NOLA Jazz Fest Pictures

If you happen to be a fan of music, a performer of music, a purchaser of music or, simply a lover of music, you must attend this festival and the city of New Orleans. Oh yeah, the food doesn't suck.





























A plethora of more great pics to come. I'm tired of reminiscing -- I miss it badly!

NOLA Jazz Fest

I dream of earthquakes.

A vivid recreation of my familiar environment, complete with details a conscious brain would omit. Stunning and complex, a movie set created by imagination peppered with a dash of real-life trauma experienced a couple of hours prior. Fire and smoke. Helicopters and children rescuing infants. Extended family introductions. Climbing up and up and up only to find zip lines and explosions.

Thanks to the handy interweb, I was able to enter many of the keywords of the previous semi-paragraph into the Google machine. Upon striking the enter key, I found the meaning of life within .07 seconds (approximately 2.9 millions results).

Dreaming about earthquakes apparently means that I'm about to lose control and that my life is on shaky ground. It may or may not indicate that I'm worried about money issues. Whatevs. I'm never worried about money (I can't believe that I just paid $10 for a damn 20oz beer in the airport -- that's an entire six-pack and a big grab and maybe a tornado roller if they are on sale!) Yada, yada, yada... It goes on to say that I'm about to experience some spiritual upheaval and that I might be sexually frustrated (what?!?!)

Regardless of what lord Google tells me, I think I do have a pretty good idea of why that spectacular dream occurred when it did and what the meaning truly is. I think it means that my life is on shaky ground, and I'm about to experience some spiritual upheaval... and it's been a few minutes since I've had a girlfriend. HA! Take that, so-called dream experts with your crystals and incense and crazy cat lady friends.

I've made a few decisions in my life as of late. In no particular order:

DO STUFF THAT MAKES ME HAPPY.

What, pray tell?

1) Go to New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival
2) Spend the summer in Colorado, gigging, recording, being creative and saving coin. Maybe a camping trip here or there and a well deserved seat at Red Rocks for Soundgarden and The Mars Volta.
3) ROAD TRIP---->

4) To California. First stop, Carlsbad for 10 days of surfing, eating incredible Mexican food and spending time with one of my best bros and his soon to be bride.

5) Northward toward San Francisco. Detour to Napa Valley to hang with mom and consume massive quantities of salumi, sour-dough and vino. All al fresco, of course.
6) California Brazil Camp
7.1) Finally learn to read music well enough for a:
7.2) Cruise Ship Gig
8) South America (Peru, Ecuador, Brazil)
8.1) Carnival in Rio De Janeiro
9) KoSA Cuba
10) Resume the pursuit of learning a second language
10.67) Fail miserably
11) File bankruptcy and take a job in a tool and die shop tooling and dying
11.1127) Get mini-van

Ambitious? Yes. Impossible? No. I'm left to my own facilities with this grand plan. All that keeps me from accomplishing my self-made dream drum trip of a lifetime is, well, me. If I had a trust fund or $100,000 sitting in the bank, this all would be relatively easy. Of course I don't and what would be the fun and adventure in that anyway** I think I've figured out how to come across the money to fund my trip. It's simply a matter of winning the lottery and milking a lot of kittens.

I'll post blogs and pics and I'll provide running commentary along the way. I'll make fun of people but never as much as myself and I'll ALWAYS be talking about food -- even though I'm endeavoring to drop some 10-year old lbs before surf camp. Anybody that would like to join me along the way is welcome -- particularly if you are of the female persuasion. I'm not scary but I'm really, really, really uncomfortably creepy and I smell pretty bad most of the time because I think farting is funny.

No pics due to my slow internet connection at Louis Armstrong Airport in New Orleans, LA. Step 1, accomplished.

**If anybody to sponsor Damon's drum trip around the world, please feel free to contact me via pigeon courier. I'll accept cash and cash.

Orevwa

Denver Art Museum/Grand Targhee

I like taking pictures of buildings and signs and nature and stuff. I like to take pictures of me and my friends skiing just to make you feel bad about yourself as you stare at your computer screen inside your cube jail. Here are some pictures for you to use as your desktop background.

Mmmmm... Dangerous and Unpredictable

Bullets and Arrows

Cambodian Fertility God
(I actually have no idea what this is)

Denver Library

Denver Art Museum

You really can't beat a blue sky in Denver

Telluride Alley
(Telluride, Colorado)

Corky Boarder
(Steamboat Springs, CO)

Ghost Lift
(Grand Targhee, WY)

Best Ski Day Ever
(Grand Targhee, Wyoming)


AND....

DEATH BLOSSOM!

We Gettin Drunk On Life

Cacophony: Music. Frequent use of chords of harshness and relationship difficult to understand

I'm leaning back in a very comfortable leather recliner, my feet resting on the extended foot stool. I am staring blankly at a brilliant sequence of lights that are spitting out images of a slightly overweight man with spiky bleach-blond hair, tattoos and ear piercings taking enormous bites of this or that in the back of kitchens here or there. In the spacious room to my left, a horn section consisting of trombone, tenor and alto saxophones is diligently learning and rehearsing the New Orleans traditional, "When The Saints Go Marching In." What started out as a series of hoots, cackles and whales has settled into a loose, yet enjoyable rendition of the timeless song

Cacophony immediately came to mind as the initial uncertain notes escaped from the trio of horns. A belch here or a squeak there disrupted my comfortable existence on my comfortable chair in this comfortable house located in the Rocky Mountains some 100 miles west of Denver. I wasn't deep in thought pondering Rumi's poems of Realisation or laughing heartily to myself as I was about to discover how to take over the world with bass lasers -- I was just sitting and staring. Mind blank. No cravings, no desires, nothing. Blank.

The high frequency blast of human breath through meticulously crafted brass and wood, metal and rubber snapped my dormant mind back to the present. A skillful manipulation of dexterous fingers and a trained embouchure filled the silent air with a tasteful and practiced minor jazz scale, somewhat akin to a guitar player mindlessly fingering their "cool lick" or the drummers imaginary solo to tens of adoring fans

Cacophony: Music. Frequent use of chords of harshness and relationship difficult to understand.

Following a calling as an artist is a harsh and difficult path to understand. I've struggled mightily with the pursuit in my adult life, often questioning my decisions to continue with the tremendously challenging yet immensely rewarding quest for fulfillment. As I acquire a modicum of wisdom with each passing year, I slowly come to the painful realization that there might not be an ultimate pinnacle of artistic achievement -- i.e., no super bowl to win or award that can be earned to quiet the mind into a state of serene sedation. Of course, a Modern Drummer cover, a Grammy win, and a yacht full of bronzed and toned females pouring champagne over my head and drinking it out of my belly button with a straw might calm my frenzied brain. However, tanned booties and luxury boats only carry so much intellectual weight. Actually, I think I'd be pretty happy on a yacht right now as my mental imagery is quickly overtaking thoughts of finishing this blog post....

**By the way, if you do a Google image search for "Girls On A Yacht", you may want to make sure a boss, wife, husband, child, is not in viewing proximity. Unless you're into that kind of thing, which I am. "Grandma! Come here -- check THIS out!"

So what is it that pushes us to create? Is it buried deep within our DNA? Is it cultural? The way we were raised, regardless of hardship or advantage? I clearly have no idea and I'm not looking to get too philosophical this morning as I'm still thinking about tan boat girls cooking meat on my yacht. Nevertheless, as I was handed my college diploma and bought my first suit (thank you Enterprise, they'll pick you up!) a decade ago, it took me all of three months to understand the limitations of my patience in the stifling confines of coat and tie. The mind numbing sport of selling replacement car rental insurance to humans whose existence is defined by the luxury vehicle they lease (I CAN'T GO OVER MY MILES!) is an experience I'd rather not repeat. Upon going through some of my old college text books, I discovered an essay I'd written 3 years prior to that moment in which I declared, "I will never wear a shirt and tie to my job." The next morning, I walked into the drab office illuminated by soul-sucking neon tube lights and handed in my resignation.

May of 2011 will be 10 years since I received my diploma in the Murphy Center at Middle Tennessee State University. To the delight of my three family members in attendance, I sauntered across the stage, shook the hand of the Dean of the Liberal Arts department with my right hand and simultaneously received my diploma in my left. I looked to the photographer standing in front of me and managed to contort my face to some resemblance of a half-smile half-grimace as he snapped photo #354 of the afternoon. Later in the day, while sitting on the toilet inside my favorite Cajun restaurant in Franklin, Tennessee I thought to myself, "Whew... the hard part is over! All I have to do now is find a good job, move back to the Colorado mountains with my girl and start living!"

Uhhhhh... cough, ahem. It don't exactly work that way. First off -- that last statement was a complete lie. All I was thinking about while sitting on the toilet? Wait - who knows if I was actually sitting on a toilet? Right? I mean, it was 10 years ago! I don't remember shit I did yesterday. However, I certainly was at a Cajun restaurant called "Copelands" post graduation. I did eventually move to Colorado (but not the mountains) with my girl and I have used the bathroom at some point along the way. The rest of the life stuff... weeeeeelllllll, I believe that is why I am hacking away on my laptop at this very instant.

You see:

Against the expectations of current socioeconomic climate in the United States in March of 2011, I'm an outsider. I am 33 years old. I own a 17 year old Japanese import that approaches 40 miles per gallon of petrol when conditions are ideal. I posses most of two separate drum sets that have paid the bills in one way or another for the better part of the last 4 years. I have a 5'x10' storage space that contains 85% of my possessions. The remaining 15% resides with me inside of my rented, partially furnished apartment-sized bedroom some 5 miles west of the infamous Red Rocks amphitheater. There is nothing on hanging on my walls and I sleep on a borrowed futon that is without frame. By American standards, I have skirted the poverty line for the last several years. The only debt I owe is due to my college education . I have no children, no wife, girlfriend, lover, dogs, cats, or blow up dolls.

The most valuable thing I own is my freedom. Freedom to choose which direction to wander, freedom to escape the monotony of day to day life, routine and obligation - All of which I have seemed to acquire a strong distaste. The plethora of options leads to endless possibilities that keeps my synapses firing rapidly as I turn to the next blank page of Nomad's** choose my own adventure book. My personal hell is over-thinking choices and not following through with instant decisions. It's a painful and arduous process, albeit one that generally keeps me in good financial health in the long run. I have a no credit card policy that keeps me from making rash decisions--like flying to New Orleans next week to attend The Jazz and Heritage Festival. In order to do things such as this, I need to have the money in the bank and my bills covered. Or, I simply rely on one of my wealthy and enabling friends to give me a long term no interest loan (Any Volunteers?)

To hell with it all. The over-thinking, the responsibilities, towing the line between caution and adventure. I choose adventure. I choose the pursuit of knowledge outside the regimented and linear academic process. I earned a document that legitimizes my wherewithal in a white collar interview but my passport might hold more secrets to my education than that damn, dusty, expensive ass diploma ever will.

I own my freedom and I better take advantage of it while I can.

In the coming year, I'm endeavoring to embark on a grand adventure to feed the mind and soul. I am the art project. I am also the artist. Is that weird? Can I like get arrested for that in some southern states? I will attempt to keep a updated blog as to the goings on as I travel and learn and succeed and fail. I hope to see many of you in person along the way and it's my desire create something new with as many good friends as I can. Call it "Reverse Engineering of FaceSpace for MyBook."

And I swear I will not be this serious and disgustingly self-indulgent from here on out.

**Nomad=Damon

Back Where I Began

I'm hungover.

Victor and I hit the town last night, returning to "Che's lounge" located in the hip 4th avenue district of Tucson, AZ. I was here two years ago under much different circumstances -- even though they are virtually identical. At that time, we met the lumberjack and the photographer, drank some jack n' cokes, and ate hot nuts at 2am. Last night, we settled for a few jack n' cokes and a 2 am stop at The Carl's Jr. adjacent to the luxurious two-star rated Days Inn hotel. The piping hot chicken I ordered left a memorable impression on the roof of my mouth that I'm reminded of every time I take a sip of coffee as I sit here and type.

I am at The Epic Cafe. I like it here. This is where my blogging career started in February of 2009. This is where it resumes after a 6 month hiatus. I am struggling to write anything and I don't really care to. My pounding head and off balance equilibrium make it difficult to focus on the computer screen. I'm easily distracted and I'm finding it more enjoyable to people watch (an excellent activity in Tucson) than I am attempting to formulate sentences. My left wrist hurts. My table is off balance. I'm hot but not too much. I can hear portions of everybody's conversation -- like a scene in a movie where the lead character is having a mental break down -- vision is blurry, the conversation gets louder and more intense, a bead of sweat trickles down the nape of the neck AND THEN...

CUT!!!!!!!!!

Director: Wrong line, Asshole.

Actor: If your stupid kid wasn't making so much noise on the set, maybe I could do a better job of regurgitating this awful dialogue! Paige! Get me a Venti 1/2 skim, 140 degree soy chai, in two cups, filled half way in each, diluted with essence of steam and a GODDAMN snowflake on top.

Very easily distracted, I tell you.

So, Yeah, Epic Cafe. Drinking coffee, musing about my poor, pathetic life.

February of 2009 - Left my girlfriend of 8 years. Wasn't ready to grow up. Wanted to travel and join a rock n' roll band.

February of 2011 - Traveled. Fired from rock n' roll band. What now?

"This is an enviable position to be in!" I keep repeating to myself.
"I am lucky!" I say
"The world is my oyster" well, I don't really say or think that. That is very cliche and sounds stupid. The world is not my oyster. Perhaps it's my passion fruit or coconut shell. Maybe even my PBR or meat fortress, but it's certainly not my oyster.



Two and a half years ago, I was stuck in life and sucked at life. I learned a few lessons along the way and figured out how to create my reality. It was simple, really. I would say something and it would happen. Well, it wasn't that easy. I couldn't just snap my fingers and say, "I want a million dollars, sequential numbers, no dye pack and a piece of apple pie a-la-mode" and have it appear. I would have a thought - and figure out what it would take make that thought a reality... i.e., buying a gun, a "geezer mask", learning to speak like Christian Bale in Batman, robbing a bank, and checking Yelp on my iPhone for the best place in town for apple pie a-la-mode.



I knew one thing then. I wanted to travel. From the day I took my first Japanese class as a sophomore in high-school, I had a thirst to explore. In fact, that desire to constantly seek new adventure and experience was probably ingrained in me from childhood...

Blah blah blah... I'm getting a little to self-indulgent here. I was able to peel my eyeballs off of my laptop screen long enough to notice a gentleman "glide" in the door of the cafe. He had long blond hair. He was wearing a pink sweater, glasses and had eyebrow tattoos. His outfit was accented quite stunningly with pink roller skates. He came in, took a lap, stared quite creepily at something and exited quietly. Is String Cheese Playing in Tuscon this weekend?

I just ordered my second GIANT cup of coffee. Things are going to get weird. Apropos for this city, me thinks.



So, yeah. I did some traveling and played some rock n' roll. A lot of traveling, a lot of rocking. I went international. I stayed stateside. I climbed to the top of Machu Picchu and stuck my toes in the Atlantic and Pacific multiple times. I swam in the icy-cool water of the largest natural lake in the western U.S. and melted faces from Portland, Oregon to Charleston, South Carolina. I ate fresh caught blue crab, and partied on a yacht. I've had BBQ from Memphis twice (my favorite in the country) and one of the best Al Pastor burritos ever from a silver trailer in Telluride, Colorado. I drank. I was homeless but never without a home -- even if home was a Wal-Mart parking lot, a cuddle on Pearl Street or a city park.** I traveled along the winding and intoxicating Pacific Coast Highway of northern California and I jogged through the streets of Norfolk, Virginia, inhaling the dense sea air and admiring the mighty presence of our floating war machines. I slept on couches and floors, in vans and under the Montana stars. I didn't go to sleep. I never rested. I met a companion who I enjoyed restlessness with. We climbed mountains and played basketball and ate food and drank wine and passed out from exhaustion. But I never really rested.

I was living my dream. I created exactly what I wanted to be doing in my life at that moment. Every new experience I had was a result of a grander plan that I'd put into motion just a year and a half earlier. Of course, it was fate or chance or divine intervention or manifest destiny or a fortune from a cookie that connected all the dots. I don't understand the complexities of how everything actually happened, or how intertwined all of our relationships are. I'm simply saying that in 2010, I accomplished about everything that I'd dreamed of just a few short years prior to that. January, 1, 2011, I was the happiest I've ever been in my life. So sure of my impending path and what was to come next.

Everything came crashing down.

Not to be overly-dramatic. January brought no illness, no death, nothing catastrophic to my simple little life. All in all, I have my health, I am resourceful and able bodied. I have friends and family that show me unconditional love, regardless of mistakes that are made. I live in the mountains (A long time coming!), I'm enjoying the finest season of snowboarding I've ever had. I make enough money to ride choice powder days during the week and put gas in my '93 Civic - even though I'm continually attempting to destroy her. I have a comfy twice weekly gig at a top-flight steak house in downtown Denver that feeds me fillet with truffle butter and lobster and crab-fried rice and sea-bass. I am perhaps a little too healthy, not quite able to take off that extra weight that I've accumulated over the years. But my identity has been shaken and the carpet of life was blindly and quickly pulled out from under my feet. I still don't understand exactly what happened but I choose to move on and open the next chapter.

The problem is, as I turn to page 174 of my "choose your own adventure" book, I find it frighteningly blank.

"This is an enviable position to be in!" I keep repeating to myself.
"I am lucky!" I say
"The world is my oyster" or my steak with truffle butter...

What now, indeed. Music, at least temporarily has been knocked a few pegs down the list. I understand this is a natural reaction to being dumped and perhaps it will rear it's ugly head soon enough but I'm simply not feeling much from it right now.

Traveling, on the other hand, is very much still at the forefront of my priorities. Trying to figure out how to facilitate that is currently the most difficult task...

Conceivably, starting at the same place all over again will show me the way.

Shut up, Damon.

**Don't scoff at sleeping in a Denver metro area city park. The cool of the summer morning air accentuated by the soothing melody of a song-bird and the rhythmic, trance-inducing pattern of the sprinkler cycle provides a incredibly relaxing and peaceful environment to rest a weary head for a few hours.

My tour is cooler than yours!

I think I have some masochistic part of me that enjoys waiting a month to write about some lame experience I/we/The Congress had, uh, a month ago. The fun part is filling the blanks with complete BS to provide some sort of comic relief to the losers (yes YOU!) who actually waste their time reading my blog.

Not BS:

Google The Congress. We're #2. That's pretty awesome.

BS:

The Denver scene LOVES The Congress

Not BS:

We will be playing a super awesome show on September 11th at The Walnut Room with a great new band called The David James Band

BS: We will be covering Weezers "The Blue Album" on Halloween.

Well, this little exercise of what's BS or not has bored me to tears. It was neither funny nor satisfying. Time for pictures:

Parachute surfin, Hood River, OR

Look very closely at the license plate...

Portland Bridge

Random lake, somewhere around middle Oregon, where we came very close to running out of gas

Pointy mountain, around the same area of middle Oregon.

Middle Oregon was pretty cool, well, except for Medford. That was awful. Everyone we came in contact with in Oregon - from Portland to Bend warned us about Medford. "Go to Ashland" they said. Well, it's not that easy Mr. black rimmed glasses wearin, ironic moustache (I like spelling it that way), knit cap in the middle of summer rockin, skinny jeans-balls crampin, thrift store wardrobe havin Portland hipster guy. Shhheeesh.

Bend was fun. We met some weird people who spoke passionately of cities needing to build better relationships amongst each other. You know, like giving gifts, or exchanging cultural ideas. Said weirdo used, as an example, the two cities from The Simpsons that are always fighting with each other. He seemed to have a very real problem with this and was trying to figure out a solution -- all while apparently completely whacked out on psychedelics. At one point, this fella raised beer for a toast, "Cheers to giraffe tongues!"


Sidebar: Okay, I'm not much of a Simpsons watcher. I just had to do a google search for "the simpsons cities" to attempt to find out the adjacent city that Springfield is always feuding with. No luck on my first attempt. However, I did find that there is a wikipedia page about "the fictional town of Springfield." Within this wiki entry, I discovered that somebody has actually taken the time to describe the Geography, climate, and environment... OF A FICTIONAL CITY:

Geography, climate, and environment

Springfield's geography is varied, including forests, meadows, mountain ranges, a desert, a gorge, a glacier, beaches, badlands, canyons, swamps, a harbor, waterholes, and waterways. Major named geographical features include Springfield Gorge, Springfield National Forest, the volcanic Mt. Springfield, the West Springfield desert ("three times the size of Texas!"),^[11] the Springfield Badlands (also known as the Alkali Flats),^[12] the gigantic Murderhorn mountain, Springfield Glacier, Mt. Useful National Park, Springfield Mesa, and Springfield National Park.

The town's skies are usually blue and sunny. It has been subject to many natural disasters, however, including heat waves, blizzards, avalanches, earthquakes, acid rain, floods, hurricanes, lightning strikes, tornadoes, volcanic eruptions, and a comet impact.

Springfield's environment is unusually polluted. Overflowing garbage forced the whole city—both population and structures—to move five miles (8 km) away from the massive dump that the old town had become.^[13] Springfield is home to the state's largest self-sustaining tire fire, which has been burning continuously for decades.^[14] Lake Springfield's pollution almost led to the city's destruction by an Environmental Protection Agency bomb,^[15] and pollution from the nuclear power plant has mutated the fish in the river.

The Bendonites also had a trampoline:

And a painting of Bob Ross that I will not soon forget:

On the way from Bend to Me***rd, we camped at a sweet spot called Diamond Lake.

Witness:

I wish I had video of us trying to cook hamburgers over that fire... on that grate... Fire 2.5 burgers, The Congress 1.5 Burgers and a grilled cheeze.

Post middle Oregon, we headed south to Top of California. Top of California is a very magical and cosmic place. The trees grow tall and spooky layer of misty clouds makes for a visually satisfying crunch that is only matched by eating a french onion Sun Chip and crinkling the new compostable bag simultaneously.

Sun Chip Crunchy Trees

P.L.A.D.*

Rockness Monster

Northwest Top of California, particularly the counties known as Humboldt and Mendocino is know for agriculture. They have a lot of it. It's generally green and smells good. People give it away like it's going out of style, which, according to various laws that are being passed all over this county -- it won't be going out of style anytime soon. Snoop Dog and Dr. Dre preached about this agriculture way back in tha day. Yours truly skipped Algebra class my junior year of high-school to pick up the much anticipated agricultural bible, Dr. Dre's "The Chronic" It's about chronic growth of fresh peaches and apples and salad mix in the fields of Compton. It's also about killin n*****

Continuing along our southerly route to upper-middle-top of western coastal California, we happened along the ultra-conservative enclaves of San Francisco and Berkley. I'll call it Berklacisco from now on.

We found out that you can do anything that you desire in Berklacisco. Anything.

Like party with Rock Stars:

4th from the left (in yellow P.L.A.D by the way) is Rock Star Daniel Clarke

The long-hair with k.d. Lang

The short-hair with The Chrongress. He's much better looking in our band

After a few extensive meetings, The Congress decided that we would allow Mr. Clarke to tickle the keys for us -- only after tickling me until I cried + a warm, long embrace. Daniel joined us for our shows in Berkley (with Great American Taxi) and San Fran at a cool joint called The Boom Boom Room which was opened by blues legend, John Lee Hooker. Both shows were wildly successful for our first time in Berklacisco, culminating with a chance meeting with a gentleman named Dennis Cook who is an editor for jambase.com. Mr. Cook published a nice article about the band that you can see here.

Prior to bidding adieu to Berklacisco, we all gathered for a great breakfast of dungeness crab cake benedict and zucchini fries at a place called The Fat Lady in Oakland. Once again, Dwight reminded us why he shall never be trusted with sharp objects...

I think my favorite part of this is the green bush in front of the house

4 DAYS OFF IN TAHOE!!!


P.L.A.D. Camouflage

That's it for me. I'm tired of this post. We have a couple of days in Tahoe and a drive back home to discuss. Add a few almost-all night gambling binges and I'll have a one last post coming soon to wrap up our 2010 northwest tour. I'm motivated to get this done because we'll be heading back to the southeast in a little less than a month and I'll have all sorts of new picture words for my upcoming TV stories to share with the tens of people who read this blog.

Stay tuned as I'll be announcing our tour dates for October...

Pirkano paye yan