oh dear

official hotel of the NFL

the courtyard marriott we're staying in is hosting a "tailgate party" in the lobby tonight for the falcons-saints game and steve bartkowski is going to be there. steve bartkowski was the quarterback for the atlanta falcons when i was a child, and his name is one of dozens (hundreds?) from my pre-fully-conscious days that swim around in the inky depths of my memory. one time my old band diskothiQ rode up to santa barbara with the dudes from further to play some shows together and we must've spent a solid hour calling out names of now-obscure '70s football players to each other, the heroes of our youth, or at least faces we knew from long-forgotten topps cards. ray guy! garo yepremium! pat haden! steve bartkowski was one, definitely. i distinctly remember watching a monday night game that pitted his falcons against the philadelphia eagles of ron jaworski, now familiar as a commentator. they dubbed it "the pole bowl," har har.

anyway such are the ironies of touring life that of course we won't be able to meet steve bartkowski because we're playing a show tonight, but if we weren't playing a show here tonight we wouldn't be here to begin with and so wouldn't be meeting steve bartkowski anyway. i'm not sure what i would say to steve bartkowski if i did meet him. hey, how's it going. remember the pole bowl?

oh dear

hotel, iowa city

hey everybody

so i've been thinking a little about why keeping a tour diary has become problematic. one reason is we've been touring for ten years and you start to feel like you're just repeating yourself. another is that it's really only fun to write about stuff you want to bitch about but it's gotten to the point after ten years that the shit we bitch about is so hugely outweighed by the extraordinary privilege we enjoy -- we fucking play music. for a living. -- that you just feel like a dick even bringing it up. on the other hand no one wants to read you just gloating about how awesome your life is either, which is essentially what's left after you strip away all the petty bitching.

so what you're left with is hey, great show. good crowd. tough sound. great sound. long drive. how bout that election. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

there is of course the other tack which is to get all introspective but and maybe this is me betraying my age here i just don't have much interest in being introspective in public these days. maybe having a family has something to do with it, maybe our public being more public now, maybe the fact that i'm mostly bored by my own introspection and hardly feel like it merits sharing. i don't really do social media. i have a tumblr where i follow a bunch of twenty-year-old communists i've never met. does lj even count as social media anymore?

anyway whooooo tour! we've had ups. we've had downs. we make music with our friends for a living. soon we'll be home. then we'll be on tour again. repeat. life.
oh dear

nice business hotel outside boston

four sold-out shows in new york, two in williamsburg, two at the bowery. remarkably low-effort for four days in NYC. staying in brooklyn the whole time and not needing to venture any further into manhattan helped. good shows all of them.

last night here in boston though was fucking peak. like top five best shows ever peak.

getting so emo onstage these days, not sure where it's coming from, my days are all even-keel contentment.

today to ithaca, first of the shit drives. bleh.
oh dear

hotel by the big bridge, philadelphia

ffs woke up at nine after going to bed at three/falling asleep at four. at some point this has to stop. me and trudy went out for a postshow drink with our old rochester friend mary who spent the last year playing harp for thurston moore and tours with daughn gibson now. it was fun until we got vampired by an amish-hating drunk.

band field trip to see rush tonight. not joking.