#EpicRoadtrip12: Favorites

If you are connected to me in any other social media channel, follow my Twitter, friended me on Facebook, fanned my Facebook page, you probably already know that I recently went on a five state roadtrip that was of epic proportions. If you know my friend Stephanie (aka Ironstef), you may have already read her awesome recap blog post. If you are friends with my buddy Bryan (aka Cashew Chicken) you undoubtedly have already salivated over his food photos, so why add yet another blog into the mix? Well because I thought it would be cool to do a “Favorites” post. To note, at no point was I dissatisfied on this trip, but there were standouts, and I think they deserve shout-outs. So here goes.

Favorite Meal…

This was a very challenging category for me because we ate at some great places, and all offered something wonderful for my taste buds to experience; however, when I think of meal, I like to consider the entire experience, each piece, the environment, the atmosphere…all things considered I am going with Breakfast at Alterra Coffee Roasters at the Lake in Milwaukee, WI. Housed in a functioning flushing station, the building was exciting to look at, offering multiple levels and hidden alcoves. It is a coffee house, so the beautiful rich aroma of roasted and brewed coffee filled the space, and my bacon potato burrito was delicious. What may have driven it over the top were the little details, the grapes and orange slices served with my meal. The amazing iced mocha, and of course the cookie was KILLER.    

Favorite Bite…

So this is a little different. Here I am truly talking about my favorite bite, atmosphere be damned, what was the best thing that entered my mouth during this trip, and that has to be the Chorizo-Egg Torta from Xoco. I mean it’s Rick Bayless’ joint, how could it not be the best? The chorizo was flavorful and had a good texture. The eggs were fresh and cooked well, and the bread made me want to marry a baker. Add some amazing cheese, avocado, and fantastic salsa verde, and you have my favorite bite of the trip.

Favorite Flight…

During this trip we had the opportunity to visit 12 breweries (note, we were unable to taste any beers at Surly or Summit, so we drank at 10 breweries). In almost all cases we did a flight which usually consists of a 3 to 4oz pour of five to six beers which allows you to sample several of the brewery's creations without leaving bloated and wasted. Some of you may prefer the latter, but when you are doing 10 in 5 days, you have to pace yourself. My favorite flight was from the Milwaukee Brewing Company.  It would be fair to say that I prefer malt over hop and barley, and the flight I did at the Ale House had an excellent amber ale, Louie’s Demise, and a pretty magical milk stout called Polish Moon. Those coupled with a nice I.P.A, wheat, and some light ales, and you have my favorite flight.

Favorite Beer…

Of all the categories, this was the easiest for me, New Glarus Wisconsin Belgian Red, hands down, was my favorite beer of the trip. Leading up to New Glarus, seemed like every time someone would mention the brewery, Steph would chime in about some cherry beer that everyone loves. I am a fan of cherries, so naturally I was looking forward to it. However, nothing had prepared me for this beer because it isn’t like a beer. It isn’t like a wine. It’s not even like a cider. It can only be described as delicious or, if you will humor me, yummy. I brought eight bottles back, if that gives you any indication of what I thought about the Wisconsin Belgian Red. 

Now we are turning from things that went in my mouth to things that went in my ear. This roadtrip was based on our desire to see Glen Hansard. All three of us are big fans of the Swell Season and the Frames, so seeing Hansard solo would be a real treat, problem was he was not coming to St. Louis (or so we thought at the time. He has since scheduled a show here in September. Yeah, I’ll be going to that too), but he was coming to Chicago…that’s close! But, it was on a Tuesday. Suckage!!! Well, let’s make a roadtrip of it! As a result, we also got to see Lisa Hannigan (of Damien Rice fame), who opened for Hansard. Then in Minneapolis, we decided to catch The Lighthouse and the Whaler, as well as the opener, Black Church Service. 

Favorite Performance…

This is a no brainer, right? Wrong. My favorite performance was not Glen Hansard, although he was amazing. But, I have seen him be amazing several times at better venues. I was not a huge fan of the Vic. Some of that was our fault. We didn’t know how early to get there. We didn’t know if we should get seats up-top or stand on the lower-floor. So we ended up grabbing seats up-top, and I think we all regretted it. There is a certain amount of disconnect that happens when you are in the balcony, and while his energy was enough to produce an amazing performance, the disconnect caused it to not be special. What was special was seeing Black Church Service at 7thSt Entry. Here is a band that I knew nothing about, opening for the opener, to a sparsely filled room, and they threw down like they were playing the Garden, just straight-up garage rock with conscious tone and a solid rhythm section. No hipster-social switching of instruments, no multiple drummers banging several floor toms, no keys anywhere near the stage, just straight-up two guitars, one bass, one drummer, four piece rock...just dudes that were determined to melt faces and get laid, as rock-n-roll intended.

There are a few other comfort factors that are important to address while on a roadtrip, so I thought I’d pick my favorites of those too. They are a bit random, but trust me their presence is imperative to a successful roatrip.

Favorite Stretch of Road…

For those that have been watching the temperatures out here in the Midwest, St. Louis has had a series of three digit temperature days that is record breaking. Luckily, we left home at the perfect time and managed to stay a day ahead of the serious heat during our roadtrip. When it got seriously hot in Chicago, we moved to Milwaukee, and when Milwaukee started warming up, we moved up to Minneapolis. The stretch from New Glarus, WI to Minneapolis was amazing. It was 84 and dry, windows were down, and there was lush greenery for us to daydream into.

Favorite Bed…

My back felt three beds while on this roadtrip. None of them were horrible, but none of them felt as good as my Simmons at home. If I had to pick one, I’d go with the bed at the Double Tree in Chicago. It was firm and appeared to be clean, as did the rest of the room. Sadly the same cannot be said for other areas of the hotel. 

Favorite Lobby Bathrooms…

As a touring musician, you grow to appreciate a good, clean, bathroom. Typically, your best bathroom options, when sharing a room, are going to be museums or hotel lobbies. There is an unspoken (actually sometimes spoken) rule that if you are on tour or a roadtrip and sharing a room, at no point, can the bathroom in the room be used to do work. The rule can be broken for three occasions. 1) You get sick. No one wants to see someone shit themselves. So if you cannot make it to the lobby due to some stomach bug, then you are granted permission to break the rule. 2) You have known the person you are rooming with for more than 10 sequential years, not like two years in school, eight years apart, a year of catch-up on Facebook, and then a reunion. After ten years of constant contact you are more like family, so poop away! 3) You are rooming with a member of your band. By virtue of being in a band together, you are family. Since none of the three rules applied, we focused our attentions on the lobby stalls. Bryan and I agree, the lobby bathroom at Crowne Plaza in Milwaukee was our favorite: clean, roomy stalls, dimly lit, and well ventilated.     

Well there you have it my favorites from #EpicRoadtrip12.

#MicroPoetry Recap: May - June 2012

The summer months are upon us. We are sweating out all the toxins stored through the dark months, our skin's healthy glow will initiate the mating cycle and later kill us, as it morphs into cancer. Beauty and pain, isn't it amazing how they are often closely related?


After that sobering thought, now back to your regularly scheduled program, the last two months have been fairly productive for my pen. My muse loves warmth, and our unseasonably warm spring had her begging me to pull the images out of my head.


As always, all of these have previously been posted in Twitter and/or Facebook, but not always in the form you will read them today, as I do edit before I post these recaps. I am not sure if all of these can be considered #MicroPoetry because I am definitely blowing by the 140 Character limit of Twitter on some of them, so maybe I will just call them Tiny Poetry, which was actually a chapter in my Master's thesis, always ahead of the curve.


 Enjoy! 

#MicroPoetry: May - June (2012)

Blue jeans
Blood blackened
Fresh flesh
Exposed
Pulsing
His heart
Pounding
Her heart
Quiet
She
Held him

Nuzzled to nape of neck

Cloaked by strands of silk

Shrouded by the scent of mischief

Skin
Bare
Wearing a sweltered sheen
Eyes
Naked
Fixated on open window
Mind
Pure
Negotiating with God for a breeze

Took the long way
Affixed to an old two lane beneath the supermoon
Lamenting over the lack of smoke in my wake

Air
Thick
Muddled with magnolia and summer steam
Humidity held in cement pores
Released as sun heated horizon

He bit her plump lower lip
Lovingly
A gentle reminder
Of love's inherent pain

 

I woke-up in a still-frame
Trapped
Feet buried in seventy’s shag
Avocado appliances holding young arms

My silent screams
Unheard

Pre-dawn sanctuary lit by candles
Creating shadow movies
Misused sheets
Damp and displaced
Support pillows
Abandoned
Love’s indentions
Still present

Hours after sunrise

My mind

Random

Dives into taboo daydreams

Deep

Writes stories

Holds the line

Takes tales from inception to resolution

Explores detail and nuance

Shakes loose fantasy to ponder now

She danced in her rearview
Shook off afternoon sleep
Sang hushed songs when no one was watching
Fixed her hair when she realized eyes were on her

There is a sadness

When sheets are pulled taunt

Pillows fluffed

Wrinkles swept from underused blanket

All while the sun still sleeps

I relive conversations and failed connection points
Stories fragmented and nervous
But I could paint her face from memory
If I had a brush and talent

She painted I love you on his chest
Her brush
A wanting finger
Her paint
Devoured before it could dry

You sparkled when I looked at you

I moved in closely so you could feel my words on your skin

You reciprocated by amplifying my passion

Rain came
Introduced by scent of wet concrete and lazy thunder
Leaves and limbs bow in reverence

Your words
Shed clothes
Tender flesh
Exposed
Scars and all
Leave me feeling complete
Broken yet whole

Slivered moon

Suspended

In May’s obsidian sky

Just west of muddy waters

Above homogenized houses and my bed

Hospital corners and a vacant sign

I dreamed in words whispered

With insidious intent

Me

Parting petals

You

Fingers full of hair

I woke red-eyed

From red dreams

Anima overwhelmed by animus

Self threatened

Hidden rage trembles fingers

But conscious mind calms

She said shower and he went to work
Painting pictures of petals he had never seen

Focusing on the trickle of water that fell from her flower

I thought of her
Constantly
Painting her lips
Full
Kissable
Tracing the lines of her face
As if pencils were fingers

She
Spoke
Softly
Allowing each word
To float from tongue
Like feathers from a freshly fluffed pillow
Falling
Slowly
Like lovers
Who prefer movies to moments

Streets sleep
While cardinals dance with metropolitans
Rams hide from heat
And blues are replaced by a summertime rag

The Air
Coated my skin
Reminded me
Of thick summers
The smell of hot Pine
And Sweet Azalea
Of Ruby Jane’s

Ever present smile

And innocent giggles

I
Sat
Silently
More ears than mouth
Listening to conversations of lovers
And dreaming myself inside their words

I

Watched

Her tongue

Move around teeth

Savoring every drop

As if vital to her existence

Pulled
From the place
Where dreams go to hide
I greet the morning
With malicious mind and sinister smile

Slept late
Trapped in a flashback
Your breath on my neck
Midnight moon and hot kisses
Gentle whimpers of controlled want

And I
With crab claws wrapped in velvet
Hold tight
Pull you inward
Allow the touch of your skin
To penetrate my shell

Low sky drive
Wind buffeting
Her voice transfigured
Rises as human’s
Descends as angel’s

She toyed with opposites
Slow trickle of a solitary ice cube
Moving down aroused flesh
Heat of her tongue as she traced cold trail

I awoke
To you smiling up at me
Begging for me to play

And you with closed ears
Navigate human bodies
Flesh
Like you navigate mannequins
Plastic
Your face
Dead
Your eyes
Refuse to catch mine

 

He sat zombie eyed
Forward focused
But
Had he canine ears
They would have turned
Pointed in the direction of words
Of Communication
Of engagement
He wanted it
But
He had been tamed

I like to watch the city wake-up
Proud patrons
Gyrate through a sea of similar souls
Jockeying for position
As if crosswalk curbs
Were metaphor
For lowest rungs on life's ladder

We watched the city unravel
Desegregate itself under a summer night sky
Moving in masses towards manufactured sounds of war
All hopeful for a glimpse of brilliant explosions juxtaposed against cloudless black backdrop

Their tongue
Enthralling
Elongated vowels
Stretched across city streets
Offered pleasantries with freshly thawed smiles

Paint it Red...

I am not a fan of baseball, said sheepishly, half expecting a well placed ninja to dart me or a family member to produce the Excommunication order. I mean, I am the black sheep, I suppose it would only be fitting.

Like many American children, baseball was the first sport I played, and I loved it, loved those moments playing catch with my dad. He’d drive a hopper at me to test my manhood, and then toss one up in the clouds. I’d track it through tree leaves and sun glare, half of my heart wanting to catch the ball for the thrill of the moment, the other half wanting to catch it to make my dad proud. Then I found football. I was built for football. As a big kid, there are only two times when you are not picked last in gym class, red-rover and football. Having outgrown red-rover, football was all I had left. I don’t really have space in my heart for multiple traditional sports, it being so filled with music and poetry and dance and art. But, I have sectioned off a corner for my favorite sports: Traditional Sport (something you can play on a high-school team) goes to football, Alternative Sport (something you wish you could play on a high-school team) goes to skateboarding, and That’s So Fuckin’ Cool Sport (something you have never played but thoroughly enjoy watching) goes to Roller Derby.

This mindset makes living in St. Louis somewhat interesting. It is a city that is fueled by Cardinal Nation. Even on the on-line dating sites, Cardinal love is alive and well. If I had to estimate, 9 out of every 10 profiles I view makes a reference to being a Cardinals fan and/or (usually and) has one, if not many, pictures of them decked out in full Cardinal regalia at Busch stadium. Even the hipster girls with their Facebook poses and big rimmed glasses will have a picture of them in a Cardinals hat with the field in the background.

Fortunately, I was raised a Cardinals fan, my Dad lived in Arkansas for the majority of my adolescence.—For those unaware, most Arkansans are Cardinals fans. The Arkansas Travelers, their AA team, was affiliated with the Cardinals from 1966 to 2000. That and the shared border made the pairing pretty easy.—I spent youthful summers drinking homemade milkshakes with my grandpa. He in his rocking recliner; me, belly flat on the floor, our eyes fixed on images from 475 miles away that had landed on the tube in real time, grandma hummed hymns in the kitchen, not bothered by sport. I was most definitely the only kid living in the west suburbs of Chicago who was not stuck in a continual Cubs vs. Sox debate because for me, it was the Cardinals. One of my first baseball mitts was a Bruce Sutter signature, black with his signature in gold. My dad taught me to read the newspaper so I could check the Cardinals stats. It bonded us. Dad and I still share that connection. I took him to his first Cards game, and even though I am not a fan of baseball, I follow the Cards just close enough to be able to exchange conversation with my dad about the team. I value those youthful moments, those connection points.

So yesterday, when cutting through downtown to get from a music event to a roller derby bout, slowed by multiple stoplights and the sea of red making their way to the stadium, I had nothing but pride in my heart. While I do not love the game and continually turn down tickets, I love people, and I love living in a city that is so connected to its team.     

  

When a Trinity Exists: Show Reviews

The concert season is upon us. Well, if you are me, there is no season. It always is, just a matter of how cold you are willing to get while waiting in line. I am kind of built for sub-zero line-standing, so I complain less than most.

Earlier this week I got to see the Fray, thanks to my friend Liz. I had seen them before at Riverport and really enjoyed the show, so the thought of seeing them at a smaller venue, the Pageant, was pretty exciting. I will say they put on a fantastic performance; however, I do not think they did a great job of acclimating to their environment. They are used to big venues with big production, and at times I felt they overwhelmed the Pageant, turned her up to eleven when she should have stayed on four. Instead of giving us some really intimate moments, they gave us a spectacle, and I had already seen that from them.

Tonight, I got to witness something totally different, an icon, a legend, and a huge influence on me as a songwriter, performing in a very small venue, comparatively speaking. Amy Ray, member of the Indigo Girls, came to St. Louis to play the Old Rock House, a stage I have played many times, and I was there to witness it. I don’t think I can do this experience justice in prose. I mean, in my opinion, Amy Ray probably has the best female rock voice, ever. And I, subconsciously, jacked more shit from the Indigo Girls than any other band. When I was first learning to play guitar and transition from poet to songwriter, there were a few bands in constant rotation: Edwin McCain, Duncan Sheik, and the Indigo Girls.

Rather than dribble on about the evening, I will speak the way I know best…

When a Trinity Exists

She moved me

Like a child

Moved by first experience

Her ten fingers

Overwhelmed six strings

And I

Felt her sincerity

Heard the urgency in her flat pick

And when she sang

I remembered why I sing

Why I crave the stage

Like most crave sex

Why I sacrifice lower order needs

To self-actualize

In rare moments

When a trinity exists

Between

Music

Me

And you

Before I end, I do have to mention Larkin Poe. They opened for Amy Ray. This was my second time seeing them, and both times I have been totally impressed. Also, at the Fray show I got to see Dia Frampton open, and that was actually the cooler moment. She did a great job of capturing it for me, well all of us in attendance. Liz and I are in the purple box.

 

#MicroPoetry Recap: March - April (2012)

May is upon us, which means Summer is close, and that makes me happy. It also means it is time for me to pull together all my #MicroPoetry posts from March and April. 

I learned something very valuable over the last two months, poetry, words really, are an integral part of who I am as a person. When I do not feel like myself, I cannot find them, the words, like they are affixed to the real me, the pure me, the core me, and when that me is lost...well, so are his words. There was a two week period after surgery when I was just not myself, fighting to see daylight through the haze of anesthesia, fighting to gain clear thought while trapped in the cage of a hospital, fighting to feel an emotion that was stronger than the pain my body was feeling. In those moments, I lost me and with that, lost my words. Luckily, when I found myself, my words were happy to see me.

#MicroPoetry: March - April (2012)

Still

The haze

Thick

Uninterrupted I

Lost

Beneath fog

Preventing

Complete thought

I found your freckles

Softly exposed

Beneath spring’s sunshine kiss

They

Like your smile

Reflect silent personality

I

Beat

Loudly

THUMP-thump resonates within inner ear

While silent mind counts beats-per-minute

Proving you excite me

You rode them like a jockey rides a thoroughbred

Your fear of movement

Announced to the world

Via red light SOS message

I saw them

Pre-parade crazies

Green haired and shamrock stickered

Pushing carts filled with Leprechaun cookies

I took hungry bites

Allowing food to fill my mouth

While prayers still rested on my lips

Tasseled hair and librarian smile

You move me with gentle fingers

Effortlessly

Wires from limbs to horizontal control

I dance on command

I never saw you until I felt you

Your cold hands always under my undershirt

The ten finger tickle that made you infamous

I dreamt of you

Silent and sweltering

Spread out in sacrifice to early summer

Your chest glistening as it rose with calm breath

Slept soundly

Cocooned by blankets and pillows

Drunk on exhaustion and fermented fruit

Nose exposed

Cold

Dreams

Locked on childhood

Kids clamber to find colored eggs

While parents eat peeps with prayers on their lips

He has risen

I want that comfortable feeling

Where we can tackle afternoons from the couch

You laying on me in silence

I remember when it was seedy

Before the neon facade

Drunken grab-ass and woo-girls

When the music meant something

When it was the pinnacle of each moment

Woke-up from old wood trembling

Found myself in an arcade

Paying pennies to watch peep shows of us

Just stills and primitive movement

Reminding me of what it felt like to be inside of you

Sunburn months

Create high-noon mirages

Images of you with sand in toes and hair

Freckled cheeks

Interrupted by sunshine smiles

Covered in youth

She said beauty and sadness

I paused to reflect on the omnipresent pillars

On how they often reveal themselves in tandem

On the beautiful smile of a sad-eyed clown

You came to me

When rise and fall was calm

Steady

Rhythmic

You hijacked moments not controlled by conscious thought

And I welcomed the invasion

Oxblood on vintage linoleum

Morning shuffle's creaks and moans

Sit below the constant clack of a restless search

She is the exclamation point in my sentence

In her absence

My world is a series of dangling modifiers

Actions affecting false objects

She danced between shadows

Stood there

Sunlight on her face

Seeking answers

He hid in dark corners

Hoping to remain unnoticed

Hands toward heaven

Hearing the same silent response

One thing that I love about this collection is the purity of thought. There is truly no external influence placing pressure on these words, as I haven't dated anyone during this time period, so the "she" and "you" is really my mind creating an ideal.  

6 String for 30 Days

Hopefully by now you are all as obsessed with TED as I am. For those that just thought I switched teams and have the hots for Ted Danson, please go check out the TED site. I have yet to watch a video from TED that I did not get something out of. Recently my friend Sara posted this video:



After posting the video she declared that she was going to do a 30 Challenge to workout to some dance/cardio videos she purchased. You know me, I love a good challenge, so I was immediately on board, but instead of workout videos, I decided I was going to play guitar every day for the next 30 days. To some of you that probably seem pretty easy; but, for me, it is a challenge. 

I almost never play my guitars. You have to remember I am a singer. The guitar is kind of a means to an end. Don't get me wrong, I love that I can play guitar and am still pretty shocked when I can pick one up and make it sing to me. Very few people that learn to plan an instrument at 21 have any success, but I did. Still, it is not my first love. That is singing, followed by writing. So, when I don't have a band, and I am not writing a new song, they line the walls of my jam spaces, staring at me with neglected string. Even when I am playing solo shows, I don't practice for the shows until the day before shows. I do not recommend this, by the way. 

I had intended to wait until May to start this challenge, so at least I could be relearning songs, since I will be able to sing again, but Sara was a little more aggressive and kicked hers off on Thursday. Now, you know this did not sit well with my OCD leanings. I mean start something in the middle of the week, well that is preposterous! But, I manned up and decided to follow her lead. This makes the challenge even harder for me because for 10 of the days I will not even be able to sing while playing, just playing for the sake of playing -- insert noodling here. But, I figured, if only through Facebook, we could hold each other accountable. I also decided I would take pictures of whatever I played, as proof and way to document my 30days. 

Day one I used the same guitar from my last post here. It is the one that sits out by my desk, so it will get a lot of attention during the next 30 days. Day two was Friday, and I knew I probably wouldn't be home all day, so after my morning workout, I sat down with my Taylor 412, and practiced some finger picking. It was like 5:15am. I am pretty sure my neighbors appreciated me not ripping into some blistering leads with amps on 11.

On Saturday, I had some time that was unaccounted for, so I cranked up the live rig which consists of a split amp between a 2x10 Clara V-Verb and a 15" Peavey Delta Blues. The Peavey gets dry signal, and the Clara gets it wet. I realize I lost all but three of you, but those three appreciated the details. I started with a nice finger picked loop and then just built chaos on top of it. At one point, I am pretty sure every pedal on my board was in use. I was playing my modified Epiphone Sheraton, and she sounded lovely. 

Today has probably been my favorite day so far. In direct opposition to yesterday, I went totally minimalist, using the cheapest gear I have which is a Epiphone Valve Junior I bought for $100 from my buddy Corey and a project kit Strat I bought off CraigsList for $200. The guitar has Lipsticks in it, which was a tone I did not have in my arsenal, so I snagged it. The amp is 5 watts of tube tone, an 8" speaker, and one volume knob. What is not to love about that? What made today fun was I was laying leads on top of songs from a playlist I have on iTunes. It is always interesting to work the guitar around the other instruments and vocals.

At this point, I have not mapped out what each day will bring, but I know I will play a guitar every day, and I am looking forward to May when I can sing while playing.

The Giver of Guitars...

A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to go to a fundraiser for an amazing local restaurant, Farm Haus. As is par for the course at a fundraiser, there was a 50/50, so I kicked in my $10, got my 15 tickets, and commenced to eating my crawfish boil and drinking some delicious local beer. A couple hours later, they did the 50/50, and I won. It was $158 or something like that. Without consideration, when they came to give me the money, I told them to give it to the restaurant. Now, I am not a rich man by any means. I make a decent living...I am comfortable. I don't want for much, and I am thankful for that every day. This gesture just seemed completely natural to me. I didn't need that money when I got there, and they did. Why would I not give it to them? Oddly, there seemed to be a genuine sense of surprise by patrons and the employees.

This morning, while my laundry was in the rinse cycle, and my computer was rebooting, I picked up this guitar.

Like most of my guitars, this bad boy has been heavily modified. The pick-ups have been swapped for Vintage Vibes which are my go-to pick-ups. I added Sperzel tuners, swapped the three way pick-up selector for a five-way rotary knob which allows for more tonal combinations, and had the finish on the neck sanded and oiled so it plays faster. Essentially, I turned an adequate $500 guitar into a pretty amazing $800 beast. While it was in my hands and I was banging out a blues lead, I knew, one day, I would give it away, probably one day soon. Note, I did not say sell it.

This is not the first time I have done this. 

I had purchased a used guitar from a buddy with the intention on relicing it out, basically beat it up, make it look old, weathered, like me. And we did. I replaced pick-ups, tuners, added a bigsby, like normal, and then had it reliced. When I got it home I realized I was being ridiculous. I already had two guitars with similar body styles, and one of them was an actual 1974, so why did I need this third guitar? I didn't. So I gave it to Patrick Swan. Pat and I were just starting So Much Closer, and while he had a couple guitars, he didn't have what I considered to be a "good" guitar. I am a guitar snob, what can I say. He was recently married, so I thought it would be a cool wedding gift. And, I think, if you ask Patrick, it was. 

The second guitar went to Tawaine Noah. I met Tawaine through Patrick, and the kid has never ceased to amaze me. While I am probably a more deliberate writer, probably consciously use more poetic devices, incorporate all the things my father taught me, all the things my professors taught me, he is better. There is something in his soul that is able to escape to the paper in a way that makes me wish I had written it. Here are a few of my favorite lines...

I go to parties just so I don't feel alone. My girlfriend likes me, so she waits until I'm gone...to cheat on me.

Sometimes in your car, it feels we're going faster than we really are, but I focus on the scrolling bars below and realize we are taking it slow.

Your coffee is bitter like I, at least its got an excuse. Like you it's cold and tastes like scotch...

He just moves me. So, when I saw him scramble around on stage to get a replacement guitar when his guitar would not stay in tune, I knew he was getting my SG. Like the others, I had purchased a mid-grade SG, upgraded the crap out of it to make it a pretty amazing beast, but it felt like a toy guitar on this big body. I have loved SGs for as long as I can remember and always wanted one, but when a guitar doesn't feel right it ends up spending time in its case when it should be being played. So I gave it to him. To be honest, I don't think I have ever seen anyone more appreciative. What I didn't know was Tawaine had recently been obsessing over SGs, and now he has his very own. So worth it for me. 

To be honest, I am not sure why I am this way, why I give the way I do, why I place no value in money above what I need to be comfortable, but I am glad I am. Both my mother and my father have these tendencies, so while there were no direct discussions about being a giver, I am sure I got it through osmosis or maybe it is genetic. I can remember getting birthday money as a kid and rounding up all my skater buddies so I could take them to Pizza Hut. I reckon guitar giving is just a continuation of the pizza party.