California Shows!

I’m hurtling toward San Diego. I play Wednesday at @birchaquarium in La Jolla. Look at all these California shows———>>>>>>>>>> June 20-La Jolla CA- Birch Aquarium

June 22- San Luis Obisbo CA- Bang The Drum Brewery

June 24- Santa Monica CA- McCabe’s Guitar Shop

June 30- San Francisco- Swedish American Hall

July 1- Novato CA- Hopmonk Tavern

July 2- Trinidad CA- Trinidad Town Hall

July 3- Redding CA- Vintage Wine Bar

July 5- Felton CA- Flynn’s Cabaret (formerly Don Quixote’s)

July 6-8- Quincy CA- High Sierra Music Festival

July 14- Navarro CA- The Redwood Ramble

July 28 – Cisco Park CA- Guitarfish Festival #signstryingtohangon #spaghettiandmeatballs #stevepoltz

Thanks Alaska

Jeannine from Salmonfest picked me up at the airport in Homer Alaska. How about that sign? The dude on the left side of the pic looks skeptical. He’s wondering who let this weirdo on the plane. Thank you Alaska! What a fun little tour. I’ll definitely be back. Xx Next stop San Diego. I play The Birch Aquarium on Wednesday!

I forgot to get paid

You know you’ve been on the road a long time when you forget to get paid. I did that last night. I played Klondike Mike’s in Palmer Alaska and then ventured off to sleep sans dinero.

The only reason I remembered is cuz tonight when got paid for my show at Chilkoot Charlie’s in Anchorage I was sitting there lookin at the cash pass from Bart’s (the nice manager) hands to my hands. Kinda like a coke or card dealer. At that moment I thought to myself “hey dude, you forgot to get paid. Dummy. Now what?”

Then Bart says “text Rob and he’ll get you the cashish. I have his number. Everybody knows everyone’s number in this 49th State.”

So now I’m sitting in my rental car outside my hotel in the pissing rain. It’s rained all day today. Maybe yesterday was an aberration and it’s not always sunny in Alaska.

It’s almost 10:30 pm and it’s light out and there are zombie drunks staggering down the street like it’s Friday night. Oh wait, it IS Friday night. But it’s still light out. This place is one big bowl of confusion soup and I’m drinking it through a leaky paper straw.

My show was fun. That’s right. It was fun. I played that one g chord and people took off their underwear and threw it at me on stage. Skid marked underwear tossed at me in slow motion. Underwear moving slow like an eephus pitch from the arm of Rip Sewell.

Hey the rain just died down and I’m waiting on a text from the promoter. Maybe he’ll PayPal me the cash. I ain’t driving back to Palmer.

Dog bless you all.

A dispatch from the road.

Pipe smokers!

I’m jealous of my musician friends who get great interviews on huge podcasts. I should be happy for them but sometimes it just makes me green with envy.

My friend Tim Flannery aka Jonny Strayhorse was asked to be interviewed on a pipe smoking podcast. A podcast all about tobacco and pipes and the joy of pipe smoking.

The pipe smoking audience is sort of the holy grail of all music fans. They are ranked from 1 to 15 in this order:

1. Pipe smokers

2. People who eat pop tarts for dinner

3. Men who wear crocs to church

4. Embalmers

5. Triathletes on acid

6. Crackheads

7. Bird surgeons

8. Philatelists

9. Rhododendron growers

10. Waffle House chefs

11. Waffle House servers (losing by mere percentage points to the chefs)

12. Urologists from Uzbekistan

13. Sculptors named Pygmalion

14. Left handed people whose first names start with the letter x

—-And finally —-

15. Smog check technicians

Getting to know me

A step by step guide to what makes me post anti-trump tirades on Facebook and how it makes me feel.

Step 1- Sometimes I’ll be reading an editorial by a writer or group of writers I admire or maybe don’t admire.

I’ll read a perfect word for word quote by The Donald.

Step 2 involves me muttering to myself. Something like “what is he even talking about.? Blah blah blah blah blah ugh buffoon.”

Step 3- My blood starts to boil and that creates a drug in my veins and I start writing down random thoughts. The thoughts are sometimes tangential and sometimes insane and sometimes they make me laugh. The laughter makes me feel good. I love words and how when they’re strung together they can make me smile.

Step 4- I’m not angry anymore because I journaled my thoughts. Most of the time these are thoughts that no one will ever see. Just the complete insane ramblings of a man whose mental train is sometimes on an unfamiliar track. By now I’m usually smiling. It feels good to write.

Step 5 – I think “I should post this. Nah. Yeah, maybe I should. Nah! Yeah nah yeah nah yeah nah. Maybe I’ll put it on instagram and it’ll get lost in the shuffle. My parents aren’t on instagram they’ll never see it. They’re on Facebook” (A side note- my parents are 88 and I’m 58 so why should I care if they think I’m insane? i AM insane.)

Usually don’t even post it. Common sense prevails. But then…. sometimes I just can’t help myself and I take a shit all over the proverbial rug (are rugs proverbial?) and I click that button and send it out to Zuckerberg’s internet.

6. It’s posted. Now that part- FEELS GOOD! Really fuggin good. There’s nothin like a mean political post to get my shackles shackling. It’s like a perfect hit of dope.

7. Fallout city. Lots of attaboys and a few how’s yer mother and then the trolls enter the rainforest. Meme carrying trolls. Meme-fest-a-rooni. Memey memerson and the meemettes. Lots of copying and pasting.

8. After a while I just ignore it all and let everyone fight. I don’t even read the comments. It’s like I threw a rock through Mr Wilson’s window and now I’m back on my paper route.

9. Then I feel kinda sick like I ate too many Krispy Kreme donuts at the airport in St Louis. In fact, I feel really bad.

10. No one’s mind was changed. All the tribe members stayed in their tribes firing salvos at one another and flipping each other off. Nobody switched teams. Nobody won. I was a clicktavist causing a ruckus. I got a buzz and it felt good but the effects weren’t long lasting.

11. I say “I’m gonna try to be positive and promote a more loving peaceful dialogue.

12. It doesn’t mean I won’t do it again. I may want that hit of dope again. I hide out in the wings like a sniper and patiently wait for the next perfect opportunity. But for now I’m back to peaceful coexistence. Or maybe just existence. Perhaps there is no co.

13. Thanks for listening.

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