February 20th, 2006.

We’re back out and travelling and my mind is settling easily into the routine of eating Cheerios found in the driver’s seat and watching the miles fly by.

Angelique sound checks at the Ramshead. She’s heard of us, I was embarassed not to really be able to return the favour.

Russ Anonymous sound checks at the Ramshead Live in Baltimore, MD. Now THAT’s what I call a REAL soundboard!

Heather and I are taking my car for a change, and I even got to pack this time around – she and I have very different approaches to this most important of Trip activities: She’s a Tetris player, and the spawn of a Boy Scout family – and I think in general, she’s probably capable of fitting more actual crap into the car. However, I’m the spawn of a NASA engineer, and I think I approach things from a usability point of view. I’m all about making sure the stuff we’ll need is “on the surface” and the stuff we use rarely is harder to get to.

In any case – fyi (and because you care… I’m telling you you CARE) – the car is organized along the long axis, and the right half of the car is the stuff that comes in and out with us at almost every stop. The left half of the car is organized into two layers, with the surface being sound equipment that we MIGHT need at any given place as well as clothes and stuff that we need whenever we find a place to crash – and then the inner layer being the nitty gritty crap we don’t use very often (scanner, recording gear, jumper cables, extension cords) as well as stuff that we need to assemble (like press materials).

That’s just so you know.

In any case, for the first time in about 6 months we departed Maryland sans the threat

and imminent assault of rain, snow, thunder, cats, dogs, and / or the immediate menace of meteorological abuse and drove through Virginia (saying hi to Chelsea and Beau in our heads since they haven’t answered their phone) and onward into North Carolina.

Man. I’m introduced to him over and over again and every time he’s with a different act – but he’s always got that beautiful cheetah case. I’m sure that is what draws us to one another. Strange, non?

Mercy Creek at the Rams Head Live in Baltimore, MD. It’s been a long time since I was just utterly blown away by another act. These guys shook me.

First stop – Chapel Hill, where they will paint anything that stands still. Heather and I got into town about two hours before the open mic at the Nightlight (at the Skylight Exchange) started, and we wandered around town till we found a decent restaurant that we shouldn’t have eaten at but we really wanted to so we did.

I’ve been craving Mexican food ever since I got back from the Belly Button of the Mooooon, and when we spotted this cool little converted house we figured it was time to satisfy at least one of my burning desires.

Let’s not even discuss the hole in her guitar.

Somehow duct tape and playing with paint brushes, as well as sticking a bass drum kick pedal next to a laid out djembe creates the most bad-ass kit ever. More points for Mercy Creek.

Unfortunately, I was immediately reminded that this just isn’t the same stuff. I think that in Mexico I was often eating more traditional Aztec and Mayan derived dishes, with lots of lime and cilantro and fish and HUMAN FLESH and … things… that… make … meeee… .drooooooool. And THIS Mexican food is… well… more… Tex-Mex? I don’t know. It was good, but I was saddened. I should’ve just demanded cilantro and lime and a bunch of rice. I’d have been happier, thinking of that pretty woman from the black beaches of Cuyutlan.

Zop.

In the audience at the Mudd Puddle was a friend from college – Connie was a quiet creature as I remember her back in school, and it took me a couple of seconds to integrate my memory of her with this vivacious and outgoing creature that approached me in a coffeehouse that I’d never been in before.

Ryan Van Orsdell at the Mudd Puddle in Frederick, MD. I had no idea what to expect – here was a guy who contacted me out of the blue and at first had asked if I wanted to be part of an acoustic tour centred around a particular record label. Of course you say yes to that! But I’ve also heard that line a couple of times, so I wasn’t particularly suprised when it turned out to be just Ryan asking to trade gigs and using that as a way to get himself listened to. So – we ralked and eventually he offered us this opening slot sans strings (I’d explained that I wasn’t willing to guarantee a gig without having even heard him) – I was really, really pleased when I got to hear him. Not only had he introduced us to a very, very cool coffeehouse (and the owner) but his band was really awesome. Good lilts and power, twists and turns like a gentler A Perfect Circle. I was duly impressed.

The open mic itself – the room was very very cool – huge speakers and immense volume. I can approve of that coming out of a coffeehouse. Mostly a book and music shop with a big stage and benches scattered about like runaway school buses.

This is Jessie and Sarah who made room for us on their couch and dragged us down to sit with them (speaking of outgoing and vivacious). Shame about that whole probably-in-high-school thing, but no matter. I liked talking to them and making friends is always fun. My experience was a little more cramped, however, as Heather got there AFTER they’d frightened a couple of other people off the couch. My experience was much more like hipbone is to knife as getting on to that couch was to opening oysters.

Ode to Independent Coffeehouse – a moment of genius discovered at the Mudd Puddle.

This is my last goodbye to my trusty Saturn. She served me faithfully for almost 180,000 miles, and I sort of wanted to see her through to 200k, but I’m lame and lazy and perhaps even unfaithful. I’ve run off with a younger model, but the new Saturn will never be as sleek, rambunctious and careless with my heart as this one. She’s been given to charity and will hopefully be doing someone some good.

The talent was back and forth, and I was pretty much ready to leave until a very cool trio came up – guitar and a snare drum and an upright bass, all of them singing with an abandon and joy that reminded me of a happy version of the Violent Femmes. I was pretty taken with them and Heather and I even paused our vicious game of Egyptian Rat Screw to see if they’d come open for us at the Open Eye Cafe in a couple of weeks.

I wish I’d gotten a better photograph of this. We passed this minivan. Strapped to the top are three alligators and a horse. Someone is probably very, very happy about this.

Heather holds a sour apple non-Twizzler to the setting sun as we travel to Cary, NC. The same gas station which produced for us this beautiful sugar vision also sold these tiny little pies. I got a lemon one, Heather got sweet potato. Oh God Oh GOD oh GOD sooooo gooooooood!!! Why we didn’t write the exit number down? Cause we are FOOLS! FOOLS I say!!!!

They said they’d check their calendar.

Hrmph.

We returned to enthusiastically screwing the Egyptian rat until I hammered Heather into the ground. It was on. (yes, even the baby Mexican with the little plastic toy knew). And then, sadly for Heather at least, it was off.

Now we’ve retreated to our friend Jamie’s in Cary, NC. It’s early in the night, but wandering takes its toll, and I’m sort of sleepy… contemplating the fuzzy, fluffy blankets. Heather has been dead to the world for half an hour already, and I’m just hoping I can find my way to the bathroom in the dark.

Here’s to not cursing TOOO loud. *clink*