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This won't have the appeal of Facebook, Twittex, Instagram, or Tik Tok.  There may be a select few I've met personally that chance upon this site after a brief conversation at a gig.  I have no social media team, no internet marketing experts, no web development department.  So why do this?  I'm asked at nearly every gig, "Do you have a website?"  No, no website, nothing on YouTube (well, there is that one thing), ill worked social media.  Until now!  This was started from a spark of initiative.  Get the domain name!  Get a Google Site!  So, here it is, a google site!

I wanted this to be simple, and yet, I'm compelled to offer all areas of my interest.  Yes, I'm a musician, and that's likely how you found this, but I do so much more.  As I continue to build on this site, I hope to have time to put out more blogs on random topics, personal reviews of gigs, or possibly incoherent ramblings.  

As this is an introduction, of sorts, here are some of my areas of interests: aviation (Bachelor's in Aviation from WMU, Go Broncos!), physics, math, computers, scripting, data, boats, motorcycles, campfires, oh, and I can cook and sew too.  I like the outdoors, late nights, and talking too much about details that don't matter.   I like holding hands and long walks on the beach... I mean... uh, yeah, never mind. 

I work a full time corporate job working with data.  I could talk about it for hours, but I don't, I prefer having friends.  Outside that, I have 4 kids with a decade separation from the oldest to youngest.  My two oldest have been "my" kids since they were 6 & 5, they have a local "non-step" dad, and are back & forth frequently.  My first kid is my "Kalamazoo" kid, lands in the middle age-wise, and is back & forth across the SW Michigan region.  My youngest is 10, 9, and 7 years younger than those previously mentioned siblings.  And, of course, with all of that, I have a significant other.  Together, we work to raise this family, and there's forever something important happening.

I don't have a lot of time for all the things I want to do, but music is always a part of it.  This website checks off a big box on my to-do list.  This is my first (ever) blog, it was only a little rambly, but I hope you learned something about me.

Noah J. Privett

9/29/2024

When I titled this, I wasn't sure if I'd write about writing, or write about me writing a written work about writing... I'm sure those are two distinct ideas.  In the course of events, the written word is a work of wonder.  It transcends the boundaries of a lifespan, and leaves a lasting mark for generations.  The ancients marked on stones their thoughts and laws.  Today, we do the same, just much more precisely.  This written word is typed, so, not written at all, at least not in the classical sense.  However, each letter has an ASCII value that corresponds with the image printed on the screen (with respect to fonts, which are just overlayed styles), each code is translated in a string of zeros and ones and recorded as such as a magnetic north or south on a purified rock of silicon.  We're still chiseling our words into stone, but the chisel is an electric current, and the stone is just deoxygenated sand.

I write for comfort, and write far too infrequently.  I notice my voice change when I write.  Something I read some time ago suggested it's due to a different area of the language center of the brain activating when writing.  That is, one area is active while speaking, another area while composing the written word.  So, my speech on a page does tend toward more than what I'd speak.  I recall that reading was intended as a warning, something to the effect, "DON'T DO THIS!!"  But, why?!?  "People don't talk that way!  Keep it clear and concise."  Well, yeah, I suppose... if the intent is simply to pass information, I can buy into this argument... but that's not all writing is for!  Writing can pass information and ideas, but it can also evoke emotion.  I don't want to turn off the part of my brain that is responsible for some of the most fluid writing I've created.  

Most of my working life is reading and writing.  I write emails, briefs, summaries, SOPs, QRGs, business rules... I read the same plus news.  The last novel I read was in 2011, East of Eden.  The story is a sincere tragedy with loss a primary theme.  It was somewhere north of 500 pages, and sent shivers through me at times.  After one scene, I recall setting the book down, my heart was racing, and the room was wet.  I'd like to read more.

I've studied lyrics, and created my own.  The good lyrics tend to have some kind of intentional ambiguity, like they're trying to tell two stories at once.  The best lyrics, to me, are when a common idea is twisted into a new meaning... that's difficult to craft, but the examples are everywhere.  Twists beat predictability every time, with lyrics... but music is different.  It must repeat.  If a song doesn't repeat, no one will sing it.  We want predictable melodies, known cadences, satisfaction in familiarity with the occasional intrigue of a turned phrase.  That's hard.  I've written a lot of songs, and I don't think I've achieved what I've set out to achieve... other than having a song I can call mine.  

Steinbeck's book was his magnum opus.  To date, my opi are non magna.  Yet, I strive to leave my mark on the stones for the future to observe and consider... and maybe, without my knowing, someone will find what they've been missing, and the spark of joy will persist.

So, to conclude, I write, not often, but deeply, with edits, and allusion, with the near delusion these works will live beyond my years. 

Noah J. Privett

9/30/2024

I can still remember the boy scout songs I learned when I was 5 or 6.  America the Beautiful should be the national anthem... except it talks about G-d, and many may take issue... Not starting this blog off in the right direction, religion and politics in the first assertion.  Anyway, the war song is probably better.   I had a little brown book and a little purple book of music, two of my favorite books.  I remember not knowing how to sing, but understanding a note that is higher up gets a higher sound, and as horrible as I'm sure it sounded, I belted out, "One fine day in early spring, I played a funny trick, out in the yard behind my house I planted a lollipop stick..."  Great song.  All the old American folk tunes!  Working on the Railroad, the Erie Canal, The Wabash Cannonball, This land is Your land.  Sharon, Lois, and Bram with skidamarinki dinki dink (or however you wish to spell that... kinda sounds like that new skibbidi thing the kids are doing)... Peter, Paul, and Mary... then, the MONKEES!  

Later, I discovered the difference between "kids songs" and "real songs" the difference between "fake bands" and "real bands."  The Monkees weren't "real."  Those faces I learned do not produce the sounds I heard.  They were just riffing on the Beatles.  The Partridge Family?  Just a bad play on the Jackson 5... and it hurt, you know?  Loss of innocence.  But real music was different, the topics were better, and then I found Bob Dylan.  I'd heard "Blowin' in the Wind" and "Mr. Tambourine Man" and as great as they are, the counterculture didn't become evident until Rainy Day Women #12 & 39 blasted from my mother's floor speakers (suspended on anti-vibration stands) at negative infinity!  

What's negative infinity?  How does that relate to sound?  Oh, oh ohhoohoo ... yeah, let me tell you!  The Kenwood was capable of producing some maximum output, past that, nothing more... but the output can be reduced by adding resistance ... electrical resistance ... you know, resistors.  So, turning the big knob was really just moving a needle connected to one side of the circuit across a narrowing band of resistive material.  On the left side of the knob near the 7 o'clock position was the infinity symbol (∞).  On the other side around the 5 o'clock position was the negative infinity symbol (-∞).  Infinite resistance meant no current could flow, and no sound came out; whereas, negative infinity meant all the resistance was gone, and the maximum current flowed.  (of course, ALL resistance couldn't be gone unless it was a super conductor).  

My first introduction to an instrument was the public school recorder in 4th grade.  I loved it.  The next year I picked the trumpet and joined the school band, except, I didn't own a trumpet.  The school was able to loan me a cornet.  For those that don't know, these are almost the same instrument, but a little different.  The trumpet is longer but shorter, the cornet isn't as long but is taller.  Almost all the fingerings for notes are the same, though it tends to be sharp or flat in a different way than a trumpet and requires a bit more lipping.  I tried out the French horn for a semester in Junior High, but switched back to cornet for high school.  My sister played the violin in the school's orchestra, and my brother started on trombone before switching to tuba/sousaphone.  

I couldn't read music fluently until I was maybe 11 or 12, and I didn't really understand "why these notes?" until I was about 16 or 17.   I taught myself guitar starting around age 14, to a point, from a book.  The first "real" song I learned to play was Maggie's Farm, and from there I learned to strum dozens of songs.  I loved memorizing the chord patterns!  One day, my sister told me... and why not?  She's the one that blared "every body must get stoned" when I was probably too young to consider what that meant... so one day, my sister told me, "You'll never be a REAL guitarist unless you can play Stairway to Heaven!  EVERY guitarist knows how to play that!"  Challenge Accepted!  Yes, I learned it.  Yes, I can still play it.  Yes, I think I do a good job.  Then Mike Meyers had to ruin it for everyone with his, "No Stairway" rule.  Maybe it was already a rule.  This rule, of that song, I learned, is universal.  Every guitarist really does know how to play it, and every guitarist worth his salt will never perform it.  It's sad, it's a very pretty song with a chromatic bass run... So, I played it.

My first open mic, I'm maybe 17 or 18 years old.  I'd tried playing here and there in bars when they would let me, never for pay, once for the elderly at the Whitcomb in St. Joe... My first song at my first open mic was "Stairway to Gilligan's Island."  That is, I came across a trick in my travels.  A quirky thing about music is many songs can be sung to other tunes, and in this case, Gilligan's Island fits perfectly into the structure of Stairway to Heaven.  I expected the boos, and was not disappointed.  The 3rd note and I hear the hiss from half the room, "No Stairway!!"  But I kept up and the other half quieted down the first half.  Then, I started singing, "Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale..." and I lost the half that was initially on my side.  If another phrase or two had gone by, I think everyone would have gotten a good laugh over it, and I had "real" songs to follow up with.  But, I was caned off the stage.  Not like that kid in Singapore, but the hook around the neck.  It was an older gentleman with a scowl, and I was immediately pissed.

I swung my arm across the cane flinging it to the side and the mic caught my voice, "Don't fucking touch me!"  The old man looked to stumble a bit, but I stayed my attack, and in one solid move, yanked the 1/4 inch phono from my guitar and maneuvered past him, down the step and into the "green room."  I was putting my guitar in it's case and muttering with a red face about senses of humor when the host came in and apologized for the behavior of the audience.  He said, "where you going?  you got 2 more songs to do!" and he gave me the cheesiest of smiles.  I took my breath and looked at him.  I complained.  I resisted.  He insisted.  I looked through the door and cowered.  And he inspired with a, "Here, come on!"  He reintroduced me, the crowed clapped like I was an injured running back standing to be walked off the field.  I looked into the lights and said, "sorry about that, I'm good... I guess they can't all be gems."  I played an original tune, one by Creedence, and left to a fairly typical applause you might hear from any act at an open mic.

The biggest problem was I couldn't sing.  I didn't get my voice until much later in life, I wasn't tone deaf, I could hear every note I missed.  But I wanted it so bad, it was a part of me I needed... I kept working on it.  Even now, there are things I hear "real" singers do with their voice that I could only dream of.  I'm at a state now where I can carry a tune, and I have enough original music and performance ready covers that it almost seems like I know what I'm doing.  

One of my first pursuits in college was music (my first first was electrical engineering).  I got a scholarship and made music my major for 2 semesters to include 1:1 classical guitar instruction with an excellent guitarist, Rob Lunn.  In order to do one one one classical guitar instruction, I had to already know a few things... or be put in the group lessons with beginners.  I showed off my scales, 2 octaves each, up and down, Major, Minor, Melodic Minor, Harmonic Minor.  I showed off my chords, Major, Minor, 7th, Major 7th, Minor 7th, 9th, diminished.  I wanted to learn Fur Elise... and I did.  I was made to learn several other common classical pieces.  Study in C, Study in D, Study in Am... Carcassi, Carulli, Messonier, Bach... the list goes on.  This helped push past the wall I'd hit learning from a book and the random tabs on the internet.   One of the skills I gained was the ability to strum the chords of a song while simultaneously highlighting the melody, and this felt like magic.  (also, I can read guitar sheet music).  

For my uncle's wedding, I learned Wagner's wedding march ("Here come the bride, dun dun da dun...").  I found a free version of sheet music arranged for 3 instruments, piano, flute, and clarinet.  I had to transpose the clarinet from Bb to C.  The melody kept jumping from one instrument to another... but I wrote it all out as one piece for piano, found the melody line, disected the chord structure, and reduced it to 3 and 4 part harmonies for the guitar.  It was my first time arranging a piece of music; it was a lot like solving a puzzle... I love puzzles.  In the end I had a great time performing it at the wedding while my soon-to-be Aunt walked down the aisle.  I'd be remiss not to mention Nashon Halloway.  She and I worked together briefly at WMU, and I ran into her serendipitously about 5 weeks before the wedding while racking my brain looking for a singer to do a part in this wedding.  I think it was a burrito place, she was working, I was ordering, and we started chatting.  It was a beautiful 5 weeks of practice, and I wonder sometimes, if I hadn't been leaving Kalamazoo... if I hadn't been in heartbreak from a previous thing... if...   She's doing great, from what I see.  On that day, her voice echoed through the garden while I accompanied on guitar.  Just amazing.  I wrote out the whole guitar piece for the wedding march in pen on an extra nice piece of staff paper.  I stole a ribbon from a table decoration, rolled the music scrollwise, tied it neatly with a square bow, and placed it among the wedding presents.  Then I moved away from Kalamazoo.

Music has always been in my life, and I could tell a thousand stories of other nights where things went well or didn't...  Music brought me out of darkness that was embedded in my childhood, it is my release of pent up emotion, it's my catharsis.  If it can do that for me, perhaps it can do that for others, so I perform as much as for me as I do for you.  Being on stage is being vulnerable, it's the chance to face a fear, and I'm fearful every time.  I put confidence on my face and mask my fear with humor... that's usually enough.

Noah J. Privett

10/1/2024

(edited 12/8/2024)

Ah yes, data science, it feeds my family.  That's my current occupation, I'm a data scientist for the global leader in major appliance manufacturing.  I used to say, "I'm a professional pilot, a career musician, and I'm currently occupied as a data analyst."  I guess I still say that, but used to too (stolen joke, rest well Mitch).  How did I come across this type of job?  Great question!  And if I forget to say this in my ramblings, let me say it now: study computers.  Anything about them, physical build, software, data structures, games, coding, office tools, music tools, image/video... So, here's my path.

"Noah! What did you do!?!"  This was a fairly common thing to be yelled across my house when I was 5.  I took apart a camera because I needed to know how it worked.  Inside, I found the shutter was a little thing covering the lens, and when you pushed the button it moved a little... it wiggled... no... it opened all the way so fast I almost missed it.  Then it was just kind of an open area and the film was at the back.  I didn't quite understand how all this made a photograph, but it was very interesting.  Just one issue, there were so many pieces, I couldn't figure out how to get it back together... and neither could my mom.  I destroyed too much this way.  Probably more to get me to stop randomly dismantling all the things, my mom put me in front of a Commodore 64/128, inserted a 5 1/4 floppy disc into the bay, typed, "Go 64," and the whole screen changed from green to blue.  "Load, 'Mario.exe',8,1"  While it loaded, we made lunch, and I wondered what was happening on that machine in her room... When I was done eating, the screen read, "ready"  Now, the tricky part "Run Mario.exe"

Everything changed in that moment, there was a game on that floppy disk, there was a little guy on my screen in red overalls bashing his head on bricks.  This was a Nintendo port, and I have no idea if it was legit, but that's what we did.  Linkin' Logic was one of my favorites, a little bird carried bridges, springs, and walls around to fill in holes in walkways that would soon be traversed by my little avatar.  If you placed the pieces just right, the little figure on the screen would move left and right, fall, bounce, and eventually be heading just the right direction at the end to win the level.  

Then we got our 486 DX2 66 with PC DOS and Windows!  DOS was a lot like the Commodore, just type in what you want to do.  Windows was pictures and you used a mouse... it didn't always work very well, and DOS was better for games.  The technology just kept coming, it was almost too much to keep up with.  I learned what's inside, the CPU, the memory sticks, the IRL settings, a hard drive!  The Commodore didn't have one of those!  Then one day, the internet happened.  I mean... there was already an internet of sorts, bulletin boards and doors to other bulletin boards... we call that pages and links now.  But then the REAL internet happened, I found chat rooms and other nerdy kids like me.  And that's how I got "into" computers.  I learned HTML and a bit of JavaScript in my teens and designed a website from scratch to sell Bob Dylan albums with a "partnership" with some retail site... But my friend who'd been hosting the site on his server moved away.  He was convinced he could make people like the Borg of Star Trek and joined some team making AI and biomechanical interfaces out in California.  Neat.

I earned an Associates in Liberal Arts when I was older than should have been.  I studied engineering, ceramic arts, and guitar... I even took a backpacking class!  I drifted for a while.  Eventually, I landed on aviation as my topic of choice in college.  Aviation Flight Science to be specific.  Not many people know this, but I was accepted to Cornell University at the same time as WMU College of Aviation.  I held both acceptance letters in front of me, in the room I grew up in at my mom's house.  I looked back and forth and understood the nexus.  It was a hard choice.  I think what really sealed it was the thought, "I could always learn physics from a book, but this may be my only opportunity to fly."  So, I flew for 5 years about twice a week accumulating 250-ish hours and over 500 landings.  I created a template in Excel for flight planning that did a lot of the calculations for me.  When my flight instructor saw it, he asked for a copy... that's the first time I wrote a small program that was useful.  Felt good.

The fates are cruel and simultaneously kind.  I got to fly but I don't get to fly.  I started having a family, and man did that change my perspective.  I no longer wanted to island hop the Philippines to build my hours, I didn't want to be gone for weeks in a row just to say hi for a few days and be off again.  I wanted to BE there, you know? like BEEEE there.  I moved to Benton Harbor (near where I grew up) from Kalamazoo in 2012 and started looking for something to do with my degree.  Everywhere I was "over qualified" except aviation where I was lacking experience and/or capital.  There were 2 jobs at the local airport, and I applied for both.  One was the assistant manager of the airport, and after submitting a 20-page packet with a detailed FBI background check, I got the interview!  Nope.  "We're looking for maybe a fireman that can drive a truck around the field."  The other job?  Own the gas station.  Well, it's called "FBO" for "Fixed Base Operator."  It's a gas station AND a lounge, most airports have this type of service.  Yeah, the owner was selling for $350,000.  I asked around and got loose promises from investors to the tune of $150,000... much more than I expected, and far less than what was needed.  From what I understand, the owner of the FBO in Jackson, MI bought the FBO in Benton Harbor.

I looked for work everywhere, every day.  I went 13 months in total between jobs.  It was an amazing time to spend with my kid, but resources were very scarce.  There's so much more to tell about this time, but I finally got the job at Whirlpool and learned all about the logistics network.  I worked my way up from the phones to a "back office" team that manages open return orders.  That is, every day something's returned, those items fall off the list, but new returns are created.  How old are they?  How long does it take to get them back?  Have we ever issued a credit for the same return twice?  The team used Excel with macros, and I quickly saw the need to update some of the scripting.  I watched YouTube.  I read blogs.  I studied Visual Basic for Applications.  All in one weekend, I learned enough to go through and view the code, kinda sorta maybe understand what some of it's doing, and I found the issue we were having with our big report script and changed a little number.  It worked! (and I got a window seat!)

I kept studying, there were so many more programs, and no one seemed to know how they worked, but I always heard the guy that wrote them was making the big bucks.  For the next several years I dedicated myself to automation.  I updated existing scripts, and in one case developed a process from scratch for a report that was always very manual.  3 weeks of mind numbingly scrolling and scrolling through 30,000 lines of data with a mouse wheel looking for a "match" to some rules that were only known by one person.  I was convinced a computer could do it better.  It took about 6 weeks to develop, but when it was done, the new process only took a day to complete and it found everything not just the matches you happen to notice.  Later, that same process was trimmed to 2 hours.  I got the promotion, I was a data analyst!  Just in time for my youngest to be born.

I met the other techy guys in the office, and learned who could do what.  Eventually, I overhauled the entire system for rescheduling deliveries, added new codes for why the reschedule happened (including a term I made up, "combusted shipment." ... not every phrase made it to the final product).  I built the process the team would use, the database that stored the codes and delivered the work to the right teams, and visual reports.  After 2 years of that, one of my bosses decided all the reporting should be automated, and I was just wasting time.  He was new.  He didn't see what I'd done, and he would not advocate for me.  Told me I had zero potential, a real winner of guy.  (he's no longer with the company) Well, much to that bosses chagrin, that led to my managing the automation project with some of the data guys and gals, and I learned a lot about Access, Tableau, and SQL.  I had Excel with VBA, Access, Tableau.  I studied Continuous Improvement and became an instructor.  We switched from an Excel office to a Google Sheets office, and I studied Apps Script to translate my VBA skills.  Now I'm responsible for all the digital signage in the building, I manage the workflow for reporting requests, and I "own" several processes and data systems.  I've added several business intelligence tools to my toolbelt over the years.  I'm a project manager and a data scientist (my degree is in science, after all).

So, I dismantled most things I came across in life, I figured out how they worked, and I got better at putting them back together, usually better than they were.  I've trained others on various business techniques, and recently completed my Black Belt training as part of the 6 Sigma (not gen Alpha style) school of thought.  I interface with data, write SQL, and build reporting that's used by senior leadership to make strategic decisions about the future of the company and how we do business.  One day, I might be making the strategic decisions... or I might go fly agricultural drones instead.  I dunno.  Most people ask, "how do you know how to do this?"  Frequently I just reply, "I'm a pilot!  Pilots can do anything!"

Noah J. Privett

10/2/2024

I took my first train to Texas when I was 19 years old.  But I should start a litter earlier than that.  I never joined the military.  I spent the first 6 yeas of my life being terrorized by an Army staff sergeant, so I always felt like I did my time.  Dad's dead now, died of covid a year after a stroke.  He's buried in Fort Bliss, El Paso, TX leaving behind something like 7 kids, 3 wives, and a few grandkids.  The years between 6 and dead, I only saw him 3 times.  Randomly at a Dylan concert in South Bend Indiana.  Then, a 20 minute moment in time when we thought he might be sane.  Lastly, at my Grandma's, his mother's, funeral where he proved he really wasn't.  Hm.  "I shot at his feet, it's not like I was trying to kill him... I don't know why everyone's making such a big deal about it..."  Those were the last words I heard him say as I took my daughter's hand and walked away.  Hm.

So, chaos and turmoil.  That's what I learned from the world, and that's what I reflected.  I was teased and bullied a lot, I didn't know how to deal with kids.  I hit them, I got hit, I hit harder, I got knocked down, I got better, I learned to duck, learned to grapple, and the fights just kept coming.  This town was relentless, and it was obvious, I didn't belong.  I tried.  Sometimes I nearly failed.  The odds weren't good, many times I tried to step away, and it kept pulling me back.  There's even a year we call the "black year."  We, I didn't even introduce my buddy, Brandon.  He landed on as many hard times as me if not more and some of them at the same time as me.  Yeah... so I drifted.  I quit school and traveled.

My first trip was at 16, my sister had been living in Georgia escaping her own hard times.  Though she was back, she made some friends while she was there, and wanted to visit.  She taught me to drive her stick, and we listened to a cassette tape of Steve Miller Band the whole way there.  Except, every now and then, she'd switch the radio saying, "You always need to check the local radio on long trips!"  Maybe you do, seems like fair advice.

By 18 I ended up with a girl in Chicago, Anna (long A, don't get that wrong!).  She's a famous artist now, married, children, living a good life.  She introduced Brandon to a girl.  We had girls in Chicago, and we were best friends.  We had cars and gas was cheap.  For about 2 years, we drove the stretch of 94 around the southern tip of Lake Michigan to be with our ladies as often as possible... sometimes, they'd make the trip to us.  Then it happened.  Anna left me for an art student, Brandon's mom died, his girl found someone just after he moved to Champaign/Urbana, and he skipped of to Texas.  And I nearly gave up.  I found a crowed of misfits I barely knew from the few years I did high school and over the years, we became, "The Fam."  Ah, the fam...  

I went to Ohio, Pennsylvania, Arizona, Texas, Georgia, Tennessee, Florida, Mexico, and many points between.  I left by train, or bus, I taxied and walked... and I drifted from place to place.  Mostly, I would find work long enough to leave, then do just that.  And there I was.  Drunk in Texas at 4am playing around with a flight simulator.  It hit me, maybe I could fly?  Planning and executing this dream was one of the highlights of my life.  I I sobered up.  I distanced myself from miscreants.  

I finished high school at 19 through an alternative program called "Home School."  I didn't know it at the time, but everyone will forever assume I'm from a fundamentalist religious family now.  But I'm not.  My mom pushed me to finish my education, and what can I say, listen to your mother, folks.  We researched a lot of different avenues.  Home school was the best option.  I did the work, I took the tests, graduated with honors, and I got scholarships.  During my travels, I'd come back for college, and 5 semesters over 3 years got me an Associates in Liberal Arts.  But I'd drift for another year before deciding on aviation school.  And I did that.  I completed all required curricula and received a Bachelor's in Aviation Flight Science, with honors (and a minor in Geography).

I met someone and started a family.  My kid made me change my mind about aviation as a career.  At least, that's what I tell people.  There are layers.  But that's it, that's the story.  Shitty childhood, alternate route through the education system, and too many years later, I think I made it.  I know there are still hard times to come, there always will be.  But, I'm able to handle what comes my way, and I don't feel the need to drift anymore.  But drifting sure was fun.  The Arizona story alone made it all worth it.

"Hey, I'm moving, and I have a rental truck... do you think you could help me drive?"  That was Tina.  I was at my mom's house when she called, she was lucky to catch me there.  I was 20 years old with no responsibilities.  At this time in my life, I mostly couch surfed with "The Fam," but I'd come home to see my mom regularly, and she'd feed me.  I asked Tina where she was moving to, and she said, "Phoenix."  I asked, "Arizona?"  And she said, "Yeah."  That got my mom's attention, and I walked to the door to get some space.  "We'll pay for everything, gas, food, drinks, and you'll have a place to stay when we get to my sister's, then we'll fly you back."  I asked, "who's 'we'?"

Tina was with John, and Tina was pregnant.  She always talked about her sister in Arizona, but when she told me here sister was a playmate (like, Playboy playmate), my crazy radar went off.  John was going to help move, but couldn't drive, they really just needed someone last minute to drive a truck to Arizona.  It all seemed a little too good to be true, and therefore, it couldn't be true... but I did believe, "free trip to Arizona."  I asked when, and she said, "10 am"  I asked, "Tomorrow?" A quick glance at the clock told me it was 11pm.  "Yes..."  

I glanced down at the paper bracelet I was wearing at the time.  I just had gotten back from 3 day festival in Ohio.  People were always wanting to go to festivals.

"Alright!  Let's do it!"

I got off the phone and told my mom, I'm headed to Arizona.  "Oh no you're not!" "Yeah, leaving in the morning."  "You're gonna die falling off a mountain, you can't go!" 

Well, I love my mom, but I wasn't about to let her fear get into me.  I packed a suitcase of clothes and books, grabbed all of my money, $13 in mostly dimes and nickels, and Tina picked me up around midnight. "I'll be back for college!"  It was late June.

We drove out to Tina's place and spent the night.  In the morning, we loaded up the last of the stuff and gave her cats a tranquilizer.  This caused them to think they were dying and they took off into the hidiest of holes in the house.  We ended up tearing apart the floor of the sink cabinet, and I reached through the cat's fresh shit to retrieve it.  I washed me while they washed the cat, and we got on the road.  Ech.

There were a few stops along the way, a friend in Indiana, a lunch at the mounds of Missouri, a petrified forest, rock shops... and I got a Route 66 key chain on the way (currently, this key chain resides at the bottom of a small lake in Michigan).  It was a long road, we wound up the country to Flagstaff and took a left, then headed deep into the desert valley.  The sun was up when we made it to Phoenix.  There are very few mountains in town, but we found one and started a slow trip up to the top.  We met a guard at a gate and he let us pass.  When I saw the houses, I realized maybe she wasn't lying about her sister... I really had a hard time with this as part of a true reality.  But, we pulled up to a stone mansion with a 2 story copper door, weathered and green.  It opened and there was Karen McDougal and her husband Jim.  They greeted us and walked us in to see the split marble staircase in a great foyer where sat a millennium edition Bösendorfer grand piano.  There were rooms in all directions, and large glass doors led to an infinity pool straight through.

For 11 days, I slept in the largest bed, drank the finest beer, watched movies in the private in-home theatre, played video games in a pool house larger than the house I grew up in, and got pictures jumping into an infinity pool... which tends to look like you're jumping over the edge of the pool.  We ate out every night or had food delivered.  It was just opulence.  Then it was time for me to leave.  Tina thanked me, John hugged me, Jim offered me nude pictures of his wife, and Karen signed them.  Before Tina took me to the airport, somewhere along the trip, I asked if I had to go home.  She said, she'll get me a ticket to anywhere in the US.  So, I flew to Harlingen, TX and met up with Brandon.  We stopped at his Uncle's, then headed into McAllen.  He was living with his dad when I got there, it was my 2nd time there.  I visited at 19 by train the first time.  That's a good story too... 

We visited his cousin's bar, and I played a Dylan song.  A stranger to all the patrons walked up when I was done, leaning on the table said, "When I walked in here tonight, that's the last thing I expected to hear, Thank you!"  When he lifted his hand there was a $100 bill sitting there.  I tried to say I couldn't accept it, he insisted, and Brandon tried to say he'd take it.  So, I put it in my pocket and thanked him as he left.  On the way out of the bar that night, we stumbled across a wad of cash lying on the ground of the parking lot.  I found it first, and it was about $200.  My morals told me I should find the owner, but everyone had already left for the night.  Brandon told me to keep it, so I did...  When we got back to his place, something was different, Javier was fed up with hooligans running around his house and kicked us out.  

Brandon and I made a plan. We used the tip money and found money combined with Brandon's money to get an apartment on Mona street.  It was a small brick oven, about 250 sq feet.  I got some work, and I made some more money.  After a few weeks, I had my train ticket home.  I got on the bus out of the Valley and headed into San Antonio.  I met up with the Amtrak and took that into Chicago.  The train was late getting to the station, and I missed the connecting train to St. Joe.  Amtrak was very cool about it and set me up in a nearby hotel on Halstead with a cash stipend just enough for a 2 way taxi ride and delivery of deep dish.  The next day, I took the train home... with 3 dollars in my pocket.