Port Aransas Calling

In this day and age where everything seems to be changing so quickly, it's nice to go back to places that have hardly changed at all.

When I was a kid we used to go to Port Aransas almost every weekend.

I remember the blissful afternoons fishing with my dad or playing at the beach.

After I joined a band I got to check out beaches all over the globe and Port Aransas wont be making the list of Conde Naste's 50 greatest beaches anytime soon.

But it remains, for me, an oasis of calm in a world of 24 hour news, 24 hour communication and noise.

The town is still pretty much the same as it was 30 years ago.

Sure, there's a gambling boat and a video store now but overall it's still pretty quiet, especially in the winter.

Tony Scalzo (my partner in crime in Fastball) and I will be doing a little acoustic gig down there tomorrow night at a place called the Back Porch bar.

I don't know how many of you live in Texas, but if you're not doing anything and aren't too far away you should hop in the car and forget about the modern world for about 72 hours.

Come drink some beer, peel some shrimp, walk on the beach or go deep sea fishing.

It might be the best weekend you've had all year.

Aloha,

MILES

www.pabackporchbar.com

My First (and probably last) Facial

I got my first facial today.

I was goaded into it. Apparently my skin was in terrible shape and something had to be done.

I had to fill out a questionnaire before we started.

IS YOUR SKIN OILY OR DRY?

How do I know?

The truth is it's oily in some spots and dry as a bone in other areas.

It's kind of like the Middle East.

HOW MUCH WATER DO YOU CONSUME A DAY?

Gosh, I never counted it before.

Most of the time I drink water right before I pass out- I mean turn in for the night.

I'd have to say about half a glass.

HOW MANY CUPS OF COFFEE DO YOU CONSUME IN A DAY?

Wait a minute. Is this a trick question?

Doesn't coffee have WATER in it?

A better question might be how many pots of coffee do you consume in a day?

HOW MUCH ALCOHOL DO YOU CONSUME IN A WEEK?

I knew this question was coming.

Who wants to sound like a wino at the spa?

I'll just say 6 drinks a week.

With the questionnaire suitably doctored, I headed into the facial room.

The lights were low and there was Coldplay on the stereo.

Yes, whenever you're buying Chardonnay or getting a facial, Coldplay is on in the background.

I laid on my back and a perky asian woman came into the room.

I tried to banish any thoughts of a "happy ending" and just relax.

"It's a good thing you came in today." She said.

"I've got a lot of work to do."

Wow. I guess twenty years of booze, cigarette smoke and breakfast tacos can make for bad complexion.

I've never really noticed it before. Of course, I play in nightclubs for a living.

Not exactly "Queer Eye" territory.

Facials really are relaxing, if you consider having someone squeeze crap out of your pores relaxing.

Personally I found it painful and somewhat pointless.

In a few weeks, I'll just need another facial and it's not really in the budget.

They did talk me into buying some sort of soap to use on my face in the shower.

I guess Irish Spring is a little too harsh.

Now I have a special soap for my face that I have to remember to pack on my next trip.

This is the problem with modern life.

It's too fucking complicated.

Eight Miles High

Some people do very well on marijuana. They function with no problem whatsoever.

Willie Nelson springs to mind.
Bob Marley was stoned every minute of the day, but he was still very productive.
Then there's me.
I like smoking pot best when I'm headed to bed.
That way if I lay there unable to speak with a big goofy grin plastered on my face it wont matter.
Unfortunately, I was headed away from my house when I took the first of many tokes off a big fat spliff.
Things got very strange, very quickly.
I soon felt like I was wrapped in cellophane.
I was floating above the car.
We went down to this big show at the Austin Music Hall.
I soon found myself talking to people but my words were like a tape recording that I was listening to.
I didn't feel like I was doing the talking.
It was unsettling.
I was thinking if I only had a beer that would help bring me back down to Earth.
The lines to the bar were long. I felt like I was waiting to check in to some international flight.
Did I have my ID? What about my passport? No, that's expired...
Will they even let me on the damn plane? I'm so stoned that......wait. I'm not at the airport..
What am I doing here?
I knew I had to get out of that place soon.
Just then Blues Guy took the stage.
Blues Guy is an amazing musician but slow blues played by white people makes me feel I'm having root canal surgery.
I suddenly felt like I had stepped in quicksand. I couldn't move. I was sweating.
His first song seemed to go on forever.
The intro and first verse alone seemed to last fifteen minutes, maybe even longer.
I was growing a beard watching this guy get through his first song.
Now I knew I had to go. I finally just dashed out the door.
My friends had to chase me down.
"Let's get the fuck out of here." I managed to mutter.
I think the key to functioning on pot is to simply smoke it 24/7.
I actually don't know anyone who does it in moderation.
My friends pretty much fall into one of two categories, stoners and non-stoners.
Until I buy that shack down in Negril, I'm going to continue to give Mary Jane a wide berth.

This Beautiful Creature Must Die

We didn't see it until it was too late.

Out of nowhere a big beautiful hawk came swooping down from out of the sky.

Maybe it thought we were a giant white mouse on wheels.

Seconds later we heard a sickening thump.

The hawk was no more.

We looked for a safe place to pull over and then assessed the damage.

There was no sign of the hawk, but it did break something on the roof of the Sprinter Van.

Maybe the hawk is still alive......

Yeah, and maybe Elvis is still alive.

We both felt terrible and didn't really know what to do.

We talked about how bad we felt that we (inadvertently) snuffed the hawk but probably wouldn't feel so bad if it had been a pigeon.

I know if there was a squirrel crossing our path, I probably would've accelerated.

Are some animals more equal than others?

P.S. Here's a little video on youtube of this incident:

The Admiral's Club

My 1:45 flight had been pushed back to 5pm.

I hate American Airlines. They're pathological liars who will never tell you what's really going on.

Hungover and exhausted I decided to go to the Admiral's club for the same reason some people climb mountains: because it's there.

Sure, it was going to cost me $50 but it was my birthday(not really; my birthday had come and gone but I like to extend my birthday to the length of a massive music festival like Reading or Coachella.)

My fantasy: the Admiral's Club would have swank leather chairs, free booze, hot towels, delicious snacks and maybe even a gym or a Sauna.

The reality: the Admiral's club was like the lobby of a Hilton. It did have lockers to stow your stuff but the snacks consisted of Chex Mix and Coffee, and all the alcohol cost extra. There were free computers but suddenly the $50 price tag seemed quite exorbitant.

I walked around for 15 minutes trying to find something to justify the price.

Maybe there was a home theater with a huge selection of DVD's or a complimentary fortune teller on the premises.

I ended up playing poker online and listening to the guy in the next booth discuss his options portfolio with his broker.

I do admit that when I stepped out of the Admiral's club and back into DFW airport I felt like I was in a giant restroom.

The dirty tiled floors and fluorescent lights brought home why I hate airports and dread getting stuck in them: they're uncomfortable places.

Classic Rock Songs Explained

Every now and again I try and dissect some big rock song I love or hate.

Bon Jovi, being the genius he is, managed to have a huge hit with a song that fits both categories.

I'm talking about his monster smash, "Living on a Prayer" from 1986's "Slippery When Wet."

The song starts off talking about Tommy who lost his job and Gina who for some reason is hanging out with Tommy even though she "dreams of running away."

The song is a charging rhino that defies any clinical analysis.

And yet.......

Why is it that Bon Jovi announces that "It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not."

When just a few bars later, in the chorus he belts out "Take my hand and we'll make it I swear!"

Huh?

Well which is it Tommy???!!!

You've hocked your guitar, you lost your job on the dock.....

WTF?

"Relax, babe. We're halfway there. Take my hand and .....actually it doesn't make a difference if we make it or not. We got each other.

Let's hit the bong!"

Tommy is not the guy you want to take your first skydiving lesson from.

YOU: "Uh, Tommy, don't you think we should pull the rip cord? The ground is racing up on us!"

TOMMY: What? Oh, chill out bro. It doesn't make a difference if we make it or.......SPLAT!!!!

You'd be living on a prayer too if you had some stoner guy for a boyfriend who keeps changing his mind.

I still love the song, and overall, lyrically the song is pretty good.

But Gina really should dump that loser.

There Will Be Mud!

I finally made it down to the Austin City Limits Festival this year.

I've always avoided it in the past because I'm not a big fan of standing in a field with thousands of drunk people in 100 degree weather regardless of who's playing.

This year the folks who run ACL thoughtfully moved the festival a week later in the year.

As the saying goes, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions."

I acquired a guest pass from a friend of mine and my mind was filled of images of me swilling champagne and hobnobbing with Eddie Vedder and Ben Harper and Laura Dern.

It didn't quite work out that way.

I rode my bike down to the fest. There was rain in the forecast but I lucked out and had a nice ride down to the park.

I started having second thoughts when I turned on Barton Springs road and saw all the people streaming into the park.

"Hmmmm. Maybe I should just turn around, head home, plop into bed and watch "Down By Law" again.

I pushed on. Once I got in the park I was surprised by all the mud and the smell.

It was like a pig farm with music. There was music, somewhere, right?

I could hear the B-52's but they seemed so far away.

The mud was several inches deep. Getting there was going to be a challenge.

I sloshed on over there but I stopped around half a mile from the stage.

Getting any closer would involve pushing past other people and around lawn chairs in the mud.

Why go any closer when I could see the band just fine from here?

On TV.

That's right, I essentially watched every band I saw on TV.

(The Toadies, The Dead Weather, Pearl Jam).

My guest pass, while an attractive red color, wasn't good for getting backstage or on to the side of the stage to watch the bands.

Getting any closer would require a commitment that I just wasn't ready to give.

Especially since there were these wicked Watermelon Vodka drinks in the artist tent where half the Austin music community was hanging out.

Free drinks, clean bathrooms and sanity versus mud, hordes of people and more mud.

It was no contest.

Many of the people in the artist tent clearly hadn't even bothered trying to go out and see any music. There shoes were still immaculately white.

I later found out that the mud everyone was rolling around in was "Dillo Dirt" which is composed of lawn trimmings and treated human sewage.

Eventually, the sun went down.

Now it was dark and muddy and I had to find my way back to my bike through this huge field with thousands of other muddy people. It was like a Civil war reenactment.

At least it wasn't raining.