Adventure #105: Looking for Four Leaf Clovers In Wisconsin

I pulled into Kenosha with a few hours to spare. The first few shows had been pretty solid, but I was in dire need of some down time. I found myself a green space to sit down and engage in my favorite vice: reading pulp sci-fi. I walk through the park in search of a tree, ideally next to some picturesque body of water, maybe a Bodhi tree? I could use some enlightenment. Do they have Bodhi trees in Wisconsin? I found myself in a field of clovers in the woods. It became inexplicably necessary to find myself a four leaf clover. I'm not a superstitious person, I just like symbols. This is Pen Pen and a knight of the merch table.

The problem with being dyslexic (in addition to giggling every time I pass Scotrun, PA) is that I can't just eyeball the clovers. I have to count them. So I stand out in the middle of this field, slowly counting each and every clover. Time becomes irrelevant. Only clovers. There are so many clovers. As people pass by, I become a little self-conscious about standing still in the middle of a field staring intently at the ground. But I'm not deterred. I'm on a quest. Two bros diverged in a yellow wood, and I just kept staring at the ground counting the leaves on the clovers. This is Pen Pen fixing the broken serpentine belt.

After an hour, I start to wonder if this is the dumbest possible use of my time. Where I had previously been so absorbed in my quest that I lost all trace of time, now I'm conscious of every second that passes. I should probably stop. I'm not stopping. I'll stop when I get to that big oak tree. I get to the big oak tree. I'm still counting.

Gradually, I start to doubt whether four leaf clovers even exist. What could be the percentage of clovers with four leaves? One in a million? I've easily looked at a million clovers by now. I have actual work I'm supposed to be doing right now. I'll do it tomorrow. Clovers. Maybe it's a metaphor? Maybe luck is a metaphor? No that's sort of a stupid metaphor. Though it is impressive how consistent the clovers are across millions of iterations. Maybe they only exist in Ireland, not in Wisconsin. I'm not even Irish. Why does this matter? Wasn't I just looking for a nice tree to read under?

Then my thoughts turn conspiratorial. Maybe they do exist, but the park employs kids to pick them and sell them. I imagine some teenager scanning the ground intently, but not in search of enlightenment or whatever. He's just trying to get his ten bucks an hour to have enough money to give his older brother in exchange for a six pack of mediocre beer. It's late in the season. Maybe there were four leaf clovers all over the pace a few weeks ago, and now there are none. Is there prime four leaf clover picking season? Have I just wasted an hour and a half of my life? I've wasted more time on dumber things. Maybe I'm just not good at counting to four. All of these questions circle around as I find my tree and sit for a bit with Isaac Asimov presents: yet another story in which a chosen boy discovers that he's actually predestined to save the galaxy and then gets the girl. This is the penguin with a thousand faces.

I make good time the next day on my way to St. Paul. I hole up in a coffee shop in Western Wisconsin to write for a bit. That house in Plymouth ain't gonna buy itself. Then set off in search of a spot to sit and read. I have to find out if the generic hero saves the galaxy! (He does.) As I walk down a trail towards a tree-lined river, I hear music. It's good. Folky. I can't make out the lyrics well, but I hear the word “Zapatista.” I follow the sound to a trio of bearded guys fishing. “Is this your music?” I ask, judging a book by its cover. “Yeah.” I end up talking music, politics, the environment, anarchism, religion, and other things that are vastly more important than clovers with one of the guys for a while. As we say our goodbyes, I pass by some anarchist graffiti. I'd credit my new friend if it weren't for the upside down cross, and his professed Deism. This is Pen Pen smashing the system or whatever.

Then: more clovers. Everywhere. The path is covered in them. I. Count. Each. One. Three leaves. Three leaves. Three leaves. No luck. There's another type of leafy green plant that has four leaves. Does that count? No. I spy a patch of poison ivy intermingled with clovers. Should I bother counting those ones? If I get poison ivy from picking a four leaf clover does that cancel out? Or is it more like a challenge before you get the Grail or whatever? Have I been reading too much chosen one in search of a sacred artifact fiction? The answer to those, and other questions are irrelevant because I didn't find one. I sit out by the river and read until I hear the first clap of thunder. That's my cue. (Isn't it always...) I pass by one of my new friends on the way out and say goodbye again.

So I didn't find a four leaf clover. I didn't find a Bodhi tree. I found neither luck nor enlightenment. But I found people. I'm realizing why I'm here. We're all so afraid and disconnected. Most of us are kind and generous. Most of us want the world to be better. Most of us know it can be. But we feel alone and helpless. Looking for clovers for hours is a waste of time. Talking to people for hours isn't. I want to do something that leaves this world a better place than I found it. I want to put in more than I take out. I want to break the laws of entropy, and any other laws I can think of. I want to let people know that everyone feels just as alone and afraid as they do. That we're all hopeless and frustrated. And that's OK. Because maybe if everyone realizes they're not alone, we won't be so hopeless. I don't know if this is direct action. I don't know if this is the best possible use of my time. But unlike looking for four leaf clovers in Wisconsin, it feels like I'm accomplishing something. I just don't know what yet. This is Pen Pen, over and over.

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

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.

Adventure #40: Summer Tour 2012 Milwaukee, Wisconsin

Well I finally found my limit. I spent the whole day after the Chicago show feeling totally drained. Thankfully Milwaukee is only a short drive from Chicago so I was able to lay low for a bit. The Milwaukee show at the Art Bar was plagued by problems from the start. There were some massively confusing miscommunications that basically resulted in the local headliner not knowing they were supposed to headline and me having to scramble to find a local with 48 hours notice. Because letting this stuff fall to the touring artist is the best way to make sure it gets solved. But the venue was really cool about the whole thing, and actually quite accommodating. This is my lung being too tired to deal with this crap.

Despite everything, the show ended up being actually kind of fun. The audience participated during all the audience participation parts and there was some really rad back and forth about Scott Walker when I played “Thank You America.” One audience member reminded me (while I was trying to explain exactly that) that Wisconsin pretty much invented Occupy. (George Soros, Obama, the CIA, The Loch Ness Monster, and Ben, but not Jerry, didn't get involved until after the Madison protests last year, as we all know.)

So not the worst show I'd ever played. Far from the best, but you know, a show will have to really work at it to be worse than the time I got a knife pulled on me in New Jersey in the middle of a song when I was 19. Life lesson: when the metalheads at the dive bar heckle you for playing a sad girl song don't heckle back. No good can come of it. So, thankfully unstabbed, we finished the unremarkable show and drove to Madison to stay with an old friend of Joshua's. It looks like the similarly unnecessarily dramatic show in Des Moines is falling apart, so we're now deciding over a feast of pancakes and mimosas whether to take a day off or not. This is Pen Pen being all classy and junk.

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

Adventure #25: Fall 2010 Tour (Day 10)

Adventure #25: Fall 2010 Tour (Day 10)

I slept through most of the morning (including the complimentary continental breakfast. Sad face.) but was determined to see some of Milwaukee. At the suggestion of Cassandra, Edwin from The Commuter Exit's wife, I headed down to the waterfront. I crossed a river near, the Pabst Theatre where Darius Rucker will be assaulting the unsuspecting denizen's of the city that beer built with his greatest hit later in the week. I parked and went down to the river where there was a life sized bronze statue of one of my childhood heroes: Arthur Fonzarelli. This is Pen Pen coining a new term by jumping the Fonz.

I headed down to the lake and watched the sail boats, wishing I had could rent one and sail around the lake for a bit. Before heading out of town, I remembered that Jesse had told me to try their frozen custard, so I stopped at the first place I saw with a sign for it: an Omega Burger. I'm certain going to Milwaukee and getting frozen custard at a fast food place is the equivalent of going to Brooklyn and getting a bagel at Dunkin Donuts, but it was tasty nonetheless. This is Pen Pen enjoying Milwaukee's greatest delicacy that's not cheap beer.

The drive to Chicago was painless and short, but when I got in, I noticed something leaking from my car. Danger, Will Robinson. It was too late to get it looked at, so I resolved to get it taken care of first thing in the morning. Cars are expensive. Next time I'm just going to steal one. That seems like it'd be easier, although I'll have to learn how to hotwire. It can't be that hard, right? I had a few hours to kill, and also a few hours of work to do, so I holed up in a little coffee shop for a bit and tried to be productive. This is Pen Pen mixing some hot beats, or, you know, tasteful guitar and cello duets.

I met up with Brennan before the show and picked up some empanadas. We hung out for a bit before heading over to the venue. Monday nights are usually the hardest night to get people out to a show, so it wasn't surprising that it wasn't the best attended event in the history of mankind. I was mostly just happy to see some old friends and not have to drive 8 hours for once. But there were enough people there, all of whom seemed to have a good time and genuinely enjoy it. The bartender and the door guy were pretty awesome and asked me to come back next time I'm coming through Chicago, so I definitely will probably. Brandon came up and sang a few songs with me, though my attempts to cajole him into singing Hound Dog were unsuccessful. After the show we went back to Brandon and John's place and hung out for a while playing Halo. Like Rochester, this maybe wasn't the best show of all time, but it was still a really fun night. This is Pen Pen taking over the Olbow Room and running the bar.

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

Selling Your Soul by nathanleigh

Adventure #24: Fall 2010 Tour (Day 9)

Adventure #24: Fall 2010 Tour (Day 9)

I woke up before the camp opened again (Apparently you need to check in to camp there. And register your car and camping spot. And pay...). I decided as soon as I got to Milwaukee I'd break down and get a hotel room for the night. And take a nap. After about 2 hours, I passed a sign for “Ronald Reagan Birthplace.” I couldn't resist. I followed the signs to Tampico, IL, which much like Springfield, had converted itself into a shrine to its' favorite son. This is Pen Pen hoping there's less cholera and snake bites on the Ronald Reagan Trail than on the Oregan Trail.

I followed the trail for a few miles, hoping to find his actual birth home. Maybe some sort of museum. At the very least, a 30 foot tall statue. After about 15 minutes of seeing nothing other than more signs for the Ronald Reagan Trail, I got bored, and turned around. The opportunity to annoy the anointed clerics who keep whatever shrine there is that lies at the end of the trail, wasn't really worth driving miles into farm country with poorly marked streets. There was a detour on the way back that forced me into what could only charitably be described as the Middle of Nowhere. I finally found my way back to the highway after about an hour and a half, and resolved that as soon as I get to a city, I'll buy a GPS. So I lost two hours, and never found much more than a plaque and a mural. I think Saint Ronnie would be proud to know that even 6 years after he died, he's still making life hard on poor people. This is Pen Pen paying tribute to the greatest Republican actor to ever star in a movie about chimps, who's not Charlton Heston.

The Days Inn was just outside of Milwaukee near the airport. It was the closest hotel to the venue that I could reasonably afford, and all things considered was pretty nice. I checked in around 3 and promptly proceeded to indulge in the official comfort food of travel: Law and Order reruns on TNT. I'm not sure exactly when I fell asleep, but I woke up disoriented and confused with about 20 minutes left to get to the venue. So much for exploring Milwaukee. This is Pen Pen just prior to totally trashing the hotel room like the rock star he is.

The venue is a little divey place that reminds me a lot of All Asia and O'Brien's in Boston. The guys from The Commuter Exit were already there when I showed up. White Elephant showed up shortly thereafter. But no word from the acoustic act who was supposed to open. We agreed that if he didn't show up by 10:30 or so, we'd just get started. I spent most of then night hanging out with The Commuter Exit guys, who are generally awesome. They reminded me a lot of Placebo circa Sleeping With Ghosts. The show was fun, but I was pretty beat from the 3 hour set the night before, and the general lack of sleep in between, so it maybe wasn't my best performance. But people seemed to enjoy it, and Edwin from The Commuter Exit said next time I'm in town he'd try to set something up. Next up: The Elbo Room in Chicago. This is Pen Pen playing a short set of Screaming Jay Hawkins covers.

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

The Record Goes On by nathanleigh