Reality Doesn’t Impress Me – A New Road
A lot of times we lose ourselves on the road only to rediscover the new self that the road has helped us become.
“I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn’t impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.”
~Anais Nin
I leave for New Orleans, LA at 5:30am. First by car to the bus station. Then a bus to the airport. Then to IAD then to New Orleans.
I can never really sleep before the night I embark upon another shift – another jaunt where I throw what I have over my shoulder and take to the road. The world is brimming with enegy, my mind dances on the edge of things and keeps me from pause.
Vagabonding is a thrilling, arduous, and exhilarating experience in the density of life. Having to live each moment from a place of mindfulness –of the self, of the world, of the lack of distinction between the two– otherwise you fall out of place and are swept away.
The act of moving places renews my creativity. Maybe it’s the surge of endorphins from approaching the unknown or the thrill of doing what so few people are willing to or maybe I just need to be in motion through the world.
Time to move through the world again.
Vagabond Tales and What You Read
So I’ve been wondering what you have really enjoyed reading about in my travels and what sort of stories should I continue to tell.
For a while I wrote quite detailed summaries of almost each and everyday of my travels but that can get quite tiring from my own perspective and I don’t even know if you are really interested in reading about it.
Lately I’ve been thinking of a few different formats for my travelogue posts.
Travel Exploits
These are the ridiculous tales from the road, whether it’s a 22 hour bus ride from Atlanta to Austin, my first day in Seattle where I never came home, or riding a horse for the first time. These are the highlights and the hijinx on the road.
City Reviews
Overall reviews and descriptions of the cities I’ve been visiting. Particular highlights and things to do in the city when you visit and maybe a rating system of some sort.
Cafe & Restaurant Reviews
This is where I write about the various venues of food I visit as I travel. I love food and I really enjoy writing about my experiences with it. They’ll highlight service, menu, price, etc. and I’ll give you a breakdown of things you really want to try when you get there.
Business Reviews
I detailed Lash’s Place recently as an example of an outstanding business that I’ve come upon in my travels. These could be anything from people I’ve come upon who have businesses that resonate with me to services that I think are useful for the vagabond life.
Vagabond Vistas
Landmarks, vistas, and tourist-like things that stand out in the places I visit. Short and hopefully media rich (when I get a camera).
Life on the Road
More philosophical and introspective discussion about living on the road, out of a suitcase, and how to deal with the lows and highs of a vagabond life.
Which ones have appealed to you in the past?
What would you want to read about in the future?
What kind of travel writing do you enjoy?
Do you enjoy more pictures in the posts?
Please let me know. Post your favorite posts in the comments and answer the above questions.
The Death of a Suitcase
Alas 6 months into my vagabonding trip my trusty Jaguar rolling garment bag has met it’s end.
It has seen over 19 cities and town in the U.S. in just the last 6 months not counting numerous layovers on buses, planes and trains. It has crossed the U.S. coast to coast 5 times logging around 20,000 miles of travel on top of intermittent use in prior years on various dance weekends.
While it has weathered the road well it just hasn’t stood the test of continuous abuse that long term travel puts on objects. I mean the bag is probably older than I am considering it was borrowed from my parents. The fabric is starting to tear and is worn in a number of places, zippers don’t close, and the final straw was the handle snapping my last night in New York City.
Since then I’ve carried the 40+ pounds to Seattle and now down to San Francisco and it’s time for a new bag. I’ve settled on this bag by Victorinox. The 22″ E-Motion 4.0 Trek Pack Plus recommended by world travelers like Tim Ferriss for it’s durability, functionality and ability to be carried on planes. It can be wheeled around, converted into a backpack or split into a regular pack and a daypack.
Not only is this bag exceptional but it will force me to downsize more. This is not only the death of a suitcase but the death of excess. I will be moving from many items that I don’t necessarily need to only those things that are truly necessary.
I will be undertaking the 100 items challenge. The goal to cut down all of my possessions to 100 things or less if I’m not already there. If I’m already there I’ll let you know but I’m not certain I am.
If I were just a vagabond I think this would be easier. I would afford myself only the simplest of clothing but being a lindy hop instructor I do on occasion need a few items of formal wear. Add to that the three pairs of shoes I carry for dancing (Keds, Florsheim dress shoes, and tap shoes) and the weight of being a dance instructor adds up quickly.
So as both a birthday present to myself and from my parents I’m buying it. If you feel like chipping in I’ll do my best to visit you in my travels and if you want I’ll give you a half hour private lesson in Lindy Hop no charge except for your donation.
San Francisco to Minneapolis to Atlanta (5/1 – 5/10)
It’s been a flurry of travel these past couple weeks. The 1st of May I flew from SF to Minneapolis for Midwest Lindy Fest. I flew overnight on Sun Country – an airline that only flies in and out of Minneapolis and arrived at 5am Central Time (it was 3am Pacific Time for me). I trucked my luggage across a parking lot to the light rail which shuttled me across the city to the Warehouse District. Andrew picked me up and I proceeded to sleep for half the day.
I got up, grabbed some coffee, found out Jo wasn’t going to get in until after rehearsal for the show. We hadn’t practiced or even run our routine since Lindy Focus and we had hoped for an afternoon to drill it back into our heads. Instead we got about an hour in between changing, eating and rushing to the venue.
Thankfully Davis and I had time to practice our Do No Evil routine which went off quite well. Despite being short the lighting and costuming (thanks for the shirt Peter) fit perfectly and it’s our goal to finish it and perform it again.
I haven’t been part of a full scale show that has felt this professional in a while. Competition performance is an entirely different affair than putting on a show. In a show it’s not just about which tricks you perform or how complex your routine or how bad-ass you look (although that helps) it’s about taking the audience with you on your story.
And it’s all pieced together by the M.C. – this one did an exceptional job. I forget his name… A something.
It’s a rare experience to get to work on a show with such exceptional characters like Stefan & Bethany, Falty & Casey, Adam, and many more. Some of them have a lot of show experience and some have very little (me) but the encouragement and professionalism more experienced performers exhibit draws the rest of the performers in.
Anyways, Midwest Lindy Fest was a blast. One of the best small events I’ve been to in a while and I haven’t danced that hard for months. The bands were killer (particularly the Southside Aces) and we even got a late night jam going Saturday night where Robert Bell joined us for a bit.
I got to spend Monday mostly on my own as Andrew worked late. I spent about 8 hours in Espresso Royale, a cafe about a block down from the apartment. It entertains me when I see two shifts of staff come in and out of an establishment. If you are ever in Minneapolis I recommend trying the breve latte. Deliciously sweet and seductive.
I went out in the evening to Famous Dave’s BBQ for dinner (at around 10pm) and to see the band there with a couple dancers. The band was playing Rockabilly – poorly – and I think they should have stuck to the bluegrass country sound they played well. As for Famous Dave’s… I recommend the happy hour appetizers (2$ for nearly any appetizer) and their ribs were pretty good, I’ve yet to find a place that truly tops Dinosaur BBQ in Rochester, NY though.
Tuesday I flew out to Atlanta in the afternoon. I had the opportunity to be driven by Clay Collins, one of my favorite internet people. He used to run a successful lifestyle design blog but abandoned it when he didn’t feel it fit him anymore. Instead he created Finance Your Freedom and Project Mojave just launched today. It’s a project with an excellent array of faculty to help you create an online business to free you from the burdens of a typical job.
Enough proselytizing. Clay was kind enough to meet up and drive me to the airport and I’m bummed we didn’t have the chance to sit down for a proper drink and chat. We talked the entire way to the airport, asking questions, talking about business, and the life paths we had chosen (why we lived where we did – or in my case out of a suitcase). It’s always great to meet someone who has that curiousity. I look forward to our next meeting.
Best compliment he gave me (to gloat a moment): “you’re the real deal.”
Minneapolis, MN – Lost and Found (5/4)
Yesterday somebody asked me how I defined home. What did I think of in terms of home.
There are the simple silly answers. Home is where the heart is. Home is where my suitcase is. Home is with my friends.
None of these truly capture the essence of a home. Really I haven’t had a home since the fateful night I was kicked out of Canada. It’s hard to think of those times because they are so far away now. I am separated by a gulf of whiskey, women, shoes, miles and miles.
Each day I wake up somewhere.
Each day I go to sleep somewhere.
I have woken up feeling at home, feeling welcomed and loved among friends. But it is not my home.
I don’t when or if I’m going to settle down. When I think about what I want or when this is going to end all I can imagine is having someone to share this with. It’s not a road that ends.
I have no home. The concept is gone from me until I make a new one.
——
Tonight I go to sleep in Minneapolis, MN after dancing all weekend at Midwest Lindyfest. The event has been amazing. There are many people I’ve known for a few years here. They are warm and welcoming, friends and acquaintances.
I came from San Francisco, CA. I spent almost three weeks there. I miss the quiet of Rye & Carla’s condo and the presence of Moo and Sabbi. They are warm and generous, honest and reliable. They tempt me with California sun and cuddly cats. Yet it was time to continue.
[quote from Song of the Open Road about leaving when it just gets comfortable]
Tuesday I fly to Atlanta. I don’t know what to expect when I get there. As temporary as things are, as fluid and shifting, things have changed there and I wonder how the dynamic will go when I arrive. I’ll be staying at Jo’s, across from Gina’s. Jo will be gone till Thursday – chasing marbles.
——-
One of my favorite moments this weekend was the few moments I got to talk to Falty. He hit the road once when he came back from Sweden. Skipping city to city in the U.S. till he ended up in Seattle. He talked about the loneliness and the feeling of being lost.
It feels like the moment you find yourself you are lost all over again. You look down at the water flowing around you and realize that it isn’t the same water that was there when you last looked.
I have found a lot of peace on this road. I have found myself in a way that I never would have found with someone in the quiet bustle of domestic life. Yet each moment I am born anew into the moment and when I grasp at the moment to find myself I have only found something which has just slipped away.
Get lost. Get found. Rinse. Repeat.
You find yourself only to discover it is a mirror among millions.
Today I’m lost. Tomorrow I’m found.
Frankie Manning – The Passing of a Great Ambassador
This morning one of my heroes died. He was 94 years old.
Many of my readers know him and for those who don’t his name is Frankie Manning. He was born May 26, 1914 and passed away today, April 27th, 2009.
For many of us in the Lindy Hop community it has been a day of sadness for the loss of one of our elders. Too many of our old timers are gone from us and today we lost one of our most famous, we lost our Ambassador.
In the hours following his death thousands of lindy hoppers around the globe poured onto social networking sites, texted, and left numerous messages of love and thanks for Frankie. There were many postings of clips of Frankie, photos of Frankie and memories of Frankie.
The first time I met Frankie was at Beantown 2002. I had been dancing less than a year and I remember the vibrancy with which he greeted the room and every dancer there. Most of it though is blurry in my memories.
My next encounter with Frankie is almost comical to me. I was sitting on the sidelines at ALHC two years ago (2007) next to Dawn Hampton and him. They were eating chicken wings from what I can remember and as they finished their food I offered to take their empty boxes to the trash as I was throwing away my own garbage. Frankie would have none of it. He waved me off and made his own to the trash can. He was a strong man even in his 90s with so much character. Dawn smiled and let me take her boxes.
Most recently I saw Frankie in Berkeley, CA in February. He was glorious, shooting of jokes and going back and forth with Manu while he recounted stories and talked about various video clips. During his Q&A I asked him what he would like to see in the community now and his answer was basically this, “to carry on, to keep on dancing cause that is what keeps him going.”
Now that has passed away I see the community pulling together to carry on, to keep on dancing. In less than a month we celebrate Frankie 95, the celebration of his 95th birthday. While I don’t know how the event will change in light of his passing it will still be a great celebration of the life of one our great Lindy Hop heroes.
With that I leave you with these short words and footage of Frankie singing along to “You Make Me Feel So Young.”
He lived to 94 years 11 months and 1 day young.
Let us hope that each of us can take that youth into every day of our lives whether we are 18 or 25 or 40 or 94.
Live each day like it is your last.
If you don’t wake up smiling that famous Frankie smile maybe it’s time for a change.
Vagabonding Calendar
I’ve added a Calendar page to Vagabond Cafe so you can see where I’m headed next.
Check it out and see where I’m headed and when.
Seattle, WA – How To Roll In (2/15)
I caught a flight into Seattle on Sunday the 15th of February. I have heard a lot about Virgin America and their branding has been exceptional to promote a different way to fly. A way to fly that is fun and enjoyable again, an experience that is special. They do this by promoting that they have power on flights as well as integrated media centers in all of the seats and even WiFi.
All the branding and promotion is great until you get on the plane and realize that power is only available in First class or Business class, that the WiFi is $7 to access, and that the integrated media centers are handicapped entertainment centers with mostly pay-per-view options. I personally would prefer my ticket to cost an extra $15-20 to have free WiFi and premium media access. Otherwise I most likely won’t fork out the 7$ for WiFi on a flight and most definitely will not pay up to $10 just to watch a movie on my flight.
Slight rant out of the way.
My sister and Drew picked me up from the airport and we headed to the U District for dinner at Cedar’s. An indian restaurant with proper chai (as my sister calls it) in an endless cup. I think I would go just for the endless cup of chai, not to mention the cute waitress who kept making eyes. On top of those two things the food was delicious and as any good indian food should be: filling.
Dropped my things at their apartment on Capitol Hill and we all walked down to the Century Ballroom on Pine and Broadway. It was the end of the Seattle Balboa Festival and I happened to be in town for an amazing four-piece band on its last night. They continued their walk and I headed upstairs, paid the $18 cover (well worth it), and settled in to watch for a moment. Friends who I’ve known for years meandered in and I got many an excellent dance to the killer All-Star Band.
The dance wrapped up and we headed downstairs to Oddfellows, a relatively new gastro-pub in the same building, for a drink and some food. A couple beers later and the bar was closing up at 2am and I had been chatting with Kelly and Brien for a while. Kelly and I decided it was time to go get some Dicks. Dicks is a Capitol Hill standard for those after-bar cravings of greasy food. Sadly, they close right when the bars do, at 2am. So we missed our window of dirty food. Instead we hit QFC for pre-packaged sandwiches and chips and headed up to Kelly’s apartment around the corner.
It’s been a while since Kelly and I have hung out and as we munched our slightly stale sandwiches she kept wine flowing until we had finished a bottle and a half of wine and we realized it was six in the morning. At this point I was nearly a whole bottle of wine and two beers in on about three hours of sleep after a day of travel. In no shape to walk fifteen minutes uphill for the first time in the wee hours of the morning to my sisters apartment, I shot her a quick text and Kelly and I passed out.
That is the way to roll into a city. Exceptional dinner with family, a cute waitress to pour me tea, an amazing band and dancing, and then conversation and wine with an old friends that lasts until the sun comes up.
It’s how we should all be greeted when we get to a city.
Buy Carl a Cup of Coffee
That’s right. I’m asking if you’re up for buying me a cup of coffee as I travel.
Life on the road is just as often hard and lonely as it is wonderful and full of friends.
If you enjoy reading about my travels and want to show your support tag this PayPal link (or the cup of coffee to the right) and drop in a couple dollars.
I don’t have a regular job and yet am making my traveling work to my benefit by teaching as I go along. If you know I’m coming to your scene you can help put the word out for privates or help me organize a workshop class or two.
Montreal, QC – Coming Home Homeless (4/17)
This post is out of order, but it is current, I’ll probably start doing this in an attempt to 
keep up with my travels while recalling where I’ve been before.
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time— , Little Gidding
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I have been expelled from a country, slept in a 6′x10′ room on an air mattress, and lived out of a suitcase but I have never felt homeless until I came home.
Just thinking about coming home to Montreal has caused me to well up with emotion and tears, actually doing it has left me empty (in a state of shock).
I took the train up from Albany today; eight hours from Albany to Montreal, a three and a half hour drive (four if the border is slow). I realized the dedication it would take to get on that train and ride it all the way to NYC and back for only a short visit (that ride is more like 12 hours).
I used to live in Montreal. My life was here. I had friends, family, love, two cats. Then it was taken away. I sank. But a part of me stayed here, resided in the upstairs with the two cats and the cups of tea. It stayed after all I thought I wanted here was gone. It stayed until someone else moved in and I became unwelcome. Suddenly my heart no longer has a home.
I closed the door to the apartment and put my boots on in the stairwell. Chris had already gone to bed, work woke her early. I stepped outside. Snow congealed into dirty patches of ice lingered along the edges. Montreal’s stereotypical curved 2nd floor walkup stairs brought me to rue St. Phillipe.
I walked along the street, boots thudding away through my heels, past the snow removal sign (mardi et jeudi) to rue Notre-Dame. I have walked this street before. Not so long ago yet separated by a series of shattered lives.
I passed the dingy pizza shop at the corner of St. Marguerite opposite the greasy dejeuner where an omelette comes with a slice of american slapped to it. The old IGA storefront, still empty. The Cremerie adjoining Caffe Mariani where I used to spend days sipping on espresso and eating gourmet pizza until they had me making my own drinks and serving customers. The patio where I sat in the sun when I came home for the first time almost a year ago. All that light and no sight. The park where we watched the pigeons chase each other in heat. And then I was there at the corner.
I passed it and stood in front of the studio. Too dark to see the emptiness inside.
Back to the corner and down my street. No car in the back lot. Then I could see the lights on where my things still are. I passed them, they weren’t mine anymore. And I was there. The door where my keys would no longer fit. A T.V. is on and a light in the entryway and kitchen, that much I can tell just from knowing it. But that’s it. I walk past and then turn around. Across the street. I lean against the snow removal sign, tip my hat down and let memories fill me.
It is late spring, Adrian and Sylwia join us for brunch in the garden. There is mango and cheese and crepes and powdered sugar. The apple tree is shedding its blossoms.
It is sunday. There is the blue teapot amongst aluminum trays of chicken curry, shrimp dumplings and peanut sauce. It is a lazy day inside.
I am cold and sick. It is late and we’ve been driving into the night. I am shivering and pale. There is a hot bath already waiting for me. It is home.
There is a ring of silver wire with a purple stone beaded onto it.
San Francisco, CA – The Last Week (2/9 – 2/15)
When I showed up in San Francisco it was beautiful, the dreamy California weather that the movies show. The start of my second week shattered that pristine movie facade and it would decide to rain the moment I made a move to step outside. Without fail.
So, instead of fighting it I occupied myself with other matters. Writing, playing Rock Band on Manu’s amazing drum kit, catching up on T.V. shows and helping Manu hack his iPhone and newly acquired AppleTV. XBMC and Boxee are such great extensions of hardware like the AppleTV and XBox that it is disappointing of hardware creators how much disdain they show for people who just want to be able to do with their hardware what they want to without restriction once they’ve purchased it.
Wednesday I went out to Cat’s Corner, a dance held at the Savanna Jazz Club with a live band. I used to work for Cat’s Corner in Montreal so it was nice to see its sister venue in San Francisco. The venue reminded me of Swing 46 in NYC but less Broadway dinner establishment. It had a gritty dark edge to it, a bar worn from thousands of patrons, and signed photos of various musicians who had performed there scattered on the walls. The band was middling. Not particularly good but with the occasional tune that swung decently.
Thursday I made my way down to the Presidio to hangout with Erin, a friend from Detroit who had moved up from LA to San Francisco recently. She works at Starbucks and totally rocked my Starbucks experience with a triple soy latté on the house. When she finished her shift we wandered over to a small sushi restaurant nearby.
I’ve been meeting so many people lately who are going through large transitional states in their life. Learning to forge our own path in life rather than affixing ourselves to a path laid out for us or that so many others follow is a challenge for all of us. Erin and I talked about this for a while and how in the past year or two we’ve both been through a lot of large changes in our lives and that the coming time is still a liminal state. We’re on the threshold of a scary new part of our lives.
We hopped the bus back to her apartment and relaxed with the Big Lebowski till the 9:20 Special later that evening. Marty Klempner was in town teaching as part of the Frankie Manning weekend that was upcoming and he was spinning tunes for the first half of the night. Unlike my prior evening at the 9:20 I really enjoyed the music, lots of Fats Waller.
Friday I had a private to teach in Berkeley so I hopped the BART out of the city and arrived to meet Brian in downtown Berkeley. We drove over to a friends place and worked on solo jazz movement for a while. We broke down the shim sham and cleaned up the various motions and I showed him some stylistic variations that he could incorporate into his solo dance.
We grabbed food at Smart Alec’s, a local eatery that students frequent, and when I ordered a smoothie the girl behind the counter looked at me like I was crazy since it was apparently too cold outside to order an iced beverage. Then headed over to the ____ to watch Manu interview Frankie as part of the weekend.
Frankie Manning is celebrating his 95th birthday this coming May and over a thousand attendees are celebrating in New York City for a week thanks to the wonderful organization of so many people, yet there will be over a thousand attendees. There is no way anyone is going to get a few minutes of Frankie’s time to answer a question. That was one of the best things about the Frankie weekend in San Francisco. I sat ten feet from Frankie and got to ask him a question which her answered. Hearing his stories is always enchanting and it’s been since Lindyfest ‘08 that I saw him last. It was spectacular to have that interaction with the father of the dance I love so much.
After the interview Frankie retired to a back room and Lavay Smith and the Skillet Lickers played the dance. Well, they played eventually. It took over an hour for the chairs to get put away, the band to get setup, the sound checks and everything complete. Really poorly organized. As for the music itself the songs were patently long, we determined an average of eight minutes per tune, with each of the musicians taking extended solos without much consideration for the dancers.
I would say I’ve been spoiled with bands like the Cangelosi Cards and the Boilermakers who love to play for dancers and understand the dynamic of the room but I shouldn’t feel spoiled. That should be the standard. If you hire a band to play a dance, they should be good enough to know the room, to know the audience, even if you have to explain it to them.
Saturday I went out for lunch with Manu and Karen to Pacific Catch, a little galley restaurant, only a few blocks from the Starbucks where Erin works. With an asian and mexican mixed menu, I chose a wasabi rice bowl with Ahi Tuna. Exceptionally fresh and seared, the tuna was exactly what I craved, and the wasabi had a nice kick. I’m going to mention once again Manu’s exceptional generosity throughout my stay, taking me out for lunch on this occasion as well as others.
I swung by and gave Erin a hug on my way back to the car, thankful I did since we didn’t get to meet up again later.
That night was the Shiny Stockings Ball out in Oakland. Held in a large ballroom with a full big band orchestra and many of the attendees dressed up it was a true Saturday night dance. The band had that nice full sound that only an orchestra can have with a smoother feel that you might hear in later Count Basie, less hot jazz and more swing jazz. We had a shim sham with Frankie to celebrate him, a trend that is sweeping across the globe with communities filming their shim shams and posting them for all to see.
My favorite part of the night was near the end as people wrapped up Bromley and I had an impromptu tap off. Trading steps and trying to one up each other with high flying steps or tight rhythms. I’ve got more practicing to do but I held my own even though his rhythms were far tighter and clean than mine. Next time Gadget! Next time!
San Francisco, CA – 9:20, Surprises and Teaching (2/4 – 2/8)
I stayed down in San Mateo with Carla & Rye for a few more days until I headed back to the city for The 9:20 Special where I would be switching to Manu’s place.
The 9:20 is held in a gorgeous ballroom off of Divisadero close to the Presidio. For physical spaces, San Francisco has excellent dance venues, yet the music can sometimes be lacking with late-swing tunes from the 50s on that fail to carry that chunk and rhythm that makes me want to swing out. Too much ballad or melody with singers or musicians soloing without a driving shuffle to back them up.
Manu lives in SoMa (SF equivalent of SoHo apparently) which is short for South of Market Street. It’s home to many nightclubs, restaurants, shiny loft apartments, and some high-tech headquarters including Twitter, CNET and and Wired. Manu works for CNET and his fiancé, Karen, is a doctor at a nearby hospital and their apartment was wonderfully decorated (and adorned with the finest of tech gadgetry). I had to fight on many an occasion to tear myself away from the top line Rock Band drumkit and flat screen TV.
Saturday my close friend Shawn Rae, who had flown up for an interview, was in San Francisco. He had friends in the area from college and we all convened on La Taqueria. While mexican restaurants are every other corner it seems in the Mission district, La Taqueria is famous for its food with accolades from Zagat, Yelp and much more. The place is unassuming yet the line that snakes through the restaurant is a sure sign the place is popular. One carnitas burrito later and I was convinced (probably the best burrito I’ve ever had) I’d be coming back here the next time I was in San Francisco.
We said our goodbyes to his friends from college and proceeded to Tartines, a french bakery on Guerrero, to meet up with students he knew from Middlebury College. Having spent four years of my life in Montreal, I have a thing for french cafés and bakeries and I rarely find one that matches the quality I can find in Montreal, no less the pleasure of dining at one in France. Tartines is the real deal. The croissants were not overly sweet or dry as is often the case, my latte came smooth and ready in a bowl, and I was thoroughly pleased. Even more entertaining, my name was on the doorstep.
We finished off all of our delicious food and wandered over to the Castro district, which Shawn Rae’s two friends wanted to visit and he encouraged us all to go. One of the boys even mentioned that this was the most rainbow colored flags he’d seen in all of his life and it made him exceptionally happy.
We wandered into a gay bookstore and the two boys and Shawn Rae wandered the racks while I perused a copy of Bitch magazine and discovered Gina’s name tucked away amongst the contributors who helped to save the magazine from folding. It’s a great magazine and I recommend it highly.
Being the addict I am, we then stopped in at a small coffee shop and I picked up an Americano, and we wandered through the Castro district chatting and taking pictures. Here is one of the famous Castro theatre (from a distance).
I had to bail on Shawn Rae early as I was heading to a surprise birthday party for Carla. Carla, thinking it was a game night at a friends, picked me up and we headed down to San Mateo to get Rye. Rye had already clued me into the bait-and-switch and had me as the notifier for the hiding guests. I failed to understand that we would be getting off of one highway and onto a second so I notified them about twenty minutes early, thus leaving the party members in the dark waiting for our arrival. It, however, turned out to be a great success and Carla was stunned enough to reel when people jumped from their hiding spots.
It was a great social gathering which soon became a game night anyways. We played a couple rounds of Pit, a commodity style card game where the goal is to collect all eight (or nine in the traditional game) of a card before anyone else does, before moving on to Taboo. I’ve never played Taboo before and it was highly entertaining when the first two cards I read from I accidentally covered the main word and was using the taboo words as my guideline for what to say. Taboo fail. All in all a good time.
Sunday, Carla arranged for me to teach a solo jazz routine up at City College. I spent the majority of the day choreographing before class. I forget how much work solo jazz can be and I was sweaty and tired before I even got to class. A class room full of eager students fills you with energy as a teacher thankfully. I taught around 28 or 30 students the first half of a song I’ve been really digging on lately by Don Redman All Stars called See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil.
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I taught this again recently and hope to continue developing the choreography and to complete the song. So if I’m coming to your city keep an eye out for it, I’m looking to teach it to whomever wants to learn and get feedback as well.
Vagabonding: Getting Back
We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next, to find ourselves. We travel to open our hearts and eyes and learn more about the world than our newspapers will accommodate. We travel to bring what little we can, in our ignorance and knowledge, to those parts of the globe whose riches are differently dispersed. And we travel, in essence, to become young fools again–to slow time down and get taken in, and fall in love once more.
Pico Iyer, Why We Travel
People often ask why I have taken up the itinerant lifestyle, why I’ve forsaken a house and gone to living out of a suitcase.
There are the obvious reasons. I lost my job right before all hell broke loose on Wall Street, New York City was vastly more expensive than I could afford while looking for work, I had recently become single again, and there was nothing material tying me to anywhere.
The subtler reasons had to do with myself. Those of you who have known me for a while know that the fall of 2007 brought with it a life altering experience. I was expelled from the place I called home, the people I loved, and the life I had been used to living. In the span of eight months I gave up on a life that I had always dreamed of in Montreal, with a woman I loved and a community that cared for me.
I had fought long and hard to go back home but when the time came that I was allowed to return, I had already given up on the dream.
I lost myself.
I stayed in New York. Buried myself in work, dance, staying out too late and having too much to drink. When work disappeared (money along with it) and relationships came to their close, circumstances made it clear that it was better for me to leave.
I had been reading the Four Hour Workweek as well as a variety of blogs on lifestyle design and all things pointed to leaving behind a conventional life.
This experience, this vagabonding, is my pilgrimage. A journey to feel whole again and comfortable as who I am. A journey to awaken an entrepreneurial spirit and to see the world with new eyes. To become a young fool once again.
San Francisco, CA – The Coffee Mission, Morning Yoga, and Washboard Trains (2/2-2/3)
Monday – Coffee in the Mission and then they took my money
I began by cycling down into the Mission District. The Mission was traditionally a latin american neighborhood which has been influxed with hipsters, young professionals and students. It has a lively nightlife and artistic community being dubbed as the New Bohemia in 1995 by the San Francisco Chronicle.
I started off at Ritual Coffee Roasters. It’s on Valencia between 21st and 22nd in the Mission (there is a second elsewhere in the city and one in Napa). The atmosphere is relatively minimalistic and the coffee roasting process happens right before you. There are bags of green coffee in the back while employees pour beans into the machines to roast.
Watching the process happen and knowing that the cup of coffee you are enjoying was probably roasted the day you ordered it or the day before at most is exhilarating. There is a directness to the experience of the product, an authenticity you don’t receive even when it is freshly ground.
The staff was exceptionally friendly, and I chatted for a while with one barista who recommended a clover drip of Ethiopian origin and the Sweet Tooth single origin espresso which they were premiering from Brasil. He recommended a local yoga class that he taught on Tuesday and Thursdays a bit farther down in the Mission. I took his card and seated myself to do some work.
The only downside to Ritual, they have no outlets for their customers. So while they provide excellent coffee and free WiFi when your battery is out of energy, that’s it. You’re done. It encourages turnover but definitely discouraged me from returning to spend a lot of time there. I work in four or five hour blocks of time at cafes and being unable to plugin seriously shortens my uptime.
Once my battery had run its course I cycled over to Philz Coffee which is on the corner of 24th and Folsom, also in the Mission. They are known for the One Cup at a Time motto where each cup is prepared individually (at high end cafes this is fast becoming the norm).
I picked up a Yerba Matte Latte (one of my new beverages of choice when I’m working) and settled down. For a popular and established cafe Philz maintained a recently put together atmosphere with an assortment of tables, chairs and couches amongst various plants and adornments. The wifi was solid and power outlets available. Done and done.
Work passed by, I had a poker game to go to down in SoMa at Manu’s. I showed up a touch late (as is my habit) and somehow managed to be the first person anyways. The game was $5 in and while I normally take my parents money at poker, I didn’t even manage to make the third round. Consolation prize, hanging out on the couch and then playing Jungle Speed as more and more players were knocked out. Jungle Speed should be for money, that’d be my kind of game.
Tuesday – Yoga with Men and Redwood City
One the advice of my friendly barista at Ritual, I set out for morning yoga down on 20th St. I didn’t know what to expect, and I’m particularly choosy about my yoga instructors for a few reasons, and arrived just as people were filing into the class. It was all men (rare in my experience of yoga) and I believed I had been invited more on the assumption that I was an attractive young man than for any other reason. The class went well, being traditional Vinyasa with some balances and strength training near the end of the class.
I haven’t regularly practiced yoga since I lived in Montreal and I miss the calm I find after savasana (corpse pose). It is a centering practice that I should pursue more actively and I have this notion in the back of my mind to go to Sedona, AZ and study. Follow in footsteps.
After yoga I stopped at another cafe on Valencia for a quick coffee, journaled for a moment, then headed back to Michael’s to clean up (he was my 2nd host). With a quick turnaround at Michael’s, I headed back out to catch the Bart down to San Mateo to meet up with Carla and Rye.
One thing about San Francisco public transportation, they need a unified system. There is the Bart (Bay Area Rapid Transit) which is basically a subway system, the Muni system which is streetcars and buses, the CalTrain which is a commuter rail, and then most likely a few more in the East Bay which I didn’t have the misfortune to need. None of these systems run on the same cards or fares and it was grating to have to switch between them.
So, while waiting for the next Caltrain (that I had just missed cause I had to buy a different ticket) at the Bart station I pulled out my washboard and practiced some rhythms I had been working on.
I love playing the washboard, although I occasionally find it hard to learn new things without having other musicians to jam with. It is an instrument I can bring anywhere and has brought me a variety of social encounters I would not otherwise have had. It’s a magnet for questions and comments and sitting at the station waiting for Carla and Rye to pick me up I struck up a conversation with a girl sitting next to me. We chatted for a short time about my travels and what she did in the city.
My travels have really begun to break me out of my shell socially, I am able to start conversations with perfect strangers without that incredible discomfort I used to feel. It’s one of the bigger challenges I’ve had in my life and it’s slowly dissolving the more I travel and want to learn about all the people I meet along the way.
Once picked up, we stopped for food in Burlingame and talked for a while. It’s interesting to hear what people think about my current vagabonding, how I’m funding it, why I’m doing it, and what plans I have for the time ahead of me. My latest project Slacker Reform is one of the ways I plan to give back to the world and to help others.
We hung out at their place for a while and they have two adorable cats, one who is 20 lbs and bigger than some dogs I have met. I miss being around cats especially ones that will drape themselves on you as if you were public property.
Carla runs a weekly venue down in Redwood City and I had heard good things about it, that and I wanted to get some dancing on.
Redwood City Swing is held in a ballroom outside of downtown Redwood City. It is a large space with good acoustics and a nice floor. We put together a little jam number using the California routine to showcase for the beginner class. For the entire night I could barely sit down out a song and everyone was incredibly welcoming.
By the end of the night I was wiped. Thankfully they had an incredibly comfortable bed all ready for me. Foam mattress pads and pillows are something I will invest in if I someday decide to settle down.
San Francisco, California – Cycling the Pacific Riptide (2/1)
Time flies and when you aren’t keeping track of it you don’t keep up with your travelogue.
I flew in the 31st of January and out on the 15th of February.
Flying in from Austin was a great experience and the glow of pacific sun warmed me on arrival. I toted my luggage to the Bart station and phoned my host, Shannon, that I had arrived and was on my way.
The Bart is a D.C. style metro system where you pay by distance traveled on the system, in comparison to flat rate systems like New York and Montreal. It is frustrating to pay $5 to ride the subway for 30 minutes when in NYC you can ride it end to end across three buroughs and still just pay your $2.50.
My first night in San Francisco kicked off with a bhangra dance party at the Yerba Buena Arts Center downtown. The main draw – free pizza of which I managed two tiny slices. The best parts: being complimented on my bhangra by random woman during the lesson and the short video documentary on helicopters and their status in Vietnam.
Cycling in Austin had me inspired to do the same in San Francisco and there are fewer better places that I’ve cycled. Sunday proved to be a perfect day for a ride and I started it off with a stop at the Squat and Gobble cafe. Breakfast was a florentine crepe, rosemary potatoes and coffee. The crepe fell flat for my expectations yet the rosemary potatoes were excellent. I sat outside and enjoyed the late breakfast, watched locals pass by, and admired the sun.
Packing away the leftovers of my breakfast for later consumption, I biked towards the ocean. The ride downhill was smooth and I stopped along the way for the occasional iPhone snapshot [note: invest in actual camera]. By the time I got to the coast it was nearly noon and I merged onto the coastal bike path. The coast has that short scrub-like appearance you find along the Atlantic. Trees are sparse and the ground is covered in short rough vegetation capable of weathering the salt and living in sand. Along the bike path there were occasional cases of unopened water bottles, presumably for cyclists and joggers. I decided against taking one.
By the time I reached Golden Gate Park, I was headed for Lindy in the Park, I had cycled farther than I had since living in Montreal and had good bit to go through the park before I got there. I was sweaty, having over-layered, and my legs had that semi-numb lactic acid buildup feel. I looped the bike-lock through the spokes and frame and set it to the side.
An hour later and I had barely rested a moment as Shannon introduced me to friends and fellow dancers and I was seized upon for nearly every song (this would prove to be a trend in SF). I took a few moments to snap some pictures of the park, although very few of them turned out well. The dance wrapped and we zipped off for food at a local Chinese restaurant.
I had work to do so I got advice on a cafe in the Mission, Ritual Coffee Roasters, and headed out. I barely made it down Haight St. before I saw a cafe that called out to me. Coffee to the People had a really nice vibe and by the time I looked at the time it was nearly 8:30pm. I had intended to catch Gaucho, a hot jazz band, down at the Riptide between 8 and 10pm, so I had to hurry. I slung my gear into my Chrome bag and huffed back down to the ocean.
Riptide is a hole-in-the-wall surfer dive bar a block away from the Pacific. Divided in half by a U shaped bar, with mostly local beers on tap, and a strange assortment of surfer paraphernalia and animal heads on the walls, it had a unique feel. There had been a Superbowl party earlier so leftover wings waited for the taking. Gaucho is a small group in the style of Django with a touch of the gutbucket New Orleans style. The musicians were friendly, quite talented, and encouraging of the dancers who got up in the tiny space.
We left the Riptide not too far into their last set and headed to the Rite Spot Cafe, a bar in the Mission district. The Sweet Hollywians, a string jazz band from Osaka, played a really tight set to a packed audience. They had a unique sound and really good presence on top of spinning ukeleles. I ran into a few other people I knew at Rite Spot and caught up with Manu who was my host for the last half of my stay in San Francisco.
My first day was full and finished.
I’ll attempt not to write whole days out again in my summary of San Francisco, but sometimes they are so packed it is hard to avoid.
To San Francisco – Planes and Standup Comics (1/31)
So, San Francisco! San Francisco, San Francisco… Not “San Fran,” no, apparently not! I didn’t know that, I would’ve said “San Fran,” but you’d go, “No, we don’t like “San Fran,” fuck it!” Or what’s the other one you don’t…? Oh, Frisco! You don’t like that either.
Eddie Izzard, Dressed to Kill
Flying is such an experience and my best experience so far has been my hop from Austin to Phoenix on the way to San Fran. (There I said it, shoot me.)
Brian, the young frosted-hair flight attendent, would have made a better standup comic than steward. He welcomed us on board and helped us to understand the safety procedures.
Wear your seatbelt like a rockstar, low and tight.
If in the unfortunate event that our flight becomes a cruise, swim or swim faster.
If you don’t like my jokes there are 6 exits…
In the event of loss of cabin pressure, stop screaming, let go of your neighbor and pull down on the mask. If the bag doesn’t inflate that’s cause the crew is getting all your oxygen.
He was so entertaining that he received a warm round of applause from the cabin when he finished the comedy sketch, I mean safety instructions.
As we taxied to the runway he advised us to “sit back, relax or lean forward and stress out, your choice.” The rest of the flight was a breeze. We cruised over western Texas and New Mexico till we touched down at Phoenix for a short layover.
The flight from Phoenix to San Francisco, far less entertaining yet the views from my window were amazing. Red cracked earth through Arizona, canyons and plateaus, white capped mountains next to blue lakes, into the rolling green of California.
If you end up flying Northwest Airlines and end up with a frost-haired flight attendent by the name of Brian, sit back and relax.
Austin, TX – Highlights and Hill Billies (1/24 – 1/30)
Alright there were no hill billies in Austin, Texas – there are barely any hills for that matter.
Last Highlights
The majority of my time in Texas was occupied with one of two things: dancing or coffee.
My weekend was packed with partying, dancing and competing at Lone Star. I carried away four trophies from the event, a first in the Strictly Fast and a third in the Strictly Blues with Teni, a third in the All-Star Jack & Jill with Karen, and a second in the All-Star Strictly with Gina. One for each of the competitions I entered (go me!).
I’ve never competed in an All-Star division before. You’d think it would be stressful or daunting – not at all. Exciting, entertaining and fulfilling is more like it. Watching Mikey & Nina rock it from the start and not worrying of dancing with someone I’ve never met before made the Jack & Jill a great experience. Competing with Gina for the first time, feeling like we did well, and then winning second was very rewarding. Aside from the All-Star divisions, competing with Teni is always fun – we have a good rapport on the dance floor both goofy and intense depending.
Coffee amounts to a lot of sitting in cafés and doing work on this site, Slacker Reform and DancewithCarl.com. I spent more than 8 hours some days at my computer working on layout, SEO, content, and such things. Slacker Reform has a plan, no launch date, but a plan. DancewithCarl is basically done minus photos and photo credits.
I checked out Caffeine, Kick Butt Coffee and Genuine Joe’s in Austin successfully. They were each quite unique.
Genuine Joe’s, where I spent the majority of my time, had a home reading room feel. Chairs, tables, and couches were all hodge-podged together. Staff were welcoming and talkative (especially when you are there more than they are), the coffee was good and their lattes were named in an aptly leftist fashion.
Kick Butt Coffee is owned by a martial artists and the whole café has a distinct martial theme with rubber ninja stars at the register (watch out Andrew), weapons on the walls and a kicking cartoon logo. The coffee was quickly delivered and it feels good to support a local chain.
Caffeine was recommended by a friend of mine from Montreal. It has a co-working day on Fridays where freelancers, entrepeneurs, etc. gather to work on their respective projects in a creative communal environment. The environment is slick and minimal. Coffee came with refills, WiFi was consistent and fast.
Other places I visited included San Francisco Bakery (an ironic prelude to the next destination on my journey) and Starbucks (the perpetual fallback).
The Wrap
Next time I’m in Austin I hope to explore south Austin more. Caffeine was located in that neighborhood, as well as Freddie’s Place which Mike and I went for burgers. South Austin has a number of local businesses, a really nice vibe, and it is on my list for next time.
While Austin didn’t meet all my expectations as a dense urban area it was filled with great stores, like Cream Vintage, great cafés, and great people.
Vagabonding – Going It Alone
…you should always be ready to go it alone…
Rolf Potts, Vagabonding
Since I left my stationary life behind in November, then flying to Atlanta, GA in December I have been around close friends — that is until I decided to go somewhere I had never been before without a Lindy Hop event to buffer me.
I flew to San Francisco because the flight was cheaper than other places I was hoping to see and I’ve never spent time in California. I had a number of contacts here, people I knew more as acquaintances than as close friends, and they have been gracious and generous. Manu, Shannon, Carla, Michael – some of them people I met for the first time when I put my stuff down in their home have been wonderful and hospitable.
Having been around very close friends for nearly two months without interruption it was when that immediacy disappeared that loneliness hit me.
I didn’t expect loneliness to come on as hard as it did.
Chris Guillebeau just recently wrote about loneliness on the road. He has been traveling a lot longer than I have and his words help me weigh loneliness in a different way.
My thinking is, if I never experience it, I’m probably living a safe, comfortable life.
Vagabonding is an act of pilgrimage.
I am on the road to excise the parts of myself which stand in my way. To come to terms with myself on the edges. To do the things that scare me. To grow in spirit and character.
As these words from Michael Crichton go: “stripped of your ordinary surroundings, your friends, your daily routines, your refrigerator full of your clothes, you are forced into direct experience. Such direct experience inveitably makes you aware of who it is that is having the experience. That’s not always comfortable, but it is always invigorating.”
I am not in a foreign country where the culture clashes against my very person or the world around me is alien, yet I am still stripped of my ordinary life. I have not the friends I know with me or the places that make me comfortable.
It forces me to enjoy the simple pleasures that I can find. Walking streets and neighborhoods I have never seen. Sitting on a picnic table with a cup of coffee. Practicing calligraphy. Chatting with strangers at coffee shops, bus stations, and airports.
I am in practice a very socially connected person.
I talk to a number of friends all across the country throughout the day. I keep up with my e-mail, social networking sites, blogs, text messages and phone calls. Yet I am at the same—a solitary person. I need time on my own to recharge. I have spent days living in NYC where I did not talk to or message a single person.
I am in need of finding refuge in solitude once more.
Austin, TX – Werewolves, Vampires and Whole Foods (1/23)
Friday:
Now what do werewolves, vampires and Whole Foods have in common? Well obviously werewolves and vampires are in the same genre but put them in Austin, TX, the headquarters of Whole Foods, and you’ve got a serious match up.
The plan for Friday was simple, get a ride to the movie theater and watch Underworld: Rise of the Lycans.
As you can tell from the trailer, Rise of the Lycans is high-brow film worthy of Cannes or Sundance. It lived up to expectations proving quite entertaining. Highlights included a sex scene montage worthy of an early 90s blockbuster full of panning closeups of writhing naked bodies, the proletariat rising up against the establishment in true Marxist fashion, and fight scenes worth their salt in any B-rate fantasy action film. [note to self: acquire lace-up leather pants and a long coat to wear shirtless]
Having fulfilled our art quota for the day, Gina and I walked to Whole Foods cafe for a caffeine fix (and a quick pickup of my new favorite bar soap).
Coffee in hand we landed ourselves on the picnic tables outfront. We fiddled with our phones and lazed atop the table chatting. Lying down in pubic spaces is an amusing shift away from the conventional. Doing things in an unconventional manner is part of the The Year of Awesome, as Gina describes 2009, and I’m wholly endorsing that fact. This was my favorite experience during my stay in Austin.
Friday night was the kickoff for the Lonestar Championships, a regional Lindy Hop contest (as if you didn’t already know), and was margarita night for those in the loop. I competed in two divisions Friday night. It was my first time competing in an All-Star contest, the All-Star Strictly. Gina and I kicked ass and took names in honor of The Year of Awesome. We won 2nd place. Unfortunately there are no pictures or footage of us dancing together, apparently it never happened according to Facebook and YouTube. The other contest, the prelims for the Strictly Fast. Teni Lopez-Cardenas and I danced it up and made it to the finals on Saturday.
More to come on Austin, TX: Lonestar, Latenights and Laundry (or something like that).
Austin, TX – Boots, Booze and Bubble Tea (1/21 – 1/22)
Texas.
I have never had the urge to go to Texas mostly because of an aversion to things that are a) oversized; b) overly religious; c) populated with poisonous snakes.
But I went anyways.
Somehow I got past the gargantuan zealot rattlesnakes and took a Greyhound to Austin, TX. Now, Austin isn’t typical Texas from what I’ve heard and I didn’t emerge into a land of ten-gallon hat wearing bible wielding rednecks so I was relieved. Austin is as urban 21st century as it’s hipster cafes and bars.
Going about Austin without a car was more of a challenge than I had anticipated. I had this vision of Austin as a denser city manageable entirely by bicycle or public transit. I forget – this isn’t NYC anymore. Mike and Laura were gracious enough to let us borrow their car when possible to go on longer drives.
Wednesday: Bubble Tea and Booze
Gina flew in and we met up at Tapestry and taught a class for the Lindy Project. This was my first time teaching with Gina (more to come) and our material was well received. Success.
Everyone headed out for bubble tea, it seems to be the in thing for Austin lindy hoppers. I have not been a huge fan of tapioca in my drink before but I’m always up for another chance. Picked out a honey mango milk tea with large pearls, it was delicious and gone so fast that I ordered a mango smoothie to chase it down.
Rather than call it a night Gina and I got dropped off on 6th Street, one of the main bar strips, and looked for a bar with good music. We made it down one side of the strip and started back when we ducked into a little pizza joint for a slice. We backpedaled to an upstairs bar we had passed with R&B music pumped out of its speakers. IDs checked we walked up and found it dead. Crickets chirping dead. The DJ was spinning on a little stage and the bartender chatted with someone who either worked there or knew him. We considered it then ordered a quick round and left.
One place down.
Next stop was a bar playing soul music, not exactly full but at least populated. A quick round of tequila and Gina introduced me to the Texan’s beer: Shiner Bock. We were about to get up and dance to a Marvin Gaye song and it snapped off – no courtesy fade out, nothing. In the back room (probably about four times the size of the front section of the bar and open two stories) a band started up. Resigned to not chug our beer and head out into the night again, we settled into a couch to listen.
The band was decent, playing a mix of rock mostly from the 90s. I even got a shout out with a compliment on my hat and scarf. The guitarist kept the crowd, if you call eight people a crowd, entertained and they put on a good show despite the turnout. Apparently guitarists are hot by nature. [note to self: learn guitar]
Beers gone we decided to make one more go of it and hit up The Chugging Monkey. An Austin institution of inebriation (as could be determined by vote or by proxy for the beer pong tables it had out). We ordered another round or two of beer and managed to dance a bit to the random mix before the bar closed out and we flagged a cab down to take us home.
Now cabs in NYC are an institution. Most of the time you give them an address and they might take a moment to orient themselves to that section of the city or burrough but they sure as hell don’t pull out a binder full of maps and begin leafing through it to see where they need to bring you. Seriously, seriously. It’s a small city, figure it out or at least look like you live in this century and buy a GPS unit.
Thursday: Boots and Booze
When you wake up in Texas and decide to go for Indian food in the middle of the day you should expect to be disappointed. Mike recommended an Indian place on the corner, fancy for us it was closed. A bit of iPhone scoping later and we descended on our second closed Indian restaurant. Want Indian food between 2:30pm and 6pm? Pity, you lose. Consolation prize: a delicious bowl of thai curry and some spring rolls.
Curry down, our next stop was a CVS/Walgreens around the corner. Fifteen minutes of wandering through an industrial park next to a Coca-Cola plant and we determined that Google Maps played a good trick on us and we gave up on that idea.
Cavender’s Boots. Gina was determined to get me into a pair of boots. If I was in Texas I was going to get some cowboy boots. So she said. When I managed to find a pair that were decent and I struggled to extract my foot from them later she pointed to this hunk of wood with a U cut into it. It was a boot jack.
It was explained to me that you jam your heel into the U and with the other foot planted on the board pull the boot off. This was a recipe for disaster. I could just see myself with one foot planted on the board yanking the other foot back and finding myself ass end up with a boot and jack flying towards my head.
Thankfully I have more coordination than my imagination allows for and removing the boots was swift and painless. I tried on a score of boots yet didn’t find one that I liked and could justify spending $150 or more on. What I managed to do was figure out my size, 8.5, and the brand I found most comfortable, Ariat. I may order a pair online since they have a much larger selection on their site or I’ll just have to wait till I go back to Texas.
Gina however scored herself a pair of Ariat’s Lady Daisy Boots that were really slick. Blue uppers with white stitching, studding and crackled brown leather. The crackled leather and style of toe are two things I’ll look for when I get some. My opinion: hot damn. Lady in boots. I am jealous of her boots.
Now that at least someone had boots, our trip to Cavender’s was fulfilled.
We gathered back at the house and then hit up Kerbey Lane Cafe for dinner. We split enchiladas and queso. I was quite content with the mix of rice, beans and cheese before me.
Post-queso we went to the Fed, The Texas Federation of Women’s Clubs, for the regular Thursday night dance. The Fed is a gorgeous old mansion with more rooms and wings than we were allowed access to. A band called the Kats Meow played. They were an eccentric mash-up of characters. The lead singer was a younger woman, petite with a solid vocal range and variety. There was a woman on violin, the bassist was an older woman with pink hair, the drummer an Asian woman, the piano player wore cowboy boots and hat and the guitarist was an elderly man with a long white beard and bright red fedora. They played a nice chunky swing.
Once the Fed wrapped up a group of teachers, out-of-towners and locals carpooled it on up to 6th St. to continue the party. We started at a downstairs club with sternum shaking bass. Ordered a round of drinks and took over the roped off V.I.P. section. After conversation kept getting drowned out by techno we called for a move.
The Chugging Monkey was our next stop and we had to move fast. Last call in Texas is at 2am and it was 1:45. We piled into the bar and started dancing and grooving. Andrew proceeded up to the bar, did a rough head count, and then ordered 20 shots of whiskey. The bartender did a double take and then while Andrew dug out a card to pay, looked at me and confirmed with hand signs “2″ “0″. I nodded and in a flurry of activity 20 shot glasses lined up in front of us and the bartender went to work.
The most entertaining fact: there were probably only 14 of us at most. Shots went around and we danced the last ten minutes till the bar closed shop.
Unconcerned that the night had not actually ended we hopped into our DDs car and waited while two cops blocking us in administered a DUI test to a man in an SUV. The man walked a straight line, held his foot out off the ground, and probably did things that would have been difficult for a sober person. They let him go.
We rode to Scott’s place up in North Austin where we hung out and listened to hilarious and occasionally horrifying stories of sexual mishaps and misdeeds.
Post drinks and rabble rousing, as we nearly slipped into sleep on the couches, we called a cab and rode back to Abbey Road on Penny Lane.
Next time on Austin, TX – Werewolves, Vampires and Whole Foods.
Song of the Open Road – Walt Whitman
This is a poem by Walt Whitman from Leaves of Grass that is compelling to my journey. I have the goal of memorizing it.
1
AFOOT and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.
Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.
The earth, that is sufficient,
I do not want the constellations any nearer,
I know they are very well where they are,
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.
(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,
I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever
I go,
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,
I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.)
Birmingham Alabama (Layover)
I have an hour layover here in Birmingham, AL and I’m sitting in this little cafe on 3rd Ave and 20th St. called Java & Jams. I pulled it up on Yelp for iPhone and proceeded to truck my way out of the bus station and past the park to get here for a short cup of joe.
Walking in I already liked the place. It’s a narrow cafe with seating along the sides and counter at the end. Three folks were sitting talking about country music guitars in laps near the counter – one turned out to be the server. I ordered a cup of coffee and sat down for a moment of plugged in time.
They played an old country tune entitled, “Long Haired Country Boy” originally by Charlie Daniels, and I caught up on an e-mail or two. Now, back to the bus for the next leg of my journey.
Knoxville (The Rest)
Yesterday I caught the bus back to Atlanta from Knoxville after a little mishap at the rental car agency where they lied – okay perhaps not – about their willingness to take debit cards and I ended up without a rental car for the day. In the end 30$ saved.
Jon picked me back up and we headed over to Golden Roast, a cafe we’d frequented near the University of Tennessee campus, for a quick sit and coffee. My bus was at 6pm and I had two hours to kill – the internet did that quickly – and it is when I decided to start this travelogue.
My bus was approximately 40 minutes late in departing although I had the opportunity to chat with a guitarist from Chattanooga about bluegrass and Americana music. I ended up in Atlanta about 11pm.
Backing up.
I had spent five days in Knoxville visiting, relaxing and mostly enjoying coffee either in Jon’s living room or in a cafe (this sort of helps justify part of my title).
Notable events throughout the week:
Watching Gran Torino at the Regal Riviera thanks to the movie friend (aforementioned) for free. Clint Eastwood is one scary old dog in this film. Sorry if I spoil anything. He plays a Korean War veteran whose wife has just passed away. Living in an old neighborhood that has become a Hmong ghetto he’s all by himself (not including his golden lab). When a gang causes trouble that spills on to his lawn he scares the offenders away with the perpetual snarl and his rifle. He becomes an inadvertant hero of the neighborhood. I’ll leave the rest for you to see but it was an exceptional movie with an unexpected ending and only one short overacted scene (not by Eastwood) that I would cut out.
Sassy Ann’s is a whorehouse turned club frequented by mostly twenty-somethings out for a PBR and some poorly DJed 80s music (at least on the nights I was there). While the atmosphere is stellar, I mean how can an old whorehouse not be an entertaining club venue full of stairways, nooks, little rooms and that old western nostalgia, the DJ pained me in his transitions even if the songs were good. The smoke, 20-something college inebriants, cheap beer and sticky floor I can deal with. I just don’t get how 80s rock makes you want to dance in any other fashion than bouncing up and down like a bobblehead on a washing machine.
Hugging the Sunsphere on behest of Kelly – she even got it posted to her Facebook wall. While we had planned to go up and check it out there had been a sprinkler line that had broken and so the Sunsphere was raining. Slight irony anyone? Instead we cracked the ice in the small cement pool nearby with our feet enjoying the spidery veins and hollow metal sound it made.
Rocking out the drums two nights on Rock Band 2. While I can’t say much for my musical talents I can proudly say I can handle the drum kit on medium after only two nights playing. The drums just make sense to me even if it takes a second to fumble through the first pass of hits I can get the rhythm unlike my epic failure on a Rock Band guitar. Maybe I should have played the drums in band rather than split reeds on a saxophone.
Battlestar Galactica premiered the first of the series Final Episodes on Friday at 10pm. I have to say I wasn’t as excited to watch it as many other people I know but I can’t deny the siren call of a religious war and stellar drama all in one. If you haven’t caught it yet you can watch it on Hulu. It was definitely an excellent episode with enough turns to have me utter the words “What the fuck?” at least a couple times.
Definition of a Vagabond
Some people have asked me for updates on my travels and rather than bother with taking over one of my existing blogs (SlackerReform Jazzdance, or no way in hell Lindybloggers) with my travel writing I have created the Vagabond Cafe.
I affectionately refer to myself as a vagabond in preference to nomad, bum or hobo.
vag·a·bond
n.
- A person without a permanent home who moves from place to place.
- A vagrant; a tramp.
- A wanderer; a rover.
adj.
- Of, relating to, or characteristic of a wanderer; nomadic.
- Aimless; drifting.
- Irregular in course or behavior; unpredictable.
intr.v. vag·a·bond·ed, vag·a·bond·ing, vag·a·bondsTo lead the life of a vagabond; roam about.
[Middle English vagabonde, from Old French vagabond, from Late Latin vagbundus, wandering, from Latin vag
, to wander, from vagus, wandering.]
