Me, working with crazy unkempt hair in a coffeeshop while I pay a babysitter so I can write and email and book tours and entertain my micro-fans - i.e. YOU!

I'm feeling quite heavily these days that my time is diminishing. I'm not suicidal, and I'm not sick, but I recognize that my genes are not great. I'm grateful for every blonde hair that pops up in my formerly bright-red. I'm thankful for the liver spots my dermatologist points out and the wrinkles that my kids ask about. The signs of aging are so exciting to me because every little change means I've made it another year. It's also given me an exciting/stressful PUSH to get all the endeavours I've stored in my brain out into the world.

There's the memoir I haven't written -- the one where I tell you crazy stories about abusive exes and ridiculous tours with famous bands and rides home in United Nations motorcades and that time when I had bagels with Walter Cronkite and that other time when Bill Cosby

Ah, finally back in Edinburgh. We were only here for a couple of days (to play a show), then headed north. The last five dates of the UK Tour went well, but I was unable to find wifi for more than three minutes at a time. Somehow almost a week passed, and I haven't blogged -- unacceptable and my apologies.

Yesterday we woke up in Gartly in Aberdeenshire (I think) and headed back to Edinburgh. Well, Kirsty was heading all the way back to Manchester, but she slowed down enough to allow me out of the car in Edinburgh.

I couldn't be happier. The tour was great fun, and I met some just wonderful people along the way (my favorite thing about touring!). Still, I'm exhausted. It was one of the most mentally stressful tours I've had since my days playing with Days of the New, and I'm ready to clear my head. I love touring, but it's not the glory and glamor you're probably imagining. Thanks to Kirsty's insistence, however, I only slept on the floor once the entire tour. Pretty good, don't you think?

Let's talk about driving for a minute, shall we? Road trips back home are day or week-long events. Road trips here are anything over an hour. I know America is just HUGE. But tell someone in the UK you're heading somewhere over three hours away, and they ask you where you're stopping over for the night. Kirsty was a trooper and managed to drive from Aberdeenshire to Manchester yesterday. I'm pretty sure she'll be questioned by the UK authorities for proof of citizenship now.

And all you doubters? The sun is still shining in Scotland, and it's a glorious 68 degrees. Take that!

My friend Malcolm is in town for a few days. He's a New Yorker, a brilliant bass player, and an all-round good guy. Last summer when I was out on tour playing accordion with Days of the New (Malcolm is the bassist), I turned to Malcolm often as a source of sanity and balance in a completely insane situation.

He was stranded in Fern Creek without a car, which, for a Brooklynite, is even worse than it sounds. I was on my way to Whole Foods when he called, so he joined me on my quest for a yummy lunch.

Next to the Whole Foods, we saw something I'd never noticed before: batting cages!!

We immediately purchased six tokens after laughing at the nominal cost -- 8 pitches for one token for 50 cents. So we bought 48 pitches.

I'm not a baseball player, but I remember the basics. Keep your eye on the ball and keep your elbow higher than you think you should. After missing 8 pitches in a row at 45 mph, -- Malcolm declared they were too high and I would have been walked were it a real game -- I switched to 40 mph. The speed for little girls. But I'm not proud, so it was fine.

I hit the first ball, and it was a good one too, directly between the pitcher's mound and 3rd base. Suddenly, my hand was throbbing in a weird pulsing pain. I screamed an expletive, and Malcolm, who had hit about 16 straight balls asked it my hand hurt. "Stupid aluminum bats," he said, "They always sting your hand when you get a hit." I hit one more ball and that time my hand reeeeeeeally hurt. I decided I was too weak to continue. Then Malcolm decided that his hands hurt a lot too, and we should probably stop if we wanted to be able to play our Friday night gigs.

We gave our last two tokens to a little boy and his grandfather, telling them we didn't want to hurt our hands anymore. The grandfather grinned and asked, "Are you musicians?" Malcolm sort of looks like a rock star, and I had on oversized sunglasses. Maybe we looked the part. Or maybe musicians are the only people wussy enough to get injured in the batting cages.

Current mood: strong
***I'd like to request, please, that any of you readers not post this on any message boards or forums. Feel free to link to it, but please don't do the copy & paste thing. Thank you:)****

Emails and blogs are dangerous. When you have a fight with a lover, it's easy to write an angry letter, full of passion, emotion, maybe even threats. But the nice thing about the letter is that it's usually written late at night, and it takes a lot of effort to actually address, stamp, and mail it. This gives you plenty of time to rip the letter in shreds, and with that, feel better about moving on, and not saying anything.

But with an email or a blog -- it's far too easy to hit "send" before you have time to heal. With a blog, you've got thousands of on-lookers reading the very personal letter.

This may be a controversial blog. It's not about a breakup. I've hesitated writing it, and I have waited until i'm calm and have thought it through, out of respect for the parties involved. I actually think the whole situation is both terribly sad and incredibly funny.

I never thought I'd quote Talladega Nights when writing a thoughtful essay, but here goes:

Ricky: With all due respect, Mr. Dennit, I had no idea you'd gotten experimental surgery to have your balls removed.

Mr. Dennit: What did you just say to me?

Ricky: What? I said it with all due respect!

Mr. Dennit: Just because you say that doesn't mean you get to say whatever you want to me!

Ricky: Yes, it does!

Mr. Dennit: No, it doesn't!

Ricky: It's in the Geneva Conventions, look it up!

I played Indianapolis on Wednesday night. It was a solo show with the fabulous Tim Brickley, who had invited me to his Troubadour Series at D'Vine Wine Bar. It was a really fun show, where I met several new folks. I also saw some friends from Louisville, as well as friends from the world of Seven Mary Three. When you play with post-grunge rock bands, and that bands' fans come hear your alt-country-cabaret solo stuff, you wonder if they'll like it at all. Thankfully, there are open-minded people left in this world. Thanks for listening, guys.

Coincidentally, also playing Indianapolis that night was: Days of the New. Why have I not blogged about the previous tours with Travis Meeks? Out of respect, the preservation of mystique, and a professional responsibility not to go disclosing details of everyone else's lives. I am not going to do this in this blog either.

Maybe someday I'll write a book, a travel memoir, like A Walk in the Woods or A Year in Provence. Maybe I'm working on that now, with a goal of finding that balance of information without spilling it all.

The Days of the New show was interesting from an audience perspective. I showed up at 11:30ish, knowing they were supposed to start at 10:30. As I walked in, I noticed a lot of people leaving the club and getting in their cars.

I asked one, "Are they finished?" He replied, "No, they just started," and shook his head.

I know the set-list well, so it's safe to assume that they left after "Touch, Peel & Stand." The crowd of what was maybe 200-300, dwindled down to about 40ish by the last song.

It's not because the band is bad. i want to be perfectly clear of that. On the contrary, everyone in the band is incredibly talented, and even more important, they play really well together. Some of the most beautiful tones I've ever heard come from that band's live shows, and the vibe that happens on-stage when everyone is listening and feeling is incomparable.

But that doesn't translate to a rock club venue. Travis's new music belongs in an art house. It belongs in a place with season-ticket holders, and it needs to be advertised as world-acoustic-rock, not as the post-grunge 90's rock band. I pity him that audience members expect "Touch, Peel & Stand." Travis plays it every show; he knows that many are there to hear it. I wish more audience members would give it a chance, but the new music is very difficult to connect with in a club setting. At times, it feels self-indulgent and [almost] pretentious -- not a word I throw around lightly -- at least, from the perspective of an audience member. It was also interesting to lurk around the crowd and hear what they were saying, seeing as most of them don't know me as the accordion player.

After the show, I said hello to Travis, who was surprised to see me. He was friendly, at first, but soon turned just plain mean.

Which brings me back to Ricky Bobby.

Just because you say, "With all due respect," doesn't give you the right to be a complete asshole. I know that Travis has actual, diagnosed, neurological problems. I have done nothing but defend him to the world since i first met him (see my previous post in April about Days of the New). In Louisville, where he has hurt and offended many people, it is especially difficult to champion him as a kind man with a troubled brain. This week's LEO has a cover story on Travis, written beautifully by Mat Herron. I know I was one of the few people willing to say anything kind about Trav.

But much like saying, "with all due respect,": Just because you have a troubled brain, doesn't give you the right to be a complete asshole. There's a difference between the Aspergers talking, and when it's personal and cruel. I can tolerate one, but will not tolerate the other.

I'm going to leave it at that. I wrote a lot more details, but thankfully, I was able to delete them before addressing, stamping, and dropping it in the mail.

And you know what? I feel a lot better.

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Question posed by a blog commenter:
Do female musicians get male groupies?

I'm not sure about that. I've definitely had some creepy old men look at my chest for an uncomfortably long time. But there's a different vibe when it's male superfans versus female groupies.

I actually saw women -- seemingly normal women -- pretty much throw themselves at the band.

I should also point out that there were two females in Days of the New during this past trip, and not once was I propositioned, nor was Rachael. And I am not complaining. Thanks for not following me back to my hotel, guys.

The band is really not a hard-rocker-trash-the-hotel-room type of band. In fact, I'm wondering if any bands out there are actually like that anymore. It seems to me that groupies have this idea in their heads that they need to act totally crazy and promiscuous because, well, that's what rock stars are used to. So, really, it's just the drunk girls who end up trashing the hotel rooms and therefore making it impossible to actually get to bed at a reasonable time.

Drunk girls, Bartenders, Superfans, and Normal people, let me offer you some suggestions:

1) That ring on the 4th finger of his left hand means something, or he would have taken it off before the show started. Why must you persist?

2) Just because the girl is selling merch does not mean she is sleeping with anyone in the band.

3) Sometimes there are actual, real-life, female musicians ... not just "band girlfriends." In fact, why would a traveling rock-n-roll band ever bring a girlfriend along? The guys would spend the entire time arguing with their girlfriends, explaining that the breast-flashing was entirely unprovoked and that orange girl followed us back to the hotel of her own accord.

4) We requested a non-smoking hotel room because we don't want you to light up in our room.

5) I'm sure your boobs were very expensive, but that does not mean i want to see them.

6) Drunk isn't pretty.

Maybe I'm just a very boring rock-n-roll musician. I mean, hell, I spent my day in Atlanta at the Jimmy Carter Presidential Library. Maybe these band members act different because they allowed two girls in their band.

****

Hmmmmm... what else?

I brought along a delicious bottle of Four Roses Single Barrel Bourbon, for after-show hotel-room sipping. I did not share with the drunk girls.

"Touchdown Jesus" in Monroe, Ohio, remains one of my favorite roadside attractions. Have you seen it? Also known as "Drowning Jesus", or "MC 62 Ft Jesus." It never ceases to amuse me.

***

Michigan

Do any of you live in Michigan? And why?

I should say that Peter and I stayed in beautiful Saline, Michigan a few weeks ago, and had a charming lunch in Ann Arbor. But really, it was May and sunny and warm. Michigan is sooo soo soo o very cold in the winter, that the only times they can do construction work is in the summer. So after a long sucky winter of freezing your toosh, you're ready to get outside, and it takes 2 hours to drive 30 miles because of all the road construction? What kind of an existences it that?
Do you choose Michigan? Or does Michigan choose you?

Warning to you travelers: It might take 3 hours to drive the 60 miles from Detroit to Toledo. I-75 South is closed for the foreseeable future. Bring along a GPS and train it to "avoid highways."

****

There is lots of youtube footage of the Days of the New gigs from the past week or two. Have a look if you like.


***

I've finally got some confirmed dates in ... the United Kingdom! See you in October. Who lives over there? Want a houseguest? Or a house concert? Cheerio!

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Notes from a Tour Van
Current mood: chipper
Joining the Circus

I read Water for Elephants a few weeks ago. It's about a young veterinarian during the Great Depression who hops a train car and finds himself working in a circus. Antics ensue, as expected, but they are emotionally heavier than you might expect.

Touring with Days of the New was a bit emotionally heavier than anticipated, both good and bad. Maybe instead of the circus analogy, I should go with a thrill ride analogy.

Anyway, I have about ten different blogs in me, so I might space these out over a few days.

This is also difficult to write because I am constantly amazed at how many people read this blog ... and those people who copy and paste it onto other sites, like freakin' WikiPedia for example! I'm sure the Days of the New message boarders are a'watchin'. And that's fine; i have no secrets. I just know that people often misinterpet the written word, so I have to think think think before I write write write. I don't like writing that way.

I feel like I've been on the road for months. It's a good feeling, but I'm tired. Usually a four-day tour wouldn't phase me, even with lack of sleep. But I had a wonderful time traveling with six of the coolest people I've ever met.

We rented Peter Searcy's WonderVan for this leg of the tour -- complete with DVD player and captain's chairs and a built-in cooler I had not previously noticed.

Life in a van is probably different from life on a tour bus, but you still spend a lot of time with the same people. And these particular people were a brilliant match. The only person I would have added to the mix would be Mr. Searcy himself, only because we have the silliest and funniest conversations. I wish he had been there too because he would have loved to hang out with the Days of the New crew.

Travis traveled in another van, but the rest of the band was together.

Some highlights from the van:

First, I should explain that I am a laugher. Seriously, when something amuses me, I can laugh and laugh and laugh to the point where other people are uncomfortable because, well, maybe there was more to the joke that they didn't get, seeing as I am still laughing. I don't laugh at everything, but when something tickles me, I am seriously tickled. So that overly-sensitive funny bone, combined with slap-happiness from lack of sleep, yields wildly funny times in the van.

The overnight drive from Chicago to Detroit (so we could make a 9am soundcheck, which totally didn't happen because apparently Michigan closes all its roads during the summer) was especially funny. By sunrise, the kiddos in the back (yes, Paul, you are "kiddo" too) were watchin' a movie and Gareth, who graciously drove all but 100 miles of the journey, announces that he is watching a movie too. "It's called Trucks." Wow, did that have me in hysterics. For a solid ten minutes. To the point of tears. I still laugh thinking about it. I mean, think ... it's like he was watching a movie, but he wasn't, and it was a really boring movie, just starring a bunch of truck butts. Trucks! Ha! (There's an extra special thrill laugh to a joke when it is immediately followed by a thorough explanation of exactly why it is funny ... oh, the level of silliness in my brain is sometimes unbelievable. Hee hee.)

Paul also managed to snore a bit, which is cool. But when we hit some bumpy bumpy roads in Chicago and Paul's snores undulated with the van's movements, I couldn't hold in my laughter. He was like a snoring beat-box, with a DJ scratching his snores back and forth. Then he woke up and asked me to change lanes, which I did, but only because i was laughing so uncontrollably that i swerved a bit.

Then there was that ear massage from Malcolm after the Detroit show.

I think maybe my odd sense of humor comes from being an only child. I spent a lot of time entertaining myself, telling myself jokes, reading joke books, listening to funny songs, writing. Now that I mostly live alone, I also spend a lot of time amusing myself.

Imagine me writing "Future Mr. Used-to-Be" ... when I came up with that, I laughed heartily, probably even guffawed, then spent another hour, totally amusing myself with verses. I've done that with a lot of songs, so maybe that's why I like writing funny, clever, lyrics. It amuses me so.

Back to the van ... there was that ear massage again.

It turns out that half of the van was mildly Jewish, so Malcolm amused us with an assorted variety of JewJokes(tm). They were particularly good because of his New York accent. Lots of grandmother stuff that made us giggle, which was totally okay because, like that Seinfeld episode of the guy who converted to Judaism just for the jokes ... we were all allowed to laugh.

Really though, anything Malcolm said was hysterically funny.

There was that other time in Ohio somewhere where we saw a Continental -- you know the kind that JFK was shot in -- at a gas station. And Malcolm and I decided to be from Boston and New Zealand, respectively, and go talk to the guys with the sweet old car. So Malcolm says, "Wow, bro', that car is wicked awesome." And I'm trying to hold a straight face with a New Zealand accent, when the car's owner says "You from Boston, bro?"

And then ... we watched Talladega Nights. Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly have the same effect on me that the rest of the van does ... total uncontrollable laughter.

They must all be sick of hearing my giggles by now. But that Rachael's got some wit on her. And Gareth destroyed me several times over. (Still laughing over the simplicity of "Trucks." I guess you had to be there.)

Paul had me laughing mostly because he insisted on keeping his GPS system on the whole time, even though Gareth's GPS system on his Blackberry was far superior. So the GPS girls were arguing, then Paul would switch his to French, which was hot and all, but was like an obnoxious french backseat driver. After a while, i just had to laugh at that too.

And then ... that ear massage.

More about the tour, shows, hotel antics, girls, etc, later.

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The sensational drummer Paul Culligan -- a good friend too, except that he can never spell my name properly -- picked me up last week to head out on the road with Days of the New. He brought every drum he's ever owned, so there was very little room in the car. But my accordion made it safely.

I don't have any wild stories, though things certainly seemed wild.

Two vans broke down. There were several rental cars involved. Lots of hotels. A late-night escapade to the gated-in hotel hot tub. We were busted, but not until much later in the evening when the hotel clerk said, "I saw you in the hot tub." He apparently didn't care. Either that, or he appreciated our ninja-like moves.

I DID see another boob, this time in Clarksville, Tennessee. A nice woman asked me to sign hers, then she asked some other band members, and it just popped out at some point. And yes, I caught it on video, but I won't be posting it. Sorry.

I have been taking oodles of video lately, but haven't had the time to edit it into anything exciting. Maybe I'll make a huge behind-the-scenes for a DVD-extra release.

Played a fun show at Lakeside yesterday with my band. It was 95 degrees, and we were at a swimming pool, so I played the whole show in my swimsuit. And swam during my break. I was able to pull off an inward from the high dive, purely from muscle memory. I figured I'd try it. If i busted my head, it would be a hell of a way to go. "She died during intermission," would've been the family joke. My mom was born during intermission (True story -- her dad was a trumpet player, went to the hospital for the birth between sets, then went back to the gig for the 2nd set.)

I thought the Days of the New shows went well. There's already some YouTube footage from fans of Days of the New. Check out how I played the English horn parts on the accordion. magic!

Tonight I'm playing with the Big Band again .. singing some Doris Day, some Judy Garland, some Gershwin ... good times!
Back on the road with Days this weekend. Chicago, Detroit, Toledo. Forward ho!

And now for a pirate joke:
What did the pirate say to the prostitute in the echo chamber?
YO HO Ho (ho ho ho...)

hee hee

Read more: http://blogs.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendId=19356498&blogId=404182195#ixzz0tZbjRVEg

The sensational drummer Paul Culligan -- a good friend too, except that he can never spell my name properly -- picked me up last week to head out on the road with Days of the New. He brought every drum he's ever owned, so there was very little room in the car. But my accordion made it safely.

I don't have any wild stories, though things certainly seemed wild.

Two vans broke down. There were several rental cars involved. Lots of hotels. A late-night escapade to the gated-in hotel hot tub. We were busted, but not until much later in the evening when the hotel clerk said, "I saw you in the hot tub." He apparently didn't care. Either that, or he appreciated our ninja-like moves.

I DID see another boob, this time in Clarksville, Tennessee. A nice woman asked me to sign hers, then she asked some other band members, and it just popped out at some point. And yes, I caught it on video, but I won't be posting it. Sorry.

I have been taking oodles of video lately, but haven't had the time to edit it into anything exciting. Maybe I'll make a huge behind-the-scenes for a DVD-extra release.

Played a fun show at Lakeside yesterday with my band. It was 95 degrees, and we were at a swimming pool, so I played the whole show in my swimsuit. And swam during my break. I was able to pull off an inward from the high dive, purely from muscle memory. I figured I'd try it. If i busted my head, it would be a hell of a way to go. "She died during intermission," would've been the family joke. My mom was born during intermission (True story -- her dad was a trumpet player, went to the hospital for the birth between sets, then went back to the gig for the 2nd set.)

I thought the Days of the New shows went well. There's already some YouTube footage from fans of Days of the New. Check out how I played the English horn parts on the accordion. magic!

Tonight I'm playing with the Big Band again .. singing some Doris Day, some Judy Garland, some Gershwin ... good times!
Back on the road with Days this weekend. Chicago, Detroit, Toledo. Forward ho!

And now for a pirate joke:
What did the pirate say to the prostitute in the echo chamber?
YO HO Ho (ho ho ho...)

hee hee

Read more: http://blogs.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendId=19356498&blogId=404182195#ixzz0tZbjRVEg