Adventures #82 and 83: Chicago, Illinois and St. Paul, Minnesota

The bumper sticker on the back of the luxury SUV said “Don't spread my wealth, spread my work ethic” and I nearly lost it. Here in the remains of Central Michigan, where the industry had skipped town and taken most of the jobs with it? Where McDonalds issues a packet to their workers explaining dispassionately that the only way to survive on their wages from McDonalds is to take a second job? I'm fortunate to be able to earn my living mostly doing the things I want to do, but it comes at a price of constantly contorting my finances and schedule. And in the last 4 months, I've pulled a string of 20 hour days without a single day off to come out the other side as broke as I went in. So question my sanity for trying to make a living as an artist in the worst economy in almost a hundred years, but don't question my work ethic. This is Pen Pen saying “fuck that” and flipping the car the bird (it's funny because penguins are birds).

I woke up in Jackson, still tired. The kind of tired that goes down to the bone. I had a mountain of things left to do. 4 shows still not confirmed. A grant to write. 3 or 4 songs for a play to compose. Scores for 10 other songs. And always more articles. Not to mention the daily routine of travel for 4 hours, and perform for 2. The detritus of a hyperactive work ethic. But not even I can sustain 20 hour days indefinitely, and if my body wasn't going to let me sleep, I was going to force it to relax. Even if just for a few hours. So as I reached the corner of Michigan and Indiana I pulled off in search of a beach. It may not be salt water, but at least you can't see the other side. So it'll do. This is Pen Pen taking a long walk off a short pier.

A few triumphant hours of reading while the sounds of summer permeated the air. The to-do list glared naggingly in the back of my head, but I pushed it aside. Yeah. I know this means one more 20 hour day somewhere down the line. But right now? Right now it's the 74^th annual Hunger Games and I'm not about to miss that. This is Pen Pen winning the Hunger Games Chicago style.

As I left Chicago the next morning, the tired still hadn't abated. But my work ethic is indefatigable even if my wealth is fatigued. So I pulled off into a coffee shop for a few hours to try to polish off some of the work I'd run from the day before. A dent, but not an insignificant one. I headed back on the road for a few hours, then pulled off again, having made good enough time to justify a brief break in the road and lured by the promise of a “state trail.” A weird weird part of me felt a tinge of guilt for going hiking when I still had so much to do. An even weirder part of me contemplated not writing about it for fear that some of the people I'm doing projects for would know I was having fun during time that I could have been doing work. “Why aren't you working?” Bender orders. “We are working!” Leela and Fry respond. “I mean working yourselves to death.” 8 hours of work, 8 hours of sleep, 8 hours of what we will? I'll settle 18 of work, 4 of sleep, and 2 of what we will. This is Pen Pen what we willing.

I headed off on the Northwest trail because A. it looked like I could do it in an hour and a half, and B. it was the only one marked difficult. If I'm going to take it easy, I might as well take it easy with difficulty. About a hundred yards in a path split off from the main one. “Time Warp Trail,” the sign said, with a tiny red sign affixed beneath it, “Do Not Enter.” You really should know better than to name something awesome and mysterious like “Time Warp Trail,” put a sign up explicitly telling them not to follow it, and expect curiosity not to get the best of everyone who walks by. This is Pen Pen doing the time warp again.

Sadly there were no frozen donkey wheels. No four toed statues. Not even a polar bear that would turn out to have nothing to do with the plot. As far as I could tell it was still 2013, and there was no Dr. Frankenfurter, Doc Brown, or Dr. Juliet Burke. But I did come across the ruins of an old wall handmade stone wall that was clearly built by Jacob to keep out the Smoke Monster. This is Pen Pen screaming “Waaaaaaaalt” loudly and dramatically despite it also having nothing to do with the plot.

I got to the venue late. Cursing my brief dalliance with fun. But everyone there was incredibly friendly. From the other bands to the promoter to the sound guy, I was immediately welcomed into this community in St. Paul. When I got up to play there were at most 30 people in the venue, but they were appreciative, attentive, and incredibly supportive. It may have been a small crowd in a large venue (funny how I can play to 6 people in a basement and think that was a great crowd!), but it didn't feel small. The other bands were unanimously great. At the end of the night, the promoter apologized for their not being a lot of people there to see me. “That's OK,” I said, “They were the right people.” Those moments when you're welcomed with open arms into a new community? When the performance of your art forges real human connection? Those are the moments when all the hard work becomes worth it. Those are the moments that propel you through the 20 hour days. This is Pen Pen turning on the Red Light despite Sting telling him he doesn't have to.

This is a song I wrote one time. You should download it and share with your friends.