A visual for your amusement and envy

This is my laminate All Access pass, which I guard with my life, and try really hard not abuse.


(C'mon, there are unlimited sandwiches, chips and peanuts in the lounge!)

Day(t)on, Day(t)off

I arrived at the Dayton International Airport a whopping two hours before my flight is to take off at 4:30*. But (praise be!) my boarding pass reads "Stephens, Celia" and I got a semi-normal night's sleep, and there were no incidents with the police on the way here, so today's travel is already much much better than it was beginning my tour.

We swapped out our crappy van for a roomier model in Akron this morn, and now Kurt, Erin and Dave are off to count heads in Louisville and Memphis in my absence.

*Sigh. I'm delighted to get back to the Southeast, but (if one can believe it) I'm actually more anxious about spending the weekend in Columbia for a couple days than I would be if I were heading into two more DMB shows.

It's not that I'm so pro at training and deploying the volunteers, but it is growing more comfortable each show. My anxiety going into this wonderful weekend exists because there are just too many people to spend quality time with, and yet my number one priority is to reinstate my best friendness with the bride-to-be, so understanding and motivating has she been since I decided to embark on this journey within a month of her wedding day (!!!!).

I'm also, it goes without saying, thrilled to see my darlin' Yancey, who wraps up the Sound Tribe Sector Nine/Umphrey's McGee tour tonight in Cary, N.C. Last night at the House of Blues in Myrtle Beach, he got on stage to talk about a signed guitar giveaway, and I was like a proud mother, just beaming as he recounted this on the phone. I'm sick of phone talk--sick to death already--so we'll just have to reunite and store up that love and energy while we can, and make it last from Aug. 4 till Sept. 5!

As for my past couple of stops, last night the band played an excellent show at the vast and green Blossom Music Center in Cuyahoga Falls. The beautiful venue and clear night made for a great time for our HeadCount team, as well, which was comprised of we four + eight local vols, six of which were newbies and seemed to pick right up on the "why" and the "how" of voter regsitration. From about 4:30 to 9:30, we registered 187 voters and captured more than 200 email addresses! We stayed at the show for a bit after loading up our gear, and I witnessed the full "Sledgehammer" cover that I've only heard snippets of thus far on tour. SO GOOD>

I'll write it again: DMB is on top of its game this summer. Admittedly, I'm dying to spend more time with the individual band members, to express my thankfulness for having HeadCount on tour. The more I reflect on my Dave Matthews introduction/hug, the sillier I feel. I think I blacked out or something, haha! But beginning with the Cincy show next Tuesday, which I'm oh-so looking forward to, we'll work 19 (!!!!) more shows in 13 more cities, with endless hours of driving in between. There'll be time.

*Speaking of time, my flight's been delayed until 6:11 p.m., which means I may or may not have an 11 p.m. connecting flight in Atlanta, therefore may or may not get into Charleston at midnight. I spoke too soon about this trouble-free travel day!

I hope Catherine's feeling both patient and night-owlish.

Shine

I plan to recap tonight's show sometime later, maybe tomorrow en route to Cuyahoga Falls. But I absolutely must post this:

Last night we hung out with Collective Soul on the hotel patio, hahahahahahaha! (They're playing tonight with Blues Traveler and Live, but we'll be out registering voters at DMB, so c'est la vie.)


Dean, Joel and Will were pretty nice dudes ('cause they're from the South, of course) and generous with their off-the-bus Corona Lights. It was all pretty ridiculous, really. Then again, none of this is typical real world stuff.

I'm really excited about Ashley's wedding and re-grasping reality for a couple days back in Columbia.

Goal!

Last night, with 9 local volunteers, the four of us, and some help from the Crocs guys, the HeadCount DMB crew registered more than 250 voters at DeerCreek!

Kurt, Erin and Dave really hoofed the lots and the campgrounds to get big numbers, and after two trainings during soundcheck and such, my locals were off and running the grounds, as well!

We celebrated by going downtown (thank you, Crocs Mike!) and hitting up a couple bars. We have too much fun.

Lucy, who works for Music Matters and executes the recycling effort at DMB shows across the country, hung out with us all night, too, which was awesome. She likes My Morning Jacket and we listened to them on the way from the venue to her hotel room. Nice to have another girl on tour with me and Erin!

Oh yeah, speaking of MMJ, I walked up to some kids' tent earlier yesterday when I heard them playing Okonokos, and one of them had on a Cool Beans shirt! Turns out, that guy's buddy's cousin is Jay Shreve, who used to own both CB and House Coffee (back when it was Courtyard). I haven't seen Jay in forever, but what a small world, eh?

I got my dive bar live music fix last night at the Slippery Noodle, where this bangin' three-piece blues band rocked till 2:30 a.m. Dave and I were dancing and sweating (Indy is more humid than I imagined!) and thoroughly revived by the experience.


Walking back toward Erin and Mike, who were chowing down at the Steak 'n Shake, Dave said, "I just had another one of those 'nowhere I'd rather be' moments."

I couldn't agree more.

Next stop, Columbus. But first....the Dark Knight at the IMAX!!!

The Indy 300

I'm gonna try to make this post a little shorter, upon Mom's subtle request and the fact that it's after midnight and I'd really like to be in bed before 3 tonight. But this is all so exciting, I'm not really sure that a "summary" does the trick, especially with days between writing.

The last couple days in Indy have been, in a word, fantastic, with alternations of relaxing and stressing, i.e. watching TV in the hotel, cooking an amazing Whole Foods feast (courtesy of the Crocs boys and their seemingly glass-ceiling expense account), and then hyperactively recruiting volunteers for this weekend's two shows at Verizon Wireless Music Center, known to the music-lovers as "DeerCreek."


Our trip has certainly been marked with "hiccups," from the ridiculous first couple days traveling (see "In the Beginning...") to today's FedEx/Kinkos extravaganza ("We're just here to pick-up...oh, really, order's not paid yet?...well, here's our Visa gift card...not enough on it? Ah, crap."). We frequently get lost in the van, and all four of us have had mini (though not many) frustrated freak-outs.

But the truth remains that we were all born to be on this tour, right here (as here changes rapidly, and we must execute superhero-like endurance and patience), together. Without too much sap, I can honestly write that these three people have become fast friends of mine, and we're functioning beautifully. I haven't done so much belly-laughing in ages, and this is work?!

I miss home, but moreso the people that make it such a place. I won't let myself pout, though, or for a second take this time for granted.

Tonight, after a frantic few hours setting up at the venue (late) and corralling volunteers that trickled in at different times (all much later than our typical 3:30 will call time), I busted ass to register a meager few voters, myself. But as the co-leader in charge of volunteers, it's not expected of me to bring in the big numbers, rather motivate and educate the local vols to do so.

We fell way short of our "let's make up for pitiful Omaha" goal of 300 tonight. But we're hitting the campgrounds at DeerCreek tomorrow, on our own time, just the four of us, to really get this show on the road and display what our team is made of...what we're really capable of, with combined energy and individual personalities.


I'll remark, so far as the actual job at hand, that there's an unfortunate load of skepticism among your average concert-going potential voter. But skepticism can often be assuaged, whereas bitterness and preconceived notions of who's out to get you are a different bag.
For instance, "Who are you with?" is common, but answerable. "F*ck Obama!" with a finger in your face is a little harder to swallow, and quite frustrating since we're representing a non-partisan organization and simply registering people TO vote, not to vote FOR someone. Alas, one must walk on and find the next amicable person that is thankful for the service we're providing (and there truly are more of these, no matter how many consecutive angry drunkards one may encounter).

I didn't eat anything today but a Cliff bar between the hours of 10 a.m. and 8 p.m., so this road life is a bit crazy on my system. But then, godblessit, I had another sweet catered meal of tuna steak, encrusted chicken, spinach salad, sticky rice and fresh fruit. And then Boyd Tinsley (DMB's amazing violinist) walked through the room, though I didn't get to make an introduction. Maybe in Ohio. Oh, even the bathrooms backstage are awesome. Exhibit A:



Tonight Erin and I opted out of the open bar backstage, 'cause we got all pumped in the daylight hours about coming back to the hotel and doing yoga. :) And we did so. The boys are at the random bar on our exit (Gatsby's, I think it is), but I'm aiming to be as fresh and energetic tomorrow as possible. I know my body and my mind, and this recharging of my battery, so to speak, is absolutely essential to my success as a leader and a person.

(This is Erin and I last night in the Broad Ripple district or somesuch place I'll never be able to find again...)

I wrote earlier tonight in a note to a friend that I can feel myself blossoming all over again. I followed the statement with "forgive the dramatics," but I think the description is pretty accurate and worth reiterating to my larger audience.

(Haha, I flatter myself with this blog, don't I?)

Tripping Billies

Since I last blogged, we've traversed another couple states, including beautiful Utah, spectacular Wyoming and "so so" Nebraska. (I'll add pics later.)

Here are the basics of the past couple days, which is all I can muster in the car after an A&W lunch and umpteen beers last night ("if you can't be honest with your computer..." right Ash?):

My team is downright amazing. Getting Erin on board, after her go-get-'em weekend at Camp Bisco and our marathon drive from the West Coast to "somewhere in middle America," has birthed a fabulous foursome. I feel like I've known each of them for years and years, instead of less than a week.

This picture shows our friend and Sunday night waitress, Maribelle, with my new BFFs Kurt and Erin at the BP station by our hotel. Maribelle took us to get Erin from the airport after we drank margaritas at a hotel restaurant of the same name. Safety first!

I got my duffle bag back yesterday morning, so I feel a little more ME. I didn't know how many days I'd have to make Wal-Mart/Old Navy/Target runs, but my debit card was quivering at the thought of it.


Last night's first show in Omaha was less than ideal, as it was indoors and with no tailgating lot to tap for potential voters. We had a whole lot of logistical crap to take care of, and we still haven't received our beloved all-access laminates. But no worry--we were still guided through the guts of the Qwest Center, whereupon (immediately) we caught a glance of Dave Matthews himself riding a bike around the tour buses (the DMB operation includes probably 6 or 8 huge rigs excluding the trucks with gear...oh to be America's favorite touring band). He waved and I was stoked.

Out voter registration efforts were also stunted by the understaffing of volunteers -- we only had two show up, a couple who'd never worked a HeadCount gig before. They were really shy, but nice enough, and combined they maybe registered five people. Ah well. We'll be better suited for the two DeerCreek shows, which are as of now fully staffed with 10 local volunteers (plus the four of us). And we'll be better prepared to train them, set up shop outside the amphitheater and really pound the pavement for two days straight. Plus, these next stops are two weekend shows, which means the concert attendees are happier to be alive, hence more apt to talk and listen to strangers with clipboards. We're optimistic that we will make up for the poor first showing and really blow our bosses away.

Despite lack of laminates, with old touring vet Erin, our team was allowed access to the catered area downstairs. The boys ate a quick bite before the show started, but I was nervous to meet and train volunteers, so I just grabbed a soda. But once Erin and I felt OK to leave the table and get some grub, we did. Oh. My. God. My late dinner (between the opening band and DMB) consisted of seared scallops, grilled tofu, an arugula salad, seasoned mash potatoes and fresh berries. These folks don't mess around with mealtime.

Oh, and then Dave walked in. Dave Matthews, my idol and once-upon-a-time biggest crushee (no song pun intended). He strolled in and over to our table, and I introduced myself, first verbally, and then with a semi-star struck embrace. (Be cool, be cool, Celia!) I said "Thank you for allowing us to do this, it's a real honor," to which millionaire Matthews said, "No, no, you're the ones that deserve thanks for doing what you're doing." I've never felt so gratified and satisfied and exhilarated. First night and I met Dave. This is going to be an awesome tour!

After we set the volunteers free and loaded up the van, we hung backstage with free Bud Lights and goofy grins on our faces, and then went back to the hotel for some more quality bonding time.

For details about the hours between midnight and 4 a.m., shoot me an email (haha).

We're en route to Indianapolis right now, just an inch through the Iowa map in ye old Rand McNally, with a fairly lengthy drive ahead of us. But we're in great spirits, and I am certain that the four of us will be the best damn HeadCount touring team that the organization -- and the U.S. of A. -- has ever seen.

Post Script:


Above, L-R: Kurt Koning (UConn grad currently working for the U.S. Attorneys Office in Boston, whose girlfriend is a dancer); Dave Ginnochio (Evergreen State U. student and screenprinter who volunteers at the wolf sanctuary in Olympia, where he also owns a house); Andy ____ (Atlanta native and Auburn student who's been touring with DMB for SolesUnited, the Crocs charity that recycles the plastic shoes and gives them to people who need them all over the world).

Dave G. and I sang the Carter and Cash duet "Jackson" last night at a nasty dive bar called the Shark Club. It bombed big time. Problem was, Def Leppard and Meatloaf had already been covered. What's a couple of wooks to do in Omaha, anyha?

In the beginning...

(Written beginning on U.S. Airways flight from Phoenix to Oakland, and finished up later on Saturday, 6.19.08)

Already disoriented having seen very little of my eyelids and whole lot of fellow plane passengers in the past (how many has it actually been?) 15 or so hours, I’m just thanking the heavens that I’m on this plane and will soon reach my first actual destination. Aaahhh… sunny Oakland, California. Can’t stay long! But it’ll be good to meet 2/3 of my traveling entourage and hit the road, jack. Seriously, after all that’s gone down (and almost NOT gone down) in airports, I’ll be delighted as hell to crank the key of our minivan. A descriptive recap of my unsmooth segue into this trip (quite cinematic, if you ask me):

12:00 a.m. Climb into bed with a chatty, but altogether worn out Ms. Stimpson…going to sleep in the same room makes me nostalgic, for it’s very reminiscent of our dorm days, and I wish we had more slumber parties into our adulthood. But at this time, I know I need more slumber than party before the hellacious traveling day awaiting me, so I attempt to shut up and sleep, already.
12:45 a.m. Ash is quiet, and the street’s fairly quiet, but my mind’s still racing, imagining what happens next, and then after that, and what happened back then that led me here. For someone who typically konks out, inebriated or not, within ten minutes, I had nonesuch luck last night.
3:00 a.m. I notice LED read and groan silently…sure, I’ve been in and out, for the last couple hours, but why oh why haven’t I just been out? I was feeling silly and frustrated, and much like a school kid with her first day outfit laid out, headband to Keds, as if to hop in at first light.
4:30 a.m. Alarm sounds. Up and at ‘em. Throw on clothes, throw bag in car, pour travel mugs of gut-scorching coffee.
5:30 a.m. Take the wheel.
Approx. 6:30 a.m. Realize I’ve been going atypically slow in the dark and fog and am further from airport than ideal, Put pedal to metal, while laughing and listening to an old “Lunch Ladies” radio show on cassette.
Approx. 6:45 a.m. Stop laughing when I see cop in rearview throw on harsh patriotic lights. Pull to the shoulder and feel like I will puke all over the place, and miss my flight, to boot.
6:55 a.m. Pull gingerly off of shoulder into traffic with a speeding ticket that was unfortunately issued, but graciously reduced, for pity, I think, by the nicest police officer in the land. Still, though, I might puke at any second and I’m late as hell.
7:10 a.m. Get to woman at International U.S. Airways counter, which is accepting domestic travelers on account of the winding lines (at dawn, who knew?). She is click clacking her falsies on the keyboard, pretending to hurry for me, but not doing much of the sort, and instead throwing in the proverbial towel when "it won’t do what it’s supposed to." Psh, technology. Some higher-up helps Click Clack get me a pass and check my bag, and I thank them both profusely and run to the check point.
7:18 a.m. Getting to the front of the long security/TSA line, I take my first glance at the boarding pass I’m clutching like my last dollar, which reads “Stevens, Lydia”—WHO?! Am passed on through when agent says, “They messed your name up...bad” and shoes me along. In stress and haste, I foolishly figure that any boarding pass is better than none, and run to the gate as Lydia Stevens.
7:25 a.m. Upon approaching ticket taker, Lydia is informed that “we’re not accepting standby tickets yet, ma’am” and so she stands behind some jerk-off jousting for a first class seat, nearly tearful and still nauseated, imagining that the plane she’s supposed to be on will pull onto the runway before her eyes.
7:30 a.m. Celia Stephens regains sense of self when she explains multifaceted error to second ticket lady, patient and kind despite being visibly fatigued after first class jerk-off. I feel like kissing both she and the woman who takes my ticket, smiling, and says, “all squared away?”
7:45 a.m. (EST) Take off as scheduled, due West (and then Southwest) to Phoenix. Recount this morning tale and future plans for exploration of the U.S. with wonderful armrest sharer, Monte B, from Redmond, Oregon. His wife (15 years together this October) and two boys (13 and 10…really smart, responsible kids) can’t wait to see him this afternoon, since he’s been gone all week on business (the concrete business) in New York. He’s dreading the drive from Portland to Redmond, which will turn directly into a guest appearance at his wife’s company BBQ. C’est la vie. I’m about to drive halfway back across the country!
9:04 a.m. (MST) Arrive as scheduled in Phoenix. Sweet, I have about 45 minutes till I need to board my next flight. It’s not too huge an airport, and all I need is a coffee, so this should be easy.
9:35 a.m. Coffee purchased, with a cinnamon scone for good measure, I settle in at B15 ahead of schedule. It’s unmarked, but I triple check the boarding pass, and I’m in the right place, so I talk to Mom, check NYTimes.com and sip on my coffee leisurely.
10:00 a.m. Subconsciously, I must’ve thought “Shouldn’t this crowd be boarding by now?” But I sat dumbly, feeding my face and ogling alternately at family interactions and McCain/Obama news chatter, until I overhear a smiley new dad (in a floral button up, not coincidently) chirp regarding his little one, “She didn’t get mobile until this week, and it’s like, ‘Really, couldn’t you have waited till after Hawaii?’” WHERE?!
10:05 a.m. I’m running, not so leisurely now, and hating the cinnamon scone only half digested. Backpack is heavy. Christ, my gate had been changed to the very gate I exited an hour prior (A14). Would’ve been nice to know that then.
10:09 a.m. Sweating through my V-neck and severely flustered for the third or fourth time since daylight, I am the last person to board the correct plane, the one heading to Oakland, where my comrades (fingers crossed) will meet me and the journey will begin.
10:25 a.m. My headphones are plugged in, so as to bar me from talking to another soul until I absolutely must, or at least can, having caught my breath and regained composure. (I can’t believe I’ve made it within a mere couple of minutes BOTH times today. I deserve a few raps on the knuckles, for certain.) My AC vent is full-blast, and I figure that the bread to this messy sandwich (a pretty, hip-hop blasting twenty-something and quiet middle-aged, Middle Eastern man) hate me for being “that girl” right now.
10:55 a.m. Remembering with a giant yawn that I, well, WE, have to get to Salt Lake City tonight. Oy.

(Later recap, now in the van.)

12:33 p.m. Land safely in California after peering over Middle Eastern man to catch the mountain panorama upon descent. Feel a little emotional by the scuene (a West Coast newbie), feel very honored to be there. After all the morning’s hang-ups, I’m feeling refreshed and jolted by arrival to the other side of the country.
12:40 p.m. Discover that my gigantic black duffle bag was not on my plane, but rather traveled with the illusive “Lydia Stevens” to Boise (where I’d have ended up, moron that I am, had I not made good at the first ticket counter…still, my checked bag holds everything but my toothbrush and Macbook and a couple paperbacks, so my stomach drops at the thought of going without all its contents for godknowshowlong).
12:50 p.m. Arrange, with the help of a wonderful should-be U.S. Airways Employee of the Year, for “godknowshowlong” to be approximately a day and a half. I will pick up the bag in Omaha Sunday night. Not sweatin’ it too bad.
1:10 p.m. Talk to Kurt and David and realize they’re a bit twisted around in the Bay Area, too, having missed a key BART exchange. So much for leaving around 1.
1:20 p.m. Suave young dudes are running the Enterprise rent-a-car (at an inconvenient remote location), and though they’re friendly as can be, nothin’ is easy and it takes me a good hour to get the vehicle we requested to pick-up at noon. First, I’m urged to take some new, shiny red Ford space car, which, though roomy, would certainly draw attention to we hippies speeding across the country. Then my choice white minivan, unassuming and spacious, is found to have a broken headlight. No I will not go to Midas to get the part with your non-English speaking associate (!!!!). I accept another van (has it been there the whole time, while we shot the breeze?) with more miles on her, but I’m affable and grateful, all the same. (Just get me with my boys and STARTING this thing!)
2:45 p.m. After much ado, I get to meet my boys and start this thing. They’re both awesome, and energized, and Kurt takes the wheel with great gusto as we try to head East. Only it takes an hour for us to get out of town, with unfamiliar interstates and distractingly gorgeous scenery surrounding us.
4 p.m. We’re all hungry, so we stop for a greasy fast lunch/dinner at JimBoy’s Tacos in Yuppieville, CA. Back in the van.
6 p.m. We just listened and sang along to “Abbey Road” and it hinged us as a trio, like nothing but a masterful album can. Can’t wait for Erin (and my blessed bag) in Omaha.
6:01 p.m. But we gotta get to Salt Lake City tonight. And we’re still in California. It’s glorious, and I’ve rendered the Appalachain Mountains cheap knockoffs compared to the Bob Ross-esq views before us (see --->). I’m soaking it all in, appreciating everything so as not to take a single breezy breath for granted. But we’re still in California, and gotta get to Salt Lake. Oy.

What's going on...

I'm not sure precisely how or when I stumbled upon HeadCount, but I remember being awestruck reading the mission of the organization, and adamant to get involved. So adamant, in fact, I went beyond the initial inputting of my name and email address and, when prompted, submitted my resume -- accompanied by a quite verbose (surprise), exclamatory cover letter (sample: When music gels with civic service, like your organization allows, I’m hard-pressed to imagine a better fit for me. THIS IS, in fact, MY DREAM JOB) -- in application for a "touring team leader" position.
There was much agony waiting, then answering a slew of hard-hitting follow-up "are you sure you're a good fit?" type questions (this seemingly simple task took a couple hours one night at Waffle House, so wound up was I imagining the possibility of serving this purpose), and then there was more waiting.
There was a phone interview, which had me wrought with nerves, and after many more agonizing days without word, there was acceptance.
Life hasn't been a cake walk since--I had to* quit a job I've been blessed to work for the better part of the past year, and figure out** how the hell I'm to sustain myself on the road, and more importantly, afterward.
But this opportunity is too incredible to pass up. The details will work themselves out, I keep assuring myself. Given my lifelong passion for music, and my daily enhanced fervor for political progress and citizen participation, this is truly a position cut out for me (or me for it). I feel convicted, and not just compelled, to hit the road and register voters across America. And no one of you who really knows me should be surprised that I'm about to.
Stay tuned for a quick recap of the HeadCount shows I've volunteered at/for thus far as a "local volunteer" (though two of the three have taken me out of town). And if I can't, or choose not to, tend to this in my fast and furious last (let's see...) 40 hours in town, I will launch right into the adventure itself. First stop on Saturday: Oakland, CA, whereupon we'll head eastward for Omaha, NE.
Arrogant as it reads, I'm really banking quite heavily on changing the country over the course of the next six weeks, with the help of my surely incredible team, the fervor and trust of HeadCount backing us, and the grace of the Dave Matthews Band, allowing us on tour to further our mission.
Whether this change is a measurable one is left to be seen, but I'm absolutely positive that the country will change me.

Footnotes:
* So I didn't really flesh out any alternatives to quitting, like asking for a hiatus from work, or not going on tour at all. The best option seemed for me, and for the agency, to terminate my role there and allow me to devote fully to this tour, and whatever the world holds for me next. Simultaneously, I wanted the important work at Ferillo & Associates to go on uninterrupted, unfettered, non-distracted, and I couldn't promise anything while on the road or back here, off it.
** I've yet to figure this out, actually. Crossing my fingers!