Answer 75 - We didn't make the disc scratch & sniff

I'm looking at my third 3-Star review from a National Dutch publication.

The text of the review doesn't indicate 3 stars.  Once again.  The text of the last two didn't, either.  The texts indicate 4 stars at least.

So what's with the three stars?

I think it's because the new album is separated into Suites.  I lose one star for making it complicated.  Hm.. Anais Mitchell did the folk version of Orpheus and Eurydice.  Maybe she only got 3 stars.  You know, for a complicated idea... even with Greg Brown playing Orpheus, and Ani DeFranco playing Eurydice. 

Little do they know, Dave wanted to make the actual disc, which looks exactly like an orange, be scratch and sniff.  That'd really have thrown them!

"Dear God, this album has a scratch and sniff disc! This is sacrilegious!  This flies in the face of all that is tried and true in the utterly infathomably music business!  Who does she think she is?!  First these 'suites' and then a scratch and sniff disc?  2 Stars for not adhering to the tightly constricted singer/songwriter rulebook! Shame.. shame..."

Genevieve Tudor of BBC Shropshire, on the other hand, said today:  "Aside from loving to listen to the disc, I'm having to fight the urge to lick it! The album art is scrumptious.."

We discussed it and we think scratch and sniff could have worked.. and could even open up entirely new realms in the interactive musical experience.  Think on it - patchouli scratch and sniff for the hippies, 'ocean breeze' or 'meadow' for the new-agers, 'burst of summer orange followed by a hint of chocolate' for me.

Mmmm.... orange... chocolate...

Can't you just smell it?

Answer 74 - Bang your head against the dashboard

What do you do when the Tom Tom dies at 1:00 in the morning, as you hit central London?

If you're us, you drive around and around the round-a-bout until one of the musicians in the car comes up with a plan.  After about 15 minutes of this, as the dizziness began to overtake all of us, Mike, the bass player, came up with a plan.

We made it back to Blackheath, where we were staying, last night, thankfully, but realized that, in this technological age, we didn't even bother bringing a map.  We have a box that talks to us and tells us when to turn right or turn left, or get on or off the M25.  Maps are antiquated.  Unless the box dies and abandons you in the middle of a strange city in the middle of the night.

Of note - during the 1-hour scramble to find our way from Central London to Blackheath last night, I counted one 24-hour McDonalds drive thru about every 3 blocks.

Also of note - the streets of London were laid out by drunken cattle drivers.

That's my take on it, anyway.

But it's worth it.  I mean, come on - it's London!

Answer 73 - It can't be quantified

Inspiration.  How do you quantify it?

I was browsing the comments section of a review of the new album on a Dutch Music Website (it's over to the right, take a look) called Johnny's Garden.

Someone's commented that he's skeptical of my 'inspiration' by Lorca, et.al.  If I'm reading Google Translate correctly, in order to be propertly inspired, the author of the comment seems to think I need to have studied the works of Lorca and, say, Dylan Thomas exhaustively... for years.  Otherwise to present them as inspirations is pretentious.

Hm... I'm pretty steeped in both of their writings... who hasn't read Fern Hill?  In addition, he also seems to take issue with my being inspired by what is a part of the highschool reading lexicon.

Hm... I could argue with him - but I won't, because he says he'll still listen with an open mind - despite the further pretention of the album cover (following a 'heavily-retouched' Cover Their Eyes)

Hm... food for thought.  There's little re-touching on this one, though - because I lost some weight and had elaborate amounts of plastic surgery.  I actually look exactly like Nicole Kidman in person now.

Heh.  I'm kidding.  I did lose weight, but no plastic surgery...

Still, How do you quantify or qualify inspiration?

As far as I'm concerned, if I read one sentence - only ONE - in my entire life, that kicked a song into existence, that's enough.

I'm not a literary scholar and don't pretend to be.  Lorca is an influence on me.  He just is. I can't pick up a piece of his writing and walk away without the imagery burned in. And to listen to the first Suite of the album and not hear that much is to not listen to the first Suite.

And, thing is, pretentious or not at first glance, if you know anything about me or what I do, you know that I lack the capacity to take much too terribly seriously on this big blue ball.  How could I? I stood in the water holding an accordion with as much reverence as that 80s comic Judy Tenuta on the last album, for God's sake.  Did I look like I was taking myself horribly seriously?  If so... look again.


We're all struggling for air, we're all praying to say the right thing when the right thing needs saying, we're all singing like birds when we can, and painting pretty pictures when we can.  We're all walking around banging our heads into trees, only slightly less hairy monkies than we once were... grabbing in the dark for the people we love to hold on to some anchor in a sea of uncertainty - sandwiched, for a short time, between 2 points of oblivion.  Sometimes, I want to write the world the way I see it.  It's all I can do.

For a brief whisp of a blink in a moment, I was inspired by Federico Garcia Lorca.  However, to save my life I couldn't give you a scholarly literary analysis of his work, or much of his biography.  Because, you see, it was the poem.  The poem was the thing.  The chocolate paper gown was the thing.

So I'm wearing the chocolate paper gown on the cover of the album.  It's the top hat that's pretentious.

And inspiration can't be quantified.

Answer 72 - And I don't mean £

To Adventure Boy's delight, I'm not much of a backseat driver when we're in the UK.

I can't afford to be.  I'm confused by being on the wrong side of the car, for one thing.  The wrong side of the road is just the element that puts most of my brain pan on 'tilt' and I tend to quietly drool while watching the English countryside blur by.

Adventure Boy can drive a stick shift, from the wrong side of the car, on the wrong side of the road, with the wrong hand.

I am very impressed by this, but still stay in such a state of panic as I speed along, that my brain simply can't make the connection to my mouth, in order that I let him know the best route to take, the best speed to go, and the best way to signal well in advance of a turn.

Consequently, he absolutely loves driving in the U.K.  And who wouldn't?

It's rainy in England today.   Ah, but then it wouldn't be England if it weren't... my 5th time on these shores and it feels like home now.  Even with my hair puffed to 3 times its normal size.  We're in walking distance to the Greenwich Meridian Line - Longitude 0, the center of all World Time.  Pretty auspicious, being here at the center of the world.


Today's only question is:  Where is the pound/number symbol on a UK keyboard?

If you know, please tell me.  For now - off to the market to walk the aisles and look at all the strange and shiny packages.  Mmmm... mince...

Answer #71 - Jonathan Livingston House Finch

I'm in JFK airport, NYC, on my way to London.  At the beginning of a 4-hour layover, I'm literally watching birds fly around here at the indoor (let me say it again - I'm IN the airport) 'concessions' area - the concessions area consisting entirely of: 1 Burger King, 1 Overpriced 'Grill' [with the kind of earthy name that we've grown to expect from our upper-end 'grills' - something involving stone or aspen.. or agate or some such], and 1 Salad/Sandwich kiosk [which is currently out of both salads and sandwiches].

The fun part is the birds, though.

Here inside the airport, there are what appear to be finches (many, many finches) on the tables, on the industrial grade carpets, picking up left over french fries and the like.. hop hopping around and then flying up to the top of the soffit with their fries, just above the flat screen that's streaming CNN.  I think there might be a gigantic finch housing development up there - nests & fries everywhere you look, little chirping baby birds, mouths agape...finches bustling.  What a great place to live!  As long as you're a bird that doesn't care about ever sailing the skies - wind beneath your wings and an endless horizon...

So the question is: With an endless supply of fries and breadcrumbs, what kind of bird would leave?


Maybe Jonathan Livingston House Finch.  You know, the philosopher finch always making the other finches uncomfortable with his musings.  The finch who'd ponder the fries and then try to convince everyone to only scavenge the greens from the kiosk, for the good of their souls.  The guy always questioning a meaningless existence on the soffit.  And while the other birds are happy with CNN ("Come on, Jonathan!  Count your blessings!  At least it's not FOX! Why can't you just be happy with fries and Keith Olbermann?") and airport announcements, he'd no doubt be itching to see what all the scuffle and hullaballoo outside was - with all the big metal birds and their shiny metal wings... and all that sky..  What's out there, behind the glass? 

Now, of course, I'll be looking for the one finch that keeps smacking into the window.

Admit it.  Somewhere in the deep dark past, behind a closed door, under a blanket with a flashlight, you read the book.  And even though you'll never admit it to a living soul, you know that, eventually, with perseverance, he makes it.  To wherever 'it' is.

Well, I gotta go.  Wow. This is absolutely true: a pigeon (that seriously resembles a seagull) just walked past Dave's chair.

See.  Anything's possible.

Answer #70 - Talk to the hand

It's not over, but it's closer to being over.  I feel better than I have.  Just in case, I have an antibiotic prescription next to my horse-shoe travel pillow and my personal inflatable germ bubble in which to encase myself on the plane.

I don't really have one of those bubbles.  I wish I did.

Our last flight on American Airlines was pretty bad.  One television set for all of us in the cattle car - and we were forced to watch CBS's chit chat about their coming television series.  Also Mama Mia.  Not fair.  Not right.  Don't get me wrong, I'm an Abba fan, but Mama Mia was torture.  At many thousand miles above the world... that much worse.  Northwest airlines has a screen behind each seat and you can pick whatever you want to watch.  Also, a little mid-flight yoga video, so you can stretch in your seat.  I like them.  They're nice.

Yes, I know this sounds so whiny (especially in light of the 'Everything's Amazing and No One's Happy' guy ) - but come on! Network TV stars chatting about their new shows?  ack. And you can't look away!?  You can't.  It's there.. they're jabbering.  You turn the volume down, but then you're reading their lips and slowly going insane...


Anyway - Adventure Boy's a fishatarian, and specified a vegetarian meal pre-flight.  The flight attendant, (who strangely resembled that Kate Gosselin person) looked at him as if he were Jo Jo the Village Idiot Dung Collector.  Shook her head, shrugged, and said, 'nothing we can do about that.  your options are chicken or beef.'

Wow..  were we incensed and aggravated.  And Adventure Boy is pretty scary when really aggravated, so eventually, they found some pasta somewhere, and grudgingly handed it over.

Later they handed out 'snack boxes.'  When I inquired as to the contents of the box, just to see if it was full of summer sausage and burger bites and pig on a stick, the pissy (and I don't use this term lightly) male flight attendant said, and I quote, 'a snack.'

At which point, we burst out laughing.  Because it was funny.  You don't often see a caricature walking...

Flying is different than it used to be.  It's more the 'you got another option to get to where you're going in 3 hours?  I don't think so.  Why don't you sit down and shut up and eat what you're given.  In case you hadn't noticed, I have the authority of the federal government, you economy-class-peon!  Not interested in your customer service issues - talk to the hand'  philosophy of personal interactions.

And what are you gonna do?  Don't have another option. Guess I'll talk to the hand. 

Here's to hoping that Delta, who bought Northwest, is infinitely better tomorrow.  And don't mind me, I'm sure it's still the Nyquil talking...

#69 - To the Sulfur and Red Bull Store

Where the path of difficulty crosses the easy, mark a holy place. - Black Elk

Day 9 of the siege of replicating snot cells in my entire cranial cavity, and I believe it's possible that I may have come down with that nasty virus that Stephen King wrote about in The Stand.  I tend to the dramatic, and hence, must be overcome with something horrific and possibly supernatural in origin.

I'm trying to mind the words of Black Elk as I contemplate the suitcases unpacked, the plans unfinalized, the dogs ungroomed and the refrigerators un-emptied of leftovers from last September.

I said to Adventure Boy, "I think I'm going to get one of those energy drinks - because what I have to do today is everything and what I can do today is think about sleeping.  And blow my nose."


To which Adventure Boy responded, "NO!  You'll destroy your immune system with that crap!"

To which I countered, "My immune system has failed me miserably and deserves to be destroyed!"

To which he pronounced, assuredly, "You need more ginger tea!"

To which I dismissed, "Yeah, that seems to be terribly effective. Now where did I put the echinacea and the cats claw? Oh, I remember!  Next to the jar of leeches you collected!"

To which he chided, "You need to keep cleansing your system and trying to get healthy."

And where, in this stale mate, can one go?

"WRONG!" I yelled, as I jumped onto the table, (the place I like to give my oratories generally) "MY SYSTEM IS LIVING WITHIN A LARGER ECO-SYSTEM THAT IS COMPLETELY FOULED AND TOXIC." - It's possible you may be killing with me with all your insistence on healthy choices. I need to be able to survive the PCBs and the toxic waste and the damage the cell phone's doing to my brain every time I pick it up.  I need to FIT IN with the toxins, not STAND OUT!!  Not 'cleanse my system!'  No. That's just made me more vulnerable. It's time that I take matters into my own hands."

Starting with sulfur in my socks and a big swig of Red Bull.  And THEN, I'll mark a holy place.