March 19, 2012. Soda Springs, CA

up at the cabin. it’s been snowing all weekend. the nearest place with an internet
connection is about a mile away. yesterday i drove there to upload my post. today the
roads were covered with snow, so i walked. i thought about the postal service oath;
“neither snow, nor rain…”.
i also thought about skipping a day and doing two tomorrow, but something compelled
me to make the trek. the act of following through, i guess. keeping a commitment.
even if it doesn’t really matter, it matters.

hugo and his friend lewis are sledding on the roof
we had a snowball fight earlier; erica and me against the kids
the dogs were on their team

hugo’s been wanting to come to the cabin since thanksgiving, so this trip’s been planned
for a while. there were storm warnings all week, and we thought we’d have to cancel. every
day hugo asked if we were going or not. we told him we didn’t know, the roads might be
closed, we’d just have to wait and see. he really had his heart set on it. one morning he
asked me: “should i keep my fingers crossed or just give up?”

then on saturday the storm let up so we headed out
hugo was so excited, he said it was “a magical day”

November 14, 2003. Journal Entry. Berkeley, CA

it’s 11:13 pm. everyone in the house is asleep
i have a spider bite or something on my wrist and it keeps itching

what happened today:
it rained
erica drove for isabelle’s field trip
i ate at vik’s
the roofers didn’t come

there are too many noises out here – raccoons or opossums climbing on the roof. i don’t
like it. i could never go backpacking in the wilderness alone; way too scary.

i just thought about christopher walken

i found a kid’s story i started about a girl named sylvie who can hear ants whistling.
it’s really cute. i want to write more on it, but i’m worried i won’t be able to
recapture the spirit of it. the voice i wrote it in. i’m always like that, thinking
“oh, that was an unrepeatable moment”. it’s very rarely true.

i’m sitting in a lame old desk chair that i bought at a salvage yard. it’s totally
uncomfortable. i’ve been using it for years. why don’t i get a better chair?

right now i’m thinking:
about dessert
that writing something is better than writing nothing
i should go to bed

night, night

1999. Museum Of Natural History, NYC.

erica, isabelle and i were in new york for the opening of erica’s new store. there was
lots to do to get ready; my job was keeping isabelle entertained.
“what would be a really fun thing for a three-year-old to do in new york?” i wondered.
dinosaurs! the museum of natural history.

the first thing we saw were the dioramas on the first floor. she didn’t seem interested.
i was surprised. so we went up to the fourth floor to see the dinosaurs; i headed
straight for the t-rex – couldn’t wait to see her reaction. i knew she’d seen lots of
dinosaur books, but to see a life-size t-rex was sure to be a thrill.
she wasn’t thrilled.
in fact she looked kind of sad.
what was going on? i asked her what was wrong. she replied; “everything here is dead”.

it never occurred to me that she might expect otherwise. of course dinosaurs are going to
be dead – why would i have to tell her that? – but little kids think like little kids.

she’d imagined we’d see living dinosaurs.
i’d imagined that she’d have an amazing experience and talk about it for days.
we were both sorely disappointed.

we left and walked into central park. got a pretzel and sat on a bench. she was quiet.
some dogs started playing together. that made her smile.

2000. Berkeley, CA

i had a really cool car when isabelle was born. an old plymouth with huge fins. it was
the type of car that people recognized when they saw it and honked, usually giving a
thumbs up. i got notes left on the windshield; “if you ever decide to sell your car
please call me” with a name and number.

but old cars are hard to keep in repair; it leaked in the winter and the brakes were bad. i
couldn’t find anyone to work on it, so i stopped driving it. the worst thing you can do with
an old car is not drive it. i knew i had to sell it to someone who would keep it running.

i contacted the person i bought the car from. she had sold it under dire circumstances – her
mother was sick and she needed the money.
she was thrilled to have the chance to buy it back.

when she came to pick the car up i kind of panicked. maybe i was making a huge mistake. i
knew i’d be less cool without the car, but how much less? i’d already bought another car.
a sensible car. but i still owned the plymouth – that counted for something.

i told the woman i couldn’t sell it. i was sorry, but i just couldn’t part with it.
she was disappointed but understood.

a few weeks later i called her again. she came over, and that time i did sell it to her.

1989. NYC

i used to be very grumpy in the morning. when erica and i were first dating she tried
to wake me up to go to work; she was being very sweet, talking in a gentle voice,
saying it was getting late and i needed to get ready. i responded with six words that
not only weren’t true, but unfortunately became part of our relationship contract;
“i can take care of myself”.

i’ve tried to take it back, but it doesn’t work.
milan kundera writes about the phenomenon in “the book of laughter and forgetting”:

Every love relationship is based upon unwritten conventions rashly agreed upon by
the lovers in the first weeks of their love. They are still in a kind of dream but at
the same time, without realizing it, are drawing up, like uncompromising lawyers, the
detailed clauses of their contract.

maybe in the long run it was good for me to be left to fend for myself, but i can’t
help wondering what i might have missed out on by making that remark.

1978. Davis, CA

i received a card from an ex-girlfriend when i was in high school. printed on the front of the
card in big letters was; “steve, i think of you”. inside was a flexible red plastic record, also with
“steve, i think of you” printed on it.

the recorded message was written and read by rod mckuen. here is an abridged version:

hi steve,
caring is a special feeling, and these thoughts are especially for you.
every now and then it’s nice to stop a minute and think about those people you like.
yesterday i thought about you. today i think of you. and probably tomorrow thoughts of you will
help make the day just a little bit quieter. a little bit better.
thank you steve
thank you for being you

it’s all very nice and, well, thoughtful, but i remember being kind of shocked at how hokey it
was. i knew there was no irony intended; the person who gave it to me was being sincere and
wanted me to know she was thinking of me. it was a challenge to receive the message in the
way it was intended, given the way it was presented.

1979. Davis, CA

the first band i was in was called amperage. we mainly played parties at the houses of friends
whose parents were out of town. i have memories of drunk people falling and knocking over
the PA speakers, spilling beers on us and our equipment, yelling that we sucked or that we
rocked, depending on the night.

we practiced mostly at my house. my parents were amazingly patient and tolerant about it.
we would play the same songs over and over, until my mom got them stuck in her head;
i would hear her around the house singing “cat scratch fever”, or “running with the devil”.

one day the guys showed up unexpected, with their guitars and a friend tagging along. i asked
them why they were there. they looked at each other, confused, then started laughing as if
they’d heard the funniest joke of their life. they were obviously very high. i didn’t want my mom
to see them, so i snuck them back into my room.

after a while we added a guitarist named danny who had a van. having a van to haul
equipment to gigs was the dream of every young band. we were living large.
danny’s mom made him a “stage outfit” of white and rose colored silk; big billowy sleeves and
pant legs. the rest of us dressed like slobs, while he looked like part of a circus high-wire act.

Drawing circa 1995. Bayer Campus, Berkeley, CA.

my last ‘desk job’ was working for bayer. their berkeley site employed over a thousand people.
once a quarter the management held a sitewide meeting to talk about how the company was
doing, and to say inspirational things about the future.
at the end of the talk they would take questions.

one year at the november meeting an employee raised her hand right at the beginning.
the speaker acknowledged her, and politely asked her to save her question until the end.
the employee ignored the request, kept her hand raised, and started waving it around.
it was very distracting, so the speaker took her question just to be done with it.

the woman stood up and asked; “why do we have to have lasagna every year? we’re tired of
lasagna. why can’t we have something else?”
she was referring to the free meal given to all employees each year at the company cafeteria
around thanksgiving. apparently she felt that this was an urgent issue, and that any other
company business could wait.

for the rest of the day people talked and joked about the lasagna lady.
i was bored, so i sent an email to some coworkers asking if they’d be interested in forming a
lasagna task force to further investigate this pressing matter.
someone forwarded the email to the site manager – the one that had given the talk.
fortunately she had a sense of humor and was amused by it.

1964. Walnut Creek, CA

on the back of this photo my mom wrote: ’sleepy guy in daddy’s chair with chocolate face’

a friend in new york told me that the first time he met me – which was in the morning – i looked sleepy. the next time he met me – which was at night – i looked sleepy.

i’ve always been in awe of people with boundless energy. they seem like a different species to me. my daughter recently described the teacher of a dance class she took as “ridiculously upbeat and energetic”.
i’ve accepted the fact that i will never be described that way

2009. Berkeley, CA

things i will miss when my kids grow up:
1. bedtime stories
2. a bucket of bath toys in the bathroom
3. crazy hair day
4. going trick-or-treating
5. hello kitty band-aids
6. school pictures
7. bunny-shaped pasta
8. superhero lunch boxes
9. scooters in the hall

1987. Carrows Diner. Sacramento, CA

boys’ night
guys getting together to talk about stuff
girls, music, life
trying to make sense of it all

twenty-five years later
still meeting once a month
getting very close to having it all figured out

July 2, 1960. Walnut Creek, CA

when my mom was pregnant with me she went to the hospital twice, thinking she was in labor,
but was sent home. the third time the doctor, who she was in the church choir with, told her
“we’re going to have this baby if we have to blast”

the doctor gave my mom a shot to induce labor; the first time he tried he didn’t get a vein,
so he had to try again. my dad was watching from a waiting room on the other side of a
window. all of a sudden everything started to “go gray”, as he describes it, and he had to sit
down to keep from fainting. he put his head between his knees, because that’s what people
say you should do.

the doctor came out and told my dad they were ready to go to the delivery room, and asked if
he’d like to come. still feeling light-headed, and not sure he wouldn’t faint if he tried to stand
up, he declined.

the newborn babies were kept in a drawer that slid between the two sides of a wall; on one
side was the room the mother was in, on the other side was the nurses station.

when i was brought home my brother mike, a year-and-a-half old at the time, was not pleased.
his attitude improved with time.

May 4, 1985. Journal Excerpt. Norway.   photo: Kevin at train station

on a train returning from bergen to oslo. mountains are covered with snow. we pass small
villages and see people cross-country skiing rather than walking.
the houses are shingled with slate. on the highways there are “moose crossing” signs
(in norwegian – with pictures).

we’re in the smoking car of the train and everyone is smoking. i think i’m going to be sick.

may day is a big deal in scandinavia, with parades, a holiday, rallies. i didn’t even know
what it was, really.

i haven’t done laundry in two and a half weeks.

there was a group of teenagers on the train yesterday. one of them was elected to ask us if
we were the american pop band true west.

i wish i was cross-country skiing right now

at our show last night i signed an autograph for bjorn
the promoter’s name was tord

2005. Berkeley, CA

i dropped my son off at pre-school one day and got attacked by a gang of three-year-olds
demanding that i read them a book
i sat on the floor, they piled in my lap, and i picked a book off the shelf.
it was the story of how a space ship flew to the moon and landed, and a man got off and
walked on the moon.

for whatever reason it felt like i was hearing the story for the first time. it seemed truly
amazing – almost unfathomable – that that actually happened.
the pictures were so beautiful – i was really moved by it.

i can’t imagine what it must have been like to stand on the moon looking back at the earth.
to be able to take that in, knowing everything that had to go right to get there, and everything
that still needed to go right to return home safely.

1973. Davis, CA

in junior high we would go across the street to the park to smoke in the bathroom.
one day the principal walked in on us; the two other guys i was with threw their cigarettes
into the urinal when they heard footsteps. i didn’t, and was the only one caught.

he walked us all back across the street. the other kids were sent to class – he would have a
talk with them later. i was taken to his office. he called my mom and told her what happened,
and that i was being suspended for three days.

i rode my bike home. when i got there i ran straight to my room and locked the door.
i didn’t want to talk to my mom – didn’t want her to even see me.
i hated disappointing my parents, and felt terrible about what i did.
i laid on my bed and cried.
my parents knew i was upset so they didn’t punish me.

the next morning my brothers went to school, my dad went to work, and i stayed home.
it felt strange being home on a school day and not being sick.

the school policy was that you couldn’t make up any work missed due to being suspended –
which makes no sense to me – so, without any schoolwork to do, i spent the three days
doing pretty much what i wanted.
i don’t remember what i did all day. hung out in our fort. played with my dog chelsea.

September, 2006. Berkeley, CA

i was approached on the playground of my daughter’s school one morning by james horner – a parent that i hadn’t met, but knew worked for an advertising agency. i was drinking tea from a beer mug, and he made the comment that i might be just the guy he was looking for – a musician that drank beer for breakfast – to do the music for a commercial he was working on.

the spot, called “beer ape”, took place at a backyard pool party; everyone sitting around bored because someone forgot the beer, then an ape parachutes down with a backpack full of rolling rock, causing everyone to jump up excitedly and start dancing to an 80′s hair metal inspired song.
that’s where i came in.

i spent two days in the studio with jon evans recording the song. i did most of the writing, he did most of the playing. we took turns on cowbell.
the song was enthusiastically received.

the ad was never intended to be aired; instead they would run an apology for it, saying they were sorry if it had offended anyone.
hopefully people would then look for it on youtube to see what was so offensive about it.
the plan worked amazingly well: the spot got over a million views the first month, and the wall street journal wrote an article about it.

that job lead to others, and to me eventually becoming a full-time composer
thank you beer ape

February 1, 1971. Davis, CA

“steve tends to waste an awful lot of time. this is made more difficult by the fact that when i call it to his attention his feelings appear to be deeply hurt”

apparently i didn’t take criticism well when i was a kid. that has not changed.

most of my school report cards have a similar theme – that i could do well if i applied myself. i’ve spent my life trying to figure out how to do that, meaning, how to consistently be focused and do my best work, whether it’s writing a song or filling out tax forms (writing a song is a lot easier). progress has been slow but steady.

here are other comments on my fifth grade progress report -

reading:
comprehension sometimes suffers when steve is dreaming while reading

mathematics:
no problem understanding. carelessness prevails

art:
very creative. appears to have talent

music:
doesn’t participate

physical education:
likes team sports but isn’t too much for exercising

personal development:
steve is a very sensitive child. it is very fortunate that we are able to communicate with each other and understand each other’s reasons for why we’re being a certain way

Photo circa 1965

i had a few false starts in becoming a musician.
my first lessons were on clarinet – not by choice, but because my older brother had played it
and we owned one. i was in fifth grade. the music class was held in a school bus that drove
to the different schools. when it arrived in the parking lot whoever took an instrument went
out to the bus for their class.

the music teacher’s name was mr. luck. he didn’t seem to enjoy music or children. i dreaded
going to the bus; not only was it unpleasant, but i had to miss recess to go. i loved recess.
there was nothing more fun than playing kickball, tetherball, four square.
missing recess was punishment.

i didn’t last very long in his class. i don’t remember the specifics, but i remember it being kind
of a big deal to drop out.

the next year i took a guitar class through the city of davis recreation department. when the
class ended i stopped playing. a few years after that i picked up the drums for a while then
lost interest. then, the summer after high school, i started playing drums again and got into a
band. i stuck with drums for about eight years.

in my mid twenties i got interested in songwriting, so i learned guitar and started singing.
i was a horrible singer at first. no natural ability at all. it took a long time to get any good.

November 24, 1988. Central Park, NYC

my first thanksgiving in new york i was excited to see the macy’s thanksgiving day parade.
all my life i’d watched it on TV – now i could see it in person. i asked my roommate if he
was going. he said he wasn’t. “wow” i thought; “i wonder why”. i asked some other people.
no one was going. apparently it was not a cool thing to do. that hadn’t occurred to me.
so i went by myself.

it was snowing and very cold. i stood along the route, freezing, with thousands of other
people who seemed much better prepared than i was. they had chairs, blankets, hot drinks
in thermoses.

i quickly realized that seeing the parade live was very different than watching it on TV.
on TV there was always something interesting happening; a marching band, dancers, the
best of the huge balloon characters. and you sat on a comfortable couch in a warm house.

the actual parade moved pretty slowly. there were long gaps between things. you saw the
less famous balloons – the B-list characters – like snuggle bear (the fabric softener mascot),
an ice cream cone, a happy face.
i started to get why no one wanted to come with me.

i left the parade and walked to central park. since most people were at the parade it was very
empty and quiet. everything was covered with fresh snow. it was beautiful.
that was the highlight of the day.

October 31, 1978. Davis, CA

the party i went to was at a guy’s house i didn’t know very well
i felt a little out of place
then skipper larson showed up – also dressed as gene simmons from kiss

skipper was good friends with the guy throwing the party. everyone told him how great his
costume was. mine was better, but no one noticed

i hung around for a while, not having any fun at all
then i went home

Spring 2000. Berkeley, CA

my parents were coming to visit, so isabelle went out on the porch to wait for them.
i explained that it would be a long time before they arrived. three hours.
isabelle insisted on waiting.
like most 4-year-olds she didn’t have a very good sense of time.

i would try to explain lengths of time to her by referencing things she was familiar with.
a few minutes was how long it takes to eat a popsicle.
twenty minutes was about the same as playing a game of candyland.

so i told isabelle that it would be as long as it takes to drive to the cabin before grandma and
grandpa got to our house. she knew it took a long time to drive to the cabin.
still she wanted to wait.

eventually she came in the house, but she wasn’t happy about it.

1990. 14th Street, NYC

one afternoon when no one was home i put on john coltrane’s “love supreme”. it was sitting
in front of the stack of records by the stereo. it belonged to my roommate. i’d heard that it
was an amazing album. it had a cool cover

i wasn’t into jazz at that point. i’d heard some things that i’d sort of liked, but i still didn’t quite
get it. hadn’t acquired a taste for it.

the windows to 14th street were open. the sound of new york filled the room; traffic, sirens,
voices. i turned the stereo up and sat on the ledge.

the music had a hypnotic quality. i felt like i was entering into it – or it was entering into me -
in a way i hadn’t experienced before.

when the album was over i sat there for a while, looking down at the street. still in a trance.
thinking: “so this is what great jazz is like”

Spring, 1985. Athens, GA

true west played a gig in athens and peter buck came to hear us. he introduced himself after
the show and invited us to a party at his house.
REM’s “fables of the reconstruction” wasn’t out yet, but he had a cassette copy of it.
i remember sitting on his porch with a walkman and headphones listening to it.

when we got home from that tour we only had a short break before leaving for a european
tour. by the time we got back from europe we were pretty wiped out. then we got a call from
REM’s management asking if we were available to open for them on the west coast leg of
their tour – 17 dates in the US and canada. we were surprised and excited – it felt like a big
break. we packed our bags and went back out on the road.

all the guys in REM were friendly. a couple times they invited us on stage for their encore.
one night i played bill berry’s drums on “wild thing” while he banged on the floor tom.

my favorite shows were at the greek theaters; one in los angeles and one in berkeley. they
had big dressing rooms, served great food, and even gave us each a gift. in LA it was a
travel alarm clock. i think berkeley was a jacket.

1973. Davis, CA

the only class i ever failed was junior high home economics.
the teacher was mrs. buchholtz. i don’t have any memories of her smiling. maybe she did,
just not at me. i certainly didn’t do anything in her class that would make her smile.

home economics was the one class that elicited a groan from every boy who had to take it.
even if you didn’t mind it, you had to act like you hated it.

nicky thompson was in the class – he was one of my best friends at the time. he had just as
bad an attitude as i did, until the last assignment, which was making decorative pillows.
for some reason he got into it. he had the idea to make a bunch of them to sell at the
whole earth festival. he never did make more than the one required pillow (which i didn’t
make) but mrs. buchholtz was very pleased with his enthusiasm.

when we got our report cards and i saw my F, then nicky told me he got a B, i couldn’t
believe it. i thought it was so unfair. three grades higher than me just for being excited
about pillows.
i went to talk to mrs. buchholtz about it but she wouldn’t have it. would not discuss it with me.

1960. Ontario, CA

on the back of this photo my mom wrote:
‘steven fell and hit his head at doug and della’s – 1960′
doug is my mom’s brother

seeing my mom and dad as young parents is endearing

it’s a familiar scene – handing the crying baby to the mom, the dad concerned but also a
little relieved – repeated often when raising kids

July 11, 1998. San Francisco, CA

joel and i were in north beach to meet a japanese band that we’d been hired to photograph.
it was their first time playing in the united states. the manager wanted some “rock and roll
lifestyle” shots, so we told them to meet us in front of the lusty lady.

the band was running late so we decided to go in and see the peep show.
it was my first time.

the booth was small and cramped. we had our camera bags, which made it worse. we put
some quarters in and a panel slid up revealing a window to a room where several women
in g-strings were dancing distractedly.

it was mid-afternoon, most of the booths were empty. if there was someone in a booth
across from you you could see into it, which was creepy.

one of the dancers started walking toward our booth. she had a very serious expression,
which i thought was odd. she got right up to our window, looked at joel, then at me,
and said sternly: “you can’t both be in there – you need to get your own booth”.

it was awkward being scolded by a strange, mostly-naked woman. some guys might be
into that sort of thing. not me.

we both left the booth and went outside to wait for the band.

December 11, 2002. San Francisco, CA

the first time i tried doing stand-up comedy was at the luggage store on market street in sf.
i did it on a dare. a dare i had with myself. i was in one of my “face your fears” phases. i
made a list of the scariest things i could imagine, and doing stand-up comedy was at the top.

my strategy was to not try to be funny. the “routine” i came up with was to say that a friend
had bet me a hundred bucks that i wouldn’t do it. so i told the audience i didn’t actually have
anything funny to say, i just needed the money. then i said “if you have to use the restroom,
or just feel like stretching your legs now would be a good time”

then i pretended to call my “friend” and tell him i was on stage and that he owed me a
hundred bucks

it didn’t go horribly – i got some laughs. it was very scary, so i decided to do it again.
i signed up for a class. did three or four more performances. i never let anyone who knew me
come see me perform.

it got slightly less scary. i never got to the point of being comfortable, or particularly funny,
but now it’s easier for me to talk in front of an audience.

June 18, 2006. Father’s Day card. Berkeley, CA

“today my heart is wide awake” – a line of lyrics i wrote years ago for a song i never finished.
that’s what i’m experiencing right now. everything slows down and the obstacles to feeling
things deeply fall away. it doesn’t happen often enough, but when it does it’s such a vivid
reminder of what’s possible. living with an open heart.

Winter, 1990. NYC

after playing gigs around new york for a year i still felt like an unknown. i needed to do
more to get my name out, so i decided to put up flyers for an upcoming show.

i knew you could make a paste for hanging flyers out of flour and water, so i bought some
flour, poured it in a bucket, and added water until it looked like a good consistency.

i felt very self-conscious about putting the flyers up, so i went out late at night.
it didn’t matter – the streets were crowded with people.

i found a lamppost, painted some paste on it, and pressed up a flyer.
it didn’t stick
i put more paste up and tried again. it stuck for a second, then started sliding down,
slowly folding over on itself and falling to the ground in a soggy lump.
i stood staring at it. i felt like that was me, laying there on the ground.

i tried a few other spots but had the same result. each time i watched the piece of paper with
my name and picture on it fall to the ground i felt more dejected.

it wasn’t just the flyers. it was all the things that new york and the music business
did to make you feel unwanted. insignificant.
it added up. it took its toll

October 17, 2011. Journal Excerpt. Berkeley, CA

been writing a lot more since the retreat in august. getting a little obsessed with it.
want to do some kind of project but not sure what

sitting at a cafe waiting for my sandwich. very hungry

returning from kaiser medical secretaries – had an appointment to review my chart.
it’s strange reading your own health history. i feel like i’m studying myself.
requested copies of a few things

engage all senses:
1. i smell syrup
2. i hear talking, water running, someone clearing their throat
3. i feel my back against the hard wooden bench. the sun on the left side of my face
4. i see my hand moving across the page. blue ink flowing
5. i taste the aftertaste of a sip of sparkling pomegranate juice

hugo wants to go as a goth kid for halloween. i told him i’d take him to telegraph to look for
costume items: wig, studded bracelet, fingerless gloves, leather vest