Six weeks later…

Hello readers,

At this point, I really have no excuse. I’ve left you on the edge of your seats for weeks now, and your fingernails are probably chewed to bits. Really the only way to punish me would be to discontinue reading my blog, but then, that would really only be punishing yourself, don’t you think?

At a day show in Columbia, SC on the 23rd, Kasey and Chip played with Bess Rogers and Leila Broussard, two female singer/songwriters on tour together from New York and California, and each accompanied by a piano player from Portland. I liked the venue; a narrow, poorly lit basement with art slung on the walls and christmas lights framing the stage. I used to think that an eight dollar cover charge would be enough to convince a person that they’re paying to listen to live music, but at this show I was, alas, shown the light: people love to hear the sound of their own voices so much, that nothing, not even money, will stand in the way of achieving this feat. An interesting show, to say the least, followed by a long night of driving to Chip’s hometown of Raleigh, NC.

The following day, Kasey and i treated ourselves to a movie at what appeared to be an independent theater. I say this because the prices were excruciatingly reasonable. We saw Greenberg, starring Ben Stiller, and sort of liked it. It’s always tough to form a positive opinion about a movie that’s obviously trying to be weird, but Ben Stiller was great in a serious role (believe me?) and the sets were beautiful. You can definitely wait to see it on DVD, though.

That night, Kasey and Chip played at a venue owned by one of Chip’s close friends, and I was told there was a great turn out, though I was unable to attend and see for myself. So far on the trip, I have missed more shows than I am proud to admit, though through no fault of my own. My birthday is “just around the corner”, as my dad has reminded me, though it won’t be here soon enough to admit me in to the many bars left on the tour’s schedule.

On the 25th, the guys had an afternoon show at Sadlack’s , located right across from the North Carolina State University campus, which was gorgeous. It impressed me so much, in fact, that I wondered if some students were shallow enough to attend the college based on its looks. I might’ve.

We drove to Winston-Salem that night for a show at The Garage. Kasey had a few friends who came out, and the general turn out was great. People came up to buy merchandise between sets and asked to borrow markers for Kasey’s autograph. That has been one of the coolest parts of the tour so far for me.

It looked like a great town from what we saw, and Chip told us that the last time he’d played a show in Winston-Salem, none of the buildings surrounding the venue had even existed. On the drive back to Raleigh, we were unable to take the exit we needed due to road construction. Since that night, we have been absolutely defenseless against road construction and its partner in crime, terrible traffic, all along the east coast and across the Midwest.

We drove in to Washington, D.C. at around 4pm the next day and parked the car in an underground lot that looked similar to every other lot within its 20-block radius. This would be important information after we’d been walking around in the rain for two hours, were hungry and needed to get to the venue. It was near I St. and Connecticut. Remember that for us, okay?

Our first stop was the White House, which I’m embarrassed to admit was surprisingly small to me since I’d been under the impression that the president lived in the Capitol building my whole life. Not my top moment, folks.

Our next stop was the Washington Monument. I was noticing how many people were jogging through the area when it began sprinkling outside. As we made our way to the base of the monument in search of a bathroom, it was drizzling out, and Chip, Kasey and I were collectively dressed in two sweatshirts and one pair of flip flops. After locating necessary shelter, I took it upon myself to purchase three ponchos from a gift shop at the monument. Needless to say, we. Looked. Awesome.

We rustled (literally) our way over to the Lincoln Memorial and walked toward it alongside the man-made pond. Inhabited by many creatures, the pond had been assumed a home to a few different families of ducks and their ducklings. One family in particular caught my attention as I was sauntering down the pond nearby their clan. The family had begun moving toward the edge of the pond, in my direction, only a few feet away from where I had just been. I turned to watch as mother, and then father ducks hopped up on to the cement pathway and began waddling toward the grassy lawn. The ducklings all huddled around each other in a frantic manner, as they could no longer see their parents nor any possible way to achieve this comfort again. But what was this? A broken stone where the concrete met had created a sort of cheat for these little ducks, so desperate for the attention of their now missing parents. The first duck tried, but could not reach. The next duck tried, but lost his balance. The third duck tried, and disappeared from his brothers and sisters, then hobbled toward his expressionless parents. Each duck hopped up after what seemed like futile attempts until there were only two left behind in the water. I turned around and saw that Kasey had wandered up the pond without me, but I couldn’t leave yet. There were only two ducks left! They tried and tried again at the crack in the stone, but to no avail. They swam furiously along the wall of the pond to find a way, any way, to reach the top. They swam toward me, and then stopped. They swam back to the crack. They swam to me. I had to go. I never did see what happened to the last two ducks, though I hoped for the best.

Watching this interaction caused me to grin, to feel peaceful, and then to compare its circumstances to my own life. I looked around and felt graced to be on such an adventure, to have my health (not for long, however, since the combination of bare feet and exposure to rain really does lead to a common cold), and to have so much ahead of me to learn. While not knowing what may be on the side opposite my own pond wall, I have a support system in my life that encourages me to forge ahead and at least bluff bravery. I want to take this small moment in time to give special thanks to every person in my life that encourages and believes in me. You know who you are, and you’re great.

The Lincoln Memorial itself was also smaller than I had expected, though I suppose I have only ever seen it against the backdrop of too many children’s movies. I will say that I blessed the rain for this experience, though, since each of the hundreds of tourists surrounding us had umbrellas in different colors and created and image in my mind I doubt I’ll forget. Had it not been raining, I’d have a visual for you as well, but your imagination will have to do for you since my Canon is not waterproof. One of my favorite things to do is people-watch, and I’ve learned through my travels to read a few different expressions. One that is not hard to make sense of is an eager expression on a person’s face, camera in hand but tongue caught in throat. “Would you like me to take a picture for you?” is my favorite question to ask when I’m traveling. Even though I’ll never see this person again, and they’ll never remember who took the photo, the look of relief on their face and the smile they hold while I push down the shutter is a guilty pleasure of mine that I fear I’ll never be rid of. After taking pictures of a few strangers against Lincoln’s great statue, we meandered our way to the Vietnam War Memorial.

As the rain let up, something heavier replaced it. First, we passed by a book of names, sheltered from the rain and weather in laminated form and protected underneath a plate of glass with room enough for your hands to fit and turn the pages. The names in the book were the ones we’d see on the wall, as we walked down and then up again next to a stretch of wet marble slabs bearing the memory of the men lost in the Vietnam War.

Now we’re ready to get back to the car. We’re hungry, we’re wet, we’re tired, and we need to be somewhere. But where did we park the car? We walked back through the area of downtown belonging to the campus of George Washington University, and our ponchos implied that we weren’t heading to class. But our confused faces were what implied that we didn’t know where the car was. Through the cigar-tainted air, we made our way around hundreds of businessmen and women and eventually sighed relief when we located the garage at I St. and Connecticut. Thanks for remembering.

Dinner at Whole Foods was shared quietly in a booth before we drove to The Red and The Black, a venue conveniently located in the middle of a block that was entirely blocked off for construction. I dropped the guys off (since even they got carded) and headed to Chinatown, a part of D.C. where even the Subway sign was in Chinese. I had to buy some time, so I spent it on How to Train Your Dragon. Yes, again, folks. If you haven’t made the time yet to see it, you don’t know what you’re missing. Kids movies are hardly for kids anymore.

We spent the night in Baltimore, MD in a Holiday Inn Express that was located inside of an old bank building. The architecture in the main lobby indicated this fact to be true, and so did the plumbing. Just as we were getting in to bed, I made the mistake of assuming that Baltimore must be a safe city since it’s located so close to the Capitol, and admitting this assumption to Kasey. Silly me though, since according to Kasey it has also been known as Bodymore, Murderland. Sleep tight?

The next afternoon (I’ve been in the habit of skipping mornings when possible), Kasey took me to an edge of town on the water. First we got coffee, then walked around, checked out a comic book shop, took pictures of the Broadway Market, and spotted a hotdog joint. It beckoned me, what can I say?

After hotdogs, we were on a mission. Kasey’s friend David, who we had dinner with in Seattle at the beginning of the tour, had a friend in Baltimore that owned a pie shop called Dangerously Delicious. Though its website advertised many different flavors, only a few were available by slice upon our visit. I will say that I was disappointed in learning this, though not so disappointed about what happened shortly afterwards. Insert your imagination here.

Kasey has a lot of connections, it turns out, and Chip and I were able to benefit from one of them that evening. He knows a beat writer for the New York Yankees, who happened to be in town playing the Orioles since they happened to be meeting the president the day before since they happened to win the World Series last year. And his friend happened to be able to get us some pretty okay seats at this very decent stadium. Besides searching for a pretzel for 25 minutes, the freezing temperature outside, the Yankee’s loss that night and leaving the game early, the game was perfect. Kasey took this great photo from our great seats and then we headed to the Golden West for a show with Peter Schmader, whom I would soon learn was one of the nicest human beings alive.

We arrived a little after nine and were immediately introduced to Peter, who would be opening for Chip and Kasey. While we waited for a couple to finish their dinner on what would be the stage for the show, Peter told us about himself and what it meant to him for Kasey to be playing a show that night. While I won’t divulge personal details, I will say that it had been a while since Peter had played, and though nervous and out of practice, he played magnificently. Accompanied by a second man on a second yellow electric guitar, Peter sang a handful of cover tunes in a gruff and modest voice and to the total satisfaction of his audience. It was a great venue, and a great pleasure to meet Peter.

The next day was my day. This was the day I had been looking forward to for a majority of the trip. I began by sending a text message to my family, warning that if they heard from a hospital about heart attack I’d just suffered, that it was okay, and that I was happy. We were heading to Philadelphia, PA, home of the Philly cheese steak sandwich.

While in Hot Springs, AR, Kasey and I watched a television program on the travel channel that hosted the 101 best places to eat in America. Tied for the same spot, I learned that Pat’s and Geno’s were two competing businesses located right across the street from each other in South Philly, and apparently they both had the best Philly cheese steak sandwich. I would test this, I decided. And test this I did. I bought a sandwich from Pat’s, and Kasey hid around the corner with my sandwich as I ran across the street to Geno’s and repeated the transaction. “One Philly cheese steak with onions, please,” I would request of who I assumed were Pat and Geno, and each in response “Here you go, sweetheart.” Eat your heart out.

After a thorough analysis of each sandwich, I decided that indeed, they did deserve the same recognition. While Pat’s cheese was more to my liking, I determined that the longer it was taking me to eat the sandwiches, the better Geno’s was lasting. I couldn’t finish the sandwiches for fear that I would keel over and die, but die I might has well have because those sandwiches really hit the spot.

We dropped Chip off at the train station so he could meet his lady friend Kori, and parked the car near the venue that night, The Tin Angel. We walked around the neighborhood and saw the Liberty Bell, Kasey had a slice of pizza from a brick oven pizzeria, and we headed in to the venue. Still feeling undernourished and with time to spare before the show, Kasey and I walked ourselves right in to a date. We had dinner at the restaurant below the venue, and Kasey ordered chicken potpie while I dared to try the chilled strawberry ginger soup. Despite having eaten not long ago, our dinner was amazing, and the date was nice, too.

Kasey and Chip each played a forty-five minute set, I sold a few CDs, and we headed to New York.

The morning of the 29th, we woke up, had breakfast and headed out to the Museum of Natural History. After fighting our way in to one too many kid-crowded elevators and seeing all that we came to see, we headed in to Central Park only to head right back out again toward Grimaldi’s Pizza in Brooklyn. I won’t say that the waft of the freshly baked pizza is what drew us there, since it was too far away for that to be physically possible, but it might as well have been.

A line forms on the sidewalk outside of the restaurant that is intended only to seat 50 and yet has 75 crammed inside. A man appears at the door to the restaurant long enough to call out a number also indicated on his fingers, and then shuffles the corresponding number of people from the line inside. He’s gone. Again he appears, and this process repeats itself three more times until we are the people shuffled inside by the man. Seated next to people on either side, Kasey and I feel inclined to figure out what we want quickly so that we too can be eating what everyone around us is so obviously enjoying. First though, two cokes. Kasey is sitting across from me and in front of tubs of freshly sliced vegetables in front of men twirling pizza dough. The lines for the bathroom stretch around the corner and toward our table, and people are shouting. Each of the four people sitting beside us is using their cell phones, and it’s obvious that the rest of our fellow diners are tourists or on their lunch breaks. Our pizza comes minutes after we’ve ordered it, and disappears even quicker. Thin, Italian-style crust and freshly melted mozzarella encompass salty olives, fresh mushrooms and curled pepperoni. The Italian waiters are rushing around us in a flurry as a calzone is delivered to our most immediate neighbors and the last drops of our cokes vanish like our pizza.

Outside of Grimaldi’s and underneath the Brooklyn Bridge, I hailed my first cab. While to some this may seem like a silly ritual, it was a great achievement to me; one that would mark the beginning of my newfound love for New York City. “Corner of 11th and Bleecker,” I said, instructing the man to take us to Magnolia Bakery.

Kasey and I squeezed our way in to and out of the crowded bakery with two cupcakes each. We spotted a bench at a park across the street and between what pigeons left behind, shamefully stuffed our faces with the frosted treats.

Walking down Bleecker Street is tough to do if your intention is not to spend money or eat food. We happened across a bakery that had strawberry rhubarb chess pie sitting in the window and mocking us in our cupcake-stuffed state. We walked past Bleecker Street Pizza whose aroma tickled the hairs in our noses as we trudged on, unable to think of eating another slice of, well, anything. How could we even look at food, you’re probably wondering. I’ll let you know when I’ve figured it out.

A mere two days later we needed to feed our baseball addiction, and so the Yankee Stadium called our names and we listened. We arrived late and the Yankees were losing to the White Sox by three runs. Around the sixth inning, however, they had caught up and were leading with one run. When they gave it up in the very next inning, we decided to cut our losses and head back to the hotel just in time to get stuck in a subway car. After a delayed trip back to the hotel, we cleaned up and headed out to Kasey’s show. First though, we were going to eat at Five Napkin Burger.

En route to the restaurant and six blocks from our destination, our cab was stopped behind ten or so cars that were blocked from entering the intersection at West 45th St. and 7th by two police officers on horseback. Kasey paid the cabbie and we decided to walk from there. As we approached the intersection and fought our way through the crowd, we overheard one of the police officers saying, “keep moving people, you don’t want to be around when this car explodes.” Kasey and I looked at each other and made confused faces but we had somewhere to be, so we just kept walking. It wasn’t until after we got back to the hotel room that night that Kasey’s friend Josh had sent a message telling him to turn on the news that we learned that there were actually explosive devices in the car and had it been properly detonated, there would have been casualties.

Though burger is in the name, I had eaten at this restaurant before and knew for a fact that their five napkin dog was the best hot dog I’d ever had. Since I knew of places in the NW where I could get a good burger, I ordered the hot dog again. There was a bit of a mix up in the ordering process, so the toppings came on the side. This was easily amended, however. By my appetite.

Eric “Roscoe” Ambel produced three of Kasey’s albums, and owns the bar that he and Chip and Roscoe played at that night, The Lakeside Lounge. Before heading to the bar though, we stopped at Roscoe’s so he and Kasey could practice a couple of songs before the show. In October 2009, Kasey, Chip and Roscoe played a show together with a stand-in drummer and bass guitar player and took turns alternating songs. It went well, since they had practiced, so they thought they’d try it again tonight. Though the venue was small, the crowd was not, and even unrehearsed sounded great. The guys played a full set, took off their instruments and began to put them away, but the crowd insisted that they keep playing. One more song was all they cranked out, but it had a lot more to do with noise control than anything else. I’d never seen Kasey play with a band before, and it was a lot of fun to watch. They sounded great together, and my ears were ringing when they were done.

Outside after the show, I met Justin Townes Earle and his fiancé, who came out to see Kasey play.

Albany was our stop the next night, and Kasey and Chip’s last show together. The venue, Valentine’s, was located right next to a Laundromat. Little do you know, I’d been waiting for this moment the whole trip. It’s the littlest things in life that can really take a load off. 85 pound loads for just eight dollars!

The following day, Kasey had canceled a show in Pittsburgh, and so we drove first to Niagara Falls, and then to Erie, PA to stay in a hotel on the lake. It was a nice day off.

I’m only a couple of days behind now, but my next post will be more prompt. Or it won’t. But if you’ve read this far, you’re probably hooked by now, no matter what. Am I right?