so much to monumentalize.  we finally had some r & r, after monumental days and nights in clubs.  staying with jason and jessica was tremendous.  a late load in at THE RHYTHM ROOM gave us a day to goof around.  even a trip to goodwill.  wow.  we thought, before load in, that we could check into our hotel, which looked like an old 60's monolith updated in a boutique fashion.  how could i tell?  ever-changing and multi-colored up-lights on the facade, and over-sized mod-ish (jeez, sorry for all the hyphenations) floor lamps by the doors... and banners hanging from the facade.  well, signs and signifiers.  but there was no time to check in.  poop.  we all wanted a swim.  not sure yet if there would be a pool.

gonna get all up in it, here in tempe today, to find a place that i went to four years ago, on tour with the visible men, and after staying at dan and erin's house, some giant portions rustic-y joint close to campus and within sight of the GRADY GAMMAGE AUDITORIUM, frank lloyd wrights' fantastic creation on campus here.  whatzit called?  wherezit at?  whuzit here?  whuzzuz my name?  since i am only the second one up today, i'll tappa tappa tappa, like lisa simpson on the keyboard, until enough momentum has been built amongst the fellows and the ones that do care a whit about breakfast will be able to scoot with me as i nose around the general vicinity to find my breakfast grail.  "rekrus", by the way, is what my grandma heard me repeating when she found six year old me in the clothes hamper in the laundry room still roughly asleep that one summer those years ago.

hanging out in the upstairs "inhospitality suite" at the GALAXY THEATER in santa ana CA.  'cause it's hotter than hell and muggy with heat and man-sweat.  they are sweet people that run this place, and made us some amazing steaks for dinner.  and that heavy duty meal and the heat and the man-sweat have produced a strong urge to nap.  but again the heat and mannishness would be difficult to overcome, and so i'll have another spritzer and think of my missing bandmate dustin, on tour in europe with the MAD CADDIES just now, and maybe try to bore myself into a slumber by brainlessly tapping on this keyboard in an attempt to recount these last three days....

on a wayward bus

so much has happened. over this last week, that is. but at the same time, so very little. the routine, of bus to venue to bus to venue, has remained relatively solid. in edinburgh, yesterday, i did enjoy several walkabouts, exploring our small slice, as it were, maybe an area the same size as the whitaker neighborhood back home. all castles, crags, monolithic civic and religious structures, probably the prettiest place i've ever visited. but yesterday was a rare-y. we arrived somewhat early. as in 2 p.m. THE VOODOO ROOMS. this was a "one-off", specially set up by the club owner, who caters to a clientele that is, shall we say, heavily into "lifestyle music", in this case that lifestyle being swing. and the club was majestic, all black and gilt gold, silver touches, totally phenomenal in its art deco decor, and probably purpose built in that fashion in the latter part of the 18th century. i am sure that people made "lifestyle" decisions even in that epoch. i understand being obsessed with stuff. and i like going out, getting dolled up. but we are being judged by our "period correctness". to me this is narrowcasting. come on people! hows' about "free to be you and me"? of course, so much that i do dates me, and maybe that attitude does just that. i've sort of never understood a strict devotion to one style, musically and otherwise, and maybe this is where i miss the bus... maybe this is where frontiers are forged and expounded upon, where the real einsteins dwell. maybe i have been naive in my thought, my assumption, that merging genre is where we find things that are new. maybe there are no rules. that is probably the case. well anyway, i guess that i should relax. my same wish for the lifestyle people. and, to their credit, with three songs remaining in our set, they did.

what was tremendous about yesterday (i reside on the bus, at a rest stop where we must remain, some 60 miles out of london, camden town our ultimate goal), was a no-questions-asked attitude about catering to us, pouring a cider, ordering a rack of scottish lamb from the menu, providing juice and really whatever we wanted, in addition to our regular catering rider. this was the only real "rock star" day of the tour, sort of reminding me of my recent travels with the black francis band, where everything was so above the board that it makes this tour seem totally "ghetto". (this in parenthesis, because, well, did you know that, 20+ years ago, the folk that lived on the north side of first street would refer to the whitaker neighborhood, such as where i currently reside, platted as "sladdens' third addition", as "the wrong side of the tracks"? cut off from the city by 6th and 7th avenues, the freeway on/off ramps, and the chambers connector, and then by the tracks, first avenue, and then the river, our lovely little village was truly eugenes' only ghetto. and now it is eugenes' creative hub. this just to defend the use of the word. why, the glass menagerie on the corner of 5th and blair used to be a restaurant called "lighter brown/darker brown"... )

at least some of the issues of the bus, for myself, have been sorted out. remember, our bus, known as "animal crackers", is now on it's third driver on this shortish one month trip. for these four days in the u.k., we have PEER (say "pear"), another german driver, one who does not even work for this company. like us, he cannot imagine the crudeness of this bus. he set about cleaning, arranging, and organizing, from the get go. he has put every system to right. the heat and a.c. are now, instead of being totally full on all the time, perfectly regulated. i have, as of thursday, moved bunks, from the last uppermost on the left (room 403) to the first, lowermost on the right (room 101), in other words out of the snorers ghetto and into the comfort zone. of course, like every other station on our bus, this bunk has its drawbacks. it is where the central heating system does most of its work. my toes, needless to say, are quite toasty. but, not being over the back wheels, the ride is like that of a cadillac, all cushy, no jangling vibrations or crashing of worn out components to listen to, no grinding transmission or shattering of pancaked piston to endure. there was a stretch of two days, ending on that lucky thursday, where i only napped, maybe a cumulative three hours of sleep, feeling deathly and craven, really just barely propped up and surviving, trying to get sleep when all else where resting well in their bunks up in the front lounge, again propped oddly against couches and bucket seats, trying to rest. so shitty and sleepless. i had never felt this way ever before. now i am somewhat rested, having put the then necessary drink till i'm drunk and passed out leg of this trip behind me. i wonder, today, how long will it take to become normal, rested, with a regular (as much as it could be for a daddy) sleep schedule and habits that i am in full command of? well, these issues will probably be resolved by my big soft bed, my lovely wife, my charming sonny, and my scamp of a step-daughter. in other words, all the comforts of home. there in the ghetto.

today we leave the bus. today we play our last show of this poverty tour. today, or rather tomorrow at 2 a.m., we will be dumped with no ceremony at heathrow airport, where we then will shuffle about until 3 p.m., our scheduled hour of departure. to then enjoy (!!!) a 16 hour travel day, through frozen chicago, to portland, where i will have the good fortune to rest with my family at my mothers house just outside of oregon city, and enjoy a family dinner with my brother kevins' family, and then the next night a stay at the kennedy school, joined by some old friends for cocktails and such. my anniversary! of course i'll be missing it by two days. but back to the scene of the crime. as some of you may know, rachel and i were wed in our living room on december 20 of '06, then had a family-only ceremony at the kennedy school the next day, the solstice, our chosen day to celebrate the season, and now i do my best to "get to the church on time" and hurry on home across shivery seas and frozen tarmac and maybe the great pacific northwest will be kind enough to save some snow for me. however it is is how i will find it, and i will love it and remember that i actually do love my life. almost anywhere except on this wayward, derelict, rickety and out of control bus.

sofia plus 2 super!

and by that i mean that we are two gigs beyond what was sofia super! klaus had told us that we would never forget our gig in sofia, that the few musicians he knows who have played there said the same. and too true! i'd say that, for a day on the road in a strange land, this is now the ultimate, the most memorable, and for so many reasons. let me begin.

i made mention in my last post that we were about to head off into the long dark night. and this was not necessarily to give an impression of foreboding. we all had to brace ourselves for this one. that, rather than being one day on the road, this would be more like two days compressed into one, with sleep being precious. but maybe not necessary. too true, all that. we flew out of cologne, after an 8 hour drive from rostock, and had a two hour flight into sofia. we fly on GERMANWINGS airline, on of the new super cheapo national carriers here in europe, forced to wait in a special passport control holding area, then get on a bus that would drive us all of 40 feet to the waiting airliner. 40 feet. then more cattle call.... no seat assignments means that every soul dashes to the open front and rear doors, and dives into the seat of their choice. if they are on the plane first. and nothing is free once you are seated. a sip of water. a coffee. no matter. the flight, as i mentioned, was blessedly quick, and we poor out of the plane and into another herding area to have passports checked and stamped and such. we were met outside the airport by LAZAR (not like our local retail hero, but short for lazarus instead), who plopped us down into a van. and off we went into the night, driving a most willy-nilly route from airport to BLU--BOX, our venue. the ride, at 5:30 pm, was the first of many amazements. small retail shacks lined the streets, in front of folks houses, and every once in a while there would be a small, poorly lit and undecorated room with maybe a few people sitting there, smoking. doing what? dunno. speed bumps lined any route with homes along it. around one bend, we pass a big party, people dancing in the frozen street and yard, holding babies and beers, little kids jumping around. more strange little shops. bumpy bumpy. no nappy.

20 minutes later and we arrive. the venue is loaded with kids already, many of them wearing the laminate to designate crew. many just leaning on the stage, drinking and smoking. we check out the rental gear. everything there is a o.k.. then through the labyrinth of this hall, which used to be a cinema, and many associated rooms and other halls within the same rambling structure. through a long hallway room, filled with laughing and drinking and smoking and colorful characters, who turn out to be the other bands, and of course their friends. one pal with magenta hair stops me, cocks his head forward, and gives me a "cheers". i mention my name, and ask for his. trill the "r"s in this one, long trills, and look over your glasses, and that will just about do it... "me MR. MATA HARI". o.k., cool. up the stairs and through several locked doors, that are always locked then behind us, and up and down the hall, to our "green room", this already stocked with plenty of booze and finger snacks. the floor is missing in several places. we all to the last man poor drinks and then, following lazar all the way, go back through the maze to do our endless sound check. somehow there are more and more people in the hall. just sort of about. and a crew of maybe 20 setting the stage and the mics and such. crazy. we finish our check 20 minutes after the doors were supposed to be opened.

two other bands tonight, and it turns out they both are fronted by an famous bulgarian musician. the first, KGB, a big swing band fronted by bulgaria's original punk rocker. i never got his name, but he reminded me in voice and demeanor and dance of our own dear BRUCE HARTNELL, but wiggling in a suit and suspenders. between every song he had the crowd, sold out at 1000 folk, in stitches. and the whole room rocked and danced through every number. so cool. smiles on every face. and including the band, apparently this band had not played in 5 years, and were cajoled into reuniting for this gig, which had the music community all riled up, such was the excitement generated for our visit. the second band was SKODA, fronted by my new friend, mr. mata hari. who, whilst his band set their gear, delivered a non-stop half sung half spoken dialogue/diatribe. i thought it was sort of "mr. bungle"-ey. this man has a huge voice. the band is ready, and they just merge into a set of crazy rhythms, crazy vocals, crazy horns. crazy all around.

we got ourselves ready, with our outfits, drinks, some funny dinner of potatoes and cheese. god bless these peoples. my kind of gut therapy. skoda is done. we ask mr. mata hari to introduce us. and away. and the same, intense joy from the crowd all night long. i could not say that they were any more loud or happy. just that that was the vibe of the entire room all night. worked up and rocking out. the room so smoky that i couldn't see the back. lights dimly show through the fog. i know that every square inch is taken. i can see the balcony, the crowd up there dancing their brains out. all beautiful women up front tonight. were there any men there at all? they were all in back. sent their girls up front for a good time that they can take home with them after the show. this was like full on rock star night. screaming shrill and loud after every song. girls singing the words to every song. i could have played for them all night. but we have a schedule to keep. to get through our long long night.

we are off to a party, at a bar, sponsored by our sponsors. thirty shots of abysinth are lined up. not little ones either. mr. mata hari arrives, with a small coterie, and we are only allowed to stay for 20 minutes. our van has a 6 hour drive, to bucharest, where we fly out at noon this very day. all of sofia was viewed at night.... and so we have a very very bumpy, somehow muddy, whiskey soaked drive. i don't remember falling asleep. totally natural. totally schlumped down, splayed across the aisle. .i wake up at seven a.m., the sky just barely light. we are at the romanian border. now things get really, uhhh, interesting.

why? we are often living like cattle on tour. we wait and wait, we get pushed around and corralled and driven. we walk around looking for food and succor. we arrive at the airport in bucharest, and take pictures with lazar, and we are in the middle of a rotunda, and there is nothing obvious to do with ourselves. is there a place to check in? not apparent. it is so hard to describe the overall disorientation of this place. as if we are looking at what you think might be regular scenarios, and yet they are not. we bumble around with our guitars. one man has the sense to ask someone. we go down a little ramp, and see that they are checking in only one flight at a time. an old man wears his winter cap, made of horse hair, causing him to look like elvis presley. sort of. our flight comes up, and we ask for seats, but it is another general boarding. which you might think would be good. but that is only if you love getting in shoving matches with old ladies. in the security line. in the lobby. the lobby. there is a lobby. but there are no signs. 5 non-operational t.v. monitors. airplanes 500 feet away on the tarmac. we wait and wait. we are bad, mad cows. i am, of course, hung over, sleepless (i did manage 3 hours in the van), and so, exhausted. i loiter and try to look as punk and pickled as i can, incessantly tapping my foot, looking glummer than glum, looking wistful out the window. at long last, and as if by telepathy, we learn it is time to board. we get in another match of shovings with all, only to get on a bus, and then make a mad dash, scrambling to find a seat, shoving into a seat, shoving luggage, fuck this. i manage an aisle, i look insane. no one asks to sit beside me. relief comes only in the smallest packages. we fly into dortmund. and real relief comes when i finally spy the bus. even though i hate the bus. heaven help me. i actually manage a small sleep. heaven help us all.

i get in trouble every day. yesterday i boo boo by bringing some friends onto the bus. just us. ASGER, a friend i met in february there in copenhagen, and his daughter SOFIE and her friend JULIE. brought 'em onto the bus. didn't know that the band had already had a talk about this, that no one but family were to be on the bus. but that weren't the real trouble, no. that were that when we walked on, the driver bertie was asleep in his bunk in the front lounge, and so i escorted them all to the back lounge, and we had a nice quiet conversation for 40 minutes or so, mostly about being rock n' roll daddys and such. the trouble is that we left the front door of the bus open. bertie comes walking back to us in his skivvies, saying it is cold, we left the door open. we saw no one get on the bus, but that is not the point. tour busses have been robbed, hijacked, ransacked. all our money, all our lives are onboard. so i goof up. i get read the riot act by steve, joe, klaus. i make a round of apologies. we stew and argue in our collective fashion, and then we are friends again. and, considering the situation, the sheer difficulty of this tour, we are amazing friends.

oh it was great to see asger again. he had not heard our band before, and he was really surprised, effusive in his praises, and stoked that he and his daughter, who was also at the black francis show at the bigger stage at VEGA, got to check us out. having a friend on the road is super cool. a break from the boys and from my typical nest of thoughts. (thank you captain beefheart.) a pause that refreshes. ya know? after soundcheck and supper, he took me to a bar, MCKLUUB, that he described as a very famous rock n' roll bar, and sure enough it were smoky and rusticky, like a country bunker, like PAPPY AND HARRIETS out above joshua tree california. we chatted until sofie and her friend joined us. we sat crowded in a small booth with six other locals, goofing about music and fatherhood and the obama-ness of the future of the world. (as an aside, can the word "bush" finally be recognized as the near profanity that it truly is? say "that's totally bush!", and no one can mistake your meaning.) thank you asger for the most wonderful night.

no hurting that we were at the most wonderful club of all time, VEGA. so together, so well equipped, such beautiful decor and good sounding rooms and perfect gear. and we actually had a proper all ages crowd. did i see all those kids drinking beer? i think so. so we are playing in paradise. when i walked into the building at 2 pm, up the stairs and to the catering kitchen that i have been so looking forward to, i spied the same chef from my last visit, whisking up some magical something. i put down my bags, said hello to the other band, all of them occupied by their laptops, and scooted into secret toity, for a moment of relief. when my "job" was complete, upon opening the door, i was met by a "representative" of the club, who cheerfully informed me that this was not my room, that i must follow him through the labyrinth of the club, up over across and through to a little secreted-away hallway, all set up for us. no private chef for us... we play in the small room, not deserving of catering. so what. it is still vega.

this must be contrasted with our previous night. where there was more trouble for danny. which i will come to in the richness and fullness of time. but the room, the building, there in hamburg, rock city, was the most amazing, sci-fi version of a rock n' roll hang out that i've ever seen. this joint, HAFENKLANG EXIT, exists in the basement of what was, for five years in the early 70's, a magnificent department store, one that no one used, and so it lay abandoned for 30 years, probably used as a squat, all vandalized and derelict in the most grotesque and disorienting way imaginable. holes in the dressing room walls. hallways lined with rocks, that lead to sealed off passeges. a central spiral stairwell surrounding an atrium some 50 feet across, with a hole in the wall bar on the ground (basement) floor. another little venue with a boy and girl duo behind a glass door off the atrium. nothing here makes sense. i had a sense of desperation i've never felt, from the moment we entered the building, all boarded up and graffitied, all the way through soundcheck. i took a nap backstage for an hour, as much to pass the time in this hideous and disorienting place, as anything else.

as i woke up, peering out of the backstage, the room is totally full of folk, and all of a sudden it is a magic place, found it's missing piece, everything is fine again. and we play maybe the best show of the tour. unlike the typical club crowd here in germany, this one is full of smiling faces, most all of them dancing and thrashing around. and afterwards, lots and lots of them want to hang around and cut up. this night became particularly drunken, and this is where the trouble begins. something about a pint of whiskey. don't worry too much, as i am still here. during the load out, which i don't remember, i was told that i fell over on my side, and, turning over onto my back, i held myself up like a crab for about 15 minutes. steve kept asking me if i was o.k., and through my funny smile i answered that i was just fine. one of those nights that i don't recall climbing into my bunk. oh well. we have another vacation from booze tonight. anything that i can do to preserve myself through these next, longest days of my life. we will first get through this gig in rostock. then on into the perpetual night. and sofia.

this writ on november 16th, 2008, at jfk airport in queens, n.y.
i thought maybe this weekend i could get some thinking done. but all i have thought about is missing out on the mr. whitaker contest. not that i would be deserving of being a nominee. would i hint at that? though i have lived there since 1990? maybe an honorarium could be bestowed me. besides, i only have the sauce on a fraction of the time these days, being the busy beaver that i am. time to sauce? well, i do my best.

maybe you'd think that gig time is sauce time, and to a small degree it is. i mean, sauce being "that feeling" of sauciness, life-tang, that kind of thing, and 'tis true, whilst i am playing i am feeling all of that. something about knowing that eyes are upon me. that i am performing. that i am becoming. though often i am not sure what. th at alone is enough to give me the sauce. i think at times in my life i have felt like i was on stage all the time. back in my immediate post-collegiate days, when i knew how much of a freak i was because i was constantly reminded by every "joe lunchbox" (mrs. palins one enduring contribution to our culture...) that i was a freak, a faggot, chaseable, eggable, punchable, ridiculous. now, we are merging with another story entirely. but that feeling... of being on, being on fire, on my game, on to something... that was full time sauce. not enough to get a nomination as mr. whitaker, no, but enough for a lifetime achievement award. right?

well, some of you might know that last night i (we, the daddies) played our very first ever shopping mall gig. yeah, just like TIFFANY. thats right, bitches. (thanks, mr. gadsby.) except, we played outside, in a driving mist and rain, with a lighting derrick swaying over our heads in the 50 mph gusts, and with a 40 foot tall topiary bear, name of mr. bimberlinks (yes, that's right, i know, i know) sitting a few hundred feet away, the beneficiary of all the nights events, which included fireworks, rain, a parade, whipping wind, state senators, and a version of "new york, new york". and the debut of our new tour drummer, KEVIN CONGLETON, who totally rocked it. another one of those mystifying performances, in that he shedded to learn the entire set, with only two short rehearsals in eugene a few months ago. crap. i wouldn't have even been able to get the tempos, much less the names of the songs, figured with that much practice. i guess that is what it takes to be a "real" musician. not just an underachiever. like me.

well, there we were. what more could you ask for. a six hour flight, a soft bed, lots of salad. reasonable good hotel coffee. way too many hours of ESPN. now five hours of boredom in J.F.K. airport. then another marathon cross country flight. and to think, we'll do this all again in 10 days, except in macro, as we fly for 11 hours over greenland to frankfurt germany to begin our european poverty tour. the poverty coming from the lack of pay. maybe i'm spoiled. working with mr. thompson for the last year has raised my expectations (probably raised to where they should be, what with my record of servitude and all that, and my four mouths to feed, and all that, and my elevated standards, and all that), and though i still try to adhere to my philosophy that i am lucky to be receiving any monies from my musical endeavors, it's extra hard to leave my home and family and even my jobitty job for a month nowadays. what, have i lost my sauce? no, i've found another. actually, a couple of them.

first the body. then the mind. then the soul. well, no, i'll take any portion of any of the three or what ever part of what ever M & U i can find. today i had a short one for the mind. i was shopping for gloves here in very chilly dortmund, germany, and, in the el cheapo department store, where my gloves where, i spied, in the grocery half of the store, my old friend val stevens, stocking the shelves. she was about 10 years older than she is, and she looked good, and she looked at me twice. maybe i looked like me to her. anyway, she looked like someone she wasn't, but it didn't really matter, because, through the aisles, i still walked with val. my mind marched with her on my less chilly now gloved walk, around the curving streets and along the train tracks and under the heavy low grey skies. nothing like walking and talking, nothing like it for me, we were able to reflect on every passing tree and house as if they were touchstones in our life, full of shared meaning and everyday wonder. of course, there is nothing like the real thing of course. real val. real company. a real walk.

yesterday we were outside of dusseldorf, spending our one day off of this tour in fabulous willich, germany. but not really. we finally arrived at the place of the windshield replacement surgery at about 2pm, spent about two hours getting to a hotel, where we had a shower room, and there, in the lobby, dustin and i ponied up for our own room. and 40 euro never better spent. need i remind you that i love these fellows that i travel with, and that there is not always or even rarely a time i can choose to be away from them, and so, to be with my heterosexual life partner, alone, in a hotel room, even for just 20 hours, is heavenly. away from the bus, priceless. steve and jason also shared a room, and i think some of my opinions may be shared by them. in our room, napping first for me, for dustin, a shower and a bit of beard upkeep. we roam the streets of our little village, just a scant few mile from where the rest of the band and crew were hopefully not languishing, locked overnight in the busyard whilst the adhesives dried on the new windscreen.

we ventured out a bit later for a wonderful german dinner across the street, and that was followed by a bit of wine and an epic cribbage battle, wherein which i set a new record for crib points, averaging 10 free points per crib. mama mia. we had some num nums found in den bosch, some wine, stayed up as late as we could with the laugh track on 10. some curling on the t.v. sometimes that is all you need for a good night. and on this night, that'd have to do. the bathtub (oh please blessed relief for these bunk-weary hip bones) had no stopper and the hot water eased up and stopped for good as i tried to dial in the mislabeled and hardly sensible faucets, so no bath. no shower. who cares about a shower, really? i can't get worked up. o.k., i guess i did a few days ago. euro-shower of the gods! but i don't need that every day. and a bath! only when i really want one, do i really need one. so i wait for another two weeks, until i am home. unless... some sneaky way that i can sneak one in... some backstage door, the keys to the kingdom, some alleyway apartment that is left open... i can sneak in, take a dunk, water the flowers, and split, full of spa-treatment energy. yeah, keep those tiny dreams alive. who knows. who is to say. really? today i have body maintained, and so i don't care.

this morning, having slept in a strange but strangely comfortable sort of tiny hotel bed, not knowing if it was really morning as it was still dark out there behind the sash, i realized that i had gone to bed more than eight hours prior. the state of disorientation is so profound on this trip that i had to check my ipod, my only reliable and un-trickable clock, so as to know that, damn the light, it was still 7:30, that i had slept a lot, that i could read and relax and not worry whether i would sleep or not. it was dark for a while more. understand that the sun is still at an extreme angle (i asked today if we were close to the arctic circle, and though we are not, the sun does not ascend beyond 20 degrees in its azimuth), making the hour of the day difficult to ascertain. you know, little comforts, little certainties. well, anyhoo, a slow morning culminates in meeting dustin, jason, and steve curbside out the hotel at 10:45 am, awaiting our bus, manned by our new driver, gods be praised, name of bertie, whom i was so very glad to meet as we jumped on, blocking traffic, saying an overly profuse "hello, and glad to see you". this morning and this event specifically have put my soul to ease. i am complete.

for your well being, i bring you mine. after my belly aching of more than one fashion, i have emerged feeling as good as i have for weeks. which, mind you, is not awesome, but awesome indeed compared to how i was feeling four days ago. and three. i bailed on the meds, and kept with my usual at home therapy of osha and vitamins, and did i mention that i sweat a lot on my sick day, which seems to be key, and i've coughed and coughed and the (eew!) mucus comes out and i feel light on my toes and like i've slayed many dragons and i'm ready to puff out my chest and feel feelings and eat and laugh again, all under the low heavy sky, like it were springtime without the basketball in the park.

now, we have played some show in the time since my last post, but we'll have to get to that later. my sense are working again and i am happy for it. so, really, love ya's, dan.