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On my way to Charlottesville, Virginia, I saw a sign for “Miller School” and urgently exited the freeway to check it out. It became a, sort of, treasure-map egg-hunt, and I kept getting further off the beaten path, following my own made-up detour compass and getting lost in the countryside. I finally found it… Miller School… pulled through the gates and up the winding road and the hill that led to the school… just a tiny, private school, buried in the quiet forest, tucked in amongst the tall trees.

In a clearing further up the hill, it seemed like bolts of sunlight were cutting through the clouds and shooting down a double rainbow… there it was… a proud and majestic row of busses, all lined up next to each other… a fleet of “Miller School” busses… short busses…. eureka!!

I got out of my car and just stood there with a giant grin on my face… I had found the Holy Grail…. I imagined an entire tour on one of those busses….. rolling into each town like the Partridge Family…. people applauding along the roadsides, waving and holding baskets of fruit and freshly baked food. An unrehearsed, all-volunteer Legion band (with horns and tuba) would be playing a hero’s homecoming theme song… everyone would be cheering and welcoming and throwing ticker tape confetti at the slow moving spectacle, like the circus was coming to town…

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West Virginia
As I pulled in to Oakland, WV (a small town next to Thomas), I was coasting down a long hill, and a tiny Volvo pulled out into the road, going about half my speed…. I couldn’t believe the nerve and rude disregard, and I almost smashed her from behind… I slammed a heavy-handed, California-righteous-indignation-horn-blast as I swerved and dodged to the right, narrowly missing her…

After a couple minutes of therapeutic green-tree driving, my nerves had calmed down and I had forgiven her of all her trespasses. I was letting bygones be bygones, enjoying the free nature, when I saw the flashing red and blue lights in my rearview mirror… ugh… I wasn’t sure why I was getting pulled over, but all the soon-to-be ramifications and outcomes were racing through my head…. how much money was this ticket going to cost…. how would this effect the bottom line of the tour… how many albums would I have to sell to make up for the loss…

While I was doing the math, the police officer approached my window…

Officer: “Do you realize you passed that car back there on the right side?”

Michael: “Yes, sir. I did not want to crash into the oncoming traffic, sir.”

Officer: “If you hadn’t been SPEEDING, you wouldn’t have had to worry about that. You were going 50 in a 40 mph zone.” and he walked back to his car with my license and registration….

I could see in my mirror, another police car had come up behind, and the second officer got out and joined him at his car.

10 minutes later he came back to my window.

Officer: “What are you doing here in town, where are you headed?”

Michael: “I am going to Thomas, sir… to play a concert.”
motioning with my hands, like I was strumming guitar…

Officer: “Oh, you’re playing at the Purple Fiddle?”

Michael: “Yes, sir.”

Officer: “Ah, are you a folk singer?”

In that split second, I had a flash of a dilemma…. and wondered what the correct answer was supposed to be…. Am I a folk singer? “Hell NO! How dare you!” Am I a folk singer? “Hell, yes! Now kiss my pinky ring.”

But then it hit me… right there… right in that moment… a personal revelation like a bright light, Pualine conversion. It didn’t matter what he wanted to hear… I thought, “Hmm, I guess, I am… I am a vagabond, troubadour folk singer…” and with the inspired conviction of a first-time visitor at an AA meeting, I decided to go all in, own it, and let the chips fall where they may…

Michael: “Yes, sir…. I *AM* a folk singer…”

He paused… kept chewing the inside of his cheek… and slowly looked back towards his car… then leaned in a little closer and peaked up over his sunglasses…

Officer: “Well, I’m going to give you a warning this time.” He scribbled a little on his pad, and handed me a “warning” ticket. “You have yourself a good show tonight, and watch your speed.”

I might have been a little delirious from the sudden release of all the bottled up, steam-pressure stress, combined with a day’s worth of driving… but as I drove off, all my turrets syndrome happiness exploded and I sang with giddy glee the entire rest of the way to the show…

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I become more aware and sensitive when I am traveling for such lengthy periods… more introspective… more contemplative… the steady isolation of driving such long stretches, day after day, far away from home, gives you plenty of time to think about the littlest things…. I’ve been out for nearly 8 weeks now… and I can feel the constant weight on my heart.

Being transitory is hard work… every place I leave behind is a fresh heavy heartache… making new friends or hanging out with old friends…. there’s always an urgent and accelerated, deep soul mining because you know you don’t have much time together… then you have to abruptly cut off and leave… like ripping off a band-aid, over and over… the heart aches and begs for something longer lasting, more permanent, more stationary… only to keep getting interrupted and uprooted and shaken and pushed on… perhaps it’s just the downside or casualty of being an astronaut explorer…

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New York City
Today I walked. and walked. and walked.
got about two week’s worth of cardio in one day… after playing 13 days straight with no break, it was fantastic just to not be in the car driving somewhere… I hiked all the way down to Central Park to find Joe and his easel and brushes, capturing real life in Sheep Meadow…. it’s inspiring to see Joe so devoted and driven, he comes out here to paint with a couple artists each week…

After they decided they were finished, or that the sun and good light was gone for the day, we went to lunch with his painting buddies at a divey diner on 73rd where they chatted and obsessed and exhaled all about their art universe…. I always get a semester’s worth of education hanging out with Joe… his renaissance ways have filled him up with an eternity of life and culture and art… of which he unselfishly and generously pays it forward. trying to explain and answer all my elementary queries that come pouring out of me.

After lunch everyone scattered and went their own way, and I continued on my adventure walk… saw the Dakota House facing the park… pretty uneventful, but I had to see it… I kind of knew it was coming, but I was still pleasantly charmed by the fanaticals playing Beatles songs in Strawberry Fields in the park… I expected, and even hoped, to see sidewalk shrines of candles and flowers for John Lennon, but there was none of that… just a uniformed guard (who was not born yet when Lennon was gunned down) standing watch in front of the metal gates, protecting the building… I felt a little guilty and dirty giving in to my voyeuristic curiosity as I came up on the place…. but at the same time, felt it my duty…. my studious obligation… and spiritual pilgrimage…

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Pittsburgh…. a couple drunken lesbians sat in the front row tonight… they were deeply in love, but they were fighting and by my third song, they broke up… one stormed away… however, by the fifth song, she came back and they made up… and made out… so tender and sweet… getting to be the soundtrack of their lives and to watch the emotional rollercoaster lifespan of their relationship unfold and play itself out… to my songs…
thank you, Pittsburgh…

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Wisconsin… getting to stay with my soul friends, John and Karen… and Rusty the dog… we went on a nature walk through the woods and down dirt roads, past grain silos and shaved corn fields, on golden pond, on up to neighbor Dan’s and into the hills and forest…. everything moves at a slower pace here. Slow enough that every little detail can be noticed. How a particular flower is blooming a week earlier than last year. How different birds sing their songs. Why the giant snapper turtles fight each other (and why you should never stick your finger near them). Knowing the history of the land and how the glaciers pushed through and had their way 10,000 years ago to make the valleys and swamp lowlands. Once we made it to the top of the ridge, we sat on a bench in a clearing where Indians used to hang out thousands of years ago. I could see across the entire valley and let myself get hypnotized.

Wisconsin Trees

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SxSW… I arrived just in time to catch Robert Deeble and his songs, then jumped up to play. After I finished my set, Steve Poltz played his super happy uplifting songs, then came over and bought one of my tour shirts. He stripped down right in front of everyone, re-dressed with my shirt, and became even happier than he already was.

Steve Poltz getting it on at SXSW
Later, went out to goof off with Robert, mill the streets, take in all the chaos and happily experience the mayhem without having to worry about being somewhere… we saw some awesome shredding guitar bands… saw love hungry people giving away free hugs… saw so many bands… all coming to the promised land… all with hopes and dreams… my ears got beat up so fast and it didn’t really matter who was playing…. it all started sounding like a big blanket of noise… I just wanted to get out of town and get to Dallas…

HeitMiller Steakhouse

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I stopped outside of Provo, Utah to fill up for gas… pumped and went inside… As I handed my money to the clerk behind the counter, I asked her a couple polite questions about the area, and made some courteous, small talk. She counted my change back as we chatted some more and seemed curiously touched by our banal conversation, or at least, extra friendly or unduly charmed. I headed for the exit while we continued to exchange niceties, and just as I was reaching for the door, she gentle-heartedly asked with a giant, hopeful smile on her face, “Excuse me, are you from England?”

I said, “Wha?”

She repeated, “England, are you from England? You have an interesting accent.”

A few seconds of incredulous silence passed as I tried to maintain my composure… I think I bit my lip a little while my eyebrow uncontrollably raised, the way Spock would do it… then finally replied,

“Bloody hell, no, I’m from Los Angeles!”

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Beth and I did a radio interview today in downtown Sacramento… fine enough…. after a couple segments, some questions to and fro, during one of the breaks (while DJ Mike played a song from the album), we went off air and Beth and Rob asked me, “Seriously, what is that song about?” I told them how I had never explained this particular song, ever, to anyone… but, OFF THE RECORD, I would tell them… and made them swear with their pinkies and their lifelong allegiance to silence and secrecy…

I then went on to tell them in detail the amazing, naked truth and meaning behind the song, the specific life incident, something so juicy and traumatic.

Thirty seconds before we went back on the air, DJ Mike came back in to settle into his seat, with a rosy, tinted face, literally red… “Um, Michael…. I don’t know how to tell you this….. but… your mic has been on this WHOLE time… everything you were saying was going out on the air…”

??!!

I thought he was pulling my leg and playing a horrific joke on me, as we had just discussed earlier in the interview that my birthday was on April Fools Day…

After repeating his apology 5 or 6 times, trying to convince me he was not joking, it finally sunk in and my stomach dropped out from under me and I had to swallow the giant watermelon in my throat… and immediately get back on air to finish the interview…

As soon as the show ended, I listened to the recorded broadcast with headphones and burning ears… yes, several things could be heard… we cut the song from the podcast and re-inserted a “clean” version for the archives…

Lesson learned… never be naked and tell your darkest secrets with a microphone in your face…