Gorge + 1

A month ago today I was more than 2,700 miles away from here. Under a vault of sunshine, but no clouds in the neverending sky. Little to no humidity. A breeze, in fact, that chilled us registrars and necessitated long sleeves. A timely and noble purpose granted us. Responsibility granted me.

Since I've been home, I've not had much of either. Pretty days and fair breezes, sure, but so far as the what I'm meant to be doing, I've been taking stabs in the dark and generally telling myself to "suck it up" through intermittent pouts and boo hoos. I thought I'd actually gotten back to normal until I talked to Kurt last night on an extended break from serving crusty kids sugary, caffeinated bevs. I still miss the road.

Gratitude should pour from me, considering I've again landed a job in my typically effortless, undeserved way. I should waltz in there tonight and train like I've never been more excited to do ANYTHING than I am to serve wine, keeping in mind this ain't my life path, rather a "means to the end."

But the means, I can assure myself before even starting, are a real drag. And the end, though nearer in my mind than ever before (after a weekend trip to Music City), is still uncertain, mostly undefined. And so I'm hesitant to celebrate anything. 

And yet -- I ripped myself to shreds looking up at the ceiling around 1 a.m. -- have I  not a roof over my head, and food (lots of it... too much, in fact) in my belly!? My "main street" existence has not yet been shattered by the current crisis through which I remain so aloof. 

My life is, has always been, and forever will be blessed from all sides, by many forces, in innumerable ways. And I have the audacity to DREAD starting something new in this town? To MOURN the days that separate my present tense from my future? I should be (ok, am) ashamed! 

Ash says "cheer up," and I shall. I just needed this morning, and this outlet, to fume.

There's No "I" in "DMB HeadCount Team Summer 2008"

The time is gone, the song is over, thought I'd something more to say

Day Five back into reality finds me very "ugh," but I have to finish this blog eventually, right?
How is it possible, after weeks of homesickness, to feel homesick for that transient home on the road? Shouldn't I be happy to be here? I'll suck it up...eventually...right?

The seven-week journey ended on a high note, sort of.

I saw Dave again and coolly grinned in his direction, asking, "How's it goin'?" in passing. (Should've said "thank you thank you thank you" and embraced him across the security fence, before the elated 9,000 ran in and I lost him to the masses that nightly claim him.) I also should've loved on Poly, and worked harder to find Lucy on the last night, and written a note to the Dega catering boys before they departed from the Gorge. Shouldawouldacoulda. (Hindsight is, indeed, 20/20.)

But, truth is, once Yancey arrived at SFO on Thursday afternoon, my mind was essentially home, and my heart existed only where his was. We joyfully walked (hiked) around the city hand-in-hand, witnessing a near-brawl on the bus to Haight, then an actual brawl (slo-mo and sad) in front of a record store. We watched a Bo Diddly character picking in Golden Gate Park, enhanced by the bums jiving to a boombox version of "Superstition," and then got happy hour Fat Tires at a corner pub and cooed, "never again will we be apart for so long."
Our shitty hotel placement in the Home Depot/Babies-R-Us district of Oakland meant that the only walkable dinner on Yancey's first vacation night was 99-cent tacos at the Bell, but we didn't care.

Friday took us to Berkeley, where the newsworthiness of the tree man (who's been protesting for nearly two years atop the high branches of a stadium-side oak) outshone the weekend's DMB shows a block away at the lovely Greek Theater. But the venue was, indeed, lovely.
By day...


and by night...
We walked in the side gate WITH Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, in their "street clothes," and wished them well. Love that band. I rushed through the training with all new volunteers, 'cause Dave and the boys were doing soundcheck and some rabid fans on the other side of the fence were making it impossible for any of us to concentrate on the task at hand.

But the vols did a pretty good job, and I got to walk around with Yance and register a few people before it was dinner time. I hated not being able to take him with me downstairs, but I wasn't about to ruin my rep with the band and security on the last weekend of tour (note: Sunday, Scooter escorted Yancey down for some salmon and prime rib, which was a nice way to end the weekend). I did get to shake the hand of Mr. Warren Haynes, which was f**king cool. We didn't, however, see him guest with DMB later that night on #41. Had to get out of town before all the fans did, you know.

Saturday, we slept in a bit and then went into Berkeley again for some shopping and brunching before the show. After the voter registration routine, we all hung around for most of DMB, then got beers at a pub called Raleigh's (where a singer/songwriter played MMJ songs and reminded me of Buckley). But Y and I were exhausted and shoved the notion of "Saturday night" and went back to the Extended Stay pretty early.

Sunday, we had another half-day in San Fran, this time hitting up Fisherman's Wharf with all the tourists and sea lions (smile).


The last night of the tour, fittingly but almost overwhelmingly, fell on LeRoi's would've-been 47th birthday. Fans blew bubbles and chanted his name. The band played well, and I soaked up the last couple hours with Erin, Dave and Kurt (Yance and Kurt's girl, Carolina, were also hanging out). Said goodbye to Scoots (darling boy), and stayed until encore. Got stuck in concert traffic, like we always avoided, dropped off Kurt and Carolina at their hotel, then made it back to Oakland to ours.

And Monday we flew out, Yancey from San Fran, Dave and I from Oakland, sharing one last cigarette and a couple of Starbucks muffins before we parted ways. It felt like Road Rules or Real World, like I always joked, but not nearly as emotional. The tears didn't fall till I was looking out the window at take-off and I realized that it was over.

They've come a couple (ok, several) times since, but things are as they should be. Back to the real real world, and my South Carolina home.

I don't know what's next (so please don't ask me), but if touring taught me anything at all, it's that I don't NEED very much. Just some t-shirts and good shoes, and cheap sunglasses, and a few modes of communication so you never drop off the face of the planet. The knack for talking to just about anyone, and a penchant for deep belly laughs. An understanding of this country as a vast, varied place to live, with all terrains and all kinds of folks -- all of them, however, sharing that human factor that makes everything else worthwhile.

God, I hope the 3,500 people we registered at Dave Matthews Band shows actually vote on November 4. I want to believe that this expensive and enjoyable experiment was effective. Regardless, I did it, I've done it, and I'm back.

Thanks to everyone who loved me through this time, and cheered me on. XO.

Homestretch

According to my map, I have just left "Q" and will reach "R" tomorrow night, "R" being Berkeley, CA and Berkeley being my final stop on this tour. Sure, I have five more full days, but for all intents and purposes, this is the homestretch. *Sigh. Seems like yesterday I was daydreaming about all of this, each and every stop -- a wanderlust cartographer stuck in a sticky summer dress in mid-summer Columbia. I now don an Evergreen State College hooded sweatshirt and my fave (though superdirty) jeans. Washington is chilly!
But Washington, it must be recorded, is also one of the prettiest states I've ever had the pleasure of laying eyes, and feet, upon. The Pacific Northwest really is a type of paradise, so far as the lush landscape that dries up around the middle of the state and drops into magnificent valleys and gorges around the Columbia River, where we camped a few miles from the venue.
As far as the amphitheater itself, WOW is all I can really write about the historic Gorge. The sight to behold:After three tiresome days and nights, I was still wowed by the view from the top of the lawn, and thoroughly honored to be there, then sad to leave. I need to go back, maybe next summer, probably with Yancey.

We registered almost 500 voters over the weekend, which ain't bad considering it's the end of the summer and HeadCount has been to every Dave Matthews Band show, and hundreds more concerts nationwide. We had great volunteers on Friday and Saturday, including a brother/sister team (Jason and Leena), a hipster from L.A. (Michael), a huge DMB fan I met at Alpine Valley and encouraged to volunteer (Shane) and an older couple that positively rocked the lawn (Paul and Britt).Pictured here: Dave, Leena's friend that showed up halfway, Leena, Kurt, Michael, me, Shane.

On Sunday, not a single volunteer showed up (eek!), but that enabled me to be on the lawn uninterrupted for an hour or so, in addition to the time I had talking to folks in line and at the booth. As a result, I nabbed 47 of our night's mere 105 registrations. It felt good to be a doer, and not just a teacher/trainer.
We were wrung out, to say the least, on our way back to Olympia on Sunday night. Hilly hikes to far away campgrounds, plus subdued but (free) booze-drenched crew parties backstage both Friday and Saturday, made for four exhausted teammates.
Monday morn easily turned into early afternoon, which found us in downtown Seattle for the last day of the Bumbershoot festival.We didn't get to register very many people, but the tickets were a gift from HeadCount in the first place (for our looooong drive at the onset of the tour), so we enjoyed ourselves and soaked up the few hours of live music we could. I made sure to catch my ol' buddy Langhorne Slim, then sweet Sondre Lerche, and ended the night with equal brief doses of Death Cab for Cutie and Xaiver Rudd.

We traipsed around Olympia today, with an awesome midday brunch at a local diner (I swear, finding the "spots" in various towns we visit has been one of the greatest joys throughout the trip) and then a short time at Evergreen (undefeated football team since 1967...heh).
We cleaned out our van, which was no easy feat after nearly two months of grit, grime and STUFF built up in the thing. Now we're about to settle for the night in Portland, where Erin and I already visited last week, therefore care a bit less about today.
Tomorrow, we drive from Portland to Berkeley, making sure to see part of the Pacific coast via Highway 101, and the California Redwood Forest, too. Then, Thursday, Yancey arrives (yay!!!!) to share with me this last weekend of tour, at the intimate (for DMB) Greek Theater. I'm gonna maximize the daylight hours before meeting the volunteers each day, so Y and I can experience as much of the Bay Area as possible in four mornings/afternoons.
Just talking and writing about the final days of this experience is strange. I can certainly feel something important, huge -- epic, even -- winding down, and this weight is both thrilling and painful to lose. Right now I miss a sense of home, but god knows I'll miss the sense of free and fun once back to my questionable reality. I hope it's still there for me! And I hope I have the time and peace of mind, once there, to reflect on the trip and write more and more about what I've seen, done, learned.
"Tiny Dancer" just came on FM radio, and we're all reverently silent (besides the singing and humming). My guess is, all three of 'em are thinking about that pinnacle scene in Almost Famous, which relaces the weary touring crew in the span of the four-minute song...the scene from the movie that changed me almost five and a half years ago. *Sigh. Maybe I'm tired, maybe I'm hormonally unstable this week, but I can't help but feel like a part of me is dying as other parts come to fruition.