I like being ignorant. I don’t mean that in an indictment of the US educational system sort of way. When I tour I like to stay stupid. I am a musical cow. Following the herd. I want the barest of essentials of information. When do I get up? Ummmm… basically that’s it. I guess what time my plane leaves is in there somewhere but it kind of folds into the whole “when do I get up” question. How many days are we gone so I can figure out how many black T shirts I need to bring with me. From that point it’s all instinct. My car knows the way to the airport apparently, ’cause I find myself there with great regularity. From my peripheral vision I catch sight of a large object with spots on it. Some guy grabs my guitar and I follow him into the large spotted vehicle.

In two minutes… hello!… I’m at the airport. There’s a line so I obediently stand in it. Sometimes I end up in O’Charlie’s. Most times I end up in a little tube holding my hands over my head as a man tells me I am “Good to go.”  I always enjoy the affirmation of my worth. I walk down the hall until I hear someone call my name. Since we have other members of the band who live in Nashville, there is always someone to call my name so I will know when to sit down. I then look at what they are wearing so when I see that color shirt get on a plane I know to follow it. Once we get to where we are going there are several people whose job it is to make sure we all gather together and get on the right bus.

Sound checks… dinner… show… hotel room… all comfortable routines that I can and often do with my eyes closed. If you see me onstage lost in the reverie of a beautiful song… nope. Asleep.

I am currently on a plane headed to Palm Springs for a BSR gig. Georgia, as usual, is seated across the aisle. We like to travel together. Love it, in fact. She just prefers that I travel NEAR her yet not NEXT to her. Apparently I twitch and jump in my seat like Michael Clarke Duncan in the execution scene of The Green Mile.  I have memorized her shirt color so when we land  I will end up  at baggage claim.

My brain is officially on hiatus till Sunday night when we get home and I have to remember how a door lock works and what our alarm code is. Tomorrow we play a private show for lawyers here in Palm Springs. If you have never played a concert for 800 lawyers then the excitement, the grandeur, the thrill… it’s beyond my humble talents to paint that picture. At the end of the night I will try my best to write more and let you know how many ties were thrown on stage and how many restraining orders were broken.

Now… how do I turn this thing off? I kind of remember it’s this butto