A piano, a guitar and 10,000 screaming fans

Last night Tina and I attended a concert together as a special anniversary treat. John Mayer was the name on the ticket, but we were also there for our old favorite Ben Folds and his current band. It was a great show and a wonderful time with my sweet wife who is currently working so hard in Tucson. But before my thorough analysis…

I must begin this blog by mentioning a sentiment of Tina’s that I share. During the half hour break between the two groups, she reminisced about the feeling of excitement that going to concerts used to give her. I remember those days—we would wait and wait for a show and when that day finally arrived, man-oh-man. Concerts that we wanted to go to were usually in Phoenix back in those days, and it’s almost like it was better that way for us Tucsonans. Driving up and back from the show was a big part of the fun. I remember, distinctly, sitting in the back of Marisa Henderson’s old convertible on the way home from my very first concert: Lollapalooza 1994. My ears were ringing and there was a melancholy smile on my face. I had just seen the Smashing Pumpkins. IN PERSON. And now it was over. I remember thinking that that summer day was, to that point, the best day in my life so far. That’s how dramatic it was. And it didn’t end there—I was hooked. My friends and I perfected the art of concert going. Later, we would fill every seat in John Heidenreich’s old Brown van and head off to see Weezer or No Doubt or Weezer again (I think we went to Phoenix to see Weezer on at least three occasions). We would show up early so as to secure our spot at the front of the general admission crowd and would be the last to leave the concert hall—just incase the band decided to come out and play one last song. We would often hang around the tour buses afterwards with hopes to meet the band, and on several occasions we did! I have Rivers Cuomo’s signature from three separate meetings. John and I snuck back stage and met Gwen Stefani and No Doubt; we met the members of the now defunct that dog., and I even was invited on stage with them at one show we went to. Those were good, good times.

Concerts in adulthood just don’t have the same affect on us anymore. I am fairly sure that if I added them all up, since returning from San Francisco in ‘99 I have been to twice the concerts I had been to as a teenager. But it would take me a while to sit and figure it out because I really don’t remember a lot of the shows that I have been to in the last eight years that clearly. There just isn’t that intense happiness that accompanies them anymore like theirwas in the days of yore. So, last night we mourned a bit over the loss of our childhood. As we approach 30, had three kids at a babysitter, and had to come to grips with going back to work the next morning, we were reminded (again) that the gap is getting larger.

But we still had a great time. We got to the Jobing.com arena (the lamest name for a venue since Cricket pavilion) during what I determined today to be Ben Fold’s first song, Gone (it killed me that we could have missed some of his set). The strangest thing about seeing a band you really really like (and readers of this blog know how much I love Ben) open for a different, much bigger band. In other words, they are definitely not the main event, and you can tell because everybody is sitting down. In fact, it is safe to say that a majority of the audience didn’t know who he was until late in his set when he played Brick. “Ohhhh,” the 8500 people who were there solely for John Mayer must have thought at once, “THAT is who this guy is!”

So we found our way down to our 12th row seats (Tina had forgotten that we had such great seats—which was fun. “We’re on the floor! Awesome!”). And sat there amongst all the John Mayer fans and belted along with Ben Folds as he sang. After the first song, the 50 year old guy that was sitting next to me said, sensing my enthusiasm, “Who is this guy?” So Ben Folds rocked the house and I sat there politely tapping my foot, every inch of me wanting to get up and shake my bootie. He played some favorites, including some great songs from the “five” days: All You Can Eat, Not the Same, Kate, Narcolepsy, 1 Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn faces, and a cover of Postal Service’s Some Great Heights come to mind at the moment. He had some songs where he added in some synth happiness—and I think I read somewhere that he is going to be using that synthesizer more on his next album. In classic Ben Folds potty humor, he mentioned studying up on the internet a very low frequency at which when felt/heard at a high enough volume, caused the listener to loose control of his bowels. He then played a note/frequency a few pitches above that note. As you might imagine, it’s a myth. But a funny myth, wouldn’t you say?

Ben Folds was over too quickly. The only Ben Folds t-shirt you could buy was a brown one that had the words “I ♥ Ben Folds” in the “I ♥ New York” fashion, except that over the white lettering, it had this alteration in red: “I ♥’d Ben Folds before he sucked” That pretty much summed up why he is the coolest dude ever.

The John Mayer show was what you might expect. Mayer is such an amazing guitarist. Maybe I will expand on this in some future blog, but the guy has one of the classiest careers in the biz (did I just say biz?). You gotta hand it to someone who has had so much commercial success, but yet remains so authentic and true to himself. Both times I have seen John Mayer (the other you can read about here), this sense of authenticism was the most palpable feeling present. The guy is just talented and can write a sweet melody to boot. You can take a look at the set list for last night’s show here. The highlights for me were “Bigger than My Body” and “Gravity.” Plus, unlike Tina, I LOVE all the jams and jam he did.

Watching crowds at concerts is fun. Next time you go to one, look around at how the people are behaving. A lot of people are like you, they are into it—dancing around a bit—definitely singing along. And then there are the folks who are REALLY into it. I saw a few of these fans during last night’s show. These are the fans that are SO into it, you have to ask yourself, “are they really into it or are they just into being into it?” There were these two girls who fit this description. Here’s how you can tell. During every song, they don’t actually look at the artist playing. They look at each other, hands in the air, dancing, singing every word to each other (as if to say, “we know every word to this song—and we know it TOGETHER!”). Then, in between songs, when there is a chance that John Mayer might be looking in their direction, they swoon for him—reach toward him, even though they are way too far away—like 100 feet and 45 degrees up—to touch him. So that was fun/pathetic to watch.

Final thoughts? I can’t wait to see Ben Folds in a crowd full of Ben Folds fans again. Then you know it will be me showing everyone I know EVERY WORD and reaching toward the stage, hoping to catch Ben’s eye, if only for a moment. Maybe I’ll wear a tube-top.

From Amoeba to Canyons Grand (Now with pictures!)

Prius count 150 (they are EVERYWHERE in Berkeley. Go figure.)

I suppose I should get on with it. Though it is starting to feel a bit ludicrous. Any blogging of our trip at this point promise to be nostalgic ramblings at most--yet I proceed.

Before I get on with our visit with Tina's aunt, I should mention one other thing from the night in San Francisco. After we returned from Jeff and Millan's house, the kids went down, but we had by then nearly a week's worth of dirty laundry to do. I was commissioned with the task to go out and find a place to do it and so I ventured out.

I knew it wouldn't be difficult to find a laundromat. Doing one's laundry outside of the home is fairly common in San Francisco, as you might imagine. So I went out and found one. I bring it up tonight because of all of the moments in San Francisco, this one felt most like my memories. I was not, for that moment, just a visiting tourist. I was a part of the landscape again, a resident. I had a nice conversation with the Filipino man who ran the place. I wondered if I had arrived too late to be able to finish drying my loads. He assured me that he always stays until the last load is done, even if it is posted that the place closes at ten. He was very friendly and added to the feeling of home. I enjoyed that night and my clothes weren't stinky anymore as a result of it.

So, Berkeley. We arrived in the early evening, around 5. Tricia was due to be off at work around then, so in order to give her some time to get home and situated, I was able to talk Tina into letting me quickly peruse the Amoeba records that I knew to be near the University. With some over-the-phone directions from Tricia, we quickly found it and I ran up the street to get to it while Tina nursed Jonas and the kids watched Peter Pan for the 9th time. I

It's likely that you, the reader, have never been to Amoeba and so for your sake, I will briefly try to describe it to you. Imagine the biggest, coolest used record store you have ever been in. Maybe you are picturing Zia records in Tucson or perhaps some other similar radical used record store in your city. Now imagine the record store you have in your mind's mother. Amoeba is the mother of all record stores. It is what a used record store might, in it's wildest dreams hope to be like someday. I don't mean to be unclear here. What makes Amoeba so awesome, isn't actually it's size. It is quite large--but not as large as some Tower records I have been in. What makes Amoeba records so awesome, no matter which of its three locations you are in (San Francisco, Berkeley, Hollywood) is the dueling power of its selection and prices. It has everything you could ever want and then several things you never knew existed that when you see them you want them too. It also has amazing prices. For example: While walking past the Vs I happened to see Veruca Salt--an old favorite. Tina has become quite a fan of Nina Gordon, one of the founding members of VS. I glanced over and noticed that Nina had released a second solo album that I was unaware of. How much might that go for, I asked myself. $6.99. Done deal. Amoeba has a whole section of discs that are $2.99 and under. Do I really need that old Stone Temple Pilots album that has all their hits on it? Not really. Can I pass it up for $1.99? Nope. Needless to say, I went a little wild. I left the store with no less than 7 new/used discs. While waiting in line, I noticed a sign that said that students get a 10% discount. Can this place give any more love? 7 discs, a mere $40.

After a minor scolding for being gone longer than expected (time flies...) we were off to Aunt Tricia's house. Her house, that she shares with boyfriend Jordan, is just amazing. Its like one of those houses that you see from the outside and think, "gosh, can this be as beautiful inside as it is on the outside?" It is. And on a clear day, you can see both bridges, the City, Alcatraz, Treasure Island--basically the whole Bay Area, from their large living room windows. And not only was the atmosphere unbeatable, the company of Tricia and Jordan was exquisite. They are such great people and were so nice and accommodating of our horde. Tricia seemed to have endless patience with our kids and had dozens of books and toys for them to play with. Jordan helped me solve a complex tech problem I was having and didn't seem to mind too much when I thanked him for being a smarty-pants.

The next day (Prius count 175), this hospitality was extended when Tricia spent two hours (plus) in her cute cup-cakery with the kids. Letting them decorate, and help bake cupcakes for the store (all while I waited to have a screw in my tire repaired in downtown Berkeley--i should also mention that it was downtown that I found the cable I needed for my laptop and bought it. Finally.). We parted ways at last and were off for one final hurrah in San Francisco. After stopping briefly at a toy store, we cruised across the Bay bridge one last time and into the heart of the city. We stopped in China Town and looked around for cheap t-shirts but only found roasted geese hanging in the window and a wide assortment of dried fish in cardboard boxes. We then drove out to the Mission district (one of my old haunts) and stopped at my favorite taqueria at 24th and Mission st. for an amazing burrito (but not before Tina scored some shoes at the Sketchers outlet, and we also found the kids their t-shirts and me an awesome, four dollar cap). While eating said burrito and thinking to ourselves "this is the only burrito that I have ever eaten that bests the conveyor-belt happiness that is Chipotle", we cruised through the city, sad to be leaving so soon, towards the Golden Gate.

We crossed the Bridge, and drove through beautiful Marin towards Sonoma county and Petaluma where we had a dinner date with John and Kim Kai and co. The drive was somber and golden. I had forgotten how quickly luxurious bustle gives way to cow and field. They were a welcomed sight. We met up with John and Kim--our first visit with them for seven years--and got reacquainted with them and their now quite large and grown up family. John, a man I met tracting on my mission, is currently his ward's Elder's Quorum President. Nothing much sweeter than that, I must say. They took us out for dinner and our kids played and we visited and reminisced. I wish we could see them every month.

We didn't make it to the KOA north of Petaluma until around 10pm. We quickly set up the tent and get settled. Only downer of the whole day: I paid for electricity at the campsite and all we got was a hook-up for RV electricity. This is a picture I took in the morning.



***
I was tempted to quit there for the night, and you must certainly be tired of reading by now. But, there is only one more California day to go and it is a short day, so let's be done with it, shall we?

The last day of our California trip was spent down in Sausalito taking a few touristy pictures of the magnificent Golden Gate Bridge and then in Mill Valley for lunch. These were both areas that I served in for nearly 6 months (though I was there during the gloomy winter months and not during the bright and beautiful summer). We had a lot of miles to cover that day, so we got moving toward Idaho falls. We stopped in Sonoma for cheese and potty. And then we drove and drove and drove.

Final Prius count: well over 200. We didn't see many in Idaho or Utah and saw less in Phoenix. I have actually started noticing them in Tucson quite often-at least one every time I venture out.

***
I don't mean to sell short our visit with my family. Hopefully our time with them has been sufficiently blogged about by Michelle and Nick. We had a wonderful wonderful time with my parents. We always do. We love them so much and this, the "trellis" trip will live in legend. It's nice to get along so well with my parents, siblings and with Brandon, Michelle's husband. We always have something exciting, important, or thought provoking to talk about. Let's be friends forever, ok guys?

Our final stop on the trip was the Grand Canyon. I had never been there before and we took the detour off the beaten path to see it. It added an additional 3 hours to our already 12 hour day, but I was glad we did it. There was something symbolic about standing before that great, beautiful void with my family. We are, ourselves, about to venture into an unknown void of sorts--though it also promises to be... beautiful.

Artichoke me any time you want.

I gotta get this roadtrip narrative under the bridge. Time is marching on!

Prius Count 70

When we left our weary campers, they were at a KOA in Santa Cruz freezing their booties off. We rose that morning to the click and clank of the campers across from us, some speaking an unrecognizable, if pleasant, European language. It wasn't too loud though and the kids slept through it (as you can see here).

We readied ourselves for the day's journey which was to include the famous Monterey Bay Aquarium and then the final leg of the drive to San Francisco.

The Aquarium was magnificent. The kids enjoyed it. Since it was our first time there, though, we didn't know about the cool new interactive, "wet," play area until we had been there for a few hours and were getting antsy to be leaving. The kids, then, had the best time at the place we felt the most rushed at—one of the many vacation ironies.

We then hit the road (after squishing a souvenir penny—the thing that Seth was the most interested in doing and also the thing that only costs $.50 and is OUTSIDE of the aquarium) a little before lunch.

In between Monterey and Santa Cruz is artichoke country—and we had to, therefore, stop for the local delicacy: deep-fried artichoke hearts. Holy Crap (do you capitalize the C in Crap when you use the exclamation "Holy Crap"? I never thought of that phrase as blasphemous until this minute.) Let's just leave it at that. Holy Crap.

The drive to SF was lovely. We opted away from the one for those few miles and probably saved a few hours because of it. We still got to see Crystal Springs, a favorite sight of mine, of the 280. It was very interesting noting the climate/environment change as we passed into SF county. Just a few miles south it was sunny, but Pacifica, Daly City, and SF were totally foggsville.

We made it to the motel in time to get over to my old friend Jeff Freebairn's house for a yummy Thai dinner. It was fun to see him struggling with similar child-raising issues. We met he and his wife Millan at Fisherman's Warf the next morning after a really cool (if windy freezing) cable car ride from Powell and Market. We et crab, walked around a bit, enjoyed the beautiful sites and cruised back up the cable-car and to our car. Due to a recent Little Einsteins, Seth knew many of the sights, including Coit Tower, which loomed in the distance.

(You gotta love that lady up there who smiled for our picture. They were very nice and understanding of our squirmy family.) Our next destination was Tina's aunt Tricia's house in Berkeley. This stop was a definite highlight for me and Tina (and the kids!). Let's hit that tomorrow—it deserves it's own entry.

Highway 1 (May 13)

Prius Count 42

All of my good intentions of blogging everyday about our trip have faded as I now sit, vacation over, back in Mesa with only memories. (Update: Now I am in Tucson, move over with sore back and feet. We are very glad to be here.)

Alas, the trip log must continue and so I begin this blog where we ended the last. In the LA area with Disneyland behind us. We stayed the night of the 12^th with my good friend and former mission companion Mike Daines and his wife Brooke. They have a nice pad on a hill in South Pasadena. As is becoming tradition during my visits with Mike, our conversation moves from talk of the intersection of our two career interests (graphic design and rhetoric) to the days of the mission. I am amazed at what he can remember about the mission that I have completely forgotten. Visits like the one I had with Mike make it clear that if I am serious about writing a mission memoir (and I would really like to do some serious work on it this summer), I will need the help of the memories of Mike and other mission bros if it’s going to be good.

We left Mike’s on Sunday morning with the intention to drive up the coast to Santa Cruz and our first night of camping—what we didn’t intend was that it would take us 12 hours in the car to accomplish this. But what a 12 hours they were (at least, what a first 9 hours they were). The Pacific Coast Highway, or Highway 1, from LA to San Francisco offers a variety of sights to behold, from fancy-schmance beach houses to cliff side hotels and from amazing beaches to steep, windy forest roads. The first major beach town is Malibu. It was funny to see that almost every beach house has a super nice car parked in front of it—an indication that even though most of the houses are small, they are not, by any means, cheap. We drove by the beautiful Pepperdine college and then up to Santa Barbara. I would have to say that UC SB is now at the top of my list for future, hope-to-work-and-live destinations. Talk about awesome location! (A quick peak at their web space has revealed that they don’t really have a rhetoric and composition emphasis in their English department—crap!). At some point just south of Santa Barbara, we stopped for a picnic lunch on the beach. It was lovely, but of course, as soon as we had climbed down the rocks from the car and were sitting on the beach enjoying the sand and surf, Seth whined that he needed to use the bathroom. And of course it had to be the less-convenient number two that he had to do. And of course a quick look up and down the beach confirmed that there was no bathroom for miles. So what did we do? It’s gonna sound cruel, but I put one of Maryn’s diapers on Seth and told him to do his business if he could and tried to enjoy the beach. We did enjoy it, even if it was only a few minutes. Seth couldn’t manage his business without a toilet—which isn’t a bad thing. We found one a few miles up the road.

I should mention briefly, that this was the first day that the Prius sightings started to pour in. They were everywhere. We saw at least 30.

Between Santa Barbara and Monterey, there aren’t many big towns—so I need the reader at this point to imagine breathtaking view after breathtaking view. A new beautiful sight was literally around every corner. How I wish I could have just stared at the beaches and ocean the whole drive. Keeping one’s eyes on the road in an environment such as that was akin to having to keep your eyes closed in a movie theatre—and only open them every 30 seconds or so.

We stopped for dinner in the tiny beach town of Cayucos where we ate chowder and fish and chips at a friendly Mom and Pop diner. It was nearing sunset and was getting cooler. For whatever reason, this was a highlight of the trip up the coast for me. I just loved being there with my family in that little coastal town eating fish. The kids were well behaved; Tina and I were having nice conversations; it was just—for me—perfect. I won’t soon forget the feeling. As we started getting further north, we started ascending into the forest that surrounds Big Sir. This was the windy driving, car-sick inducing driving that you might have heard about in reference to Highway one. It was a bit tedious, if only because it was getting late and we were still hours away from our destination. The sun went down, we finally passed through Monterey, but it was another 45 minutes up to Santa Cruz and the KOA.

When we finally got to our campsite—it was about 10:30. You’ve never seen a man and his wife set up a tent so quickly. Our children, unaccustomed to watching their parents work with such ferocity, were beside themselves in the car, a trio of tears and wails. When we all nestled into our blankets and sleeping bags, they fell asleep almost immediately.

Despite its length, I would love to make this drive every summer—though I know that will never happen. For your future trip planning, there are some great campsites at Big Sir and, right near, in my opinion, the most striking site of the trip. The campsites are located about 8 hours north of Malibu and are right on the coastal cliffs. If and when we do this again, we will be staying there.