Tolerance

So we are making Nashville our capital-H Home. That little thought I had in mind for years, the idea to live in Nashville, and actually followed through on last Christmas has turned into one of my better decisions. We've made a great group of friends in addition to people I knew from past touring and new work friends I've already spent huge amounts of time with on the road. We bought a house. We're getting to know our neighbors. I've found a place to volunteer. I wouldn't have predicted this move would make THIS much sense this quickly.

When asked why I've fallen so hard for Nashville, I mention people's friendliness, the community involvement, the music and creativity, the affordability, and the relative proximity to family in Cincinnati. I wasn't sure about all of these qualities before moving here because if you don't know where you're going and are driving around Nashville, the city can come off as lackluster. The vacant lots and barbed wire don't always give off indications that when you turn right or left, or just look closely, there are charming districts of independent businesses, bars, coffeeshops and creative spaces. The suburbs and country areas may be different, but it seems that city neighborhoods are largely mixed income so within the same blocks you may have a drug house, a working low-income family, a trendy modern condo, and a historic cottage. The pace of new building is fast and residential and commercial structures are springing up regularly. There is definitely a feeling of change.

Some of these qualities I've admired in other cities but other aspects are brand new to me. Nashville is politically blue. It has a strong progressive bent, queer- and eco- friendly, especially in East Nashville where we are, but the state of Tennessee does not. Tennessee is more Christian right conservative than this Northern gal is used to. It's a proud, God-fearing culture and they will be damned if you try to tell them what they can and cannot do with their guns. Their many, many guns.

GUNS!

Sweet Jesus, I've never heard more gun talk than I have in the past year. Or seen so many signs on bar doors asking you to leave your firearms outside, since many people carry concealed weapons. Nor have I ever met as many people who have been held up at gunpoint than I have in Nashville. The little buggers are EVERYWHERE. People buy them online for home protection. People buy them illegally, unsure of whether they are stolen or not, to add to their collection. I'm sure people are stockpiling to fight our government who they are convinced will turn against us a la Hitler and Stalin, just as you hear on Fox News.

This is all foreign to me as I didn't grow up with guns but I did marry someone who knows how to handle a rifle and who won a turkey shoot in elementary school, beating out many grown men. My grandpa Roncker was a gun-carrying Cincinnati Police Captain. My father-in-law was a Green Beret Airborne Ranger, Customs Officer, and firearms instructor and is the best shot I know but I still haven't gone all warm and fuzzy with guns, besides the joke I had with Bova where I promised him that if I ever get a gun it will be a Glock with pink accents and the inscription on the side: Bless Her Heart.

Our new neighborhood, Cleveland Park, is rather crime-friendly but I'm still choosing to go with an alarm system, a dog, and padlocks on the privacy fence over keeping a gun in our house. Oh, and the sword Matthew keeps under the bed. The closest I've gotten is that guns in general now seem kind of normal and not shocking as they would have, say, when I were living in Seattle. Speaking of Seattle, when I was there I had the feeling that I was living in a bubble, a utopia of like-minded, agreeable people where it was just so dang pleasant that it bugged me. I wanted more grit and disagreement; I imagined that would feel more real. And, now I've got it.

GOD!

I believe in God. I don't claim to know the details but I do think there is more. I grew up going to public schools during the day, Catholic Mass on Sunday, and CCD religious instruction on Tuesday nights. My family's liberal Jesuit church and its high school youth group had some affect on me but in my earlier years I promptly forgot everything poor Father Nastold tried to teach me all those many Tuesdays that I doodled and smirked; apparently I am a natural born skeptic. Since the Bible went in one ear and out the other, I drew my moral lessons from family, the aforementioned church youth group - that welcomed teens of all faiths or of none, not just Catholics or Christians - and scores of excellent teachers.

The Christian message that stuck with me was that Jesus was a good man to emulate: compassionate, in service to others, kind, courageous, accepting of people who are different. I didn't, and don't, put any great importance on the idea that what I do in this life will affect what happens to me when I die. I'm not worried about heaven or hell. I just do my best to be a good person while I'm here and hope to be judged by my actions, not by my faith or gender or voting record. I think religion, if it is to be used, should be used for people, not against them.

Most of my new friends are leftist and a few remind me of some of my favorite people I know elsewhere: Justin = Nashville Dennis, Oscar = Nashville Fabian, Ryan = Nashville Bova. I've also gotten close to a number of people here who believe that homosexuality is a sin, that Mitt Romney had the right solutions for America, and that any gun control is a freedom issue (always with the FREEDOM). And I'm not even getting into health care or taxes. I think homosexuality is perfectly natural, if not as common as heterosexuality, am Obama-voting, and I think there should be a compliance of some standard that is enforced before regular, non-military, people can own guns. I'm not against guns or against the Constitution, I'm for considering public safety.

My friends and I who are politically and religiously different have more in common than we have apart but oh man, the differences are biggies. I, however, choose to see their lives from a broad perspective, not focusing on guns and gays, and I think they're good people. I believe they think the same of me. We love each other, enjoy being together, and miss each other when we're not. So how does one reconcile those things that could be taken as personal, perhaps offensive, affronts? Or do we just concentrate on our similarities and accept our differences with mutual respect?

Personal details I've shared about myself with some of them: that one of my bridesmaids was a gay man who walked down the aisle with another guy or that I'm not Republican (WHAT?!) have elicited laughs, dropped jaws, or resigned head shakes. But not all details are easy for me to delve into. I'm sensitive when it's about women and when I see vaguely misogynistic-hahahaha Facebook posts from anyone, even if we aren't close, even if we're just acquaintances, I have to remind myself to breathe.

East Nashville has more in common with Portland, OR or Austin, TX than greater Tennessee where a Senator from Knoxville is proposing legislation that would require schools to inform parents if a child is engaging in homosexual activity (what exactly "activity" entails is unclear). Where in talking about education, someone tells me how mad he was when his child came home from school and told her daddy she learned about evolution. Apparently I've been more influenced than I even realized by the bubbles I've lived in because I honestly thought creationism was more on the out than that.

I'm still learning how to deal: how to gauge when a reaction or response is just enough or too much or not enough at all. I still shy away from certain conversations and am not necessarily proud of that. The point, however, is that I'm learning as much or more than if I were always surrounded by people exactly like myself. And if I'm ever surprised or taken aback by what I hear, I have to examine myself and pinpoint what I do or don't believe. Whether or not my viewpoints ever change, I gain something in my understanding of the issues, people's different interpretations of them, and of how our fractured country may be tolerant.

Things I learned on the latest road trip

- I need to buy several of these emergency seat belt cutter glass breaker LED light tools. Thanks Jim.

- My iPod on shuffle likes Sade waaaay more than I do.

- The Motel 6 chain has undergone a transformation in Arizona and New Mexico: laminate wood floors have replaced old carpets, new color-blocked bedspreads instead of stained flower prints, modern finishes, flat screen TVs, and all still under $50 a night. The same has not happened to the Oklahoma and Missouri Motel 6; those still smell like nursing homes.

- I used to love Mad Libs when I was a kid (The astronaut took off in a rocket hot dog, hahahhahahha!) but they are not funny now. In fact, after doing two Mad Libs I fell into a depression and we had to throw them away.

- I'm going to miss Oceanside and kept thinking about the dinner at Harney Sushi on our last night in town and everyone who came to it: Miguel, Mark, Marisa, Troy, Julie, Sam, Monique, Monica, Jacques, Job, Lauren, Alex, Pablo, Fabian. So awesome.

- Still, I'm REALLY excited to come home and got slaphappy right around Florence, KY. And Nashville is only 275 miles from Cincinnati.

Big Sur Thanksgiving

I'm in Vegas where it's all cowboys, country music, and miniskirts but two weeks ago I was in Big Sur for Thanksgiving. I usually come to Vegas for work and end up laughing at myself because in sharp contrast to the drunken bros yelling in the hallway and sparkly gals in bandage dresses, I'm sitting in my room wearing a flannel and working on my Amex receipts.

The couple of times I came to Vegas and acted like I was in Vegas - (1) when I got married at the Graceland Chapel and (2) for Sunny's 30th birthday when Shane made me get a lap dance from a local female art student who also happened to be a stripper and I was legitimately shocked upon leaving the club to realize that the sun would be coming up soon - it was fun. But, even then, three days of hanging out on the strip saw me crawling to a poolside lounge chair where I laid fully clothed and immobile, wanting nothing more than to return to New York where the stimulus felt less manufactured.

After I was married here, four life-changing minutes after being single, we stood outside the chapel waiting for a cab and I stared at the neon signs in the window of a bail bonds joint. There was so much good: we were hitched! Lovely people witnessed! The Elvis who gave me away was super cool! But Vegas, you are not for me.

Big Sur on the other hand? Thanksgiving dinner of $30 of snacks from the Ragged Point mini mart was just right, especially the Flamin' Hots.

Secret Service bicep

I don't get starstruck easily but Y'ALL. It was the WHITE HOUSE. Obama lives here? I'm in Obama's house? I didn't meet Barack and Michelle but it didn't even matter. I stood on the porch and looked at the Washington Monument, walked around with a female secret service agent who showed us the movie theater and bowling lane. The performers at the Country Music in Performance at the White House show were great in the rehearsals I went to: Lyle Lovett, Dierks Bentley, Darius Rucker, The Band Perry, Alison Krauss, Kris Kristofferson, Mickey, James Taylor, Lauren Alaina. I kept looking at the oil portrait of Teddy Roosevelt from my chair in the East Room, "That painting is old. It's an original. That's Teddy motherf'ing Roosevelt." I held it together, except when I touched the bicep of a secret service guy. I've never felt a muscle like that in my life and I recoiled. I sensed it would be inappropriate to curse so I just went silent.

National Archives

Research librarian standing in front of National Archives, Washington DC.

Happiness.

Jersey Shore

Also seen in Atlantic City: a lot of tribal tattoos, tans, manbellies, boardshorts, baseball hats, bumping, grinding, drinking, the limbo. And this shirt: Cool Story Babe. Now go make me a sandwich. I'm sure there are redeeming qualities to this place. Right?

Tucumcari tree

Tucumcari, NM

Two Guns, AZ

Holbrook, AZ

We hit a low point in the roadtrip on Wednesday night. I’d actually had a couple of low points already, when it was -6 degrees in Missouri and I slammed my finger in the door and when I got a ticket from a New Mexico state trooper for rolling through a stop sign in the middle of nowhere.

I’d gotten off the highway to switch drivers since I have poor depth perception in the dark. I turned into a dimly lit parking lot next to the highway and was surprised by red lights suddenly flashing through the rear window. The only light for miles were a few neon signs glowing from a bar’s windows, otherwise it was pitch dark. So no, I didn’t see a stop sign but hey I can fly back to Gallup to contest the ticket!

After I signed my ticket and got in the passenger seat, I started researching places for us to stay in Winslow, AZ. There were several options that looked okay but the more reviews I read that mentioned prostitution rings in the parking lots and blood stains on the walls made us reconsider and we decided to go to Holbrook, AZ instead.



Distance-wise it made sense to drive to Flagstaff but we were going to the Two Guns ghost town in the morning and wanted a place east of there to stop. Holbrook it would be. We checked into the Holbrook Motel 6 and read online reviews about local restaurants but just confused ourselves so thought we’d drive around and stop for whatever looked good.

The restaurant was called Mr. Maesta's. It had an old-school Route 66 vibe and a sign that proclaimed the BEST FOOD IN TOWN! We chose it over Mexican, Italian, and Denny's because we wanted the BEST. The walls were covered with 1950's and 1960's memorabilia and there were bicycles, wagons, and apropos of nothing, an ironing board hanging from the ceiling. Matthew got a sketchy feeling as soon as we walked in but I waved it aside. He thought it was maybe the old man sitting behind the counter without a shirt on. That, and the fact that the place was empty. And that the waitress looked surprised to see us.

I really, really wanted a salad because I'd been eating road food for three days and Christmas cookies for two weeks. I thought a taco salad was a safe bet but I didn't bet on a burnt taco shell filled with just ground beef. There were a few shreds of cheddar cheese strewn over the top, pale wilting lettuce around the edges of the burnt shell and a plop of guacamole that had already gone brown.

Matthew and Elise didn't fare much better with their gristly tacos and stuffed tuna tomatoes and at one point Elise said something about her tomato that made me laugh so hard I started crying. I cried and laughed and they laughed and we couldn't stop. "It's like we're high," Elise said. "We don't even know what's so funny."

Two guys came in and sat at a table and we wanted to warn them to run but we were laughing too hard.

"You guys, I, um, I just peed my pants."

Adelita's Mexican Restaurant

Santa Fe, NM

Open spaces // garbage cans.

I recently took this photo at a gas station in Arizona near the Texas border. I knew it reminded me of something.



Later I remembered that when I drove a van from Los Angeles to New York in the summer of 2001, I stopped at a place called the Badlands Ranch in South Dakota.



HOWDY PARD, WHOA UP!

I was taken with the land in South Dakota and scenes like this:






Which makes me wonder: am I always subconsciously searching for something that I forgot about?

Sedona

I snapped this photo with a disposable camera last June when Matthew and I were in Arizona. We didn't get it developed for a full year and when I saw the photos this summer, this was my favorite. There were others that were clearer or brighter but I like the mood of this bend in the road.

23 shots of the summer

June - September



This is a view from the Los Angeles hotel room.

Let this represent the end of May through June since I didn't take a photo in the car. When I wasn't at the hotel, I was at the office or rehearsal studio. I also spent hours and hours in the rental car with Kevin driving between hotel and studio.

After disagreeing about whose route takes the longest, I think we both agree that they both take A FUCK OF A LONG TIME. If there is a hell it looks like Lankershim Avenue.



Matthew sent me this after downtown Los Angeles was lit on fire over a basketball game.

I happened to be at the office the day that the Lakers beat the Boston Celtics and since I know dipsquat about professional sports I was clueless as to why every single person on my floor left early. I was seriously ALONE. I presume they all left to watch the game. Or they all had dentist appointments.



I like this Toronto corner. I like Toronto in general. To be perfectly honest, I'm kind of pissed off that I'm not Canadian.



Good Morning America in Central Park.
Photo: Neil Wilson



Me in Manchester, NH being not amused.
Photo: Kevin Mann



Me in Washington, DC being not amused.
Photo: Kevin Mann





On a day off in Washington DC I walked to the National Gallery of Art. I stopped at the Rothko exhibit, sat on a bench in the middle of the room, and watched people look at black canvases. Ha ha.

What do they see when they look at a big black square? What are they thinking?

According to the exhibit materials, Rothko painted the black collection in 1964 and the gallery invites us to question the simple equation of darkness and despair and to re-imagine blackness as a medium of light - nuanced, expansive, and even hopeful.



A wall in New York, NY



In Tampa I spent the first half of the day working. At 2 pm I went to the beach and roamed around taking photos like this.



A few hours later someone who shall remain nameless, okay it was Neil Wilson, plunked down next to me, spread out his towel and handed me a giant bottle of Stoli Blakberi.

This photo represents the beginning of the end and by end I mean I think I'm due for a blackout, it's been awhile. Take that, everyone who's been saying I work too much.





The good news is that when I'm in a blackout I just get really happy. And mellow. And no one ever has any idea that I'm that drunk. The bad news is braincells. Ah, well.



On a long drive from Florida to Texas, Monica goes to have cereal in the front lounge. The milk from the fridge pours out in icicles. She eats it anyway.



On a long drive from Texas to Arizona, I wake up to this. It goes on for awhile.







A truckstop in Arizona



In my hotel room in Phoenix was a head. When you sat on the couch it stared at you WITH NO EYES. I read a book across from it and kept looking up at its black eye holes. I got increasingly more unnerved and eventually defaulted to one of my fear modes.

Demons. The head was a portal for a demon and I'M NEXT.

When Monica, Kevin, and Leila stopped by I asked them if the head was creepy and they said, resoundingly, yes. I put the head on the floor, facing the wall. That somehow made it worse. Kevin put it at the foot of my bed and they all laughed and I actually got a little pissed off until he moved it. Eventually, I put the head outside.



This is what it looked like if you walked by the patio.
Photo: Tim Urban



In Los Angeles my boss gave me a wedding present, part of which was a Gangsta Rap Coloring Book.



A giant statue in Denver, CO



Towards the end of the tour, I was keeping photos like this on my desktop and sending them to people WHO SHARE MY SENSE OF HUMOR when they wanted something. You want to send a fax? Go eff yourself. I'm going home. Love ya.
xx