WaterFire is a much needed recharge of faith in humanity. After watching a week of horrible news and seeing human beings be so ugly to one another, it is quite refreshing to smell the burning wood, listen to the music, and just be with the community on a warm Rhode Island night. No matter if one is left, right, or center I take solace in knowing that for one night - just one night - we can be all together now.

And the swing dancing... damn gina. They aren't kidding when they call it "East Coast Swing." My moderate amount of moves might have been good enough to occasionally impress the women of the Midwest, however I was severely outclassed last night. These guys *dance* while I now know I mere tumble around, infrequently matching the rhythm. I knew I should have taken the time to learn the Lindy Hop, but I assure you... Now that the line in the sand is drawn, this little rockstar is going to get his game in gear. And, dude, let me tell ya... I got a lot of work to do.

O'Daly and I rocked out the Cafe Zog last night with much success, and it seems that the rest of the weekend will be filled with fun as well. After years of living in the Midwest, not having to devise one's own methods of amusement is a refreshing change. It seems that every weekend there is some big event that begs attendance or some concert that needs rocking or some sight that needs seeing.

Tonight is no different. When I first arrived I was blessed with the strange and unique Providence event of the WaterFire. After a little research, I've learned considerably more about the event and am wholly pleased that I am living in the city where it takes place.

Downtown Providence is largely constructed over a river, a feat requiring severe feats of engineering genius and a number of reconstructions. One such reconstruction occurred some 8 years ago with the destruction of a number of bridges that left enormous eyesore supports jutting out of what remained of the river after construction. Rather than going to the amazing expense of removing the ugly things, a local artist got a brilliant idea. Install speakers up and down the river, place metal baskets on top of the supports, and light the damn things on fire. Though it sounds simplistic, the event's depth is entirely in the atmosphere. In a downtown that is usually full of beeping traffic and bustling people, for a few nights each summer the air is filled with a somber, reflective mood accentuated by the low, dull light of crackling fires and soft classical and new age music. It is truly an event to be experienced to be understood.

Moreover, performance artists of all types abound with several other mini events taking place, with absolutely no admission fees or charges. It is just a time for everybody in town to get together and learn some neat shit. Tonight the schooling with be in swing dancing, which I look forward to eagerly. If you're coming out, I'd love to take a turn with you... I'll have the spiky hair and the black tie.

Moving in with culinary arts students, I highly recommend it. Bottom line, these guys are trained to make your tummy happy. And, dude, at Johnson & Wales University (the same school Emeril LaGasse graduated from) they get it done with prejudice. Ever since I moved to Providence I've gotten nothing but the finest in eating.

You see, they're like regular college students, only they know how to cook really, really, *really* well. Breakfast? How about some rolls with a crusty orange sauce. Lunch? Oh, I guess we have some mussel and clam rizzoto with a Frenchy demigloss. Dinner? Meatloaf.

Dude. I know what you are thinking. Meatloaf. BFD. Well, I hate to disappoint you folks, but you are *wrong*. I had no idea meatloaf could be so good. Juicy, tender, and not with the normal ketchup on top but a tangy and spicy sauce that would knock you for a loop. Real mashed potatoes with the skins still on with a bit of tarragon and garlic powder. Damn gina, it's like heaven for my stomach.

There's a well-known stereotype that all men live under. A belief that is happily flaunted as possibly the only real important difference between men and women. The ladies hold this flag so high that it blinds vision of other male benefits, such as not bleeding for 5 days every month and the ability to pee standing up. No, no, such advantages are complete dribble because we men, apparently, have disgustingly unkempt bathrooms.

This is a bold-faced lie. Men of ages, bow your head not to such unbelievable notions for we have yet another advantage over the womenfolk: we don't shed like fucking Persian cats. Say what you want about coagulated piss on the rim of the toilet or the occasional ring of stubble around the sink, hair gets *everywhere* and is a bitch to get rid of. Men have two man areas of likely lack of cleanliness, namely the sink and the shitter. Women, on the other hand, leave hair in every goddamned nook and crevace of every room of the house!

One would think science would have developed something to combat this by now.

Alright, these New Englanders may have the country locked up in terms of culture, art, music, and social interaction, but man, these heathens know precisely dick about making potato salad. I've had two different potato salad dishes since I've been here, and it seems these blasphemes have not yet heard of a vital ingredient called mustard. All they do is drop in a pantload of mayonaise, forget to add any spice, and leave the potatoes with their peels on. I mean, what the hell people? You would think this sort of culinary revolution would have made it out here by now.

At any rate, the first show in Rhode Island is rapidly approaching. It feels like starting all over again, the new town and all. Playing unamplified for the first time since the Shaft really got started, I'm curious to find out if my voice is still up to all that screamsinging. Ah well, there's a pub down the street if it's not.

It seems we're on our feet.

In anticipation of an Irish music festival today, O'Daly lent me his kilt and Black 47 shirt with which to render all sorts of havoc. I must say, I look damn vicious in a skirt. I looked at myself in the mirror and was suddenly glad that I went commando as I almost shit myself looking at me.

The one thing I simply can't get over about Rhode Island so far is the accent. It's really a lot like Kansas in that respect, there's this certain Eastern dialect that really gains as little intellectual respect as the southern drawl. However, the southern drawl is at very least slow and easy to understand. As I was eating lunch alone the other day in a booth behind a few teenage girls, I thought they might have been replaced with mimetic alien androids that would infrequently emit quasi-familiar proper nouns like "Jersey" and "Justin Timberlake." I'm sure proficiency will come with time, but so far I'm having a hell of a spin with it.

While the Midwest bakes in 100+ degree whether, I sleep comfortably with a window open, no humidity coming through, with a light 72 degree breeze wafting in to keep me comfortable. Ahhh. Finally, a state that understands what summer is all about. Though winter looms like a terrible cloud on the horizon, this is supposedly the worst of summer with peaks of maybe - MAYBE - 90 degrees. I can handle this.

Yesterday, O'Daly and I ran out to a few of the more hippie infested streets of Providence to distribute flyers for the Shaft's very first East Coast appearance at a quaint little coffee shop on Wickenden Street. The occassion was marked with a pleasant stroll and a friendly game of hackeysack with some 12 year olds, but for the most part, sadly, passed without incident. Having gone a few days without some potentially life-shattering disaster on the brink kind of makes me feel like I'm being lazy or something.

The one mistake that was made in flyer distribution was wholly on my shoulders. O'Daly worked up a wicked cool poster expounding the benefits of our quality, variety *and* freshness, and gave it to me for the task of duplicating it many times over. One would think a monkey could perform such a task with relative ease. Well, a monkey did... however, that monkey forgot to write the show information on the master copy so we had fifty goddamned flyers with no show information on them! We made do with what we had and whipped out some markers with which to put all the critical information. At around flyer 15 or so, the boredom began to set in so we started getting really creative. First person to collect all 40 catch phrases wins a free CD!

So yeah, Rhode Island. It's not an island at all, actually. Matter of fact, there's a whole mess of land. So much land, indeed, it requires a system of roads to traverse it. However, rather than placing said roads in a uniform and meaningfully planned fashion, it appears that the City of Providence just placed them whereever the hell they felt like it. It reminds me of Ireland a great deal as I don't believe I've successfully traveled straight on a non-interstate road for a period greater than twenty feet.

Maybe that's why it makes me smile.

Greetings from the East Coast! I have arrived safely and finally to Providence, after logging some 36 hours in what I know like to affectionately call "The Four-Wheeled Coffin." I believe I can now safely write a song about being 1,000 miles away from the woman I love because now, unlike Vanessa Carlton, I have a very real, visceral sense of what that distance really means. 1,600 odd miles of America were traversed over the course of three days, and naturally, I walk away with some pretty interesting stories.

The Midwest was largely uneventful with the exception of some sort of terrorist event that must have occurred requiring every single *fucking* road to be under construction at the same time. Despite the constant run-ins with construction slowdowns, I was quite entertained by the huge number of billboards that indicate services really found nowhere east of the Mississippi. For all the claims of moral rightness that the Biblebelt has, there sure are an awful lot of strip joints, escort services, and vasectomy reversal surgeries being offered around here. Here's a tip for all you consumers out there... Never willingly enter a medical procedure that offers a money-back guarantee.

Of course, the journey required travelling through New York City and, of course, my family and friends in Kansas all made that journey out to be some God forsaken tribulation through which I would have my very soul rended from inside the car. However, I believe I can say with some authority that New York driving is not as bad as people say. I was in gridlock for about an hour and a half after driving since 9am in an effort to cross the famous (or perhaps infamous) George Washington Bridge. After such an extensive journey, it seems I miscalculated the ratio of antifreeze and water in my radiator, as it began to steam just as I crossed over into the very edge of The Bronx. Thankfully, I had a shoulder handy to pull over onto and quickly shut off my engine. Immediately, steam began to spill out horribly from my overflow valve. I had suspected some sort of hose break or something of that sort, but thankfully, everything was properly attached. It seemed that the water had just begun to boil and I prematurely turned off the engine. Cursing my stupidity I sat a bit nervous in the middle of New York gridlock with a fancy painted car filled with my most precious of personal belongings. After a bit a tow truck pulled up and offered his services, though I indicated that if I waited for the engine to cool and filled it with the spare antifreeze I had with me, I should be fine. He gave it a look over and, to my surprise, agreed and wished me luck. Shortly thereafter an Escalade with 22 inch rims pulled up, rap thumping from inside. A black fellow dressed in Nike sportsgear hopped out and immediately my Kansas stereotypical instincts told me I was finished. However, after he offered the use of his cell phone and even his own spare canister of antifreeze, I realized that, really, New York is not any different that anywhere else. Two other people kindly offered their assistance while I was waiting, and the rest of my travels through New York were aided by conscientious, friendly drivers.

Fuck what everyone else says. I love New York.

Perhaps the most significant journey in two years of Shafting begins tomorrow. More than a move, it is a move forward with some very serious risks and even more serious potential payoffs.

Tonight I looked up at the Kansas sky for what will be the last in a long, long while. And I looked with little regret or longing, for the journey ahead will no doubt be a tumultuous one... but one also filled with everything I've ever wanted. ever.

I'll try to write from the road, but if not... I'll see you on the west side of the Atlantic.

For you .plan fans curious about the big announcment, never let it be said that you never get the first word for reading the most obscure section of the site.
Tomorrow, I begin the big trek to Providence, Rhode Island where I'm moving to play rock n' roll. Saddling up with an old friend who played with me in Cedar Rapids, "Irish" Andrew O' Daly will be rocking this mother on bass as we start to form the core of the band. We'll be finding a drummer as soon as I crash land into town, and our first show is a mere two weeks from my arrival. In short, we're going to get it done.
Howie is sending me the first mix of the record, to arrive when I arrive in Rhode Island. With tracking complete, I'm really starting to dissect the sound and am looking forward greatly to hearing how the mix is coming along. Our preview generated a deluge of email but, just between you and me, you can count on the record sounding a *little* better than that.

Submersion allows for more than just the occassional trips to the periodontist to get high on psychoactive sedatives (see below). I've been catching up on films with some mixed results. My gumfucking present to myself was The Animatrix, which of course rocked in no small fashion. Between Square's CG film and the two Watanabe entries, the price of admission was more than covered... but the added bonus of a short by the maker of Aeon Flux... Perhaps the best twenty dollars I spent before the dose of Lorazepam.
Additionally, I picked up two I had missed during the semester: 25th Hour and About Schmidt. 25th Hour was quite a redemption for Spike Lee after I was amazingly disappointed with Bamboozled. Edward Norton of course delivered the reliably stellar performance, however more welterweights like Rosario Dawson, Brian Cox, and Anna Paquin came to fore with equally celestrial delivery for a great charge to Lee's unique cinematographic approach. However, like Bamboozled, About Schmidt was another critically acclaimed release that I just didn't fucking understand. I consider myself a fairly smart guy, however as near as I can tell About Schmidt was a boring movie about a boring retired insurance salesman in Nebraska showing how boring it was to be a retired insurance salesman in Nebraska. Made for a rough hour and a half.

On an additional note, directly following the entry below - which I can't remember writing, mind you - I fell asleep in my clothes and didn't wake up until 11:30am the next morning.

Got comitted at twenty-two. Just to get over you.
My belly aches blu... got the Lorazepam flu.

Coming one step closer to understanding the music of Blue October with a trip to the periodontist. What should be administered as the sedative of chioce to bring the pokeyphobic Rob under some measure of control than the source of much songwriting material for some of my favorite Blue October tunes.
As I am currently under the fullest influence of it when I type... all I can tell you is that it removes your drive to do anything and steals your spirit to make it happen. Even to do this post.

Now, I *hate* critters. If it doesn't walk upright and possess nominal tool-using skills, as a general rule, it is met with some pretty serious irritation whenever it encounters me.
However, my sister's dog is breaking this general mode of conduct. A pedigreed boxer, this animal is positively perfect. Quiet, unassuming, obedient... Everything a good dog should be. And, out of all the animals we've had in this house (including some children), this one is the only one who has yet to shit somewhere other than a toilet.