He is an all-around great guy. Kind, fun, generous, etc. The show was intimate and

I’m getting ahead of myself.

We drove through some territory from San Diego to Phoenix that we’d never experienced before. Closest Mike or I have ever been to Mexico. We saw the fence. Never hit us that there was actually a fence on the border between Mexico and the U.S. Seeing it was not disheartening, nor patriotic. It was more of a, “Huh, there’s actually a fence…” I guess it was a little sad, but let’s not get into politics. This is supposed to be about Mike and me seeing stuff we’ve never seen before. This picture is of sand on the side of the highway. True desert.

Phoenix is hot. Last summer, on the drive to Phoenix, our car’s thermometer reached it’s record high of one hundred and eleven degrees. I’m sure that’s nothing for Arizona residents. When we walked around in Phoenix, Tristan was wearing pants. I was trying to scratch off a few layers of skin, since removing clothing has no effect. I imagined all of the record stores in Phoenix not having air conditioning and all the records are warped and when Phoenix residents see records that are flat, they think there’s something wrong with them. I told this much better in person, but don’t feel like rephrasing.

Fast forward - I’m writing this when already done with tour. Doesn’t seem like time well spent to be reminiscing about two weeks ago when I’ve got so many great things to do right now. In that light, I’m just going to post all of the rest of the pictures I took and write little captions for each. Hopefully stories will piece themselves together. Possibly even better ones than actually happened (if that’s possible).

Austin, whom we met in Phoenix, made us really wonderful breakfast in Flagstaff. Yum.

While driving from Phoenix to Flagstaff, Mike and I stopped at Arcosanti. It is a beautiful town designed by own of the students of Frank Lloyd Wright. Wouldn’t mind spending some more time there. We showed up after the tours had ended. Next time.

The road leading from Arcosanti back to the highway. Cow was not impressed.

This is Austin’s pup, Morgan. Austin directed us, with our other new friend, Patrick, to the creek outside of Flagstaff. He asked if Morgan could come along. Morgan heard this and got very excited. When we opened the door to walk to the car, Morgan ran out, straight to my car, and hopped in. Austin said Morgan has jumped in the cars of many strangers. He loves the things.

We drove for about forty-five minutes downhill until we reached this bridge. From here, we walked for about fifteen minutes until we reached the bottom of the canyon. Morgan trotted along with us the whole way.

We walked to down there.

We swam here, right behind the big thumb featured in the picture.

Mike in nature. At one point, we were taking turns changing from our underwear back into our shorts on the bank. When Mike was doing so, a whole family walked up. Dad and young boy were in the front. They stopped in their tracks. Mike was buck naked on the trail. The dad said, “Son, there’s a sight of genuine nature.” or something along those lines. We were cutting up. Couldn’t control ourselves. Mike didn’t think there was anything funny, but wasn’t embarrassed or disgruntled in the least.

Austin, Mike, Patrick, at the top of the path/ edge of the canyon. A great day.

Fast forward again -After Flag, we went to Albuquerque. I played a post-punk show. Caught up with friends that we made either at the beginning of tour or the year before. Had a nice time and headed out to Austin. Twelve hour drive. Never been to Texas before. Insane winds. Hot and powerful. I was scared we were going to get lynched. Silly fear. Mike and I had a wonderful time talking and listening to music. Also, This American Life. Made it to Austin in the late night and stayed with our good friend, Ben Weir, who used to live in St. Louis. He makes beautiful music under the moniker, Malachi Constant. Last summer, I started the tour with two shows with Ben. This year, we were ending tour with him. Nice how that works.

This is Ashley. We know each other from Massachusetts. She spent the past many months living in Austin. We swam together at this pool/ natural springs. I love swimming. She does too. We spent a good portion of one of the days in Austin hanging out in the water.

In Austin, Mike and I ate truly amazing food. Torchy’s Tacos blew our minds.

Had a very nice outdoor show. Hung out with Dan, who played and set up the show. We printed letterpress the day after the show. For some reason, I had my plates with me. We ran a C&P press. Maybe wasn’t actually C&P. Never run one of those before. So simple! So quick. Cleanup is pie.

This sums up our last night in Austin. We ate our doughnuts that night, the next morning, and the next afternoon.

The last day of tour was in Conway, Arkansas. A really nice time. La Lucha Space was great. Hospitable folks. Yummy food. We went swimming for our last night on tour. Hung out in a pool in the country with the stars swirling overhead. First lightning bug spotting of the trip. A sign we were almost home.

‘nuff for now.

Tour has been done for four days now. I spent a day and a half in St. Louis. I’ve spent the past two days in Florida vacationing with my family. Still here in Florida, spending my time hanging out with family, playing guitar with my dad, body surfing in the ocean, or reading Akira Kurosawa’s Something Like A Biography. Figure this is as good of a time as any to finish posting pictures and reflecting on the tour. Let’s see where I left off…

So after Los Angeles, Mike and I left early to go to San Diego. Our plan was to spend the day on best beaches on the West Coast (at least according to those in Los Angeles). Somehow, dark clouds followed us the entire drive down and we spent the day in shade. That didn’t stop us from having a blast on the beaches.

This is bird poop on a dirt cliff. It looks beautiful. It smelled like poop.

We spent a lot of the day doing stuff like this. Looking off cliffs. Staring at the manatees below. Orf orf.

Birds and orf orfs. I honestly can’t remember what beach this was at. A rich weaving of sounds arose from bird squawks and big sea mammals howling and orfing.

We found a cave and Mike happened to look like a model as the light embraced him and pulled him slowly into the ocean.

Fortunately, after hours of crying and pleading, the ocean gave him back to me. Mostly so he could continue taking pictures of me. Good friends are hard to come by, ya know.

Once safely back on land, Mike chose to taunt the ocean. It spat at him, but did not want him back. I was grateful. Who else would I finish the trip with?

After hours of romping on the beach, we decided to retire back to society. We headed inland towards the show, which was at The Park Gallery. The Gallery was filled with local artworks of all kinds. Well, mostly two dimensional, but there was a lot of purdy stuff there. The show went very well. I am confident in saying that all involved had a blast.

Out back of the gallery, where we were parked, we met a guy whose introduction was, “Hey, are y’all born again Christians?” “Nope,” I responded. “Well that’s too bad. I’ll do my darndest to change that.” “We’re leaving town in about ten minutes, after loading up our car, so you’ve got a fairly small window, but I suppose it’s worth a shot.” He proceeded to tell us about pyrotechnics, bombings, and other things involving explosives. He told us about how velocities of bomb triggers, powers increments of blasts, that sorta stuff. Unfortunately for him, he got so into all the fireworks stuff that he forgot to convert us. We left just as blasphemously as we came. Before heading out, we did have a wonderfully giddy farewell with the good folks who run the Park Gallery. Good souls, all of them. Can’t wait to go back.

From the show, we headed east, for the first time in nearly a month. It was a melancholic feeling, knowing we were leaving the land of In n Out and inevitably heading back towards low-lying hills and Warshboards.

At twelve at night, after driving beyond cellphone service, we arrived at our friend Adam’s farm, about forty-five minutes outside of San Diego. We both met Adam last year in the fated land of Santa Barbara. He was playing in The Shade, which is his very rad band. He is currently performing a solo piece on the West Coast. Here is a nice review from La Weekly. Adam was kind enough to let us crash at his farm with very little notice. We slept in his barn, which was very comfortable.

This is Adam Tinkle, the saint of the San Diego farmlands.

In the morning, we shared fresh goat milk, fresh eggs, and fresh veggies that were from the farm. Adam hung out with us before he had to return to his farm duties. He took us up the hill with his baby goats and we hung out as jumped off rocks and flailed aimlessly through the air, barely managing to reach equilibrium before landing lock-kneed on the dusty ground. Before sending us off, Adam told us about a waterfall that was down the street. His directions involved walking up a path, and then following a series of paths that didn’t necessarily look like paths. We were certain nobody would be at the waterfall. It was a weekday.

Before hitting the proverbial dusty trail, we hit the literal dusty trail.

Once we reached the waterfall, we realized our predictions had been wrong. Weekday has nothing to do with it- people like water. The falls aren’t pictured here, simply because this was a better photo than the one that showed the falls. The water was frigid. At one point, I was scrambling across some rocks to get to the falls and some kids starting yelling, “Hey! That guy’s in the poison oak!” referring to me. I spent a good portion of the rest of the day paranoid I was going to break out in hives. I eventually realized it was just a fib their parents had told them so they wouldn’t climb on the rocks. That or the compulsive dunking of my body in the freezing waterfall actually worked. Either way, it was a nice day.

This is Mike walking back to the car. These fields were buzzing with bugs. A stereo field of bugs. Crescendos of hissing and twitching cascading in three hundred and sixty degrees as we walked past. It was glorious. This time, we hit the proverbial dusty trail, towards Phoenix.

Next up - Phoenix in very few pictures, Flagstaff.

This is Ellie and Mike in Ellie’s room in Silver Lake, California. It was about bed time.

Ellie is a friend from Massachusetts. We met at Hampshire College during orientation. The first time I met her, she was wearing an altered Black Flag wife beater. She looked tough and unapproachable. We ended up talking in the quad for a while. The next night, we re-met, as though for the first time. This time, she was wearing a Bad Brains shirt. Still tuff. Despite my first impression or her being too punk to talk, she turned out to be one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. The third time we hung out, I ran into in the quad. “You have a camera, right?” I asked. She did. I explained this idea I had about doing a photo shoot with myself naked on a pile of dirt, covered in mud. I wanted to make glossy center spread photos for some zine. She agreed to go along and take photos. We wandered around, but could not find any piles of dirt. Instead, we gathered a large basket of flowers and trekked into the woods. A mossy bank emerged amongst deep bramble. A tricking creek swam past. “This is the spot!” I stripped down to my underwear and stopped. “I don’t know if I’m going to get completely naked for this.” I was nervous, since we hadn’t known each other more than a few days. “Suit yourself,” she replied. “Fine, if you insist,” I sighed, and dropped my underwear. I lied down on the bank and she covered me in flowers, stuffing them in my ears, nose, and mouth. I sat as still as I could while she took photos from different angles, while bugs crawled and bit every uncovered part of my body. We ended up with some golden material and a whole bunch of bug bites. Needless to say, we’ve been good friends ever since.

We stayed with Ellie while we were in Los Angeles.

On the first day that we were in town, Ellie and I went to Manhattan Beach. It was around seventy five degrees outside with a breeze. Not ideal swimming weather, but that didn’t stop us. Mike was off catching up with an old friend. I’m glad that on these tours, we have time to both enjoy music and enjoy people. Ellie and I chilled on the beach for about an hour before diving into the ocean in what felt like a mock suicide pact. The water wasn’t as cold as I expected. It was clear, and that made it feel more refreshing than freezing. The waves were violent. Ellie got thrown around like a rag doll, but she’s a beach babe, so she was used to it. When we dried off, we headed back to Silver Lake to meet up with Mike and our friend, Caleb, for dinner.

This is a menu item at the Thai restaurant we ate at in Silver Lake. Most descriptions were equally conceited and vague. Food was delightful. I had tofu drunken noodles.

Caleb and I have known each other for years. We first met in St. Louis when I was fifteen. We were both volunteering at the Lemp Neighborhood Arts Center. Over the years, we have played in various musical groups together. I even went and visited him in Germany after high school. Somehow, we ended up living in the same town in Massachusetts for a year.Caleb is a wrangler of language. He has a special knack for taking languages, dissecting them, and then re-arranging them in hilarious and often profound ways. It was a delight seeing Caleb in Los Angeles. We ate Thai food together. Great to catch up.

After dinner, I drove out to Riverside to see Watercolor Paintings play. Unfortunately, I missed their set. It was very nice to have the drive to myself, though. It was the first time in a few weeks where I truly was by myself with no expectations. I listened to The Band the whole way there. It was about an hour drive. When I showed up at the show, I walked directly up to my friend, Brent, who used to play in amazing bands such as Dogs of Ire and Rogue State. He is now playing in other great bands. He just helped start an info shop in town, Blood Orange Infoshop. Check it out if you are ever in town and support it. The show was packed. The space was really neat as well. It was a benefit for Blood Orange. I spent a good portion of the evening writing arguments about music to myself. Critiquing, and then arguing against my critiques. Questioning and then questioning the questions.

Here are some things I wrote:

is this guy doing something bad by playing the same kinds of songs he did six years ago?

no, of course not.
playing the same kind of songs for years
making the same kind of work for years

pros
-good practice
-exercise
-technique
-exploring something to its potential
-utilizing a medium as a vessel, rather than a means of creative expression
-devoted audience

cons
-limiting yourself
-deceptive comfort
-stagnation
-lack of growth
-constantly recycling audience

dated music by genre, by subject, by presentation, by topic

using antiquated chords and strumming patterns to communicate radical ideas.

is it a means of continuing to communicate about issues that are important?
does it remain an effective means?
can music that is specifically aimed at youth be an effective means of communicating to a diverse audience?
is this specifically aimed at youth?
no [it is not necessarily aimed at youth], but it seems to be in a genre that speaks to younger people. it is not necessarily aimed, but there are patterns that arise in relation to the type of audience. the subject of the rants seems limited to people who don’t already know. topics such as struggling against religion, parent’s, the man, are topics that are usually deal with by a certain point in life. preaching about such things seems almost condescending to an older audience who has hypothetically figured it out by now.

These notes and debates were not fully worked through, but that’s what I fit on a scrap of paper in my pocket. These ideas are not judgements so much as they are observations and questions. At the end of the night, I drove back to Los Angeles, at first listening to The Band, and eventually just singing to myself.

This is the view from Ellie’s back porch.

On the second day in LA, Mike and I spent a good portion of the day lounging. I sat on the back porch for a few hours, enjoying the sun, burning a little. We eventually headed over to Family, which is a neat book store that we make an effort to check out whenever we’re in town. It has a sparse selection of music and videos and a wide variety of art and artist’s books. When we were done at the store, we headed back to Ellie’s. I went to The Last Bookstore based on high recommendations from Ellie and her pops. It was well worth it. I got an anthology of Yevgeny Yevtushenko poetry for a mere five bucks. Also picked up another Yevtushenko book, along with a Mary Oliver collection and a Czech poet, whom I have never heard of before. Worth checking out new things. I usually don’t spend too much money on books and things on tour, but this seemed worth it.

When I got back to Ellie’s, Mike and I went out to get dinner. It was around nine thirty at night and we hadn’t eaten since lunch. We found Gus’s Taco truck just a few blocks away from Ellie’s. I love taco trucks. My favorite kind of food is food that is served out of vehicles or coolers. Gus’s was easily the most delicious tacos I had on this trip. I tried the super hot sauce. It was certainly super hot.

This is a picture of my spread from Gus’s. It looks pretty terrible here, but was gorgeous in person.

After the Gus’s, we headed back to Ellie’s and hung out with her for the rest of the evening. It was peaceful. In the morning, we said goodbye to Ellie as she went off to her second day of work. Mike and I headed towards Santa Barbara soon after. Of course, not before spending a little bit more on the porch.

This is Ellie’s dog, Molly. She felt like a sheep. My uncle in Santa Barbara has a dog named Molly. My uncle in Asheville has a dog named Molly. Ellie has Molly. Currently the most popular dog name in my life.

Next up - who knows.

Oakland, California was an unexpected pleasure. I was not expecting much. There were three touring acts booked on the show and no locals. When we exited the car, there was at most five seconds before someone walked up and asked Mike for money. We’d heard things about Oakland. This was one of them.

Popped into Mama Buzz Cafe, where the show was happening. I showed up with a bad attitude. “Three touring bands and the guy who booked it isn’t even here, and blah blah blah.” Eventually met Tim Holehouse, who was traveling all the way from England, and Brandon Mayer, who had driven up from Los Angeles. Both were instantly nice guys. It lifted my spirits to encounter such warm people. My new friend, Raub, whom I had been emailing with for a while prior to the show came as well. We had a few moments to chat before the show kicked off. Turns out the cafe closed at ten sharp.

It was Brandon’s idea to do the show in a Round-Robin style. That way, each of us had the same opportunity of being heard throughout the night. What a brilliant idea! Brandon started off with beautiful acoustic guitar songs. He is a phenomenal player with a delicate voice. He played three songs. Next, I performed my first piece. My songs are rather long, so I did one per round-robin-round. Tim performed next. He has a rather average speaking voice. Nothing terribly noticeable, aside from the fact that to us cowboys, he has a British accent. His singing voice was something completely different. When he closed his eyes and belted, it was as though Howlin’ Wolf had somehow fallen into Tim’s diaphragm and was scrambling desperately to get out.

The evening turned out wonderfully. I expressed to Tim and Brandon about how I expected the worst and how often the least favorable situations can result in the most favorable results. Great music, new friends, good feelings all around. After three rounds of performing, we called it a night. Mike and I hung out with Raub and (I am terrible with names! Apologies!) for a quick drink before heading back to San Francisco for some sleep.

Right now, Mike and I are in Austin, Texas. We arrived after fifteen hours of driving. The drive has been the best yet. So much uninterrupted time to hang out with my good friend. We missed our exit by an hour. That only meant we had an extra hour to hang out together. We shared the absolute worst burritos of this trip. We stared at wind turbines for hundreds of miles. We ran over countless tumbleweeds. We shared a mutual desire not to mess with the state we were in. We blasted Flying Lotus while zooming through West Texas night. It was glorious.

I’ve never been to Austin before. Can’t think of who better to share it with. The other night, in Flagstaff, Mike and I were sharing dinner at a Greek restaurant. I looked up at him and had a realization. If I’m visiting with someone, we might get some food, go to an event together, hang out at a house, something along those lines. Usually it is only for a day or an evening and then we part ways. With Mike, we have shared dinner just about every night for the past month and still haven’t run out of things to talk about. We’ve shared breakfasts and lunches, gone to shows together, sat at coffee shops together, sat in cars together, and someone we still haven’t run out of things to talk about.

wertbob:

wertbob:

Of so many hills.

In so many places.

.

.

.

(there’s a baby goat in there somewhere)

Mike and I are currently in Phoenix, Arizona. We’ve been itching to get back on the road. Today, we drove on a part of highway we’ve never been on before. We left from an amazing farm outside of San Diego and traveled along the border of U.S. and Mexico. It was stunning. Sand dunes, mountains, enormous piles of rocks. Often on drives, we look at our surroundings and talk about where we’d like to live. There are sometimes houses on the tops of hills or in valleys by rivers. What we concluded is that we don’t want to live in any of those houses. If we can see it from the highway, it’s certainly too close to the highway. We’ll take the house two hills back.

I’ll talk more about San Diego and our drive later. For now, I’m rewinding back to Santa Barbara.

I woke up early and Rebecca picked me up. We went over to her house and she showed me the work she’s been making over the past year. Gorgeous! She’s moved away from traditional book forms. When we ran into each other at the MFA show, she told me she was done with books. That isn’t quite the truth. Currently, she’s working with handmade paper to create various structural forms. Books sagging into paper hung from the ceiling as skin-like cradles. Paper formed around cotton, creating lumpy, highly textural chunks of wispy cloud hides with secret holes, that when peered through lead into fantastical luminous caverns. You get the point, I dug it. Rebecca showed me the roof of the house, which was also great.

This is a view from the roof.

Mallory came over and we all made biscuits and oaty gravy. Triumphant breakfast! This has been a tour filled with great breakfast experiences. Jake and Peter from the show, showed up and ate with us. After breakfast (around one thirty), Mike and Haley picked me up and we headed over to her friend Jake’s house. Jake lives in the hills of Montecito. He is a rad surfer dude. He is also a mastermind computer programmer. He took us surfing in his dad’s minivan. It was marvelous!

This is Mike in his space suit. The shop gave him a suit that was both ripped and too large. Unfortunately, Mike spent the majority of the time in the water struggling with a wet suit that was bloated with salt water. He still looked rad, like a gnarly Star Trek character.

Somehow, Jake’s dad’s suit fit perfectly. The glasses I got in Chinatown, SF, did not.

Serves up, mom!

After surfing, we decided it would be a good idea to get gas station hot chocolate. We were all wrong. I spent half an hour at my grandma’s lying face first on the carpet, talking to my dad on the phone, trying to keep my hot cocoa and powdered doughnuts down. Was still in bliss. When the post-surfing coma subsided, Mike, Lindsey, Haley, and I went to Freebird’s in Isla Vista for massive burritos. Somehow we downed them. Good times. From Freebird’s, I walked over to the Pink Mailbox and met up with the folks from the show. We all piled into a minivan and drove to the drive-in theatre. Three of us hid in the back. We watched The Bridesmaids and about a fourth of The Hangover II. I would not recommend either unless you can see them at a drive-in and with those specific people. The night ended very well. Got to hang out a bit more before eventually falling asleep in the most comfortable bed I’ve slept in in a good while. Slept well. Spent the next day doing absolutely nothing. Hanging out with my grandma, napping a bit, reading a bit, eating food, hanging out with Mike. Mike was working on a bunch of web design in Santa Barbara, that’s why he wasn’t in a lot of these stories.

In the evening, my aunt and uncle came home from Portland. We all met up for dinner at a fabulous Mediterranean restaurant where they had fire pits in the middle of the tables. We shared stories, good food, and much laughter. Also a bit of spectacular wine. After dinner, we went back to the family’s house and ate some banana chocolate cupcakes that Lindsey made. She, like the rest of the family, is extremely thoughtful and loving. Couldn’t ask for better. Mike and I drove to L.A. beginning around ten in the evening. Got there around twelve. Delirium ensued. It was funny. Tell you about it later.

Next up - more trip stuff. Maybe I’ll talk about hanging out with dogs in LA.

This is the coastline off of Highway 101 in Santa Barbara. While driving on the 101, we saw a bunch of cars parked on these turn-offs on the side of the highway. We were excited to get to a beach on this trip, because thusfar it had been between fifty-five and seventy degrees. We first tried pulling off for a state beach, but it looked as though we’d have to pay. Turns out we were wrong, but what did we know, we had already turned back. We eventually parked on one of the turn-offs directly on the side of the highway. We hopped some brambly bushes, walked over a train track, and scrambled through another, much larger patch of brambly bushes to the edge of infinity.

This is Mike on the edge of infinity.

This is me in mid-sentence, saying, “Hey dude, infinity is larger than I expected.”

The drive from San Francisco to Santa Barbara was quick. So quick that we managed to arrive half and hour before we expected, even after spending over an hour and a half mucking around on the road. Certainly a full day.

My mother’s family lives in Santa Barbara. My grandma, my aunt, uncle, and two cousins. I’ve been seeing them more in the past two years, just because I’ve been coming to California more and more frequently. My family is small and it’s a treat being able to see them as much as I have been.

I’m going to fast forward to some more pictures. To sum it up -

We arrived and caught up with my grandma, who is looking great and doing well.

Had dinner with my grandma and two cousins, Haley and Lindsey (hope I’m spelling that correctly). Both girls are extremely busy all the time, always pursuing what they love. My aunt and uncle were out of town until Sunday. We arrived on Thursday evening. Mike and I extended our stay in order to have a full family dinner on Sunday evening.

After the first night’s dinner, Mike and I crashed. I woke up early the next morning and got in touch with Sandra at Turkey Press. Had never met her or Harry, who both run Turkey Press together. Was recommended to meet them, though, since they are makers of all kinds - printmaking, book making, painting-making, food-making, etc. I headed over to their home in the late morning and was greeted by their friend in the driveway. I poked around their expansive book collection in the living room while waiting for Sandra to get out of the shower. Spent the morning hanging out with Sandra while she prepared food for a dinner she was hosting. I believe that the kitchen is often one of the nicest places to get to know someone. Sandra and I immediately hit it off. Harry was in a meeting and we met up with him shortly after. They showed me their studio in the back yard. It was gorgeous. Larger than their house and made by them. I am generally biased against paintings. Ask me why sometime, it’s nothing intense, just personal preferences and possibly a bit of ignorance. Harry’s paintings struck me in a way that most paintings do not. They felt very confident and mature. The textures that were created transcended the medium. In many paintings, I can see the hand struggling against the paint. In Harry’s paintings, he manipulated the paint to create abstractions and textures that were nearly photo-realistic.

Harry and Sandra showed me a good deal of their book work. Sandra’s printing is impeccable. So pristine. Seemingly flawless. At least to my eyes. They work a great deal with ideas of indeterminacy. It was interesting to see how much Cage had crept into their work. Sandra is a devout explorer of printmaking, in the same way that Harry manipulates his paints to extraordinary ends, Sandra does the same with her printmaking processes, often engaging in laborious processes in order to create often-overlooked, yet absolutely gorgeous effects. This makes the work of Turkey Press stand out from other small presses that I’ve come across. The devotion to the craft to the point of innovation and often transcendence.

I accidentally locked myself out of my car while I was at their house and had to wait for Mike to come with the extra set of keys. While waiting, Harry and Sandra had to run some errands. I sat in their living room with their collection of books at my disposal. I spent my twenty-five minute wait exploring a book they had made in 1995 (I think that’s correct). It was a book of poetry by John Laughlin. The illustrations and poems were fabulous! I snapped photos of two poems that stuck me. Laughlin’s writing was direct, without pretension. The design of the book held the words seamlessly. I it was printed on some kind of warped laid Zerkall paper, where the prominent grain waved across the sheet. It was called Heart Island & Other Epigrams. Here is a beautiful video of it: http://vimeo.com/7808570

And two pictures of poems I enjoyed:

After leaving Turkey Press, Mike, Haley, and I went to the beach downtown. First, we got frozen yogurt for lunch. Healthy, I know. We took the trolley car for a quarter down to the water. Instead of sitting in the sand, we ended up watching people at the skate park for over an hour. I could do that for days. I no longer skateboard, in order to protect my paws, but I still have the itch. Mike and I made up names for the different skaters. Chad McChill, because he was a bro. Of course. Wu Tang. Those are the only two I can remember right now, but we had a bunch. After the park, we headed back to my Grandma’s and had another very nice dinner with my Grandma, Haley, and Linsday (spelled it differently just in case). I had a show that evening in Isla Vista and were stopping by the UCSB MFA show before hand.

At college art shows, I reach my most critical and skeptical. Maybe not a good way to be. It’s kind of like when I go into Guitar Center. I used to think everyone was trying to trick me into buying something I didn’t need. I feel similarly at college art shows often. The people in them spent so much money to be in this show. Some of them worked hard, some maybe didn’t, but they all want desperately for it to have been worth something to them, since they spent so much time and money. Maybe I’m reading into it too much, but I feel a sense of desperation in the room when I enter a BFA or MFA show. With that said, there were some pleasant moments at the show. We ran into Rebecca, who was a friend we met last time we were in town. She had set up the shows both times. Last year, I met up with her on our way out of town and we geeked out about books. It was a pleasure running into her again. I knew I would see her at the show later in the evening, but wasn’t sure about the MFA show. After chitting and chatting for a bit, Mike and I headed over to the house in Isla Vista where I was playing.

Isla Vista is like Road Warrior if instead of guns and motorcycles, everyone had forties and road bikes. The streets were flooded with college kids roaming around in packs, looking for the next round of beer pong. We waded through the sea of bros in our car and eventually landed in front of the house. Turns out it is one door down from where I had spent my morning. Go figure.

Arriving at the house, we were greeted by a roommate who was moving out. He was preoccupied and no one else was home, so Mike and I lounged on the couch. Mike showed me this short documentary he has been telling me about all year. It’s called UP THERE. Highly recommend checking it out. Very worth while.

Folks began showing up around nine-thirty. We met a whole group of wonderful new people. Rebecca and her friend, Mallory performed together as Remambran. It was wonderful! They switched off playing guitar and both sang together. Close harmonies. At points, it was hard to discern whose voice was whose. The two voices meshed in unison to create a composite harmony that was one voice. At very rare moments the two voices would switch between throat voices and nose voices, hitting a slight yodel together. Check out another recording of Remambran here: http://www.phoningitin.net/shows/590-Remambran.  Rebecca also plays in a thousand other bands. Watercolor Paintings is one of them. She does it with her brother, Josh. Czech it. Eleanor Murray was supposed to play as well, but was deathly ill. Unfortunate loss. Glad to meet her, though. Abigail Peachtree did perform, though. Outstanding. Her singing orbited her guitar lines and was constantly referencing itself and re-inventing lines that were just sung. A blast. We hung out for a while after the show. Mallory and Rebecca played a few more songs. Mike and I eventually headed back to my grandma’s and crashed.

Santa Barabara - all hearts.

Next up - breakfast, surfing, drive-ins. We spent a lot of time in Santa Barbara. Time well spent.

Just found these pictures. Our friend Fera, in Chico, California, took us out for the day after the show there. We went to Indian Buffet for breakfast and then he took us to a train car that had been converted into a coffee shop.

Fera on the left. Mustache with man attached in the middle. Mike on the right.

This is Mike in his natural habitat.

This is Mike hanging out on the porch in LA.

I am currently sitting on a porch overlooking Silver Lake, California. Mike is sitting close by with a cranberry lemonade, reading a book. I’m going to do some fast-forwarding here. I’m a week behind on this journal and I don’t particularly feel like playing catch up once I’m done with tour. It’s been difficult, yet fun keeping up with this thing. I rarely find time where I want to step away from the present moment to reflect on the past. I think that’s a good sign. Right now, we are having serene downtime in one of the least serene places on earth, Los Angeles. A good time for reflection. Rather than write pages about the wonderful time that Mike and I had in San Francisco (which could literally be pages), I’m going to sum it up in a few sentences and pictures.

This is Scott and Mike at their home in San Francisco.

Mike and Scott were marvelous hosts. Mike (SF) is the type of guy that knows everyone. At the coffee shop he shook hands with the local old dudes hanging around talking shit. Up the block from his house, he would giddily point out, “You see that guy there? He’s the guitarist for Jefferson Airplane.” He took us to the best cafes. Took us to a Ramen joint in Japantown where he knew the chef and had a dish secretly named after him. Mike (SF) was genuinely excited about all of the little things in life. He savored them and shared them with us. Scott was at work a lot, but when he was around, he was extremely easy to talk to. He’s been around in music. His most recent band was called Carletta Sue Kay.  Click the link. It will take you to a youtube video of Carletta that Mike (SF) filmed. Scott is playing bass.

This is one of the bridges leading into SF.

This is another bridge. I am a fan of large bridges.

This is my breakfast from Moe’s in San Francisco. Best breakfast potatoes I’ve ever had. Hands down. Mike (SF) has the best recommendations.

Mike and I went to the San Francisco Center for the Book. Two of the people I worked with for the past year in Chicago were having a show there. Blanket Impressions. When we walked in, I saw plates that I made developed and pointed them out to Mike. Looking to the right, I saw film that I had made. Looking just further to the right, Mike and I were both very surprised to be staring at me on the wall.These are pictures of me registering a print, stripping film, and preparing ink for the press.

Here are some more pictures of the press in Chicago. The pictures are from San Francisco. The press is in Chicago at the Center for Book and Paper Arts.

One last SF Book Center picture.

This is the special Michael San Ramen bowl in Japantown. Lens is smudged just so for the sex scene.

All gone.

This is Mike in across the street from Cafe Trieste (sp?) in North Beach, the local cafe of Scott and Mike. Mike is killin’ it in that pea coat.

These are the blurry strip clubs outside of Scott and Mike’s apartment.

Mike in another funny gnome hat outside of a dive in North Beach. He consciously tries to look as unhappy as possible in every picture I take of him in a goofy hat. There have been a convenient amount of gnome hats on this trip so far.

Somehow we stumbled across the same burrito place we ate at last year when we were in the Mission. It was a sign. Good grub. Good grub.

Next up - some other part of tour, likely in a non-linear fashion. Even more typos.

The drive between Chico and Nevada City is a series of postcards. Drove through the hills from Sierra Nevada labels. A short drive. We tried to dilly-dally, since we had accounted for hours of traffic, but it ain’t easy to make gold outta paper mache, (or something like that, you get the point.) At one point, we stopped at a fruit stand on the side of the road. I love fresh fruit and I love deals. This place had both. A bag of approx. twenty kiwi(s) for one dollar! Cherries were on sale as well. The folks at the stand were friendly enough. We hopped back on the road with a bag of fruit. We missed our “exit” at one point, because we were talking and the sign was simply a street sign off of a road with a sixty mph speed limit. We turned back and kept winding through the countryside.

This was the gravel road leading up to the fruit stand outside of Chico, California.

This was the glorious fruit stand. The home of most righteous deals on grub. Three thumbs up.

Arriving in Nevada City, we were met by a huddle of quaint shops on a series of three hills. As far as we could figure out, the world ended when the shops did. We pulled up to Cafe Mekka at around four in the afternoon and decided to stop in to say hello and see if there was anything to do. I walked up to the counter and said, “Hi, I think I’m playing here tonight.” “You are? That’s the first I’ve heard. Did you talk to _____?” “Yeah, I talked to him on the phone about two and a half weeks ago. I even sent posters per his request.” “Let me text him. Sometime he just shows up at eight with a p.a. and things happen.” “Okay, thanks, we’re going to walk around town and we’ll be back.” We walked around town. Then we walked through the town. Then through a different way. In all total it took about thirty minutes to circumambulate and penetrate the town. The only record story in Nevada City, one I was particularly interested in visiting, called After The Gold Rush, had been closed down permanently. Most other shops and sitteries were closed for the evening. Most closed between two and four in the afternoon. The one “happening” block happened to be where I was supposed to play. Mike and I want and stood on the highway overpass for at least a half hour. We made up a game where we guessed the color of the next car that would emerge from under the bridge we were standing on. That proved to be very difficult, because, well, there’s a lotta colors out there. We changed the game to trying to guess if the next vehicle would be a car, truck, or minivan. Sometimes we would add extra qualifiers such as, “A truck towing a boat,” or, “A van with shit on top.” The game was funny at the least. Eventually, we headed back toward the cafe to fiddle on our technology for a while. After an hour or so, the employee roster changed over and still, there was no sign of __________. By eight thirty, we decided there was no show. We asked around for a place to sleep, but people only offered a fifty dollar hotel up the way. Decided to call the person whose house I was playing out the next night in Sacto. Got a hold easily. We had a place to stay and she was even going to get us into a show for free. We left the Cafe with no regrets and drove out of town with a pep of urgency behind the pedal.

In and Out burger does not exist in the Midwest as far as we are aware. When we get into In and Out country, it becomes imperative that we enjoy fresh-cut fries, stuffed burger buns, and concrete-style milkshakes at least once. On this particular drive, In and Out seemed like therapy. We stopped about halfway to Sacto. It’s only about an hour and a half drive total.

This is Mike and In and Out. In this picture, the burger is in mid-sentence psycho-analyzing Mike during our fast food therapy session.

This is me at In and Out. As you can see, the straw in my milkshake is whispering comforting nothings into my ear.

When we got into Sacramento, we could not find our host. The night went a little funny. We spent the evening walking around Sacto.. Went into a bar where we thought our host was, just to be faced with a bunch of young hip-looking people going wild for a band that sounded a lot like rap-metal. Confusing. Very confusing, Saw a really gnargly gay bar that had a neon-lit pool in the back patio. Saw a tranny hooker get solicited for sex. Sat on the patio of a quieter bar for a while. Never did find our host but somehow made it to the house we were staying at. Some other uncomfortable stuff went down, but nothing worth writing about on the internet. In the morning, we woke up in a stranger’s house. Still had not met our host, but were not in any position where it felt comfortable to stick around. We decided to get outta there at ten in the morning. Steeped in confusion in the car for about fifteen minutes before deciding to drive to San Francisco for the day.

We were staying with Mike’s good friends, Scott and Mike, in San Francisco. When we arrived in town, they were both at work. We drove over to Amoeba records to spend some time. That store is overwhelming. Every time I’m there, they have used Brian Eno records. Consistently. Almost bought another Ian and Sylvia record, but decided I didn’t want to haul it around in a hot car. Eventually made our way to Scott and Mike’s in North Beach. I met both of them for the first time. They were immediately sweet and hospitable. Their apartment was gorgeously decorated. Hard to describe. I took a pic.
At five-ish we drove back to Sacto. Mike from San Francisco was in tow. I got to sit in the back seat for once on this trip. It was a real treat. Needless to say, we stopped for another round of soothing therapy at In and Out on our way back to Sacto. So many burgers on this trip. I think I forgot to mention that whiel in Bellingham, Mike and I shared a deep-fried pb&j. It’s all Kale and Quinoa once I get off the road.On the car ride, I got to get to know Mike (SF) more. He is such a caring guy. Very generous in spirit. Very attentive. Also just plain funny.

We arrived in Sacramento a little later than we expected, but were not late for the show. I was playing at a house called the FunCastle. It used to host a lot of noisier punk shows,and hadn’t done shows for a while. This one turned out to be very nice. Our host made sushi and spice cake for everyone. It was delicious. Pregnant and Ritual Waste both performed. Pregnant performed looping-based music. His set was about thirty minutes long with no breaks. Each song/ movement flowed seamlessly into the next. He had some of the most inventive guitar riffs that I’ve heard in a while. Ritual waste performed delay and synthesizer-based noise. It was primarily pulse-driven. Mesmerizing improvisations. Both were really nice sets. It’s not often that I get to perform with musicians that are doing more noise-based things. I often prefer it, although I must say that I’ve thoroughly enjoyed most everyone that has performed on this tour so far. I’ve gotten very lucky in those regards. Daniel from Pregnant and Michael from Ritual Waste were both sweethearts. I got some good suggestions for new music to check out. Can’t wait to do so. Always enjoy hearing new music

At the show, I spent a good amount of time talking to Elisa Hough. She is currently finishing up her run with Phoning It In, which is a radio show on KDVS in Davis, California that has musicians call in from land line phones to perform music live on the radio. She also maintains a really neat blog called Adventures in Audio.

The evening was splendid. A good group of people hanging out, playing music, and listening to music. After the show, Mike, Mike, and I drove back to San Francisco and crashed at Mike and Scott’s.

Next up - adventures in San Francisco, Oakland.

This is a picture of a camel on the side of the road in Rice Hills, Oregon.

The drive from Portland from Chico is downhill… the whole time. We drove in neutral for eight hours. Along the way, we made a rest stop in Rice Hill, Oregon (I think that was the name of the town, although it wasn’t quite a town). While driving to the truck megaplex, we spotted a drive-in. We got closer and I saw a pickup truck advertising camel rides. I pointed it out to Mike and he made some crack about a fake camel. I was looking at the camel on the side of the road as our car creaked past and the camel looked pretty real to me. Just past the “camel” was a seedy hotel, for prostitution, obviously, according to Mike. We got to the gas station to use the restroom. While “resting”, Mike and I both experienced some guy literally yelling at his feces as it came out of him. He seemed upset to be having a bowel movement. Surprised at the least. We shared laughs as we walked out. On the way back towards the highway, all of our speculations about the town became solidified. A middle-aged woman wearing nearly-not-there-jean-shorts grumbled across the road back to the hotel. A lady of the evening, of course. When we passed the camel rides, the camel on the side of the road wagged its tail. Mike was surprised that it was real. We were both curious how it got there. Approaching the drive-in, we decided we had to drive in. Burgers with fries, followed by ice cream. It was probably an hour long stop, although the place wasn’t necessarily packed. They just worked in a different time dimension. Not complaining, in fact I admired the Que Sera Sera attitude of the two women inside the booth. The drive-in had the silliest and least appetizing sign of a hamburger. It was off-center, but not in a stylish manner and was blown out to the point that at some angles, it was hard to tell if it was some sort of sea rock or a cow patty. Fun was had by all, or at least by us. While at the stop, we decided to start “cheers-ing” our food whenever we get sometime. By that, I mean, Mike holds his food in one hand and I hold mine in one hand and we hit our food together in the manner that two people would hit their drinks together while saluting a cheer. The only difference-we cheers with the force that would inevitably spill that lager onto the saw-dust sprinkled floor. We started the tradition by cheers-ing our ice cream.

This is where we drove in. Notice the most appetizing burger shaped image on the sign. Our burgers did not look like that image. I don’t recall the burgers looking better. Just different.

This is the taco and burrito truck in Rice Hills. We did not go there. Ever.

This is a picture of Mike swallowing his ice cream whole.

We set the car back in neutral and coasted the rest of the way down to Chico. Valleys, rivers, mountains, beautiful. Despite the righteous feast at the drive-in, we somehow finished off our ten ton tub of peanut-butter pretzels that we bought at Costco. After two weeks of nibbling non-stop, we made it to the bottom of the batch. Farwell, sweet tub of salt. A viking funeral is in your future. That reminds me of this one time in high school when we made a viking funeral for this kid’s class project. It was for a movie. We got a plastic sled, a bundle of twigs, a container of something flammable (was it gasoline?), and headed down to the nearest creek. This all seemed like a bad idea at the time, so I stood back as, (short story version), half the creek went up in flames. Maybe a viking funeral wouldn’t be the best idea. I think we already pitched the tub anyway.

R.I.P.

Arrived at Cafe Flo around seven post meridian. There were two people standing out front, but the door was locked. The guy outside asked me when the show was starting. He thought it was at six. He told me that the website said six. I told him that I’ve been checking the website periodically for the last two weeks and it consistently said seven thirty, but that I could have read it wrong. The woman and him left to get food. Mike and I did the same, which wasn’t particularly easy, because most things that we found closed at seven. Eventually, we came across a burrito shop. It had been been too long since we had eaten burritos (twelve hours can feel like days sometimes). I had a pretty delicious veggie burrito. Had actual vegetables, rather than beans, rice, and cheese. When we returned to Cafe Flo, Monikah, the current owner was there with the future owner. Monikah rules. ‘Nuff said on that topic for now. Fera showed up shortly after we arrived. Great to see him again.

Cafe Flo was laid out differently from the way it was last year. It was set up primarily as a performance space now, with rows of chairs facing the area when people perform. It was a wonderful layout. The show was great. The Great Good was Don. He performed very solid folk songs with beautiful guitar hooks and an angelic, yet somehow demonic voice. Sweet, but blaringly loud. Nice, nice, nice. Fera rocked the house, as well. He performed mostly on electric guitar, but also took a respite on banjo. His set was hilarious at the most appropriate points, while also remaining emotional. Mike ran the door for the evening and hung out with Monikah, who rules. Don’t know if I’ve mentioned that yet. After the show, we headed to Chelsea Hotel to hang out with Fera, Don, and the whole crew. We spent the evening playing songs and singing. Late into the night, we headed back to Fera’s to sleep. Sleep we did. We did sleep. We slept, all right?
Morning - we woke up late and went to Indian buffet with Fera. After the brunch, we went to a really neat coffee shop in an old train car. After the train, we stopped by the Sierra Nevada brewery. Unfortunately, we showed up twenty minutes after the tour started. We didn’t have time to wait for the next tour, so we parted ways with Fera and headed towards Nevada City.

Next up - Nevada City-ish, fresh fruit, Sacramento sleep fiasco.

This is a picture of local Rice Hills artwork. It was featured on a yellow pole at the drive-in. The medium is presumably silver leaf or melted diamond. It was hard to determine. Very glad that Rice Hills promotes local artists. The piece is obviously a depiction of a genderless human, being overwhelmed by the intense heat and pressure of modern society. The sparse line work evokes a sense of urgency about the process of making, although it is quite obvious from the careful handling of the lines that this work went through years of revision before reaching its completed state. The anonymity of the figure is compounded by the author of this piece. It is saying, “we’re all in this together. Or are we?” By putting this masterpiece over a pre-made yellow pole shows how art is part of life and visa versa. A truly revolutionary gesture. It is possibly presumptuous of me to assume that the yellow cylindrical structure is not itself fabricated specifically for the piece. In total, this piece is both inriguing and confounding. It speaks to the post-modern human in a way that all pieces prior have failed to do. A flawless contemporary classic. Look for it soon in the Guggenheim. Plus, if you look at it funny, it looks both like a piece of dripping pizza or a melting ice cream cone.