My blogging suffers as the record looms.
I’m gearing up, and trying to breathe through some anxiety. Went and bought a Martin acoustic to play on the Small Rock tour. Went out to Jersey, and down to David Gage’s, in Tribeca, to hear some upright basses for full band touring, later in the Summer and hopefully far beyond.
I’m going to take a meditation course–a technique recommended by Mason Jennings, actually–to develop a sort of self-medication routine for road stress. I went up for a lecture at this organization’s office; I thought they were pretty hip, but I was uneasy about the veneration of their guru, whose garlanded photo is in every corner of the tiny office. I spoke my unease during the question and answer period, and the lecturer said, “He’s kind of a visual trademark, so people don’t think we’re that sex cult in Oregon.”
“So,” I blurted before I thought better of it, “he’s kind of like your Tony the Tiger?”
I’ve been called up for jury duty on Monday, which is so ill-timed and inconvenient it’s almost hilarious. Those who know of good Pho within walking distance of 111 Centre Street are cordially asked to hip me to their culinary knowledge.