This is when I'm a basket case. I spent much of today packing, repacking for weight, and second-guessing every decision along the way. A lot of my life's successes have come from my confidence in the moment, living in the present tense. My worst anxieties, however, stem from my distrust of my past and future selves.

Because I don't trust my past self to have turned off the oven I worry it might still be on. Since I don't trust my future self I concoct elaborate contingency plans to counter unlikely scenarios. Packing brings out the worst, since failures by the past self will result in
problems my future self must deal with, and I don't trust either of those idiots.

Once I'm on the plane, however, everything changes. The moment I take my seat I'm functioning in the present, which is my strong suit. The trick for me is to have faith that the competencies of my other selves are as up to their tasks.

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

I was depressed when I scheduled the upcoming six months, and my actual stated objective was to see if I could drive myself crazy with work and travel (only later did I ask myself whether I’d be able to tell if I succeeded). This is a big reason why I’m about to go to Italy, Mardi Gras, Seattle, and a second Italian tour before heading back to St Louis in May. At this point, however, I’m looking at it as being more like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. But, you know, in a good way.

Last week I paid off my car. Yesterday, as I was driving to New Orleans, it occurred to me that it was mine now, free and clear. It struck me, moreover, that music had paid for it.

That’s a powerful idea. Music had paid for it. I feel very fortunate in many ways, but that’s a particularly notable one; that I have taken an ephemeral sequence of sounds and silences and turned them into a thousand pounds of useful machinery seems a bit surreal.

Hotel Reservations. Weighing the merits of Calabrian versus Puglian busking and using a brief Sicily vacation as a tie-breaker. Putting a link to Rome's ten-day weather forecast on my Firefox toolbar. Obsessively checking for my passport. And, throughout, desperately trying to maintain a mental link to the present.

Yesterday, near the end of the day, a guy with a Mohawk and tattoos on the sides of his head was gushing compliments at me, just loving my music. This morning someone came by and said "it was so cool, I saw Phil from Pantera here yesterday!" "What's he look like?" "He's got a Mohawk, and tattoos on the sides of his head". So it seems that Phil Anselmo, the singer from Pantera (I did my google homework and it certainly looks like the guy), is a fan of mine.

And here I'd thought he was just tripping when he said "I've sold Platinum records and I've got to say that you rock!"

I'm such a dork that this kind of made my day; even though I've never been a fan it's kinda cool that he liked my stuff.

I know that technically I’ve never stopped being a busker, I just haven’t busked since July. Still, I always seem to forget that, for all its similarity to what I do in the lanes at renaissance festivals, busking is another creature entirely.

For one thing, anything can happen in the street. You can meet anyone, they can do anything, and your reaction is yours and yours alone. This makes you sharp; I never feel as aware of the universe as I do when I’m street performing, or as present in the moment. No other stage feels quite like the street.

There, you meet everybody. I have had conversations with prostitutes and missionaries, beggars and businessmen. Every interaction is a brand new world and in the French Quarter there are a few characters to be found, to say the least. The first song in a new city is always Labyrinth, because it’s such a familiar tune to me and the ritual focuses my attention on the music rather than my anxieties. Once it’s been played I’ve broken the ice and can relax into what I’m doing, enjoying the newness rather than fearing it.

I’ve spent a lot of time in New Orleans over the years, but even with all the many experiences I’ve had in the city it is a very different place now that I’ve performed there. And the locals see it too. I had a great chat with a street magician, and a number of New Orleans residents talked to me about what I was doing and how much they enjoyed hearing something different on Royal Street. Walking purposefully through Jackson Square with a dulcimer in your hand is a great way to solicit conversations, and the positive reaction I got from random people was really affirming.

All in all I remembered that, as much as I love performing at festivals, there is no place like the streets (for better or worse). And I’m thrilled to have found a new pitch in North America to enjoy!

There’s a standard way to go to grad school. You take the GRE and send your scores, along with your undergraduate transcript, to schools in order to apply. You then wait for an acceptance letter and choose among any schools that accept you.

That’s not how I did it. I had a conversation with the graduate program director of the best local university and immediately began classes, paying by credit hour (thanks mom and dad!). I got waivers from professors whose history classes required prerequisites an engineering degree didn’t provide. Only after two quarters did I officially apply for admittance the following year on the basis of the classes I had taken. After five quarters of classes I completed a two-year program, and for much of that time I wasn’t even an official graduate student.

I hate the phrase “thinking outside the box” because it demands acknowledgement of the box. There is the path well traveled and the road not taken, but I have a history of just cutting through the grass. So far it seems to be working.

It's been a wonderful two months; here are some of the memories I'm taking away.

Long, rambling, philosophical conversations over wine with close friends.

Turning Facebook into a drinking game.

My New York City performing debut at Marrus' book release party.

Flirting shamelessly with beautiful and intelligent people.

Richard and M.A. visiting for a weekend to reform the Diva Squad from this summer's European adventures.

Poker games with Paul, Jimmy, and Bartlett.

Jamming with Misfits of Avalon at the festival and having Liam, a ten year old drummer, keep up with my warp speed.

Experiencing Montreal for the first time, complete with my first visits to the states of Vermont and New Hampshire (I'll pick up Maine next year).

Paul and I dubbing our house the "Toolshed" and having it live up to the title.


Tomorrow morning I head off into new adventures, but it has been a grand time and I'm happy to be coming back again next fall.

We’re heading into closing weekend here at King Richard’s Faire and I’ve posted almost nothing since arriving here. It’s been an interesting season, to say the least. The weather has been against us a lot this fall, but right now it’s a stunning New England Indian summer so I can hardly complain.

I’ve had adventures in Montreal, Boston, and Manhattan so I haven’t been exactly idle, just not nearly as productive as I would like. Last fall I accomplished a lot because I was prepping and rehearsing to record Dul Siar, but with no new album in the pipeline at the moment my motivation has been lacking. I have, however, written almost an album’s worth of original music in the past year, which is surprising and humbling. It looks like I might have some hard choices to make about what makes it onto the next disc, which is a wonderful conundrum to have.

I’ve done a lot of thinking and realized a lot about myself while walking the beaches of Onset in the past six weeks. I’ve got a few philosophical posts half-written (see productivity, above), and I’ve been thrilled to have had some really amazing conversations with very close, extremely intelligent, and shockingly deep friends (I’m looking forward to more of those as I head south to Louisiana and the salon at the Haeuser Hotel). It’s been a good year, and if not for the weather and recession it would have been a great one. But in that, too, are lessons that I am glad to be learning.

...because it's been too long since I've put anything up.

You are The Star

Hope, expectation, Bright promises.

The Star is one of the great cards of faith, dreams realised

The Star is a card that looks to the future. It does not predict any immediate or powerful change, but it does predict hope and healing. This card suggests clarity of vision, spiritual insight. And, most importantly, that unexpected help will be coming, with water to quench your thirst, with a guiding light to the future. They might say you're a dreamer, but you're not the only one.

What Tarot Card are You?
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