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I used to get super nostalgic whenever I inhaled secondhand smoke. For whatever reason, the memory and taste of Paris would come to my lips any time I got the faintest whiff or hint of a cigarette… I am afraid all the romance has now been flushed away… or smoked out of my system… I can’t seem to walk or sit or stand anywhere in all of Italy without someone kindly sharing his or her cigarette or cigar. It seems to be mandatory for all ages, all sexes, all places… everyone has to smoke… and I must be wearing a giant dunce cap with a neon sign arrow pointing down at me, calling for all smokers to fill my air up with their generous smoke…

Which is why it has become necessary that I create two important inventions… a perfect remedy for all future travels, and perhaps my ticket out of the ghetto… Ladies and gentlemen, I give you… “The Stealth Wind” and “The Anti-Whiffer”…

THE STEALTH WIND
The Stealth Wind is inspired by, and pays tribute to, the flower-lapel-squirter… one of the greatest beloved treasure gags known to all circus clowns since the beginning of time. But instead of squirting water from the lapel or handkerchief pocket of your jacket, you attach the flower to the lower back side of your coat, and squirt a mist of rotten egg scent. Anytime an uninvited smoker insists on lighting up, simply turn your back on him or her, and re-claim your air space with a couple misty squirts.

THE ANTI-WHIFFER
The Anti-Whiffer is a little more subtle and less invasive… it is a miniature fan in a ring. You can wear it on either hand, any finger. Once the ring is turned on, hold your hand with the ring up to your mouth (like you would cover your mouth before sneezing) and let the ring blow all air away from your nose and mouth area. This is also an anti-germ device, so you could walk around with the ring turned on all the time, pretend to be scratching the bridge of your nose, fake a cough, or hold your fingertips to your lips as if you’re having a genius brainstorm or deep, contemplative thought… and let The Anti-Whiffer do the rest…

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I was about 7 or 8 years old when someone (I can’t remember who) told me an amazing fact… about how people in Italy, if they were upset with another person, would tell off that person or express disdain or dissatisfaction using a simple hand-arm gesture. I think it took several, repeated, step-by-step demonstrations, but I was fascinated and intrigued. A strange foreign people in a strange foreign land, making strange foreign hand signals… I was giddy and excited! I thought I had learned some kind of elite, secret code or magical language… naturally, I HAD to try it out…

Later, I was playing alone in our open, empty carless garage, when I spotted Paul Ghiacketti, a neighbor kid, walking towards our end of the street. He was 5 or 6 years older – which is a giant lifetime and huge generation gap to a kid… and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to try out this secret, mysterious language.

I straightened my arm… cocked and loaded it like a giant catapult… and like a sniper assassin, waited for the perfect moment when he would appear directly in front of the driveway.

“Hey, P-a-a-a-a-u-u-u-l-l-l!!”
He turned, I clinched my right fist, carefully reached over with my left hand and grabbed the inside area of my right arm’s elbow, and just like I had learned, released the catapult and swung my fist toward me with the conviction and flair of a true Italian.

He stopped. We both stared at each other for a few seconds… long enough to make me wonder if I had done it correctly. Or maybe it was indeed so secret he had no idea what I was trying…

Suddenly, without saying a word, he came bolting at me at breakneck speed like a crazed banshee, tackled me to the ground, pinned me on my back, and began whipping the tar out of me.

In between the flurry of punches, (and over my tears) he explained the true definition of this Italian gesture and how I should never do it ever again.

I never did it again.

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It’s easy to get so overwhelmed here and feel as insignificant as an ant in the history of the world. A passing flutter of an eyelash… the blink of an eye… and then you’re gone… nothing left… except maybe a few ideas or memories in the hearts of your dearest friends and family that will disolve and disappear and never be known after they’re gone… So it’s here and now. So little time to make every moment its best. Then I forget and act like I am going to live forever… until I remember again about us being ants in time…

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Monster Shooting Gallery
Monster Shooting Gallery
My greatest, happiest moments these days are spending quality time with my niece and nephews. From sun up to sundown, each day blazes past in a lightning flash flurry, as we lose track of all time and space and exhaust ourselves with games, and crafts, and bike ride caravans, and spontaneous homemade stories… today we made monster cutout stand-ups for our own carnival shooting gallery… to kill and blow away with Nerf rifles and save Earth and the universe… Later, I got to re-arrange and re-imagine Barbie’s home life and party-house cocktail hour with my niece…

Cocktail Hour
Cocktail Hour

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My sister is a real-life super hero…. one of the few, the proud, the under-appreciated… she is fighting on the front lines as a fourth grade school teacher…. I am constantly in awe of her infinite, impossible kindness and bulletproof patience and stamina… it is truly a wondrous sight to behold. Today, I got a tiny peek into her frazzling, chaotic world for one short afternoon.

This week, she is teaching her class about entrepreneurialism… and invited me to visit her classroom as a guest speaker, to give the kids an inspirational TED talk about music and art and how one can make a living doing what he loves to do… and I was happily prepared to give the “if you can dream it, you can do it” speech…

Once I arrived at her school, I passed through the security checkpoint and peeled off the layers of cautious eyeballs in the front office, then was led through the campus by my personal, 4th grade student escort… It felt strange at first… to invade this private little universe… like I was stomping and traipsing through someone’s perfect, precious garden… at the same time, I was distracted and overcome by how small and undersized everything was. Like everything in life, I guess… until you live through it, the immediate world you’re in seems super huge… until you get far away… or older… or grown…

As I first entered the classroom, all the kids turned around in their seats and broke out into a tiny-handed swell of applause… so polite and excited and well-behaved…

I gave my inspirational speech and life story, then opened up the floor to let the kids ask questions… important questions that I could answer and profoundly effect their lives forever…

“Do you know Michael Jackson?”
“Do you know Lady Gaga?”
“Do you know President Obama?”
(when I answered ‘no’ to this, much of the class groaned with disheartened disappointment)
“Who’s the most famous person you’ve ever met?”
“Is it true that all musicians are undependable?”
“Why does your voice sound weird?”
“What was your first inspiration to start playing music?”
“When do you go to sleep?”
“Do you know any magic tricks?”

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Twenty five years ago or so, I was flying on a plane from New York to California. An amazing woman, Vella, was sitting next to me and we talked and chatted the entire flight. I never saw her again, but we remained fervent pen pals… for 25 years. Every Christmas and every birthday, we faithfully sent each other cards and pictures… along with handwritten letters throughout each year. I practically knew everything about her family and kids and grandchildren and all of their lives.

A couple years ago I stopped getting them… and worried that something was wrong. This past year, I received a letter from one of her daughters, sharing with me all the sad news and heartbreak. Indeed, Vella had passed away. She told me how I was like a part of their family, that they all felt like they knew me and loved seeing all the cards and letters all these years.

Last night, the daughters came to the show in Logan. We went to dinner beforehand, and told stories and had a beautiful time. During the show, I sang “Million Lonely People” and dedicated it to Vella. I had a difficult time getting through it without choking up. I know Vella must have been looking down on us and probably was singing along, too.
Goodnight, Vella.

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After a raucous, barn-burner show last night at The Bouquet in Boise, Idaho, Tyson took us out to an early breakfast, before spending the whole day recording us in a day-long session. I swear, Tyson always treats me like a king every time I come through… such goodness and kindness…

Cydney was giddy with delight and bursting at the seams like a freshly squeezed Twinkie to be playing the organ. Her first-ever organ session, dear diary….

We then dashed off to play a long night’s show in Twin Falls… Afterwards, instead of crashing at a local hotel, we decided to drive on to Logan (in Utah). We covered so much territory in one day… sometimes it feels good to keep moving and jump in the car and pedal for a few hours after a crazy jam-packed day… de-stressing… decompressing… unwinding… and getting free from all the buildings and neon signs… back into nature and the great wide, open sprawl…

Utah is quite cold, as it turns out… especially at 3am… especially to Southern Californians… and this is supposed to be the sweet weather, hovering in the lower 30’s, before the winter hits…

After all the rigmarole of checking in to the hotel, dragging ourselves back and forth to the freezing room to unload the car, settling in and settling down, I finally crashed into bed around 4am…

Just before checkout time in the morning, I slowly awoke, and felt a blistering heat wave smashing down on my face… a smothering hell-fire blanket choking and gagging me… felt like I was going to break out in a nose bleed over my now freshly-baked and scorched, chapped lips…. apparently, the thermostat was broken and the room was now a sweltering 99 degrees…

As we gasped and clutched for the door, practically having to crawl on our hands and knees below the flames, we both shot out like an exploding pressure cooker was kicking us in the back… as if we were running out of a burning building… laughing at how lucky we were to be alive…

Lucky it wasn’t the stove or a running car left on all night…. lucky we didn’t die in our sleep… lucky.

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kung fu
During these long marathon drives between towns, Cydney has been entertaining us with poetic and heartfelt readings from UrbanDictionary.com… her enthusiastic and super-charged interpretations make it dangerous to drive while we’re both crying and sobbing tears of gut-wrenching happiness…

I decided we had to make a game out of it… we pick a new word every day out of the Urban Dictionary and then we each have to stealthily insert it somewhere during the show. It could be in the middle of a story between songs, it could be sung as a lyric in a song… anywhere, so long as it is spoken or sung or used during each of our sets. Sometimes it’s nasty ghetto slang, or something completely vile and utterly disgusting.

The rule is, nobody in the audience can know about it. It has to be delivered with a straight face, without calling any attention to it. The only tip off to innocent bystanders, really, is when either of us are sitting in the audience listening, and break out in hysterical laughter (seemingly for no reason), as the sneaky treasure gets released into the air… like a stealth-bomber dropping the perfect ninja bomb.

It has become quite hilarious and ridiculous and a high point of each night… After the show, we congratulate each other with a high five and bow… like two sparring, kung-fu Jedi knights… recalling each other’s artful skill with genuine admiration and mutual awe and respect of how the word was slipped in.