I have a show in less than 2 days opening for America. You know, “in a desert, on a horse with no name…” Yup. Kinda excited! I’m hoping they’re the kind of headliners who actually, you know, hang out with their opening act a bit. Or at least say hi. Not everyone bothers…though what amuses me is that the more established and experienced acts tend to be much more friendly than the newly minted radio stars. Willy Porter? Friendly as all hell, we hung out in the green room for an hour before the show. Mat Kearney? Ignored me, pointedly, while bitching about the fact that he was playing a show in Ohio, the poor baby.

Wait, Mat who…?

Anyway, in an effort to prepare for the show, I decided that practicing is something I should reintroduce to my daily schedule. Meaning I finally brought my piano up to the apartment this evening and then spent an hour digging through my bookshelves for the lyric book I haven’t used in almost a year. And then…

I am one of those people who revels in nostalgia. Especially the melancholy type, the sad stuff and the memories of things that broke my heart. Vacation pictures are great, but I’m far more likely to be found poring through sheafs of poetry written during my turbulent college years. Tomorrow I’ll be heading to Milwaukee to sift through boxes (and I mean stacks and stacks of boxes…) from preschool through the present, forcing myself to let go of the unnecessary bits in an upcoming garage sale.

I’m practically giddy about getting to dig through all that shit.

Back to the lyric book – there are songs in there that I’d quite literally forgotten I’d ever written. Piss-poor songs I never played in public, to my credit, along with some piss-poor songs I did unfortunately play in public, but also songs that I used to play at every show, laden with emotion and heartache. Remember “Stumble?” That was a pretty damn good song…a bit long and self-indulgent, but now that I remember it exists, I’m proud to have written it.

I make a lot of allusions to people and conversations within my songs, most of which go unnoticed by everyone except me and, sometimes, the person I’m referencing. Talk about a trip down memory lane… I think I’ll stay up a bit longer and keep rehashing the past, since that’s become the theme of the weekend.

Well, I’ve been back from LA for a week now. I have to confess, visiting LA is always a little bittersweet for me. I moved four years ago because I wanted to try out a new place, sure, but I never really meant to leave. I mean, I was going to go back after 6 months or so. Who would honestly leave LA for Wisconsin, given the choice? Not I. So even though I love my life in Chicago, and I’m happy where I’m at, as soon as I see the Grand Canyon from the plane window I get butterflies in my belly. Little flutter butterflies whispering, “Yay! We’re almost home!”

I had a wonderful time visiting my friends, wandering around Venice Beach, getting a sunburn, and all the things I used to take for granted. It was definitely hard to leave…thankfully, spring has finally hit the Midwest and Chicago has been warm and sunny since I got back. Otherwise I’d probably be scrounging the couch for enough change to get a ticket back to California…

Friday and Saturday at the Expo were just as great as Thursday. In fact, Friday was definitely the hardcore learning day – I started with my first panel (“Opportunities for Music Placement in Film & TV”) at 9am, and didn’t get back to my friend’s apartment until after 10pm, with just enough time to myself for dinner with my playwrite and actor friend John. I attended panels with celebrities like Jill Sobule (best known for the song “I Kissed A Girl” and the “Jill’s Next Record” website) and John Rzeznik of the Goo Goo Dolls, and learned about how to get my music into movies and TV from the people who have placed music in Pulp Fiction, Entourage, Big Love, and my new favorite show Weeds. I even had a one-on-one session with a professional publisher and industry exec who listened to my demo album and highly recommended I focus on film and TV placement.

Not too shabby for a couple days’ work, eh?

Friday night was an artist showcase featuring four successful, professional songwriters, one of whom I of course love – Jonatha Brooke. I almost didn’t make it to the show, though, as John and I had enjoyed a lavish spread at The Grill. I had a few glasses of wine and was a bit giggly by the time I left, but apparently both Slash and Alice Cooper were at the same restaurant. Which, instead of leading me to go snap a picture or something, got me into a huge discussion with the hostess about how hard it is to beat Slash on Guitar Hero.

At the show, Rivers Rutherford, who has written for Tim McGraw and Faith Hill, played some fabulous redneck rough music; Darrell Scott not only played his own stuff but joined in with some beautiful guitar harmonies on everyone else’s tunes; Jonatha played some beautiful covers along with one of my favorites, Because I Told You So; and Desmond Child impressed the crowd completely with not just his music (he’s written for Aerosmith, Bon Jovi, Mariah Carey…) but his hilarious banter. It kicked some pretty serious ass. Lots of us were pretty exhausted by this point, so we just sat on the floor of the club and enjoyed the music.

On Saturday I got to see a one-on-one interview with Desmond about how he wrote some of his biggest hits. It was a great session, though I was a little disappointed by his attitude as he walked out – another girl and I both tried to say hi and just thank him for the great session, but he didn’t even bother to look our way. Too busy for the likes of us silly little songwriters, I suppose. Oh well, he’s still a frickin’ rock star. I also got to see a great panel with Evan Taubenfeld, who co-wrote some of Avril Lavigne’s big hits with her. He’s a little too young for me, but damn was he funny! One of those guys who makes jokes and witty remarks one after another without ever cracking a smile or laughing at himself, which just makes it that much funnier.

A night out partying, a long day at the beach, and dinner with Cate and her baby boy Ben, and then I was on a plane back to Chicago. Where I am now. About to go take a nap.

I’ve missed LA. There are things that happen here that simply don’t happen elsewhere. For instance, the Rite-Aid story I referenced last night – make that two Rite-Aid stories. 9am yesterday I stopped in at Rite-Aid to pick up Band-Aids for my rapidly blistering feet (do not buy shoes at DSW – just don’t do it), and got in line to pay behind two other women. The one in front was probably in her late 30s, pretty average chick; the one between us was apparently a prostitute, wearing super tight low jeans with her ass pushed way out at what must have been a painful angle for her spine and an ice cream cone serving as a prop to demonstrate her, um, skills.

Anyhoo… Who knows what really happened, but at some point while we waited in line, the hooker decided that the woman ahead of her had looked at her funny, and started freaking out. “What’s yo problem, beeyatch? Yeah I seen the way you was lookin’ at me, what the…” yada yada, you get the picture. For about five minutes. She got more and more aggressive, ’til they finally opened up another lane so the two of them would be physically separated; the first chick paid and left, but was dumb enough to throw a few insults back as she walked out, and the hooker was right on her heels out to the parking lot. Somehow she didn’t manage to catch up and the first chick (a big Hillary Clinton fan, according to her bumper stickers) got away.

The thing is, this was at Rite-Aid at 9 in the morning. And the whole time, I was standing right behind the two of them trying not to laugh loudly enough to be heard. Hooker chick would not have surprised me if she had pulled a gun out of her bag, and yet I could not help but find the whole damn thing just ridiculous.

Rite-Aid story number two? Same Rite-Aid, at the end of my day, when I stopped in on the way back to my friend’s apartment. I was the only one in line this time, and was just paying for my beverage and chatting with the sales clerk when a young woman who looked like she hadn’t bathed in a few weeks walked in. She headed straight for the counter, and approached me, apologizing for interrupting but did I have a cell phone with me? I said yes but didn’t reach for it, asking her what she needed it for – I assumed she needed to make a call, which happens, but I also don’t just hand my phone to strangers.

Sure enough, she didn’t give the obvious answer (i.e. “I need to make a call, it’s an emergency”), instead just asking if I could let her hold the phone. Now seriously, when a random stranger asks you to hand her your phone, who’s dumb enough to hand it over? I may look like a ditzy midwestern tourist but – what am I saying, I didn’t look ditzy or like a tourist. I looked like I did when I lived here. I pulled out the phone on the opposite side, away from her, and held it up, asking what she needed it for. “I’m trying to figure out a technical problem,” she says – I think, “Sure, technically you have a problem trying to figure out how much you can sell my phone for.” She finally mumbled something about wondering what the date is, I told her it’s the 10th, she said that’s good because something happened on the 12th five years ago and she’s been counting down since April 1 but didn’t think that was a good idea. Then she left.

Me (to the clerk): “She was trying to steal my phone, right?”
Clerk: “Yeah, I’d say so.”
Me: “Okay, just making sure. Have a good night.”
Clerk: “You too, drive safely!”

But even with all that, I’ve gotta give the top most ridiculous LA story of the week (so far) to Heidi Montag. If you don’t know who Heidi Montag is – don’t worry about it, I had to Google her. She’s a blip on the fame radar, one of the stars of Laguna Beach and now The Hills, with a crappy CD, a bomb of a music video, and, well, at least a decent boob job.

I don’t care about any of this.

The only reason I even bothered to find it out is because today, as we went about day 2 of the Expo, there was a crew setting up a runway for what looked to be a fashion show. I checked out the signs and then looked online, and discovered that dear spoiled Heidi had added fashion design to her many, um, talents, and her recently launched clothing line – Heidiwood – would be on display tonight.

None of this is too remarkable. What is remarkable is how fricking retarded this chick is. She actually requested that the City of Los Angeles, in honor of her fashion show, change the Hollywood sign to say HEIDIWOOD. I’m not kidding.

Surprisingly, the LA City Council denied her request. I know, tough to believe.

Fun stuff happened today at the Expo, I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now, I’m so exhausted my eyes are closing on their own.

Another late night – I have a feeling that when I get back to Chicago, I’m going to have to sleep for a few days straight to catch up after all of this. So completely worth it though – I really must write and thank the folks at FameCast (and the critics who picked me as the winner!) for sending me to the ASCAP Expo. Imagine wanting to play football for your entire life, dreaming of playing for the Packers for instance, and then getting to spend three straight days just hanging out, talking to and listening to advice from the whole damn team.

Okay, that’s a bad analogy. It’s late, sue me.

Today I met one of my heroes, Jonatha Brooke. I first heard her CD in high school, immediately fell in love with tracks 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 10, and 11, and placed at the top of my “life goals” list: Open for Jonatha Brooke. She runs her own label, on which she releases her own CDs; tours for a living; and writes with this ferocious honesty that just makes me fall apart. I cannot hear the opening chords of “Inconsolable” without flashing back to the times in my life when I’ve lived those lyrics, and I was accepted to both USC and the University of Miami thanks to applications that included a writing sample which I’d based on “Crumbs,” still one of the best written songs of all time as far as I’m concerned.

So Jonatha was part of a panel of pros who were critiquing songs today. I’d entered mine for consideration but wasn’t accepted – bah. So instead, I sat and listened to the four of them talking about other people’s songs, agreed with some things, disagreed with others, then went up after the session to introduce myself. And hand her a press kit. And relate a story that Bruce Winter had shared with me about her last show at the Pabst. And tell her that I’d like to open for her when she comes back.

I was feeling ballsy.

The Expo is being held at the Renaissance Hollywood Hotel at Hollywood & Highland, right next to Grauman’s Chinese Theatre and the Kodak Theatre (which is also home to the Academy Awards), and across the street from Ripley’s Believe It or Not museum. When I moved to LA, this part of town was seedy as hell, and definitely not a shopping (or even much of a visiting) destination. I remember being pretty disappointed by “Hollywood.” Now, though, they’ve rebuilt the entire block, and within the same complex as the Kodak and Grauman’s is a 5-story outdoor mall, tons of restaurants, and the hotel. It’s posh. It’s nice. You’re not terribly likely to accidentally step on a used needle anymore.

So I arrived there after a late night last night and then a crazy run-in at Rite-Aid (more on that later), picked up my badge and goodie bag – and then realized I didn’t want to attend the Member Meeting that would start in 5 minutes. No good reason, just didn’t want to make the trip all the way up to the top floor Grand Ballroom right then. So, I went shopping. Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m broke, but the boutique right next to the hotel main entrance looked so good I had to go in and browse, and when I discovered it was super affordable too, well… I promise, both items I purchased were well worth the time and effort, and will be put to good use this weekend.

The songwriting panel was the first event I attended, and also where I began meeting the people I will now run into and chat with for the remainder of the Expo. Solitary males always approach me at these things – I’m wandering around on my own, and random men will come up and ask for my card or what kind of music I write or whatever. It’s fine, I get it, I’m one of the younger members of ASCAP still and was definitely dressed to attract attention because, frankly, I was hoping I could use that to get my press kit to some important people. Which I did. But thankfully, I’ve long since mastered the “friendly-chat-then-excuse-to-leave” trick, which I use consistently with anyone I’m not actually interested in talking to. Creepy guy who kept following me around the room even as I looked anywhere but at him and even engaged in conversation with other people while ignoring him – not interested. Chicago-based producer with a good sense of humor and a definite professional feel about him – worth talking to.

I handed my press kit to both Jonatha and Tom Sturges at this particular panel, learned some really interesting things I plan to apply to my future songwriting and recording endeavors, then headed out to get lunch with a group of people I’d loosely attached to. After lunch I headed for the panel on Licensing and Selling Music Online, which featured another musical hero of mine, Derek Sivers, founder and President of CD Baby. For you non-musicians, Derek’s a hero because he made it possible for performers and songwriters to sell their music online without having to go through a major distributor or record label. You sign up, you send in a box of CDs, you tell your fans they’re available, and when you sell them, CD Baby sends you a check. It’s simple, and he nailed it before anyone else even thought about the idea – CD Baby currently sends checks worth about $1.2 million a month to its members for physical and digital sales.

Anyway, much was learned there also (I’ll spare you the details, don’t worry), and then – I got tired. Just hit the afternoon slump and had no energy left. So I wandered around a little, sorted through the goodie bag, and finally around 5:30 a friend from my home town, who is now an aspiring screen writer in LA, joined me for dinner. We had a good time catching up and talking about our respective projects, and by the time he left, I was feeling a little guilty for skipping the interview with Jon Bon Jovi, but had energy again.

Which was perfect, because the last event of the evening was a Writer / Producer Discussion and Jam in the Grand Ballroom. Glen Ballard (Jagged Little Pill, “Man in the Mirror”), Mike Bradford (Madonna, Uncle Kracker), Mark Hudson (Bon Jovi, “Livin’ on the Edge”) and Linda Perry (Christina Aguilera, Alicia Keys) were the featured guests, and I have to gush for a second, because this particular event was probably one of my favorite 2-hour time blocks ever.

These guys are monsters. And I mean that in the good way – monsters of their craft, the kind of artists that all 500-600 of us in the audience would kill to be. They’ve sold millions of albums; they’re sought-after by artists, producers and labels; but most of all, they just know their shit, and it shows. Walking around all day talking to other people at my level, people who write but haven’t hit it big and maybe never will, can be exhausting; putting yourself in the presence of your idols is kind of the opposite.

Each of them told stories about their early songwriting careers, about how they got into producing, how they came up with the song that broke them into the major scene or even just a song that we’d all know; they played acoustic versions of major #1 successes (Glen Ballard did a piano version of “Ironic,” accompanied by the most smooth and tasteful bass line from Mike Bradford, for instance); and they told us the stories behind the songs, working with artists who weren’t big yet or artists who were already huge and left them star struck.

But it wasn’t all touchy feely, and that’s the even better best part. Each of these people has a personality that is unique and strong – they stand out in a crowd, they know their shit, and they aren’t afraid to be themselves in front of anyone. Mark Hudson, for instance, came in looking like this:

His advice to up-and-coming songwriters? “Do not be afraid to tell the truth, every day. Be who you are and don’t ever lie about it. Look at me – I’m up here in front of you all and I look like I’ve had oral sex with a bag of Skittles.”

The man was batshit bonkers, and had us all rolling in the aisles every time he told a story. On meeting Aerosmith’s Steven Tyler for the first time: “He came in with his child-bearing lips and went *yeah yeah yeah!!!* [imitation of Steven Tyler's screaming]; his mouth is so big a Puerto Rican family could live on his tongue!” And on and on…

Glen Ballard is simply a legend, and though he had a cold and was clearly struggling to keep up the energy, I adore his work.

Mike Bradford…I want to work with this man. Do you hear me Mike? Wherever you are, when you read this, my email address is juliemoffitt.net@gmail.com or MySpace me – I want to be in the studio with you. Good god. He wrote the song “Follow Me” for Uncle Kracker, which is a sweet song that I (and the majority of America, I’d assume) have always thought was about love. It sounds like it’s about love. Turns out it’s not – they changed a few lyrics to make it playable on the radio, but before that, it was about drug addiction.

Listen to that song again, with the real basis for its lyrics in mind. Then tell me you don’t think Mike Bradford is a frickin’ genius. Add to that his bad-ass bass skills and, well, yes, I want to make an album with this man.

But the cream of the crop, by far, was Linda Perry. And I have to qualify this statement, because the reality of the situation is that Linda Perry was technically the least informative panelist, by traditional standards. She, unlike most songwriters, does not remember any of her own songs well enough to play them; in fact, she intentionally forgets them after they’re recorded by the artist for whom they were written, because they’re not hers anymore anyway. She does not know the chords and words to every major pop song of the past 3 decades – in fact, her attempt at covering The Eagles’ “Hotel California” was painful, forgotten lyrics and flubbed chords and stopping and starting throughout, even with the other 3 panelists joining in. She does not remember the first song she wrote, she does not know all the technical details of the equipment in her own studio – she proudly told us that when she first sat in the engineer’s chair, she simply turned knobs until things sounded right, and that’s what she does to this day – and she sat in her chair with a hat pulled down over her eyes, looking like a teenager who’s stuck in a class she wants to get out of.

But in spite of all these potential negatives, the truth is that she is a fucking rock star. She has balls of steel this woman, elephant-sized balls of steel, and she is completely unafraid to show it. While the other three showed off their most famous songs, some by memory and some with a little lyric sheet, she flat out said that she didn’t remember any – then proceeded to sit down at the piano and write a new song, on the spot, in front of an entire ballroom filled with her peers. And honestly, the lyrics were clearly scratch lyrics, but the damn song wasn’t bad. She just turns knobs in the studio until things sound good, okay, but when things don’t sound right, she knows it; and when they do, she and the artist she’s working with sell millions of albums.

Linda Perry is fearless. It radiates from her the entire time you’re in the room, it’s evident in her laughter as she flubs the same chord for the fifth time on a song that 90% of the people in the room could have played better, and it is one of the first things that’s been said in any interview I’ve read about her. She is not held back by technological advance, by uncertainty, by rules or standards or being flat out told to shut up and stop asking so many questions – she just knows what feels right and what doesn’t, and goes with what does.

Linda Perry is my new hero.

Okay, yeah, I know he’s kind of a dork and it’s rather cliche to have a crush on Justin Timberlake. Five years ago, it was still kinda creepy – I guess I feel like I’m being retro by crushing on him now. But honestly, how cute was he?!

Seriously though, tonight was one of those fabulous nights that I probably can’t accurately describe now that it’s over. I took a bunch of notes, though, so here are some of the highlights.

The ASCAP Pop Awards are kind of like the Grammy Awards, but for songwriters instead of performers – unless, of course, you’re both, like these two:

Sara Bareilles opened the show with “Love Song” and “Bottle It Up.” She sounded great, but let me just tell y’all now that I am NOT the only one who forgets my lyrics or gets distracted by mic problems from time to time. After the first song, during which she had to stop singing and fix the mic at one point, she lightheartedly busted out the f-bomb. Lucky this wasn’t televised… She was then presented with the Vanguard Award, and I turned a little bit green with envy. No, but seriously, she looked so happy and the crowd loved her – it was a great kick-off.

Marilyn Bergman (who, along with her husband Alan Bergman, has written a ludicrous amount of pop standards), ASCAP President, then got up to talk about the industry and such, and then the awards began. In rapid-fire fashion. Seriously, I started taking some notes on who won what, and completely lost track after the first two. Suffice to say, there were a LOT of great songwriters honored, they came onstage for pictures, then exited without taking time for long boring speeches or anything. It was the way awards shows should be…

For you star chasers out there, Fergie accepted a bunch of awards for songs like “Big Girls Don’t Cry,” Justin Timberlake was onstage a bunch of times for a total of something like 7 awards (I lost track after a while), Nicole Richie was in the crowd to support her dad, and Natasha Bedingfield…well, she needs a new stylist if she’s going to consider fashion extremes like that hat.

A lot of the songs that won awards were Hip-Hop and R&B, which is totally understandable (from what I can tell, most awards are given for songs that receive the most licensing and airplay – so imagine all those Hip-Hop stations and their tendency to play the same songs over and over). The funny part of this is that the people announcing the awards were well-spoken members of the ASCAP Board of Directors. Picture a woman who looks like Hilary Clinton announcing that “Get It Shawty” and “That’s Why I’m Hot” have won. It was hilarious.

The writers of Carrie Underwood’s hit single “Before He Cheats” performed the song on their own early in the show, and I’ve gotta tell you, as much as I like that song I’d rather hear their rendition on the radio than hers! Chris Tompkins (whose other songwriting partner, Felicity, was sitting next to me in the crowd) and Joshua Kear did the song as a lounge/jazz ballad, keeping all the lyrics the same. Imagine two guys belting out “I might’ve saved a little trouble for the next girl / because the next time that he cheats / oh you know it won’t be on me.” It was fabulous.

Elliott Yamin, who I’d actually never heard of before but who was an American Idol rockstar, came out with an acoustic version of his hit song “Wait For You” (along with a rather off-color remark about how he was an Oreo onstage, pointing to the big black guy on his right and the Asian guitarist on his left). I didn’t expect much, but good god, it was a really fabulous performance. Acoustic guitar only, and his voice just killed, plus he was really sweet and innocent – I’m pretty sure that joke was unintentionally non-PC. My notes for that song just say “DAMN that was good.”

And this is his girlfriend. He’s doing well for himself.

I’m pretty sure, by the way, that such shows as this are how big stars pair off with up-and-comers. Don’t be at all surprised if an Elliott Yamin / Justin Timberlake project comes out later this year.

Timbaland won Songwriter of the Year with NINE award-winning songs this year. I kinda like him too. Is it okay to have a crush on both JT and Timbaland?

There were two awards given for lifetime achievement – Golden Note awards, they call them. Lionel Richie and Steve Miller were both honored with video montages of their entire music careers (separately, of course), and I have to admit – not only did I not realize just how many frickin’ songs those guys had written, but whoever puts those montages together needs to give me their card. And a discount. I nearly cried. REALLY good.

Plus, Lionel Richie is FUNNY! I had no idea. I won’t try to repeat his jokes, just know that he was a total laugh. Steve Miller closed the show with not one, not two, but SIX songs (maybe even seven, I don’t know, we lost count). He ran the gamut from “The Joker” through to “Fly Like An Eagle” and the whole crowd was dancing along.

So, here’s the thing about the show. Yes, it was fun to attend a star-studded event, and I kinda dug having to dodge the paparazzi on my way out. But the best part was that this particular event, being surrounded by successful songwriters of all genres and levels, reminded me of what I love about songwriting:

Music is a part of every major aspect of our lives.

This may seem obvious, but think about it – lullabies and ABC songs when we’re little, pop music when we’re kids, the first song you share with your first boyfriend or girlfriend, weddings and funerals; the music your dad played on the radio when you were little, the music you and your friends listened to when you were avoiding your parents; soundtracks to movies and TV shows and commercials; every major and minor aspect of our lives is colored by music.

And when you’re a songwriter, you (me!) get to create that music. You get to take a moment that you’ve lived, be it love or loss or joy or just walking down the street, and immortalize it in such a way that random strangers all over the country and even the world will identify with your moment. And there is no limit on how many songs can ever be written, because while the subject matter for songwriting is naturally limited (there’s a reason love songs are so damn prevalent, while songs about aliens raiding your kitchen for Pringles are few and far between), the different ways of experiencing and expressing those subjects are infinite.

As Lionel Richie said, a love song 200 years from now will be just as relevant as a love song today. We’ll always want them.

Sleepy time.

After 54 hours with almost no sleep (just the flights from Chicago to Atlanta, then Atlanta to Austin), I was somehow still pushing through last night around 1:30am when I realized that I was probably close to hallucinations. I’m pretty damn impressed that newsletter I sent out was coherent…re-read it today a little worried.

Didn’t actually fall asleep until closer to 3, of course…

So then today when the alarm went off at 8:30, you can imagine how interested I was in getting up off the couch. I didn’t force myself up to my feet ’til 11:30, and even then, it took a long shower, Starbucks, and then a walk to the cafe down the street to get me feeling even remotely human.

Which sucked, because it meant that I missed the majority of the American Songwriter Magazine party I’d planned to attend from noon to 5. In fact, by the time I’d oriented myself, gotten back to my friend’s house, packed up and called a cab, it was almost 3pm. And by the time the cab actually arrived, 4:30. 4 frickin’ 30.

So…instead of posting about SXSW, which I’ll do tomorrow from the airport, I have a confession to make here, and I’ll ask you to forgive me for dropping my usual sense of playful sarcasm and essential optimism. I know you come here to be entertained in some way (hell, I file my favorite blogs in a bookmark folder called “Entertainment”), and I love that you enjoy reading my random thoughts and experiences. But the thing is -

I’m tired.

Not just tired. Exhausted. Worn down. I have always pushed myself hard, staying up late to write papers, setting steep goals for myself, aiming in 5 different directions at once and expecting nothing less than success in every endeavor. Sometimes I accomplish it all, once in a while I don’t, and when I stress myself out beyond the point of recovery, I step back and reprioritize and make it work as well as I can.

But lately, I’m just tired. The list of things that could, and should, be happening (book gigs, finish new press kits, start recording new CD, promote current gigs, get more radio play, find the money to pay my student loans next month, etc…) is just getting longer and longer, more involved and time-consuming, while my resources dwindle farther and farther.

Don’t get me wrong, I have friends and family and all of you, of course, and I’m not sitting here wallowing in some kind of imagined isolation. It’s more like… Okay, you know how you feel the morning after you’ve stayed up all night partying, then passed out drunk and dehydrated? Kind of cut off from everything, senses dulled and reaction time sluggish, knowing there are probably things that you were supposed to do today but…somehow unable to put forth the effort to put one foot in front of the other, to answer emails or make phone calls, or even consider interacting with other human beings in a friendly or positive manner.

I feel that way almost every day right now.

No, I’m not drinking too much or doing drugs – hell, the one margarita I had tonight with dinner got me loopy. I’m definitely not living as healthfully as I should be, but I think the thing is that I’m just…tired. I would kill right now for 3 days in a row, 3 days where my laptop and cell phone were turned off, when Evey would stop chewing on the pillows and scratching holes in the rug, when absolutely no one would expect or even ask anything of me all day long. Just 3 days, long enough to revel in the feeling but no more than anyone else would ask in a “real” career – I mean, who doesn’t love 3-day weekends?

I know I’m not the only one who would love such blissful freedom, even for just a few days. You’re out there. You’re not even reading this anymore because you’re fantasizing right now about lying in bed with the last Harry Potter book, or renting Seasons 1 and 2 of Weeds and watching them all in a row while you eat big bowls of Lucky Charms. We all want to be kids again once in a while.

But even now, in the 2 hours since I’ve been back on the couch after leaving 6th street, I have already labeled miniDVs from today and the end of my college tour, answered a slew of emails, added a new gig to my BlackBerry calendar, made a few more DIY Rockstar discs for tomorrow’s show, and written this blog. I should have been asleep at least an hour ago. Instead I’m wondering if there’s anything else I can cross off the list before I completely pass out.

I’m completely and utterly exhausted.

And I need to buy more comfortable boots.

I love flying. I know some people hate it, and I won’t lie and say I even love the security check lines or the dry recirculated air, but the truth is…I kind of do. I spend so much of my day isolated in the apartment, with just a puggle and TiVo for company while I work, that the novelty of the airport and all its quirks is invigorating.

And thank god for that, because I am a zombie today. I’ve spent the past 5 days working nonstop to create a new press kit – an idea Adam and I had almost a year ago but, being the procrastinator I am, I didn’t start until last week – and slept an average of 5 hours a night, with no sleep at all last night.

Caffeine no longer has any effect on me. No, that’s a lie – caffeine actually puts me to sleep, completely knocked out within half an hour of drinking it. Whatever that means is happening in my brain can’t be good.

Case in point:
I arrived in Atlanta for a long layover a few hours ago, and went wandering toward the shops in a sluggish haze, having consumed half a latte at O’Hare before boarding the plane and promptly passing out cold. I went to Bath & Body Works, hoping for something to both refresh my senses and nourish my cracked, dehydrated hands (dessicated, that’s a good word for my skin right now – I rocked the GRE).

I was in Bath & Body Works for close to half an hour, rubbing different creams into my hands and breathing in peppermint and lavender to wake my ass up. Eventually, I left, got a piece of pizza, and played around on the internet for a while. Then I decided to head toward my gate, and as I passed the Bath & Body Works again, a strong sweet scent caught my attention.

Looking into the front of the store, I couldn’t miss the giant purple Sweet Orchid display – two tables decorated with lotions, scrubs, creams and sprays all in the newest B&B scent, topped off with a giant (not kidding – towering at least 3 feet over my head) slowly twirling faux orchid plant.

This wouldn’t have shocked me so much if I hadn’t just been in the store an hour earlier and not seen any of it. So I went in and asked the woman at the counter, who recognized me (guitar cases make it very difficult to travel incognito), how long ago they’d set up the display.

“Um, over a week ago,” she replied, looking at me suspiciously.

I am so tired that I am completely oblivious to my surroundings, even when they involve giant spinning bouquets of flowers.

I will now enjoy my Ben & Jerry’s Mint Chocolate Chunk hot fudge sundae.

I realize I haven’t posted anything in a while. I’ve been planning to post everything about the trip to Europe, therefore holding out on new information until I handle that, and having no time for any of it! Ayee.

Screw that. I’m just going to go back to my usual random blogging and get Europe up when I get it up. Sorry for the delay on that, I’m a bit of a perfectionist and don’t want to just throw some pictures in a gallery and leave out the fun parts.

I’ve been a bit of a crybaby lately, I have to confess. I’ve been a little stressed about a project I’m working on (a new kind of press kit, very unique and professional) so little things like the puppy refusing to stop climbing all over my lap while I type, or my computer refusing to print wirelessly since I upgraded my operating system, just throw me over the edge. I know, I know, I seem all cool and collected and laid back and such, but I gotta tell ya, I can be a huge baby.

Today the clincher is Robert De Niro. I’m watching AMC while I work, and the movie Awakenings is on right now. Robin Williams is great, don’t get me wrong, but when Leonard (De Niro) wakes up after 30 years in a catatonic coma and sees his mom for the first time…ah shit, I’m tearing up again just typing this. It’s just…it’s just amazing how that man could completely embody a grown man and a little boy, someone both damaged and completely innocent, all in one slow smile… That man is a fucking brilliant actor.

And I’m just going to give up on mascara altogether.

I’m a night owl, and generally function far more effectively between 10pm and 8am than I do during “normal” working hours. In fact, I’ll get more done during one all-nighter than I did the previous 5 working days. This may simply be a sign of my hummingbird-like attention span, or it might mean that I’m supposed to be nocturnal and should just go with it.

But either way, one 48-hour day a week is pretty much the limit if I’m going to be at all productive. So why, why, why am I staring at my laptop and a long list of to-do’s at 1:30am with only one night of sleep under my belt since the last time I was in this position?

At least this time the thermostat is working.

So! I’m taking a quick break from the drudgery to blog, because I love to blog and because you love it when I blog. So let’s begin with this:

Ah Brett Favre, when will you finally retire? Still sexy though, still damn sexy. Ah yeah.

Also decidedly sexy is the great guru of calm, Cesar Milan. Yes, it’s true, I’ve got a crush on the Dog Whisperer. What can I say? Any man who can tame a snarling Rottweiler, convince a dippy spoiled rich chick that she needs to stop buying her Pomeranian (named Prada, I’m not kidding) Gucci sweaters and Evian, and still sound just as smooth as Antonio Banderas as Puss-in-Boots gets my vote.

Except for two things… One, he isn’t the original Dog Whisperer – Paul Owens is. But since Mr Owens lacks the sex appeal and Southern California clientele, I guess he got the boot. And the second thing is – well, it’s the Landrollers.

I can’t decide if they’re seriously, seriously dorky, or if I want a pair.

Speaking of dogs, it has recently been discovered that my puggle is actually part mogwai and part gremlin. Interchangeably. On her own whims.

Yeah. Just like that.

She’s frickin’ adorable though, honestly. No matter how many times she craps on the floor, pees on the couch, or refuses to come when I tell her (oh Cesar, where are you when I need you??), I can’t help but be completely in love with her. The vet says she weighs 12lbs and is almost fully grown – I swear she’s at least 15lbs, but I’d be thrilled if she stays this small! Much easier to carry up the stairs.

I love technology. It lets me show everyone how frickin’ adorable my puppy really is. (If you can’t link to that for some reason, try this. I promise it’s worth it.)

On a down note, I am still in shock over the death of Heath Ledger. I’m not a star-chaser, and I generally think people who obsess over the lives of Britney and Lindsay and Paris and whatnot are pretty sad. But Heath was really talented, and was one of those people you just don’t expect to lose from the world. I can’t explain it – it’s just that he was young, attractive, successful, and part of my life via his roles in movies that I’ve enjoyed (10 Things I Hate About You, A Knight’s Tale, Candy), and he was someone you’d just never expect to lose in this manner. I can’t decide if I’m glad or not that they’re saying his overdose was accidental. It’s easier for me to identify with someone in his position who was losing their grip on themselves and their reality, someone in the limelight who was deeply lonely (a la Owen Wilson), than to think that he just partied too hard one night and whoops! OD’d. And don’t even get me started on the fact that an Olsen twin was involved. That’s just embarrassing.

Also embarrassing, Tom Cruise. Just in general.

So most of you know I used to live in LA, and while I was in LA, I sang a cappella with the SoCal VoCals, and when I sang with the VoCals, we recorded a few albums with Gabriel Mann. I adore Gabe. He’s a monster in the studio, a brilliant songwriter, and one of those guys who has made being kind of geeky completely hot. Dead sexy.

See what I mean?

I’ve also performed with the lovely and talented Kyler England, another LA resident, and am completely and totally in love with the music of Adrianne. Her EP, boy songs, is one of my favorite albums right now – versions of “Eleanor Rigby,” “I’m on Fire” and “Girlfriend in a Coma” that are just phenomenal. Amazing.

I tell you all this so that you’ll understand how overcome with both excitement and envy I was when I was told that Gabe, Kyler and Adrianne have formed a power trio, The Rescues. They’re touring a bit, they have songs up on their MySpace page, and I’m currently trying to figure out how to get their debut CD. I would have ordered it without hearing a note. The combination of these three is just…good god I’m jealous.

Okay, it’s almost 4am and I’ve got to hit the hay so I can push through tomorrow. I’ve only got a few days left to finish a whole slew of things, and then Adam and I will be on a plane to Budapest. Yes, Budapest. We’re backpacking around Europe for a few weeks, which I’ve always wanted to do and have always managed to not do. So Budapest, Prague, Vienna, Paris, who knows? We’ll wind up in Amsterdam, and then I’m back in time to hit the road for more college touring in February.

I’ll be blogging from overseas, don’t you worry.

I just realized that I hadn’t posted here since before the FameCast announcement. Wow. I’m slow.

Well to be honest, I just decided that winning that kind of a competition, with all the hours I’d put in and all the energy expended, merited a bit of a holiday. And with Christmas and New Year’s shortly to follow, I felt like it was the perfect time to stop working. Completely. For almost a month… Yeah, okay, I probably should have at least kept up with a few things, but when I finally let myself relax, it’s all or nothing!

So now it is 2008, and I am recovering from last night’s shenanigans in downtown Chicago, curled up on the couch with my puppy gnawing on a Nylabone next to me and Predator 2 on the big screen. Yes, I said Predator 2 – I saw the new Alien vs Predator: Requiem last week and realized that I’d never seen, well, any Alien or Predator movie. And I love Bill Paxton, for some odd reason. So here I sit.

I actually saw some really great movies over the holiday, and I’m recommending them to you now unequivocally – go, watch, enjoy, laugh those holiday party pounds right off. You will not regret it.

Anyway, I’ve been on vacation long enough, I think. Time to kick things back into gear! Happy New Year, everyone. And watch out for big ugly creatures with more than one mouth.