Je suis désolee.
Mon français n'est pas
bon. Je l'ai étudier
mais je l'ai oublié pour
le plupart. J'écris ce
"blog” sans utilisant le
d'accord, mes mots sont merde aujourd'hui.
Just kidding. I tried. Sort of. Day
Replace the boat with clean underwear,
and this is me at the end of every tour:
I haven't done laundry since Needles, but I took inventory other day in Petaluma and it
looks like I've got just enough of everything to get me through the
rest of the week. I'm going to make it. I'm going to make it. I'm
going to make it.
I've secretly been looking forward to
tonight the most out of any show this tour. We've been through
Eugene once before, probably over a year ago, and there were about
sixty-five people in the audience, which was relatively low even back
then (to say nothing of now). It ended up being one heck of a show
though. There's something special about those rare gigs where next
to no one shows up. There's a personal connection you don't get with
a larger audience, like you're all in on some secret. Plus,
we tend to play a bit more loosely when there isn't a crowd, which is
always fun. I love all shows, crowds, and venues equally- like a mother loves each of her unique and beautiful children- but
behind closed doors I can't shake the nagging suspicion that this is going to be the best performance of the tour.
In other news, I've
lost the ability to tell the difference between a mirror and the rest
of the room. Well, that's not entirely accurate. It only goes
one way. I have yet to look at the other half of a room and think,
"Wow! That mirror is spotless!”
What I have done on several occasions, however, is try to walk into
the other part of the room and then realize that some dude is coming
the same way and I should let him by because he is devilishly
handsome and oh wait that's me. I've seriously been fooled by
mirrors about five times in the past week. Sometimes more than once
by the same mirror. I'm no better than a parakeet.
One kind of funny thing they never tell
you about going on tour for a living is that over the years your
laptop caches a lot of different WiFi network information. It's like
the world's least interesting super-power: I can walk into any live
music venue in the country, open up my laptop, and boom. Don't even
have to ask the bartender what the password is. WEP? No problem.
WPA2? Got it. One of those weird networks where it looks like it's
open, but then there's, like, a pop-up window where you have to type
in a username and password? Okay, fine, you got me there, but that's
more of a hotel thing. Music venues usually just have a traditional
password. I honestly couldn't remember playing at Harlow's in
Sacramento a few years ago, but my laptop could.
I'm going to remember it now, though.
Last night was most enjoyable. I'm glad we had an intimate show like
that on the tour. It was a fun opportunity to break out some songs
we haven't played in a while, and the timing couldn't have been
better. Last night was our last show in California after spending a
week and a half or so working our way from south to north.
I've been seeing a lot of the same faces in the crowd the past few
shows, and it felt a bit like a farewell. A send-off.
An au revoir. In French, you don't say "goodbye.” You say "until we meet