New CD "Hill Studio Sessions" in my hand!

Just found out the new record is done and being shipped out today! I'll have them in hand May 2nd. Then the work begins again to get people to listen...

CD RELEASE SHOW May 11th @ 3rd & Lindsley

I'm happy to announce (post 2 failed attempts in April...such is the life of the independent artist making a name...) the CD Release can now be announced!
As the student representative at Roger Williams University would have announced, "Here ye, here ye!"

May 11th, 9PM
3rd & Lindsley
w/ Wailin' Canes and Emily Deloach
$5 or $8 with CD

Playing Univ of Alabama tonight

I'm playing Univ of Alabama tomorrow. Think if I wear my Arkansas hat, which just has a big red 'A', they'll know? Perhaps I'll learn some Roll Tide songage...

A Little scared,
Justin.

Opening for Sister Hazel Tonight! Illinois State Univ

Man, I used to love these guys back in like...6th grade. It's astounding how a single song or two will immortalize a band in my (and probably your) mind. Fast forward 10 years and I still think they're superstars...

And they have a really big bus. Envy...jealousy...envy again. Back to my Mitsubishi Montero Sport. Crossing 100,000 miles in about 2 shows! God, I love these cup holders.

The Very Hungry Caterpillar

Just finished recording kiddos for The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Wishing I was that talented at eight. Want to be a kid. Caterpillars.

A Haikus 1 & 2...London waiting for flight

A HAIKU #1

I am in London
Too tired to think for the pills
Sleepy time abounds


A HAIKU #2

I am in Dallas
How did I get here so fast
Oh that's right the pills

La Coruna, Spain

Didn't get off the ship. I had enough of big beautiful European towns that like to take my money.

Lisbon, Portugal

Gibraltar, UK

Sicko

On a random note: I just watched Michael Moore’s “Sicko” and it set me to thinking about heathcare. Given, Moore is an expert at presenting only his point of view, but he brought up some great and disturbing points about America’s heathcare system. My Dad is connected to The Industry, so I’ve heard about these problems my whole life, and have experienced some of it’s corruption myself. I don’t want to climb up a soapbox without really reading the label, so I won’t, except to say that something obviously needs to change. There’s too much profit on top of too much pain. (What’s preaching without practical application. Find out who your representative is and how to contact them here: https://writerep.house.gov/writerep/welcome.shtml

Valencia, Spain

The crazy food I tried in Hong Kong was...crazy. I did not expect to be challenged in Spain. At a quaint restaurant in Valencia, I was confronted with a jello-y squid in full body form, which rejected my fork 4 times before penetrating its shimmering flesh. Wonderful bread and beer. Did not dig the full squid.


I love architecture, and Valencia has it. From bull-fighting arenas, to small condos I wish I could own, to wooden eateries, pirate ships and cathedrals. Beautiful cathedrals. Probably the most celebrated treasure in Valencia’s aptly named Valencia Cathedral is a gold and agate chalice known as the Santo Caliz, said to be the Holy Grail itself. In an effort to preserve REAL history like “Indiana Jones and the Search for [said] Holy Grail”, I’d like to think the Spanish got this one wrong.







Marylin and I climbed the 207 steps (and 166 feet) of the octagonal tower, for a spectacular view over the cathedral and the city.



Here's a video I took of the bell tower at the top of Valencia Cathedral. If you don’t think this is funny, I can’t help you.

I Walked a Country Today - Monte Carlo, Monaco

On this day, I walked a country. It sounds like a feat and I should be emboldened to keep my post without explanation.





Rod Stewart's Yacht


The oldest casio in the world. About $22 just to get inside. I think I'll lose all my money elsewhere, thank you.






Ok, so the area of the country of Monaco is less than one square mile. I meandered around the perimeter (France on 3 sides) during time between shows, sat and worked on some lyrics, got lost for 3 hours amongst the perplexity of lifts and stairwells, and still made it around in about 6 hours.

Blogger, you misrepresent! Shame.

Looking back, I just realized that this journey of mine, from blogger's perspective, is really turning out to look like a continuous joyride of crazy adventures during the day and alcohol-driven parties at night, and I'm embarrassed.

Really, I just don't think to write about work...I try to block out all the rehearsals and other travel druggeries that go along with touring, and forget to mention the performances and special events that end up being the most lasting memories of them all. I guess when there's elephant rides and monkey fights to report on, all the other things become a bit muted.

At this point there's no reason to attempt an accurate reflection on performances from the past. I'll say, though, that I'm traveling with some of the most impressive, talented, fun and professional individuals I've been around. It is a course in humility to be performing alongside them, and a lasting memory that shouldn't go without notice. Corny, but accurate. I guess the performances will just be for us.

Rome & Vatican City

Naples/Pompeii, Italy

In 79AD, Pompeii was instantly buried beneath 30 feet of volcanic ash and cinder when Mt. Vesuvius erupted. At its peak, Pompeii was home to 20,000 people and it is believed that 2,000 of the perished instantly when the ash came down, creating ghostly “casts” formed by bodies encased and incinerated in the hot ash.

While Pompeii was buried in volcanic ash, Herculaneum was interred in mud when Mt. Vesuvius erupted in 79AD. The mud hardened and preserved the site in nearly perfect condition.

Spinach and Tomatoes...Sicily/Catalina, Italy

I have difficulty understanding how one area of the world can make cheese, spinach and tomatoes taste so much better than everywhere else.



Solidified lava and small volcanic cones, reminders of the 1983 and 2001 lava flows. ..which apparently deters no one from living here. I’m told there is a roughly 2 year warning whenever Mt. Etna becomes active.


Hopefully this guy got the message.


Views from the drive to Taormina. Sicily in the background.


Looking up at a courtyard in Taormina...a city situated on Sicily's eastern coast high over the Ionian Sea and made out of local red marble.


People talk of the seductive city alleyways that hide between buildings in Italian cities; little stone nooks you don’t see until you’re upon them. This one’s no more than 2 feet. Moretti LIGHT, per favore.


I realize I have yet to visit the Colosseum and such, but I have been to the Great Pyramids. This Greco-Roman theatre atop Taormina still remains one of the most breath-taking sites I’ve ever seen. Imagine viewing a new play in this arena (or Gladiator fight once the Romans took over). Mt. Etna and Sicily in the distance.




Traveling around Italy, especially here in the Med, I’ve somehow gained an understanding of why these people take time to relax and enjoy. An understanding of the importance of relaxation is just engrained in the land and culture here.

Mediterranean Dinner Show

Despite having only about 2 hours around Crete (my GOD, when’s the next time I’ll go there?), I LOVE these impromptu shows. ..collaborating with absurdly talented people in the few dervishly stressful hours before a performance, not quite knowing if you or anyone knows what’s really going on, but trusting everyone around you to pull off some brand of high entertainment as though each moment of improvisation actually had a craftily choreographed purpose. It’s shows like these that make a performer perform…and an audience audi…or something like that.

Tonight’s backstage included four circular dining room booths separated from the audience by black curtains and an army of waiters. I’m learning to appreciate what people around the world consider a green room. I’m beginning to be prepared for anything.

Dreaming of...Crete, Greece

We pulled into Crete, Greece and my first sniff of the Mediterranean. Crete was delightful and remains just how it always was in my mind. I didn’t have much time to explore because of a mid-day show. ..Just enough time for a Greek meal, and dreaming about better days in a villa on an Cretian isle somewhere, eating olives and dolmathes, skipping like a stone around neighbors’ ocean yards in my two-seater motorboat.

Alexandria/Cairo, Egypt

It was a 3 hours ride from the port of Alexandria to Cairo. I had heard about a Pizza Hut adjacent to the Sphynx and Great Pyramids (no doubt the plot of an ingenious franchisee), but was surprised to find PH nestled along the perimeter of downtown Giza only about a hundred yards away. Somehow the mystery of the Pyramids was diminished beside the bustling suburban city. I don’t know if it was the commercialization of the whole thing, anticipation built up around the idea of seeing the Pyramids, the overwhelm of unprocessed new memories, or just the hot desert sun…but something was glazing my perspective. There’s no doubt that the pyramids are amazing in person, but I wasn’t mystified and felt like I should have been. The Egyptian museum and the ‘Mummies Room’ were neat, though it became clear how many of the coolest artifacts the British Empire and other countries took from Egypt. I won’t lie…riding a camel was my favorite part. The pizza was pretty good, too.



Street Peddlers & more of their crap...


Sphynx...


Our sound & lights queen gets distracted...


PH


Camels...










I don’t mean to discourage anyone reading this. Go visit the Pyramids someday. And don’t be a weenie and not climb into the big pyramid (but never give food to the cripple guy hiding out in the middle. Just don’t).

Trouble in the Suez

I just watched a TED.com video that said the United States has the 2nd to lowest knowledge of world geography. We went through the Suez Canal all day today. I’m no expert, but I think that’s Egypt on the left and Russia is there on the right.



Welcome to Egypt...

Some People Say I'm a Fool...Safaga, Egypt

Somewhere in the back of my ignorant head, Egypt only exists as some kind of Hollywood/Disneyworld creation…little Jafars hopping around, markets full of bread and pistachios. It’s like a mystical Arabian land which has long since sunk into the sand, whose stories bubble underneath the surface awaiting some safari-hatted professor to push the wrong hieroglyph and bring the whole thing back to life. I love this idea of Egypt and can’t say I’ve been totally enlightened past this illusion.
As we pulled into the coast of Safaga, a loose collection of adobe houses and industrial buildings sat hazy and motionless near the water as if, at any moment, it would be swallowed by the desert which surrounded it. I was sure the city must be somewhere beyond this, perhaps past the mountains lining the distant horizon. In true Hollywood form, Safaga is only an ocean gateway to the rich treasures and buried kingdoms in Luxor and Karnak that await further inland. The town came into focus as we sailed closer, but as I rode through its seemingly abandoned streets I couldn’t shake the image of hidden underground compounds and burka’d women watching us from around building corners.
Some people say I’m a fool for playing golf instead of visiting the Valley of the Kings where King Tut and the remains of other famous pharaohs were discovered only a few decades ago...I say you’ve never had a bread & cheese sandwich at a desert golf course in Egypt. Golfing around the world is not a hobby I’ll be taking to anytime in the foreseeable future. With little exception, green fees at world courses tend to climb into the $200-600 range, geared at attracting wealthy tourists and idiots like me who used to be good at golf. I’ll sign the $30 bill two times/year at my local municipal, hit a few big drives and shut up about it. On this day, I laid down my paycheck to battle 60mph sand-filled winds, a hilarious sunburn and loved every minute of it.

Sailing in to Safaga


On the way to the course...Boat blown up, anchored beside all the other boats...


Safaga Desert Course


Sandtraps Everywhere...


4 club wind...


Up against the Med Sea..


Looking left...


Looking right...


Looking into night...


Ancient conflicts influencing the atmosphere. The sky looks different out here.

Salala, Oman

Sailing into Salala

Pirates must love nights like tonight

We're in Oman tomorrow and the next day have been informed of a high level pirating alert currently in effect as we make our way from Oman to Egypt tomorrow night and the following day. We'll be hugging the coastline of Yemen to avoid the pirates who've apparently been frequently hoping aboard shipping vessels in the past few months and having their fill. The idea of Yemen as a safehaven seems counterintuitive...and it's all a bit scary, considering we don't have much of a security force onboard (I'd like to think there's a secret group of cruise ninjas I never see because they don't like daylight or something). Anyway...nights like tonight, when the seas are beautiful and the moon is bright...it's a wonder there's any need for pirating anymore.

I get homesick in moments. Shiplife really is wonderful and I understand what musicians say when they warn other musicians about getting 'stuck' on cruiseships. I'm by no means considering a boat life/career, but am very attracted to the idea of returning in segments. This ship feels like home to me right now. Dallas has been the only place that has ever felt like a 'home' to me (though not anymore), but since I moved away when 18, the road has been the most comfortable place I've known. That's feels weird to say, but I recognize the truth of this more each day.

Curry, IPA and English domination...Mumbai(formerly Bombay), India

Mumbai was once Bombay before the British rule ended in India. If this trip was all I knew about the world, I would have to make the conclusion that at one time in the recent past England ruled the entire planet.

I hate feeling like I went somewhere great and saw something lame. I wish I had a friend in every country of the world who could tell me exactly what I needed to do in everywhere I go. I mapped out the journey as best I could before leaving in January, and I continue to research where I’m going in between shows, but most of the time I still feel clueless. Today was not one of those days.

Mumbai began with a group of 10 friends until we became bitterly torn between Gucci/Armani and a 70 year-old Indian man. Lindsay, Joel and I, united in our desire to see the ‘real’ Mumbai, set off with our toothless Indian guru to the nastiest, sketchiest, most exciting and holy places in the massive metropolis. Initially we blew off our guide, unable to distinguish him from all the other annoying street peddlers relentlessly trying to sell their crap to any American still wearing a shirt, but our guide turned out to be the most enthralling character and knowledgeable guide I’ve had on my journey thus far. He (I’ll call him ‘Guru’ from here on out) had no problem taking us into the deepest parts of the poor and corrupt sections of Mumbai, often offering disclaimers before entering in case we wanted to opt out. The city was a culture shock, as it’s much larger and surprisingly even more overpopulated than Cochin. Slum communities lined the sidewalks and spilled onto the streets beside skyscrapers where people lived on top of one another in tiny rooms made out of scrap metal. This part of Mumbai reminded me of a city I once visited outside Monterrey, Mexico. Families began moving into one of Monterrey’s trash dumps becoming so populated that eventually the government was forced to call the dump a city, though they continued to deposit trash there for some time.

At one point, Guru took us on a walk around one of the parks, stopping in the shade for his history lessons as he seemed to know that the 100degree Indian heat was more than us whiteys could handle. At the end of our walk, the three of us were approached by a man in his early 30s, his wife and three kids who seemed to want a picture with us. This happened quite a lot in India and the surrounding countries, and even more so today due to Lindsay’s bleach blonde hair and matching complexion. As a result, I didn’t think anything of it, until Guru stepped in and began arguing with the man. I don’t care the language. There’s no mistaking ‘pissed off’. It seemed as though frail 70 year-old Guru was stepping up to this comparatively huge guy and over what, I had no idea. As a crowd began to swell around them, I found myself paralyzed watching the event unfold and. So much, in fact, that I didn’t even think to raise the video camera in my hand in case Guru (or his widow) could use the account in court. I realized the gravity of the situation (and so did his head) as Guru flew backwards through the air, skimming across the pavement like…well like a 70 year-old Indian guy across pavement. We stepped in and motioned for him to take our picture, which was apparently all he wanted, because afterwards he and his family were just as nice and appreciative as could be. We picked Guru up and into the cab before asking him what the hell?! He muttered something about the Mumbai mafia and we didn’t push the issue.

Guru...


Mumbai building...


Downtown slums beside skyscappers...


The city wash. A must see. This is where most of the 13.66 million citizens (2nd in world behind Shanghai) of Mumbai wash their clothes...


Hannah Montana has small children selling her merch in India...


Facade of Ghandi’s apartment (or as Kanye would say “apart-a-men”)...


Ghandi's apartment...


My best friend just got a job as a photographer and writer for a world help company. He’s flown all over the world taking pictures of the kids you can feed for 30 years on a quarter. I figured I’d save my friend a trip to India...


Indian squab: Guru vs. Mafia...


Outside a Hindu temple...(Don’t mind my mismatched socks. I didn’t anticipate having to take my shoes off)




Inside temple...




Curry and IPA...


Reflective taxi ride @ end of the day...

Sacred Cow Doo…Cochin, India

My first sniff of India found me knee deep in sacred cow doo. It’s dirty and stinky, and rich with culture and aggressive salespeople.

A beautiful Guatemalan friend and I hired a rickshaw for the day for $5US. This is the best way to travel…with beautiful Guatemalan girls, that is. I’ve figured out that the taxi drivers in most of the countries around here take the Americans straight to their buddy’s stores for a commission off whatever they purchase. These stores are usually small and full of low-quality junky souvenirs; the same worthless crap found at every shop or stand setup near the tourist traps/ports. Each country has slightly different junk, but the scheme is always the same. It helped to shoot straight with our driver from the start. He still took us to his friend’s stores, but didn’t mind when we were ready to go 10 seconds later.

Rickshaw


Sacred cows grazing in the street


Fruit stand


Fish nets up close


Fish nets from afar


There’s something about an Indian sunset that feels like a grande exhale

Yangon/Rangoon, Myanmar

I don’t know much about Myanmar and can’t say that after having gone there, I do now either. A little over a week ago I remember wrapping up around an article about a monk in Yangon who set himself ablaze in a political protest over the military regime. I was engrossed in this article and can even still recall sitting on my bed daydreaming about what situation, indoctrination, or just purity of passion would lead a person to make such a dramatic public statement. Perhaps his motives were completely pure, and he should be hailed a martyr…or perhaps he was full of other issues but wanted to look like a martyr on the way out. Perhaps he just wanted some attention. Seeing as how he remained completely still and silent in some sort of meditative trance throughout his transformation into a fireball, I have to lean towards the side of pure motives. In any sense, he fireballed at Myanmar’s largest and most famous Buddhist pagoda, the Shwedagon Pagoda. That night after our show, I made the 45-minute drive beside the remote shores of the Yangon River into downtown Yangon to see the 326 foot shrine, never making the connection until I was standing there where he did it…

At 2500 years old, the pagoda’s spire soars a massive 326 feet into the air, its solid shell of gold plates and over 6500 diamonds, rubies and other precious stones illuminated the sky around the complex for hundreds of yards.

I’ve never seen anything like it, and as I walked barefoot around the complex observing the handful of worshippers in front of and behind me, I couldn’t help but yearn to be a part of their experience. Here I was in a foreign land around people seeming to show genuine expressions of faith in a foreign thing/concept/whatever…and there was this deep feeling of comfort, but not like a restful comfort…more a comfort that required action…like a stirring that said, “it doesn’t stop here”. The feeling must be somewhat like the experience of a non-Christian walking into a massive European cathedral for the first time, knowing nothing of why it exists, but not really needing to. Jump, Little Children (or just “Jump” now) had a perfectly written and recorded song about this experience cleverly titled Cathedrals.

Swept away with the leaves and incense ash at the end of the day.

Self-Isolation has allowed the country (formerly known as Burma) to retain its charm and connection with its ancient traditions…which is just a polite way of saying it is alarmingly underdeveloped. From what I’ve heard while traveling here, the government in Myanmar keeps its people purposefully in poverty as a means for control. As has been proven, the poorer a people are, the less likely they will or can resist. Among the poverty, lies a jewel of Buddhist faith which some jokingly suggest if torn down and distributed among the people…

Myanmar countryside...Drive along the Yangon River




Small Buddhist pagota on the drive to downtown...


Shwedagon Pagoda






Reclining Buddha


Seated Buddha


Incense and water prayer shrine


Buildings that surround the pathway around the Pagoda


Three weeks later, on May 2nd, a massive cyclone killed over 22,000 people in Yangon.

Phuket in Phuket...Thailand

Well, Phuket. That’s what you do in Phuket, Thailand. Or, that what I did. Twice. Once when I woke up and decided to spend a day off at the beach with 8 friends, and again when all 8 got kicked out of the lavish beach resort without my knowing. We took a taxi to said resort about 15 minutes away, and apparently, sometime while I was leading them down the long winding stairway to the beach, they were gracefully disinvited from the complex. I must have been very excited to sit around all day, as it took a sunny 20 minutes to realize I was all alone with no way of contacting my crew. As I looked out at waves lapping on my private coved beach, beautiful Thai women giving massages under shade of the palm trees dancing idly above, I thought to myself, “Phuket.”

'My' Beach


Chillin out maxin all...


Sail away at night

Escalators & Good Company...Kuala Lumpur

I don’t like shopping and avoid it whenever I can. I’m my Father’s son in that sense, except that I still handle buying my own clothes. I think my Dad must have resigned that worry a couple years after marriage. When I hit the gateway port to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia the allure of a 2-hour drive to view the twin towers quickly faded behind the discovery of a mega mall 30 minutes from the dock. There was a strange comfort in seeing familiar shops and kiosks, wide isles and escalators. And a movie theatre. There is a theatre on the boat, and at first glance it’s quite impressive…big screen, stadium seating, free popcorn... When the movie starts, the picture ends up filling about 1/4th of the mammoth screen, and the popcorn is always cold. The projector either can’t do wide screen or the ceiling is too low to allow it…either way, I end up getting watching people walk by the theatre entrance instead of the movie. Damned ADD. Needless to say, in no time we were ordering hot caramel popcorn watching 10,000B.C…all for about $4 US.

Everything seems to center around seafood in this part of the world. I like seafood in general, but have had some major challenges in the past few days, especially in Hong Kong (see below). A Malaysian discovery I DO recommend is fish bread. It came wrapped in seaweed paper they cook it in, and usually accompanies the many variations of broth-based seafood soups they serve here and throughout Vietnam. Contrary recommendation. Maybe it was just this one Malaysian fast food chain, but they put these funny jelly worms in their softdrinks that are supposed to transform it into a tasty dessert. I am not a fan of solids through a straw, so I left my wormy desert for my friend Oolala (phonetically).

I didn’t buy anything today expect the movie and food. I enjoy good company and escalators. I anticipate a song out of this.

Singapore

Common sense would tell me to address mail sent to my new friends in the city/country Singapore as ‘Singapore, Singapore’. But I would be wrong. Singapore is like Prince or Madonna or Sting or Meatloaf. It’s so rockstar it needs no comma…no elaboration of its existence…like Moby, you should know who Singapore is. I would think New York would earn this same delineation, but some of the cool is taken away when you have to explain whether it’s NYC or NY state you’re referring to. For that matter…Monte Carlo, Monaco. I can admit my geography is not the greatest, but I know of no other city in the country of Monaco other than Monte Carlo. Like a big-mouth burger from Chili’s, this radical oversight is a monument to inefficiency. I think it must be one of those snooty polo club things that leans in the opposite direction from pop culture…like the difference between JT and Chauncey Goodbottom the Fourth…the illusion of complexity.

Leaving my gum on the ship, I toured downtown Singapore for about 5 hours in the morning. My overall impression was of a clean, but otherwise normal huge well-developed metropolitan city infused with back-alley Chinese streets reminiscent of Chinatown, with charming tropical flare, and the occasional mainstreet dojo or temple. Not knowing much about Singapore other than the American canings of the 90’s, I didn’t have much reference for what see of the city’s rich multicultural history. From what I understand, English is the most common casual language and Mandarin is the business language of choice, but there are many languages and dialects throughout.





Around midnight a piano player, band member, hairdresser and I took our second winds back to the downtown. I’m generally not one to be taken by the idea of club-hopping all night, but what ensued was the most successful and unexpected night of clubbing I may well ever experience (I hope to be proven wrong). There’s no sense in trying to recreate a night out in full, so the rundown is as follows:

Midnight: Taxi, “Take us wherever there is stuff”.
12:30am: Futuristic canopied strip of themed clubs and bars no less than a mile long.
12:45am: Enter a trendy club called Fashion, Abercrombiesque people overflowing outside its doors. Only serves drinks in pitchers. Apparently the after-party ‘it’ place for an international model festival (suddenly, I begin to acknowledge my need for a haircut). I meet a model from Kazakhstan and am astonished that Kazakhstan is a real country.
2am: Half mile down, we step into a riotous world of funk…I mean a real nasty packed house funk party getdown in progress…a community of slap-bassed big-band funk fronted by a extra large oriental woman in full kimono on the mic and saxophone. You might say the funk shui in the room was high (even better, you might decide never to actually say that). Local brews and dancing with the locals, along with a group of liberated engine room folk from the ship, most of whom I’ve never seen in open air before.
5am: We close the bar and seek out taxi, “take us wherever there is stuff”.
5:30am: Dropped off in a sketchy back alley, once again stuffed with people trying to get in the doors of the two clubs.
6am: Enter into a 80’s live band rave concert…a 3 story complex full of blue-lit neon and a massive sound and light display from the band onstage. It appears the night is just reaching its peak here. Everything sung in Mandarin (or something), so we go upstairs to karaoke. I hear Nelly and Chris Brown in 4 different languages. Make friends with a table of local hairdressers who don’t speak a lick of English. Amuse each other with attempts to communicate.
8am: Taxi to ship
8:30am: Room service and Family Guy
10am: Sleep

Singapore is rockstar. Singapore is like Meatloaf.

Ko Samui, Thailand

I was thinking about renting a moped since I had the day off. One case I'm glad that my intentions fell short of action. Moped accident...


Obviously, per the movie above, I went to a monkey show and elephant ride/show...



20 seconds after this picture was taken, the cute monkey grabbed a sleeping baby in the front row, thereby provoking a vicious battle to the death between mother and monkey. A timely backhand to its head (the monkey, not the baby) by its trainer and the food chain was reestablished...Reminds me of a Peter Gabriel song...

Music is a Drug

I love it when I listen to a song and don’t want to leave the mood it puts me in. This happens to me most often when I listen to Sting, but right now it John Mayer’s Continuum. I don’t want to listen to the song again, so I turn the music off and stay there til the feeling fades. My old roommate once wrote a song called ‘Music is a Drug’. It is. It’s strange that it can affect people in such different ways. There’s plenty of music that does nothing for me emotionally, some that makes me feel gross, some that makes me feel like I’m not alone and others that make me feel like I am. If emotions are presented as chemicals in our brains, then music releases these chemicals in the same way as drugs do. That’s wild. Someone should study that. One day I might be into jazz and the next day Beethoven is the only thing I want to hear, then Smashing Pumpkins. Right now it’s John Mayer’s “The Heart of Life”. It sounds so sincere. I know how easy it is to fake or create a mood in the studio. Despite if it’s real or not, it’s done well and no one should care. I’ve decided that waves against shoreline is the perfect way to sustain a mood. Try it sometime.

Missing Bangkok

I’m watching a Fred Astaire and Judy Garland movie. I should watch more of these old movies. There’s something about her eyebrows that are fantastic. I think eyebrows might have something more to do with beautiful eyes than the eyes themselves. I’ve confirmed this philosophy a few times in my life, and tonight Judy Garland has done it again.

All my friends are staying overnight in Bangkok and I’m stuck in my room sick with a cold or flu or something awful. I stayed home instead leading karaoke last night and then opted to skip out on what sounds like one of the coolest and most memorable adventures so far. I’ve been on some truly great excursions since January, but everytime I go out on my own with friends and no plans, it makes for the best memories. So, I’m bummed. The day was quite nice though, really…entertaining myself with a pile of the cheap DVDs I picked up in Hong Kong and ordering room service. I hate it, though, when the sun starts going down. It’s not until then that I feel like I’m missing out. The expectation of the night ahead, of a crop of memories I’m missing out on while filling my head with some silly movie I’m watching just to say I’ve watched it. If I could muster just enough energy to do something worthwhile, I could abandon my memory missing misfortunes and feel a bit better about my position.

Past all this, I also wanted to step foot in Bangkok so as to permanently change my answer to a silly childhood joke I always got caught in. Alas, the drive into the city takes 2 hours, and I don’t see it happening in the morn. Woa is me; weeping and nashing. I think I’ll order an ice cream.

Unmute.

Ah, Judy.

I sang and it made me sad

I sang a jazz set with one of the piano players onboard tonight. It made me miss my band in Nashville. This is all I have to say about this.

Cu Chi Tunnels...Ho Chi Min City/Saigon, Vietnam

Before entering the Vietnamese tunnels in the Cu Chi area about an hour outside Saigon, the guide explained the crude way in which the Vietnamese fighters were able to hold off the superior American armies. Included in this explanation was a 15 minute wartime propaganda film that told of specific battles and local heroes hailing from the Cu Chi region. The film didn't impact me as much as I thought it might as I'm so far removed from the Vietnam War, but I can't imagine being a Vietvet sitting through this film which praised and encouraged the killing of your friends. The video was shown in one of their original sunken bunker rooms. I watched from the back as some of the old men squirmed in their seats.

A charming mural depicting Americans dying in the jungles after stepping on the Vietnamese boobertraps and whammy-kablammies...


A huge amount of dirt was displaced during the digging of this massive underground network of tunnels and hidden rooms. The Vietnamese solved this problem by packing the dirt up against the roots of trees to look like giant termite mounds. Either that, or they'd use the dirt to fill in the giant holes left from B2 bombing raids...


Tunnel entrance...


Tunnel insides...



Exploration...


My first gun was an AK-47...Shooting range on site...I don't want to brag...but I hit the zebra 3 times.

After the tunnels, we all went to a beautiful restaurant alongside this river which was owned by a charming old lady. Turns out she started the youth movement for freedom in Vietnam during the 70's...


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Day 2 in Ho Chi Min City/Saigon included a bunch of fruitless shopping and a delicious Vietnamese fast food restaurant called Phu2000...

Monasteries and Mopeds...Da Nang/Hue, Vietnam

I’m sitting out on the pool deck, it’s about 1am on Wednesday morning gliding over the South China Sea. I feel a bit guilty for being up this late as I just finished listening to a lecture on the epidemic of sleep deprivation. Cecadas have invaded the ship and are carrying their tune across the deck reminding me of home. Sometimes, when I would get stressed out, I used to go to my backyard late at night and disappear in the darkness, thinking about how much I wanted to just sit and think for a few years...perhaps strumming a few clever tunes along the way. The most brilliant and personally satisfying times of my life thus far have been when I’ve had nothing to do but think. I suppose that sounds ridiculous, seeing as how thinking is the essential element in brilliance…but I know what I mean.

I suppose that’s why I liked the monestary we went to in Hue, Vietnam yesterday. Whenever white people in America say they’re Buddhist I tend to laugh in the back of my head, assuming they’re going through some anti-conservative religious upbringing shiz they’ll grow out of around 35 or when they fall in love with someone who doesn’t share their same views. In Vietnam it seems real, and I feel like I should learn about real from them.


SOME PICS/VID FROM DA NANG & HUE, VIETNAM

Rice fields along the countryside drive into the city...


Once we got to the city, I saw no more than a handful of cars/trucks/busses. Mopeds ruled the streets and sidewalks. A Vietnamese moving van...


City Traffic


Buddhist Monestary






Roadside incense on the way to the former king's estate...


Former king's dojo (spelling?)...




Former king's tomb...

Adventures in Hong Kong

Hong Kong’s sail in is rumored to be one of the best in the world. 7AM brought the first glipse of the skyline and my first sniff of China mainland. The air was foggy and thick, but the mass of skyscrapers could still be seen from miles out, slowly surrounding us on all sides. They ushered us in as if foreshadowing the gauntlet of consumerism waiting onshore.





That last sentence sounded nice, but in actuality (since I’m writing this post-Vietnam and Thailand) Hong Kong is much more tolerant and laid back than I expected. The only annoyances were persistent Indian salesmen on every corner pedaling fake Rolex watches and custom suits. Luckily for me, I happened to be in the market for a custom suit. Tim, Clayton and I got off as soon as we cleared customs and hit the streets looking for a small tailor Clayton used last year in HK. We had to get our orders in as early as possible to ensure the tailor could finish our suits before sailaway 20 hours later. And what a 20 hours it was…



After the long and crowded morning walk, picking out fabric/style/cut/pocket location/etc and getting measured the first time, we were ready for lunch. I don’t eat McDonalds in the states, so I don’t know why I did today…but was encouraged to see fresh corn on the menu. I’m sure it was made from minced elbow or something, but at least it felt healthy…



Next, we hit up two of the famous marketplaces…one on the mainland, then took a taxi under the bay to the far side of Hong Kong island. There’s not nearly enough time to look around the whole of the markets, but good deals abound and make me look forward to coming back next time. Hong Kong used to be a great place to get deals on electronics, but since it was ‘discovered’ over the last ten+ years the cost of electronics is now comparable to America. However, it’s still the place to find all the latest gear, sometimes up to a year before it comes out in the states.





We trekked back to the mainland to ensure a timely arrival for our 4pm second fitting, and upon arriving early, spent a couple hours drinking pints and playing fuseball at an empty bar in downtown. I came in third place, I think.



My tailor and I during fitting #2...



We then searched for a Chinese restaurant to try out some authentic cuisine when we stumbled upon a very good seafood restaurant called ”Very Good Seafood Restaurant”…



Each of us chose 2 horrible sounding menu items, and 1 safety item, which would become our chaser salvation. The meal consisted of goose tongue, fish eyes, bean curd, duck feet, fish head soup and shrimp balls…with salvation items sweet and sour pork and beer. Duck feet was a shocker, really quite good after get passed the webbing...but as for the others...glad I did it once.













You can never have too much market…so the three of us hit the famous night market on a stomach full of body parts…



A friend of mine rejoined the ship in Hong Kong so I picked her up at a hotel in downtown and for some reason decided to go out to eat again at about 2AM. Despite pantomiming all of our communications with the non-English speaking wait staff, the meal was delicious. I wish I could sound cool right here by naming the style of restaurant/meal, but all I remember is the meat was cooked in a large pot full of spices and vegetables in front of us on the table, and that we had no idea what we were doing. We closed the restaurant, and finished day 1 in Hong Kong with meal number two and a backpack full of souvenirs and DVDs to take back to the ship.



I woke up relatively early on day 2 to do some solo exploration of Hong Kong Island. I took a ferry ride and a long walk to Victoria Park on Hong Kong Island, which proved to be just what I needed to settle my stomach. I spent the day writing, reading, listening to music, falling asleep on a park bench and being woken up by a group of Chinese girls laughing at me as they passed.

Houseboats & junks on the walk by the bay of Hong Kong Island...



Some kind of lawn bowling game at Victoria Park that I got swiftly kicked out of for not wearing the right socks or something...


I headed back to the mainland that afternoon, picked up my new suit and boarded my steed for our nighttime city sendoff, 8PM...

I once told my high school girlfriend to order whatever she wanted

It was homecoming night, I had what I thought, at the time, was a lot of money, and she looked so pretty, it just seemed like the right thing to say. $110 later, the $30 salad looked perfect for my side of the table. Up til yesterday, this was the largest amount of money I’d ever spent on a meal. All of the food on this ship is free, with the exception of one room. It’s called the Vintage Room. In fact, I have no problem thinking the food was mostly free...that it was the wine we actually paid for. 3 personal chefs, 7 privately selected courses, 7 vintage wine pairings, 14 happy entertainers and one amused sommelier.

I like it when my menu has my name on it...(worth at least $20)...


Overview of the courses and pairings...


Before...


During...


After...

Bandar Seri Begawan, Brunei

Bandar Seri Begawan, Brunei is the first port we’ve been to that doesn’t feel Americanized, and subsequently my first step into what truly feels like a foreign land. It won't be until Europe that Christianity is the most practiced religion, but a few things remain truly universal. The world has a taste for Pizza Hut, and in return the Hut has taken its sauce across every conceivable boundary...



I think it takes an Arby's before a country is truly considered developed.

It was in this city that I took my first step into a mosque. There's a mosque down the street from where I live in Nashville. In contrast to the mosque pictured below, the Nashville mosque does not have a 6 ton globe made of pure gold. However, I hear they do have terrific social barbques and that's worth something. The reverence and strictness of the Muslim faith is inspiring. I have no insight into the genuineness of their efforts, but the unwavering consistency of their rituals are beautiful. I wonder if there are less formal sects of Islam like in Christianity...like the jeans and t-shirt version that meets in a strip mall. After visiting this beautiful building in the middle of Bandar Seri Begawan, I put my shoes back on, and began a fruitless search for some barbque.







There is a large village in the middle of the city that is completely raised on stilts and is only accessable by boat. The price for a boat ride to the city was the equivalent of about 25cents.



On to Hong Kong...

Beautiful Lonely Seas

The idea of being lonely in the middle of the ocean appeals to me. Perhaps it's because I'm an introvert...or because I like getting lost. I'm generally very good with directions when I'm driving or walking alone, but when other people are around me I tend to shut off my head. The volume of mistakes and general confusedness is really quite hilarious...for me, that is...not for anyone around me. On this day I appreciate someone else driving me around.

The Timor sea just outside Australia was eerily calm and lovely today. Sea creatures seem to come out of nowhere all across the water. Creatures once hidden by the waves were naked against the glassy surface. Every once and awhile, the ocean abandons its menacing demeanor to thank us for the company...

Room Service Putt-Putt & the rest of Australia

3.3.08 Cairns, Australia
I got off the ship to make calls to home and research the possibility of taking a ship out to the Great Barrier Reef. Right about the time I got off the phone it began to rain, spoiling any chance of snorkeling the reefs. Shame.

3.6.08 Darwin, Australia
Darwin, much like Cairns, has wonderful phones. A late night and early sail-away gave me just enough time to get off the ship, call my sister, and buy some groceries.

A highlight, however, was the putt-putt course set up in the main lobby of the ship. This segment’s theme is the Olympic Games, and one of today’s events is obviously putt putt…truly an athlete’s domain. The games even came with a set of Olympic gold medalist hosts/lecturers (I forget their names...the guy invented some famous gymnist move and the girl was the first American to score a perfect 10...she also starred in the Broadway version of Peter Pan) I’m currently petitioning for them to add a waterskiing event to the schedule.

PUTT PUTT





...and my love affair with room service...on this night I ordered from the dining room, but my favorite night in includes vegetable spring rolls, greek salad and two glasses of milk. My 'room girl' is a cute Phillipino named Kenneth who calls me Mr. Justin. Whenever I call after 5pm she says "Usual, Mr Justin?" She knows me. Sometimes I order the tuna salad and she asks me if there's something wrong...



And now off to something completely different, I think…off to something I know not much of and to a new set of audiences…off to the orient…

Brisbane, Australia...Crikey

I went to Steve Irwin’s open-air zoo in Brisbane. The zoo in sponsored by Animal Planet so the whole production was very slick in a good way. I’ve never been to a zoo where the animals were so assessable. My favorite was the kangaroo field, where they wait kind of apathetically for you mess with them. In the field directly adjacent to this one are the red kangaroos. When approached, these roos sit back on their tails, grab you with their t-rex arms around the neck and tear out your intestines with their feet. I did not have enough time for this field.

I imagine there is some kind of training for the animal presenters in the main auditorium on how to speak like Steve Irwin.

Crocs


Here's your zoology lesson for the day, brought to you by Animal Planet and David Gray...

Emu


Koala


Gator


Elephant


Kangaroo picture


Roo Music Video

Sydney, Australia...Pics, Pints and Pool

The Sydney sail-in is rumored to be one of the best in the world, right up there with the Hong Kong sail-in, and may the rumors be confirmed by mua. Only something like this will wake crew and guests at 5:30am after a full day’s work and party the night before. Some awoke (a few including myself stayed up all night) to view the first sparklings of Sydney city lights in the distance. As you glide closer, the first thing that comes into focus is the famous Sydney Opera House, which juts out into the bay apart from the rest of the downtown skyline like a big Aussie high-five. The opera house is lit beautifully, but due to my limited photographic understanding, my many attempts at snapping a good picture in the low dusk light produced 1 or 2 good ones…












I wasted so much time playing around with my toy, not realizing we were destined to view the building for the next 48 hours. My Crystal steed parked itself about 300 yards away from the structure, which I had no idea is actually 3 separate structures…





Funny story about the opera house…during construction funding ran out right about time to start on the room’s acoustics. Apparently, the sound in the Sydney opera house is horrid. Brittney Spears analogy? Speaking of, the aunt and uncle of the manager for the Blackeyed Peas are onboard. I’ve somehow made a good enough impression to be offered the VIP hookup at any of their European concerts. I’ll have to start spinning my BP records more often. I suppose I’ll have to buy some, first. Hong Kong.

With an overnight in Sydney and no plans to speak of…the four of us in the band and one brave lady assistant to the hotel director camped out in a pub on the bay all day drinking pints, playing pool and losing my credit card. There’s nothing not fun about drinking pints and playing pool in a foreign country. There’d be a before and after, but as there was no method to our days events…here’s just the during and after…





I was on the way back to the ship to cleanup for the evening when a pack of the entertainers from the ship all dressed to the 9s turned me around before I could make it. So, backpack in…back, we navigated the now rainy streets of Sydney until reaching this trendy spinning restaurant at the top of a skyscraper for drinks, where a better dressed cast member had to convince the management to let me sit down despite my appearance…then on to a delicious Indian restaurant for dinner.

Melborne, Australia

Melbourne is to Portland as Sydney is to Seattle. It’s the trendier, artsier big city in Australia. Shortly after pulling into Melbourne, a couple who used to be the dance duo onboard and now operates a successful dance studio (Paul and Sheryl of Dance 101) picked a group of us up to tour the hippest spots all around the city with them. They dropped us back off at the ship for a quick change only to return to the city for their 5-10pm salsa class taking place on the waterfront. Many cocktails and quasi-salsa-esque movements later…6 of us spent the rest of the night at club more appreciative of our convulsionary interpretations...





Really cool firedancer guy on the docks...




The next morning, I guided an excursion called "Ride Upon a Steam Train and Trip to famous pub". Sounds cool, no? Paul and Sheryl had a good laugh at my excitement about the tour. I was informed by my cool new friends that the "Puffing Billy", so it's called, is the local elementary school field trip location of choice...I did love 2nd grade. You could hang your feet out the side of the boxcar, which I thought was really neat...



I saw my first redwood...



...and my first electric guitar playing gingerbreadman on the side of the street...

Tasmania...I'm sure it's a wonderful place

Tasmania is a part of Australia. The Tasmanian devil is a real animal that, upon getting grumpy, walks in small circles grunting for hours on end; hinse the Looney Tunes character. I felt bad for not getting off in Tasmania, but there was a long night of ocean motion behind me (Tasman Sea), and the true essence of Tasmania, so I was told, was far past the city…so here’s my impression of the big T:

Dreams about ex-girlfriends

I recently had a dream about an ex-girlfriend. There we were hovering near the top of a 50-story atrium at Gaylord Opryland negotiating terrible walkways not intended for use by people, when in one of her rebellious moments, I watched as she fell to her most certain death. The air left my lungs and I felt a disconnect at what I was witnessing. Luckily, she landed in a hot tub without a scratch. So typical of her. I woke up from the dream with a lingering fright that forced me to write it down. I love how my subconscious mind seems so much smarter than me. Every once and a while I’ll dream these terrific allegories that I can’t avoid dealing with. Like encrypted messages that are meant to teach me something about myself. I just wish I would learn to talk to me with less sybolism.

My newly tailored suit and Viet Nam kickboxing: a prophesy)

I get nervous about not getting the most from every port, so you’ll often find me schmoozing about with the shore excursion people. They are good folk to make friends with as they seem to live on the boat and know everything about everything that’s either cool, cheap, or must-see-sketchy the world (as far as ports are concerned) has to offer. They don’t shy away from the horror stories either, and I invite the added risk as an enhancement to the whole experience….Wearing a newly tailored Vietnamese suit to the street kickboxing matches in a small town outside Viet Nam is my newest fascination. I won’t speak of the ping pong shows…

These Boots Were Made for Flopping

As we passed Sea Break Island (named by the famous Captain Cook, who seems to have named most everything around here) en route to Tasmania via the Tasman sea, the winds increased all at once, knocking over a few spectators at the front of the ship. This would be an appropriate foreshadowing of the next 2 days at sea. The Tasman is a wild adventure at its calmest, like something from the Illiad, a death trap of endless nauseating open ocean, especially compared to the perfectly calm waters of the fjord behind us. Once again, the front of the ship sucks.



We performed 2 shows last night in a venue called the Palm Court for an event called Walkabout Wonders in prep for our arrival in Australia this week. I’m told a ‘walkabout’ is when a native Australian Aboriginee will travel deep in to the bush for days in an effort to find himself. We saw the cowboy saloon decorations and decided to put on a country western show, complete with boots, tight jeans, ten gallon hat and curly mustache. I didn’t really understand the intended Australian themeage so at the time thought our additional song choices appropriate:

Don’t Worry Be Happy
Elvira
Happy Trails




This paired with exaggerated country accents did not enhance the band’s reputation with the Aussies on board.

A couple days earlier we had an Australian knock-off of Wizard of Oz themed event. I can't resist costume opportunities...

New Zealand

It has been too long since I’ve written in this blog. I hate that. I hate it almost as much as I hate not being in New Zealand. Last week I saw the beautiful island country for the first time, stopping in 3 cities, 2 Fjords and forced to cancel a performance in Dunedin because of wild waters. Last week I was seasick twice, took a trainride to wrangle some sheep in the bottom of a beautiful vista, had drinks in a bar made of ice, stood atop the tallest building in the Southern Hemisphere, witnessed an epidemic amount of dolphins riding the waves of our boat, and made friends with a wonderfully charming German girl from Capetown, South Africa, only to see her off in Sydney. Perhaps this overwhelming combination is what has kept me from the computer. Now I must reflect, as these memories are proving to be quickly fleeting.

Both my first and lasting impression of New Zealand is of an extraordinarily clean and rugged land. I love this country. People don’t strike me as much different than in America, just less stressed and generally more peaceful. I’m sure my next statement will make me sound like a fool, but without really thinking about it, I just assume that big cities in less talked about countries aren’t nearly as developed. Like a cute little bunch of people trying to form a cute little developed community. This is not the case. In many ways, it feels like they have it down more than we do. Everything seems cleaner, more organized, with easily available public transportation, cops that don’t carry weapons, droves of people who come out of their houses to enjoy community with one another…it’s beautiful and it’s intentional. It’s enough to make me want to forget my current ambitions and move to where people seem to know how to live well. Not that they don’t have their problems, too.

We pulled into Auckland, New Zealand at about 6:30am on Feb 12th. Don’t ask me why I was still awake, but I’m glad I was. As we floated over a crystal calm bay for about 45 minutes into the heart of Auckland, there was a rare silence among the passengers as they leaned against the side of the railing taking it all in. Mighty cliffed outskirts slowly became dotted with Victorian mountain homes until a coastal city full of life sprang up behind the peaceful movement of early morning sailboats and watertaxis.

Auckland has the tallest building in the Southern Hemisphere and I’ll be damned if I were to miss out on that...





As it seems obvious to do, we took shots atop the tallest building in the Southern Hemisphere. I do not recommend vodka in the morning…



Since the trend was started, it was on to margaritas at lunch which only hardened my desire for good Tex-mex.

"Got Milk?" "Beef, it's what's for dinner" The beef and milk industries in America have a terrific way of reminding us to eat and drink their stuff. New Zealand has employed this same simple and effective advertising strategy with a different industry that obviously takes it even more to the point…Good advertisers are always sensitive to their audience...



It’s rare that I get an overnight, thus we crawled around Auckland all night as the hours wore on. We heard of a bar made only of ice and alcohol…so that is where we went. Everyone was there was really cool...







Two days later, Christchurch had me on a 3 hour train ride up mountainsides, across plains and country roads and over wide rivers into the center of the Northern island. There is a wide vista somewhere out there that houses 300+ sheep and is surrounded on all sides by giant mountains. A large heated tent in the middle of the field was set up for us to have lunch and drinks in and was a welcome break from the unusually cold summer day. As the country was experiencing a long drought, the Lord of the Rings lushness I expected was absent, but the landscape was no less magestic.







Fun fact: I randomly own socks that the sheep from this particular field exclusively produce…



On Feb 18th and 19th we entered the New Zealand Fjords, Dusty and Milford. I had been looking forward to this since day 1 and they did not disappoint…









While in the Dusty Sound we crossed paths with a ship formerly called Crystal Harmony, the sister ship to my own which has now been converted into a Japanese luxery cruiseliner still under the same company. The decks on both ships were completely filled while passengers and crew witnessed the ships do pirouettes round each other in the middle of the sound…





Each year, apparently, the Norwegein captains have a competition to see who can nudge the ship closest to this waterfall within Milford Sound. The goal is to dip the ship’s nose into the side of the falls, and if anyone can collect a full glass of the water, the captain will trade him for a bottle of reserve whiskey. Given the drought, no records were set, but it made for an impressive pic…




I was performing a show as we exited the Milford Sound on our way to Tasmania when the day’s perfection was capped off with a sight I’ll never forget…



This is video from one side of the ship. After I turned the camera off, I discovered the same unbelievable sight was duplicated on the other side of the ship. They rode the ship’s waves for about 45 minutes out to sea, as if to bid farewell.

So long New Zealand. I have a feeling I’ll be back.

International Marti Gras

Come with me as we celebrate the dead…this is the conga line parading into the night's themed party. We dug into the cast’s costumes and I ended up as some kind of masked mobster type, Dick Tracy or something...

Italian Welding Team

I’ve inherited a new alarm clock. A team of Italian welders wakes me up each morning doing construction to a crew area just outside my door. They’re prepping a pathway to install a huge engine component and must take out a 6X4 slice out of about 7 floors to drop it in. It’s not so much the buzz of their blow torches that wakes me as their muscley foreign jib. I’m sure the powers that be knew about the planned metal work when they decided to put me in the room most adjacent, as I have no justification to complain.

Adding to the drama, we’ve entered some extremely heavy waters outside New Zealand (Tasman Sea) that send the ship back and forth something awful. The massiveness of the vessel creates an ebb and flow of about 5 seconds between incline and decline. Each time the front of the ship reconnects with the water it sounds like a cannonball striking the forward of our massive iron hull. My grandmother gave me a fantastic set of earplugs for Christmas.

A Day I Will Never Live

A Day I Will Never Live…
Feb 7, 2008 will never exist for me. This is a day in my life that I’ve passed over. While my friends back home are busy with their Feb. 7th doings, struggling with work, struggling to love each other, struggling to master Halo III, I struggle to understand how a day in my life just disappeared. What would I have done if I had Feb 7th back? Would I have lived like there was no Feb 8th? I shall not think on such things for I don’t know how I feel about all this.


What Cool Is...
You know what’s cool? Cool is it being Chinese New Years and getting secretly invited by a bunch of Russians to a forbidden pool party at 3am while crossing the International Date Line. That is cool. I have a Russian friend whose birthday is Feb 7th. Nothing significant unless you’re crossing the International Date Line on this day, in which case your birthday does not exist. May the celebration on this non-day be even larger than ever, and may it have no hourly bounds.

Here's Tim catching an apple...



An avid and graceful Caldwell blog reader has gracefully informed me as to the impossibility of my Feb 7th post. Thank you, Reader. Per your dutiful critique, I have updated this entry with a more realistic date.

Voy #1...

I watch and old couple sitting at a table at the back of the ship. They've been here for at least 3 hours, same as me. He's reading the cruise newspaper called "Reflections", a daily summary of world events widdled down into about 5 pages. I abandon the idea that this man is dumb, as it's hard to believe dumb people can live a life profitable enough to stay afloat on this pricey world cruise...but seriously, 3 hours on 5 pages of summaries? I'm a mediocre reader, but there's got to be an explanation. Something must switch in people as they get older. I imagine his mind, looking down through his spectacles at the paper, sailing through article one, no problem. Article two, world news, his mind glazes over for a moment as he listens to the displacement of water behind the ship. He stares out at the ocean then back to his paper. A few more sentences and drifts into distant memories perhaps having something to do with the article he's on. There's no urgency here. It's a free tangent-and-stop on wherever his mind is wanting. If it's interesting enough, he turns to his wife in hand motions and grunts, speaking in their own private language that has been perfected over time. They both come to agreement, he checks on the progress of her crossword, ashes down a cigarette and returns to his reading. Another half hour of glazed memories.

Oh! to be able to think like that. I can't imagine a mind so full of memories. I wouldn't get anything done either! All my stories floating around like a loosely-connected screenplay with no real ending. I have a hard time allowing myself time to drift, though my mind tends to disrespect my allowances. I snap myself out of unfocused wanderings, finish the article, and move on to the next. There's something in the back demanding efficiency. Fifty years of this and I can only imagine a bitter war developing against this device as I fight to find the switch, turn it off, and listen to the waves.

Bloody Mary's...Why?

Bora Bora...Friends and I trekked to the apparently famous Bloody Mary’s to watch the Super Bowl. I discovered that I despise bloody marys...





Then we hiked over to Hotel Bora Bora and thought of Mark...Here's a soundbite from its peaceful beach...



Bora Bora is beautiful, really. I can't believe I'm saying this, but islands are starting to get boring.

Musings From My Many Cramp Breaks…Huahine

I’ve taken to cycling the beautiful island of Huahine. There are two reasons for this. 1) I feel introverted and 2) in French Francs, renting a motorized scooter is not cheap. So, I picked up a mountain bike in the morn with intentions of touring the island, finding an isolated beach and writing all day. Somewhere around kilometer 5, Ego kicked in and I decided to go a full loop round the island. Around kilometer 10, I became familiar with the poor condition of my bike legs. What follows are a collection of musings from cramp breaks.

HUAHINE AIRPORT (5km)
I’m writing this from the airport in Huahine where a single plane waits to lift off, and a single bartender waits to serve, and a single bike waits for my sore ass to muscle on. When you travel alone you think on things from a completely different angle. Like a part of the brain not present in social dialogue is allowed to engage. I like the way I can think when I’m alone. It’s nice to have someone. It’s nice to be single.



CHURCH (15km)
I find it interesting my eagerness to pull over at this little church on the coastline. It’s front doors are held shut with a single cinder block and some wood. In the states, I try my hardest to find a good excuse to stay away from church, but once again I’m drawn to its doors. Perhaps it’s just logical…my legs are tired…and, if the natives are hostile, the chance of a beat-down seems lessened near the Virgin Mary. As no one on the planet knows exactly where I am right now, the wisest things inside me say not to force entry on this one. Despite staggering and steady scientific discovery uncovering mysteries we used to resign to God, spirituality seems no more extinct, no more banished from our philanthropy books than it ever was. Answers are beautiful, but mysteries are necessary, I think. That, however, is no excuse to be dumb.



HALFWAY UP A MOUNTAIN (24km)
I want friends who are excited about sharing each other’s lives with one another. I don’t want acquaintances that I call friends who are just scared to be alone. I have both and there’s a big difference that becomes more apparent the older I get.

WHEN MY WATER RAN OUT (38km)
The stories I will learn to reveal
Like waiting words made into verse
A secret only I can understand
I will try to show them my face

I will learn to tell these stories and time will teach me how to speak them
Each one coming out as another passes by

Why do my legs feel like ham? What's with my new friend, a floating green dot in the right side of my vision?





BACK AT THE BAR (50km)
You know when water tastes unnaturally delicious? It turns out that tropical rum drinks taste just as good when you're dehydrated. I extinguished two in about 60 seconds, then resigned to throwing money airplanes in the direction of the bartender in return for prompt service and to not use my legs. She understood.




Just before I was going to pass out on the transport back to the ship tender, I ran into some of the entertainers from the ship who FORCED me to drink free Mai Tais with them. I like the pics when no one is ready. Look how excited everyone is to have their image snapped.



While waiting for the 30 minute transport from the main city back to the tender, we met Mark from Lubbock, Texas who told us that Huahine means “the weenie hole”. Mark is a 60 year-old tattooed hipster with a full head of long thin blonde hair and who owns the souvenir shop next to our dropoff/pickup point. He has a beautiful 30 year-old Hauhine wife whom he met on the island 10 years ago. In the 80’s, Mark designed all the diesel energy distribution facilities for Hotel Bora Bora and has lived in and around the French Polynesian islands ever since as a consultant. He loves music and he thinks the greatest song ever written is “Great Balls of Fire”. He tried for two years to move back and live in America with his wife, but she couldn’t take the culture. We bought postcards of Hotel Bora Bora to thank him for the stories he gave us and for the new appreciation I have for Jerry Lee Lewis.

I biked around a whole island today. A man’s satisfaction comes through small victories.

No one believes I was bit by a fish...Moorea

And I’m ok with that. Sometimes it’s good when a memory is your own. To be fair…I jacked my foot on some coral and a fish must have been turned on by the smell of my blood. The little bugger began to circle me with an excitement I naively interpreted as playful, then it tagged me twice. Multiple expletives later I became a swimmer, laughing as I set world records.

Despite the vampire fish, Moorea is my favorite. Everyone knows Tahiti and Bora Bora, but Moorea was the most beautiful of them all. The island is a scarcely inhabited jewel of crystalline lagoons, fjord-like bays, azure waters and velvety mountain peaks. We anchored in to a sunrise over the dramatic spire made famous as Bali Hai in the movie South Pacific…






Early in the morn I went dolphin watching with an overtly blunt scientist guide. The professor has lived on the island with his Tahitian wife for the past 20 years and knows the dolphins by fin. He loved to point out our ignorance about the natural world and to talk about dolphin sex. Taking cue from the sex-crazed sea creatures around us, who apparently have sex with everyone all the time, we all began making out by the end of the excursion...



I rented a dune buggy with one of the guys in the band and we set off exploring the island all day. My bass player in Nashville wants to name his kids Isosceles and Dune Buggy. I used to think that was ridiculous until I discovered how fun these little vehicles are. Shots from around the island...






Off-roading in a grove of palms...



We met up with two of the other guys in the band, Tim and Henry, who were sporting their own island transportation...



Panoramic view from one of Moorea's peaks. You can just make out the back end of the cruise ship peaking out behind the right mountain...



Bloody fish bites...

Blessed be the coconuts...Raiatea

We could see beautiful beachy motus dotting the perimeter of the lagoon as our ship approached Raiatea, the first of our stops in the French Polynesian Islands. We chose not to believe people when they told us of the lack of beach on the main island itself. Such negativity from our island guides could only be combated with stubborn denial. So I purchased an overpriced yellow frisbee, which was surely never manufactured to maintain altitude, and set off towards the tropical sun haven that existed only in our minds. After getting laughed at by Polynesian school kids (probably because of my new frisbee), being offered marijuana and a couple mispronounced English cuss words by a mob of slightly older Polynesians, and following a painfully aimless walk, we stumbled upon the only beach within walking distance; a 200 ft stretch of rock, sand, and driftwood about 10 feet away from the main island road. With my pride in the sand and frisbee stuck in a palm, I saw redemption in a distant island motu. Lustfully, I looked upon its perfect sandy beaches, proud palms and the small wooden shack dawning its middle that I was sure existed to house cold buckets of free beer. With three hours to kill, I began the long swim to my island oasis, and in about twenty minutes began my swim back. I felt pretty good about getting 1/3 the way there...so I decided to make peace with the beach I’d been offered. As I’ve always been too restless to sunbath, I took to knocking down coconuts and drinking the milk...



My coconut looks like Wilson.

There’s probably a machine that does this in 3 seconds with much less mess, but my pride did return and for that I must thank beautiful beachless Raiatea.

Two houses in the middle of the lagoons protected by Raiatea's island borders...



We could barely fit through this narrow natural exit from Raiatea...

Avocado lotion for my cherry head

We just crossed the equator on the way to Ratetea, our first stop in the Society Islands. I'll be beach bumming most of the day tomorrow as, amazingly, I haven't been on a beach since this trip started...with the exception of Gran Cayman. This is the first time I've been in the southern hemisphere. Hemisphere seems like a huge thing. It's a big weighty word. Hemisphere. Anyway, I was outside watching a 'crossing the equator' celebration the ship does - it's a grande affair where the crew members of the ship and folks from the entertainment staff wear crazy costumes like mermaids and prisoners and judges and such, and cover the crew members who haven't ever crossed the equator in fish guts and foam sherbet and throw them in the pool. It's weird and no one can use the pool for the rest of the day...except this crazy drunk old lady who kept splashing everyone during the ceremony...she didn't hesitate to jump right in the fish gut sherbet pool as soon as the ceremony was over. I was out there for about 15 minutes on the pool deck and throughout the rest of the day watched in horror as my face turned a brighter and brighter shade of red. I felt funny even walking around...like a big headed cherry who hasn't heard about sunscreen. I bought stuff in the salon made from avocados because apparently avocados are the reciprocal of our sun. It cost me $40 for avocado lotion for my cherry head.

Who created vertical blinds?

There was the Roman shade, the Venetian, the slat blind…then what? Who was the grand pioneer that ushered us into our current revolution, the new era of shadery? It’s a question I never cared about until today upon playing golf in Maui with the guy who invented vertical blinds. It’s like finding out who invented the paper clip…or the wax things at the end of shoelaces (I read somewhere that the family gets a fraction of a cent for each waxy end; that’s two per shoelace, four per shoe). Or floss…who’s the ballsy guy that first pitched the idea of selling spools of thin minted string to the mass public? I forget that there are people behind these things we use everyday. I guess I just assume big corporations like GE make everything.

Some things seem too big to have such a singular beginning. For my generation, one of the craziest has to be the guy who created the internet. The idea that one guy (I’m sure with a little help from some of his nerdy friends – or maybe he was cool, like Val Kilmer in Weird Science) created the internet is foreign to me. What do you ask a guy like that when you meet him? There I was playing golf with the inventor of vertical blinds, and I felt as though I had a unique opportunity to ask the questions that other people would never be able to. “Were you tired of normal blinds? Did they not block out enough sun? Are you allowed to have anything besides vertical blinds in your house?” Luckily, he loves to talk. That’s probably how he sold so many people on his idea.

There are some questions of invention for which I prefer the illusion. Like pizza. I don’t want to know who invented pizza. To me Dominos invented pizza and I’m fine with that. Does some Italian family get paid a fraction of a cent for each pizza made? Is there a patent on pizza somewhere?

I had an idea once. It was for a pepper shaker with a light on the bottom. You press a button and the light comes on, illuminating the food beneath, resulting in perfect pepper displacement. I was excited…really excited about it for about 3 days until I realized it would require me to be the pepper guy for the next 10-20 years of my life. This guy is the vertical blind guy. I’ll bet he could care less.

I’m sure most inventions or innovations happen by accident, but there are still so many that are the attempted pitch of a hopeful entrepreneur somewhere. I’d love to get a reel of unsuccessful product pitches. I remember when one of the big oral hygiene companies tried to get people to use a finger sock to brush. They had people dancing around the subway pulling out their little socks, scrubbing to the rhythm of the music. Have we become so inconvenienced by the brush and paste so as to line our briefcases with tooth wipes? Who gets laughed at when their idea doesn’t catch on? I now know one guy who didn’t get laughed at. And he’s sent his wife and kids around the globe 8 times because of it.

I beat the guy who created vertical blinds in golf today. I feel good about that. Oh yes…and his cousin is JD Salinger. Seriously.


...beautiful Maui in the morning...



...shots from golfing in Maui...

Dancing girls, Ed Harris, Trespassing, and Sunsets

I have some friends back in Nashville who came to Honolulu a few weeks ago. They brought back magical pictures of them with their fiancees climbing to the top of an old WWII staircase that scales straight up the side of a mountain. It's called the Haiku Stairs and the American government used the ladder-system to run communication cables via a series of pulleys and towers along the top of the ridge. As I imagine beaches will become commonplace for me over the next 2 weeks, I thought this a great opportunity to explore inland and to break a few laws. The adventure was fattening, despite never making to our goal...

...Pulling into beautiful Honolulu at about 11am...


...We scaled this fence only to lead us through a magnificant bamboo jungle filled with mosquitos, mud and more fences. Sign reads 'Haiku stairs closed...no trespassing...violators will be prosecuted'...Bullocks...


...Bamboo jungle...


...2 mile road leading (hopefully) to the Haiku stairs. The whole time I'm in communication with my friends from the states about where the hell we're going. They followed along with us via yahoo maps...


...As close as we got to the Haiku stairs before getting caught by a Government official in the form of a ridiculously in-shape 50 year-old Ed Harris lookalike riding a dirt bike...He's 'posted' out there in a lawn chair every day to catch people trying to climb the condemned stairway...


...We made friends and he showed us a better way to get in next time without getting caught...I love the US Government...Go Obama...


...Diamond Head crater and the beach pre-luau...


...Musical Maui sunsets...


...Hula dancers at the luau...



...One of the guys in the band joining in with the dancers...


I performed tonight. It was good, but I personally didn't care much considering my beautiful surroundings...

...on to Maui...

My Achy Breaky Memory

Last night we thought it a fun idea to add some country music into the show. I was a bit nervous as country is perhaps the only genre (and I think anyone who has ever - against my recommendation - hired me to sing for a country session would agree) I just can’t pull off. So, for those of you who understand my history with remembering lyrics genre and nerves aside, it’s no surprise that I managed to forget the words whilst simultaneously creating my own confusing version of this great American classic:
As I recall, it went something like this:

You can tell your dog, I moved to Arknecraw
Or you can tell your ma to bite my leg
Or tell your brother Biff, whose face can meet my fists
I never really knew them anyway
Or tell your Aunt Louise, tell anything you please (I got that one right)
Myself already shows in of my day
Or you can tell my mind to watch out for my eyes
I never really use them anyway

They say the subconscious is constantly speaking to us. I find it amazing and disconcerting that I can recall the lyrics to my improvised rendition, but not the real words I practiced over and over. I’d like to think it’s just the uninhibitable passionate nature of a composer. And so my journey as a professional singer will always have room to grow.

Unintentional long-term borrowing is not stealing...Acupulco

I couldn't sleep for the excitement. I've never played golf outside the country before, and this time it would go down in Acupulco alongside one of the top 100 golf instructors in the world. So I'm up with the sun on this day in Acupulco; 5:30am.



...Princess Golf Club...




...an unfortunate lie atop a coconut...




...unwinding as we set sail...




The golf pro at the Princess Golf Course was nice enough to let me borrow his own personal driver as the ship didn't have a stiff shaft. I didn't intend to bring it back to the ship. I hear they'll be back in Acupulco next year. Concierge!

Quarantine Me, Please

It’s day one of the world segment of tour and I’m in the middle of the ocean sailing to Honolulu, Hawaii. We left out 5PM yesterday from LA, where I spent my first time in LA rushing around with friends picking up American toiletries that I know I’d miss (I’m a Mitchum man, thanks to my best friend Daniel, who got me hooked on the superior underarm protectant).

It’s shocking how easily annoyed I can get when I don’t have time alone. At home there’s always somewhere to hide if I want to get away. I’m slowly discovering crannies that offer me some of my own space. I thought my room could offer me a creative space, but as this cruise seems continually booked up, I’ve had to room with a bandmate each time. I’ve been sick for the past 3 days and have half a mind to tell the doctor as that would put me on mandatory quarantine for 48 hours - an usually delightful idea at this point. I think back to my time alone on the beach in Gran Cayman and how lonely it got after awhile. Things are good in balance, I suppose, and I’m out of whack right now. Despite this floating 6-star hotel, it’s times like now that I miss the comforts of home.

We say Walmart like Kleenex

We’ve docked in LA and I have to go to Walmart today, amongst seeing the city for the first time. That just sounds pathetic. A friend is picking me up at port about an hour away from Hollywood and we’ll hit up breakfast (#2), see LA, then Walmart…We say Walmart like Kleenex. I have a British friend aboard who laughed when I told him I was getting off the ship to go to Walmart. I’m sure it’s not that Walmart is too low for him, as he’s not a hauty guy. He just thought it funny I should mention Walmart in particular as a necessary destination. I didn’t mean Walmart – though, as I thought about the items I need, I lustfully pictured its vast familiar well-labeled aisles, myself sailing down the smooth linolium, wind in my hair atop my oversized steed of a cart, piling in the discounts with a sinful excitement – I really just meant a supermarket.

This British guy I spoke of, Barry, has made good friends with the band and myself. He was onboard with his parents during the last cruise when he decided, ‘what the hell..mightaswell stay on for the next leg’. He’s quickly become one of us, which is good, as he is developing a pilot for a new tv series based on life aboard a cruiseship. For the vast amount of material we gave him, I feel as though we ought to be paid…I’m expecting my character to be played by Matt Damon, but as it’s his first pilot, I expect Peter Sarsgard will have to do. We don’t discuss his work, as he is, in effect, on vacation, but I’ve no doubt he’s finding out as much dirt as he could ever want. Shiplife is a warm stew of interesting…guests and crew alike. He tells me only a handful of his acquired stories and suddenly I feel like a forgettable saint.

Luckily, I've left an unintended legacy with my superior poker skills. On the paddletennis courts Barry and I were the British-American Alliance, but head-to-head in late night Texas Hold'em I'm all heritage. We couldn't find chips, so we used roomservice grapes:






...still going at 6am to watch the...


...sun rise over a Mexican ocean...

The Aliens Are Coming

I’m getting ready for a Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics lecturer, David Aguilar, to lecture me about ‘how alone we are’ and the likely existence of superiorly intellectual life outside earth. I’ve been getting into aliens way too much lately.
I hate that all we can do is sit back and wait for new information about the universe. And I also think it amazing that Einstein’s theories are still being proven correct. How is it that one guy could be so much smarter than everyone, and why hasn’t there been anyone like him – in fact, a whole slew of people like him – since him? We leave it up to guys like David Aguilar to figure it all out for us – then have to listen while he answers questions from old rich people like, “what is the closest planet to us?” Among other things, I learned that the astrological community believes, based on recent findings and developing technology, that the DISCOVERY of other planets/moons with life on them will happen within the next 10 years. 5 years if you’re a betting man. I also learned that our star is a G Star. I like that.

Approaching the afternoon's options, I could either play 4 more hours of paddletennis or stick around for the subsequent lecture on Viagra and penis enlargement...the choice was clear. I could write a whole new blog on this one, but I'll summarize in one word: microwavable. Do your research, folks.

Many Coronas make you wear drag and speak Spanish

Somehow I ended up spending all my cash in Puerta Chiappas today, despite how cheap everything was. And somehow this has been the best day of this leg of the tour. I wasn’t planning to get off the ship as Puerta Chiappas didn’t seem to have much to offer. I must give props to a diary entry I made once about people and how they make things more interesting. After coaxing from a couple of my bandmates, Clayton and Tim, we found ourselves sitting under a huge hay tent all afternoon graciously receiving round after round of Coronas courtesy of a group of German waiters from the ship. You would think this is not a good time to attempt conversation with excited 20 year old Mexican girls who want pictures with the gringos, but you would be incorrect. We spent about half an hour attempting to communicate with a trio of beautiful local Puerto Chiappas ladies in a hilarious and semi-emotional tapping into our respective childhood educations…and a whole bunch of arm flailing, charade-like mime-age.

I missed the Cowboys game, but was glad I did…let’s move on from this topic…Here’s one of the guys in the band in drag:



Let’s move on from this topic…

I already miss Puerta Chiappas. What a wonderful surprise.

Costa Rica is like chocolate and knives

Who doesn't love a country with no army? Switzerland is to chocolates, army knives (ironically), mountains and oversea bank accounts as Costa Rica is to coffee, surfing, rainforests and probably drugs. Caldera, Costa Rica has charmed me in a serious way. The towns/houses, the people and food, the landscape, everything worked to make it a place where being poor might not be half bad. I rounded up 12 of my new friends and we took off on an excursion called 25 cables over 11 waterfalls tour. The trip has no affiliation with the cruise line so the idea of sailing down 24 zip-lines in a remote area of the jungle with random natives whose only English comes from 80's rock songs feels both foolish and exciting.

At the end of the video, notice me say "Puerto Rico!" I'm often an idiot.



After we reached the bottom of the course we were driven back to the headquarters at the top of the mountain where they had prepared us an authentic Costa Rican meal and enjoyed local brews while watching the sun set over the vast mountain range and vistas beneath us. At this point I feel like a jerk for talking about such a rediculous day, so I’ll interject some mild self-deprivation before moving on:

****
You know what’s . . .
Hilarious: trying to run on a treadmill while the ship is rocking badly

Wonderful: the all day ice cream parlor

Negates the other: the first two

Embarrassing: forgetting that there's a running track just outside my window. Many unintentional naked displays.

****
And besides…perhaps I’m giving Costa Rica too much credit. I ziplined through the canopy of a rainforest all day. When this is your only agenda…when this is the basis for your entire judgement of a country…good feelings will tend to prevail.

PaddleBall in Panama

We went through the Panama Canal today. I woke up late this morning and was very confused when the ship was surrounded by land on both sides. It took me about 45 seconds to understand what was happening in my life.

It costs a quarter of a mil to cross through the Panama Canal. Daniel…if you’re reading this…I think I found our next canoe adventure.

View of the beautiful Panama countryside:


Panama Canal:


View as we went through one of the three locks on the Pacific side of the canal:


Panama City from afar:


Here's this crazy game called paddle tennis aboard the ship that I've resorted to playing about 4 hours a day. This is what I did while crossing the canal. There was a scary moment when JP hit his ball into the canal about 3 feet from bouncing on deck the government escort boat beside us:

Never Let a Drunken Sailor Ride the Cheese Trolley

It’s about 1pm and I’m sitting at a bar onboard the ship watching the one other guy who’s in here with me plastered, just blitzed out of his mind, rambling ridiculous conversation with the foreign bartender, attempting to sound normal. He’s probably in his fifties and is sporting a purple polo, black & white checkered shorts with slimy mug shot hair. What drives a guy to get sloshed at a bar by himself at 1 in the afternoon? I imagine him and his wife planning this cruise months ago, drifting apart but not wanting to cancel the cruise because one or the other thought it be good for the marriage. Non is the case and now he’s on a cruiseship with a person that he hates or that hates him, and neither is humbled enough to fix it up. Maybe he’s just a lush. That said, alcohol is really easy on tour. Dad has warned me over and over, almost to a fault, but may it be noted that his message sits heavy. He rarely stands up strong to teach me, but his lesson on this one is clear as vodka. I’m no fool. There are some things that I have to figure out on my own. May this not be one of them. With that said…cupholder:

I had my first performance last night in a venue called the Cove while in Panama. It was about a 20 minute pre-dinner show and we killed it. I must admit, I was nervous going into it. We were well rehearsed, but you have to realize the audience as a more finely tuned and judgemental group than most. Ultimately, they're paying for what I'm about to give them. I suppose that's how it always is in a show situation, but this one felt as new as the first time I came back from Manhattan to begin my career as a solo singer/songwriter. Despite, the audience loved it and we were swarmed. It’s difficult talking to a lot of people about yourself all within a short amount of time. During this journey, I hope to have developed small talk into an art. I always feel accomplished when I can find a way to turn the conversation back onto them. I live with me. I’m kind of bored with hearing about me. Tell me about yourself. Where are you from? How did you get so much freakin’ money? Do you prefer a delicious chocolately desert or rather a selection from the cheese trolley?

It cannot be avoided. There clearly must be a cheese trolley song by the end of this tour.


I led a tour in Cartegena, Columbia yesterday morning. Street panhandlers are relentless. I got in a bilingual fight with a guy trying to get on our bus to sell a tablecloth or something. Really, I let him yell at me until he was through. Then I didn't know what to do so I started talking to him about coffee beans and he went away. Cartegena is where all the gold left South America for Spain in the 1500's. Here are some pics:

Cartegena, Columbia:

Inside a hallway at the massive fortress:

Notice the sign:

The Old City:

Cartegena traffic jam:

Last night we caught the National Championship on the big screen in the theatre, except it was streaming satellite, so the picture and audio would sometimes get stuck and sound like some kind of alien communication for about 2 minutes.  Too many hotdogs were eaten.  Go SEC!

People Are More Interesting Than Anything...

People are more interesting than anything. Places are cool. I love architecture. Sports are fun. But people are the best. Even with architecture, I love the final product, but I always end up wanting to know about the person(s) behind it. I don’t understand people who can isolate themselves completely. God, I’m feel I don’t have a right to say that because I love being alone. At some point it’s got to be unhealthy. Maybe not, but I love being alone. That said, after about 6 hours alone in Gran Cayman one begins to realize how alone alone is. It ceases to be fun for me. The excitement wears down and unless a person be truly autonomous, I’ll wager bets he finds something to fill up the lonliness as I am with this diary. What good are experiences if you can’t shout them out in one way or another? It also doesn’t help to know a bunch of people are in a boat partying in your general direction. Not to mention all the parties going on around me. Who comes to Gran Cayman and eats a nice dinner by themselves? The lobster was crabby, the bread was good and I’m stuffed. I will walk back to my hotel to a new Sting tune. I ration them like my Mom did Halloween candy.

All Aboard

All aboard finally. I was picked up at my hotel this morning and was tendered to the Crystal Serenity, still lacking two of my bags. One is a guitar and the other is a regular piece of luggage with books and CDs and such. I'm in room 7001, which I previously thought to be an ideal place directly adjacent to the back of the of the ship on level 7, right next to shuffleboard. Two seasickness pills later, I realized my significant miscalculation upon daring to venture past a daunting sea door whose circular crank handle withheld winds that blew me down with such a force, I immediately looked around to see if anyone had seen my fall. I was ineffective for an hour getting used to the unsteady rocking that comes with the front of the boat. The only upsides to living in the front are 1) it makes the rest of the ship seem downright steady 2) makes for some good laughs in the shower and 3) at night I sleep like a baby in cradle.

I went to the beach with some of the dancers and musicians from the ship, then played a rousing game of paddle tennis. My team quickly lost 3 balls into the ocean. I don't think you're supposed to swing so hard. After dinner, one of the musicians, Tim, introduced me to the cruise director. He's a hilarious man in his 50's who proceded to show us his favorite youtube videos, one being something called the "buttrocket". It's refreshing to find that the one guy who I could consider my 'boss' is as seemingly young as we are. Whilst schmoozing the director, we got going on the topic of golf and I think I secured myself a place in his foursome to play in Acupulco and in Puerto Chipas, Mexico. Unfortunately, Greg, the cruise director, is about to take a long vacation, otherwise proving myself on the course could mean a slew of golfing excursion around the globe. We'll see if my luck runs out.

Hank Aaron is giving a talk in about 10 minutes. I'll be checking that out, indeed.

Showing up is the hardest part

DFW's new terminal D is very nice.  I got to tour it for a long time yesterday.  Then they let me visit the old terminal, too...for old times sake perhaps.   All in all, I was in the airport for 11 hours.  

Plenty of time to make a lot of new friends, be on two cancelled flights, spend too much money at TGI Fridays,  miss my boat's departure in Miami (& consequently my first show),

 sleep in a really cool hotel still in Dallas, get

rerouted to Grand Cayman, experience the Hyatt coffee shop burrito (not recommended), chill solo on the Grand Cayman beach listening to John Mayer and sipping whisky, lose two bags, and have a waffle the shape of a teddy bear.  

    

I can't help feeling like a Kenny Chesney song right now.  I await a big ship to come pick me up.  No hurry. 

 I guess showing up really is the hardest part...

This is where I start

     Hello everyone or no one!  I like the exclamation mark because I could be excited or I could be sarcastic।  You would only know by my eyebrows।  That's why real human interaction is still valid (at least until live internet video gets less screwy).  Truth is, I'm a little of both re: the start of this blog.  I'm already using cool net-slang like "re:" !  (ulgh). 

      There's an impending tour and what I can only expect to be a flood of thought and writing about people I meet, shows I play and the adventures associated।  If the "practice tour" is any indication, I filled over 20 pages in my diary (I write small), which is a stray from the irregularity of my usual writings.  I'm calling it "diary" despite the girlie connotation, as diary just sounds more intimate than journal.  A journal is something I read for information...diary for the good stuff.   

     Also, if you'll be following along with me over the coming weeks and months, mind not the zethers of punctuation and spelling mistakes I promise to make.  This is an area I've resigned to study no more, as I'm confident my point will be made, and sometimes my mind moves too fast from an intended direction that I have to filter things that might slow me down for the benefit of the final thought.  I have chosen grammar.   And because I like to laugh at myself (see, I know And shouldn't start a sentence, but it feels better this way.  Shutup.  It's my blog-thing-a-jig! Sarcasm).  With that said, please DO point out my punctuation and other grammatical errors, I suppose.  Maybe just don't rub it in.  

 

       To quote one of my favorite raps, thanks for "circumnavigating the globe [with me] in my rock tonic super-flier".  Enjoy the bumpy ride.  I don't know where we're going.