catching up with greg.

greg is such a good blogger (this is brooke speaking now) and i have never blogged before. in in the past, i wrote in my diary. i guess that is like secretive, hand blogging. i am trying to be less secretive these days. what i've put down so far (bear with me):

1.15.

the tour started off with a bang. 3 hours before show time and I start feeling the miserable discomfort, the hot burning that is a UTI. I run to the drugstore across the street and buy triple strength cranberry extract pills. I take 8 of them at once and try to pee a lot. As if that wasn’t enough, we find out that the promised PA at Socha Café is nowhere to be found. We call everyone we know in search for a PA. We leave many messages but can’t nail one down. 15 minutes until show time cb comes through in a big way. We throw that pa together quicker than quick.

So many people were there in that café. G’s photos looked so beautiful. I felt so supported by this ex-city of mine. Makes me want to win her back.

1.17.

so the music part of our santa cruz show gets cancelled last minute due to weird music licensing legalities at the abbey lounge. We show up a day later to hang g’s art and the people at the abbey are just about as affable as one could be. The Abbey lounge is adjacent to their affiliated church. They invite me to sing an outro at their church service that evening. I say, why not and then play for 200 people in the beautiful cathedral with lcd projectors around me and a Christian rock band opens. This is a first. I announce that we need a place to stay the night and 15 people generously offer up their homes to us. One girl lives a block away and promises her big house and a good party. G and I have a wild night of debauchery with college kids. It’s a defining moment for us. We feel 40 and 14 all at once. We crash hours earlier than our youthful hosts and appear more sensitive to the alcohol, loud music, and potato chips that we consume. So we sleep like rocks on the hardwood floor in a little nest between two girls in their twin beds. The storm outside goes unnoticed.

1.18

the finest coffee shop in Monterey is ours. We fall instantly for its elegant stone walls separating petite room from petite room. The tiniest one is where we’ll perform. G puts up all 39 of his photos in record time. Tim helps us with sound and gives us tips on driving conditions to san luis Obispo. G and I are foolishly ambitious to drive through big sur. We parade our east coast upbringing with mudslide oblivion. Nancy and I talk about boston. We agree that Monterey is better. So much better. Outside it is raining again. The coffee shop is quiet but it affords us the intimacy we are looking for. This time a man called Russ takes us home and lets us pass out on his futon couch in the living room. He is a relaxed host. G and I sleep hard. Again.

1.19.

the ride to slo is the most beautiful ride in the world. It feels other wordly. This time of year the hills are so green it reminds me of the bucolic beauty of wales. The sun comes out but the waves are still enraged from the storm. The water is brown mixed with green mixed with blue. It looks a tapestry or a collage. Beirut is the perfect soundtrack.

G and I just made the most seemingly home-cooked, not-very-cooked travel dinner. A rotisserie chicken, micro waved baked potato and steamed broccoli. Our chicken was $5.98. sorry, chicken. sorry, farmer.

1.20.10

g and I think it is just a rainy day but after talking to the locals, we understand it in a different way. J says that this is the biggest storm in 7 years. He blames it on el nino. Roads are closed. It is all over the news. Meanwhile g and I have a different reaction- we nap a lot and watch tv.

Tonight j takes us to two open mics. You can tell he grew up here by the way he takes the turns on the tortuous back roads -with such controlled speed. It is a little bit magical. I’ve never played two open mics in one night. The first one i bomb, the second one is more comfortable. There might be a correlation here with consumed whiskey. I sell a cd to the man at the bar. And another guy takes a cd without paying. that's never happened before and i don't know what to say. i hope he likes it.

1.21.

i think tonight is our most beautiful show, aesthetically speaking. g hangs his 3 portable, canvas walls for the first time. he is up on the ladder and twisting wire around hooks from the ceiling with such ease. a true sculpture major. the acoustics in this room are stunning. i sing for 75 minutes without a microphone and the audience hears every word. that is the best thing ever, i think.

1.22.

not much to say here. crackheads in the bathroom. a woman rode her bicycle into the venue looking for parking. the waitstaff, aloof. we drove fast southward.

1.27.

san diego is the warmest embrace. g and o and i picnic on the beach with salami, fresh mozzarella, walnuts, clementines, apple, raisins, chocolate. so good. so good. then we get swept up by the tide when we fall asleep. i wake up on a blanket in the ocean. this is the kind of adventure that can seem devastating as an adult and magical as a child. i am feeling youthful. it is a magical mishap. o is so good at nurturing and adventuring at the same time. he makes g and i pies and chile and tamales. we let the sunshine paint our faces a little bit red. today i have more freckles than yesterday.

the paddle boat house show is equally warm. these kids are the best kind of hip with zero pretension but a lot to be proud of. i love playing in the living room.