Skip to main content

On The Road Again!

So, I'm spending the day doing laundry...nothing particularly new or exciting but...

I'm getting ready for my first real tour in 7 years. Needless to say, I'm excited...yet at the same time, a tad nervous.

For those who haven't been keeping score, I'm going on tour playing guitar with Danny Kay & The Nightlifers, an old school country band - 2 guitars, upright bass, no drums. I'm quite looking forward to it...provided I don't have a heart attack or stroke on the road.

I'm going to miss my girlfriend and my cat. With the exception of the odd weekend here and there, this is the first time my girlfriend and I have spent any kind of time away from each other in our nearly 6 years together. It's going to be weird NOT waking up next to her. I'm going to miss her knee in my spine and her stealing all the covers. I'm going to miss our routines. We get up together in the morning. She usually drinks most of the coffee but always makes more for me. She calls me daily from work. If we're lucky, we get to have dinner together once or twice a week. If not, we'll throw in a frozen pizza or something when she gets home from work. We're both nerdy geeks. No one gets our respective senses of humor like we do. I'm going to miss sitting on the couch, her snuggled up to me, while we watch TV and make fart jokes. I'll miss my cat and her antics. The cat will probably be more concerned that her feeding schedule is going to have to change. She's a tough li'l furball...I'm sure she'll manage.

Then there's me. I am by nature a creature of habit....odd habits, to be sure, but habits all the same. I'll be waking up in strange places, at different times. I'll be surrounded by different people than I'm used to. I won't be eating what I normally do. I've always found it difficult to get into a routine while on tour. As much as I'm looking forward to this, part of me is freaking out and screaming "What the hell have I gotten myself into????"

I figure, if Keith Richards can still handle touring (and he's what? 90?) then I can. Mind you, he travels a bit more stylishly than I do...but what the heck, you only live once...twice if you're me.

I'm very lucky to be afforded this opportunity...and grateful as heck! Having been unemployed and/or underemployed for the past two years, this is just what I needed! A chance to do what I love most, making music, and getting paid for it. I have no delusions about it. The money will suck compared to the amount of time we're putting into it. Driving 300+ miles every day, eating worse than college students, and only really coming alive for a few hours at night...I know it well. Mile upon mile of dead grass, empty fields, and the occasional city. Lots and lots of tail lights. Luckily, musicians tend to share a sick, twisted view of the world. Musicians tend to have good senses of humor. I just need to keep my political and religious views to myself...polite conversation skills.

Touring used to be a lot easier for me. I had money and a good job. I could take a week or two off and still get paid...plus the money I made on the road. This time around, it'll be a matter of budgeting. I'll have to sell my skills nightly, as well as trying to move merchandise (in this case, 2 boxes of CDs that I'm taking with me). Like I said, we're getting paid but won't exactly be making a king's ransom. But, I'll be sending money home and getting bills paid...so I'm happy. Happier still, I'll be able to do it while doing something I love. How many can truly say that?

At my age, this tour will be one of two things: either the start of a new chapter in my life, or the end of a very long chapter. What if it's just too much for me anymore? I have to be honest with myself...my health ain't great. Weakened by 2 bouts of cancer, a heart attack, and a heart condition, this will be a lot of work and will, no doubt, take a lot out of me...but damn, I'm excited!

I'll probably miss my bathtub most. And my girl. And my cat. And my habits. But oh well, as the French say, ' c'est la vie '. I say "BRING IT ON!!!!!!!!!" I'm ready for this!!!!!!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Tsar of Back in My Day

Lately, he’d been thinking about his ex-father-in-law. Not the ex-wife - calm down. That road had enough potholes already. No, this was about Kolya. They had never been especially close. Between the language barrier, the cultural divide, and the lingering fog of the recently ended Cold War, “warm relationship” was never really on the menu. Still, Kolya had made an impression. Men like that tended to. He was somewhere in his mid-to-late sixties when they met. Picture the farmer from American Gothic if he’d been drafted by the Soviet Union, fed boiled cabbage, and taught to glare professionally. Bald as a cannonball, which somehow made his head seem even larger. Thick square plastic eyeglasses magnified his eyes until they looked like a permanent accusation. He dressed sharply, but in a way that suggested the tailor’s motto had been adequate for the State . Then there were his teeth. No expert on the subject, he could only assume cosmetic dentistry had been dismissed by the Soviets a...

Fags & Faggots

 It was late February 2002, and I was getting ready for my first trip overseas.  I had lucked into a handful of gigs, and I was thrilled by the chance. I grew up watching lots of Hammer horror films, and almost any British show I could find. Monty Python's Flying Circus, The Benny Hill Show, Dave Allen, and Tommy Cooper were regular viewing thanks to public television. I spent plenty of time reading British literature, especially Arthur Conan Doyle. My maternal grandfather’s family was British, so it’s fair to say I was an Anglophile. I thought I had a pretty good understanding of “the Queen’s English.” I was well acquainted with terms like spanner, lorry, telly, and most hilarious to twelve-year-old me, fags (or cigarettes, for those unaware). I was under the mistaken impression that “wanker” could be used as a term of endearment, not unlike jagoff. I later found this to be…not quite accurate. I was admittedly concerned about the food. While I occasionally consider myself ad...

THE BOOK I'LL NEVER WRITE

He sometimes said his greatest regret was not taking the old Trans-Siberian Railway eastward to Lake Baikal. Not because he cared much for bucket lists. He considered such catalogs as vanity with stationery, for those who had wasted decades suddenly writing down ten expensive ways to continue wasting time. No, what he regretted was more precise than that. He regretted never sitting in a dim canteen somewhere near Irkutsk while some broad-faced stranger lied to him magnificently over soup and vodka. He regretted never hearing the room laugh at a joke he only half understood. He regretted missing stories that would now likely never be told the same way again. His body had long since vetoed such ambitions. These days he was lucky if the month’s arithmetic ended with enough left over for prescriptions. If Melinda French Gates wished to finance a crippled Pennsylvanian’s global adventures, he remained open to discussion, but until then, conversations near Lake Baikal would have to survi...