physical therapy is saving my ass (and my neck) …

japanese magnolias make for a better week …

the abita mystery house (formerly the uc museum) makes you feel like living more colorfully and sincerely …

that’s a ufo crashing into a trailer, kids.

my first computer … the commodore 64. the 64 stands for 64kb of memory. hello again old friend.

we’re a happy family …

stan is 60 (and those free glasses at pat o’brien’s are worth every penny) …

a bit self-indulgent (alright, it’s the essence of self-indulgence) and admittedly slow in places (the acid would help out here), but an ultimately fascinating piece of art that explores pornography, black power, vietnam, and rock and roll through a continually unexpected and bizarre pastiche.

the ‘narrative’ revolves around the stones’ de-reconstruction of ’sympathy for the devil’ in the studio. this is worth the price of admission here, folks. we’re talking 1968. who know keith played bass on that track? who knew the thing was recorded essentially live? who knew mick played hand drums? who knew nicky hopkins wore blazers?

cool shit, kids.

remarkable marks!

i still love the stern prank calls. they’re more of a historical document now since howard’s on sirius with the big contract and all, but their original intent was amazing. in his early career, howard had a hard time getting booked on other programs to promote his radio show because he was so ‘controversial.’ so listeners … on their own … started calling into programs that wouldn’t book howard (larry king, the today show, etc.) and would drop his name in ridicules ways. calling out ‘baba booey’ whenever you find yourself somewhere with an open microphone evolved out of this.

guerilla marketing.

good work, janks. sportscenter’s a good haul. and scott van pelt is a huge stern fan, so that’s even funnier …

this is lefty the first morning after sleeping on the new mattress. usually, he’s raring to go in the am. stayed in this position for an extra hour an a half …

viva italia … to sharks swimming upstream.

this is what a gig at a thrift store looks like before things really get going.

this is atomic heart. they look like polly pry, kinda, but they ain’t.

this is the great ben bell. he sings a song about killing a woman and tying her white sheet wrapped body to the back of a black horse. he’s cool as fuck.

these are frank’s wild years (the bloody mary years, before carlos gets the skin condition, before frank snaps and torches the place).

i ended up in hell recently and got off this shot before my courageous escape.

for hooch (not because he would be, of course, but just because he understands …)

so after the commercial break …

watch closely san francisco … who’s backing him up?

judah … russell … blues explosion!

my need for near constant stimulation exacerbated a bad case of cabin fever recently (as a secondary result of the back issue), and last night i flipped the fuck out.

adventure. now.

lafayette – why, i have no idea – called.

blue dog saloon.

i got slightly lost, which makes it a perfect four for four that every time i enter lafayette city limits i get lost. there’s something i’m just not … seeing … over there. it seems upside down.

great little bar. bartender called it chelsea’s doppelganger.

yes.

some great indie bands.

austin’s till we’re blue or destroy:

lafayette’s own brass bed:

vancouver, canada’s karen segal:

see, the other thing happening here is the blue moon is also a hostel. attached to this great bar is this great little guest house. i’m watching this band and all of a sudden this door that i’m leaning on opens … i wasnt’t even aware it was a door, and here comes karen. i assumed she worked there and was coming from some back office, but we started talking and she’s just traveling the south couch surfing, woofing (working on organic farms for room and board, i learned), and riding the hound. wow. adventure! just what i needed. great chick, super hip, lots of good ideas. she wants to go where jimmy rogers was born in mississippi.

go, canada.

so they have the proper bunk bed hostel rooms, the living room has a piano and a guitar (met a german named thomas sitting there on the way out … great guy, loving the south, loving life, beautiful), nice communal kitchen. they also have a handful of other private rooms. karen’s room was big with comfy chairs and a couch and had a private bathroom with a _huge_ old clawfoot tub. just a really, really, hip place. i wanna go live there for a few days. you do, too.

i was trying to articulate this last night, but things just feel so much more natural and right with me when i’m in some sort of traveling, transitory mode. i’m decent at playing music, not horrible at the academic bull shit, but i’m a fucking mega traveler, man. i’m really fucking good at it. that i know. i was just kinda called to lafayette last night and ended up vicariously sharing in this backpacker adventure. just felt good. but you live and you acquire shit – like a dog that you love and miss – and you’re tied to these commitments of various sorts. and it’s different. but it’s good, too. keeps you moving forward, and provides a certain level of comfort that is also nice. so finding these little fissures of unexpected newness requires a little more creativity than it used to, cause it’s not an all or nothing thing right now. it’s not ‘i’m selling my van, subletting my apartment, and going to new zealand for three months.’ those extremes are easier in a way. you just shut one door tight and open a new one wide. but living with it all … that’s trickier. i still have a lot to learn. when things don’t go like i want, i cut and run. or i want to. but, you know, you gotta live with it, too. so … i gotta get better at being here and there at the same time. and i think i am. i do.

anyway … thank you lafayette, canada, red stripe, abita, and mr. tom waits, who took me west with bone machine and east with mule variations, and reminds me every time we meet (typically at night, behind the wheel) that everything i need is all right here. always. i just have to remember to see it.

from cold water:

i look 47, but i’m 24
well, they shooed me away from here the time before
turned their backs, and they locked their doors
i’m watching tv in the window of a furniture store

my back is still achey breaky, but not of the ‘i can’t breathe’ variety. i’m also down over $200 in massages and drugs. plus, i broke down and bought a new mattress. ah, but the mattress is a bit of an indulgence. memory foam, queen size temperpedic knock off from overstock.com. ten inches of sweet, blissful, NASA designed gooey dream material. i can’t wait for it to get here. i’ve been ’sleeping’ in a recliner on the sun porch as i can get in a position that kinda doesn’t hurt and get a few hours here and there. looking forward to using the bedroom again. that shit mattress i inherited … thing’s a torture chamber. the site of many an anguished night. it will be burned and not missed.

pitchers and catchers reported yesterday, at least for your san francisco giants. the first day of spring training always brings a smile. a little slice of hope. while the giants are still old and mediocre offensively, i gotta say they have a certain potential that they have lacked in years past. can’t wait to start hearing games again on the radio. baseball might be the only thing that keeps me from leaving this godforsaken country when i finish the phd. france is cool, i’m sure, spain, what have you, but i’d miss 2 balls, 2 strikes, 2 out, bottom of the third, lincecum dealing to ramirez, late june, warm summer breeze, cold domestic beer. it’s my soul.

mardi gras passed with me in traction. missed all parades but the southdowns parade that goes right by my house. luckily, lady of the barge (& ladies) were likewise downtrodden. we had a fat tuesday cookout over at the old home place. shippy brought a twelve pack and a log. we had steak and veggies and sausage and jalapenos. lovely till the end.

man, i just finished playing four gigs in three days while enduring the single worst pain i have ever experienced. timing, right? something happened to my shoulder?neck?back? about a week ago, and on wednesday night the entire right side of my upper body felt like it was being boiled in hot oil. seriously, i laid in bed for eight hours in unbearable fucking pain. didn’t sleep at all. at one point i just started screaming. absurd. lefty must have thought it was the end.

so thursday i got a massage and some drugs. neither worked at all. played a gig that night with lady of the barge at chelsea’s. went home in pain. got about two hours sleep. got through friday with teaching and the southdowns parade and dinner at neil’s with tommy and sarah another gig at a house party, which was probably our best gig yet as a band. something clicked. low pressure scene. good. went home in pain and got another two hours of sleep.

got up yesterday at 7. drove downtown and set up for our spanish town parade gig. went on at about 2. in between setting up and playing i laid face down on the floor of this guy’s apartment for hours getting intermittently massaged by the lovely denise. played a two and a half hour gig in agony, but we had a great crowd. loaded up and went to the second gig (after getting trapped for awhile in spanish town by a second parade) at this cool little place behind chelsea’s. we were supposed to play at 8. we went on at 10:30. it looked bleak at first. real bleak. but a shit load of people showed up (it was some ultimate frisbee tournament party … bunch of good looking twenty year old kids from around the country getting fucked up and dancing their asses off. very odd. i learned so much.) we made some money, and some kid got me stoned at the end of the night and that _temporarily_ alleviated me of all pain. and i slept more than two hours.

heavenly.

strange emotionally, too, this weekend. when you’re suffering and lacking sleep and playing extra music and popping pills hand over fist it does things to your heart, et cetera. i was oscillating between wanting to throw my arms around everything in my life, all my problems, my mistakes, my loves and feeling bursts of bitterness and isolation that made me want to head for zee hills. extremes on the inside. but the outside held, i think. and i had help. i’m in two great little bands with great musicians that are excellent, lovely people. i’m lucky. friends … so good.

it’s raining now. storming, really. and it’s a lonely, painful valentine’s day. and, somehow, i feel like i have things just where i want them …

it’s probably the pills.