Jason Mraz Blog Journals 2007

Jason Mraz's Journals 2007
Wednesday, January 10, 2007

the son of the moon
(excerpts from an india travelog, emails to family)
woke up with the sun again today. this is become a ritual i fall asleep with great anticipation about.
have been doing pranayam breathing for about 45 minutes as the sun comes into view over the jungle
lands to the east. agonda has been a lovely stay. it's a lot like tulum, mexico where the town itself is
nothing really but a short stretch of beach flanked with grass huts. there is electricity however for most
of the evening. our particular residence has the finest restaurant on the beach. folks walk far and wide
to have the best naan and curries under the cicular canopy while your feet bury in the sand under the
tables next to sleeping dogs, bellyies full of table scraps. it is common to pet cows on the beach who
walk up to you like dogs as they hang their heads before you like a devotee about to touch the feet of
his guru. i love the cows. their skin is soft and sheen. there are also many pigs running about but they
are too spirited to be near. the cows and pigs seem to be the waste management technicians as they eat
up the piles of garbage scattered about the streets, much blown onto the beaches. there are no rubbish
bins anywhere.
we spent three days on adventure to the center of southern india to the ruins of an ancient empire. 9
hours by train there and 12 hours by bumpy SUV return. both very enlightening journeys to say the
least. we accidentally boarded the train in a lower class than we had intended and after departing it is
impossible to switch. at first my heart raced with worry and wonder but as the trip continued, we made
good company with many passengers. no one has ever seen a polaroid over here so as soon as i took a
picture, all were interested in having their picture taken to watch the magic happen as the print
developed. i have used my magic camera as a means of connecting on many occasions now and i'm
capturing lots of good stuff, so long as i give some away now and then. ... the car ride home might have
been the scariest and best part of this trip so far. who gets to see india by car? of course the roads are
deadly as there seems to be no limit on speed and everyone is overtaking everyone else. countless times
you are speeding along at 60 on a bumpy road headed straight into an oncoming bus and the driver
steers out of the way at the very last second. it is hard to relax. so i turned my attention towards the rear
of the vehicle and put faith and trust in god's hand to get us home safely and i enjoyed the trip
thoroughly, even managed to sleep the last hour as we swerved thru the wildlife reserve in the midnight
hours. as the multitude of hours passed you got used to it. we stopped for an elephant and loved up on
his trunk and snapped a photo. i gave a photo to the elephant driver to see, who snatched it up and
carried it down the road. (luckily i had snapped two.) no more than ten elephant paces down the road he
stood up and turned to us waving very enthusiastically. i assumed it was because his picture developed
in his hands and he realized what he had. there are many moments like this happening again and again.
india loves to say hello and wave back to you. everyone is curious as to where i come from and if i love
it here and for how long i plan to stay. the children love to come and touch your clothes and beg for
money. we have found they love getting pens and pencils just as much as money so we've switched to
giving them things instead of coins.
i could stay here for ages. there is so much to see and if i traveled by train, a much safer and relaxed
style of transportation, i would be happy to visit all of india over a period of several long weeks. i doubt
i would return to Goa. it is a nice place for resting on the beach, but i have that luxury at home. there
have been many europeans stopping in to our desolate little beach town and breakfast today was a

talkative annoyance. thankfully my ipod had been charged. i have kept to myself in my own little hut at
my own walking pace while vicki and her family shere their own huts. it's been lovely to adventure
both alone and with the comfort of friends.
just thought i'd write to say all is well and i predict a safe return.
i love you all.
namaste, (this means hello AND goodbye in Hindi)
jason
Tuesday, January 16, 2007

What a Beautiful Parking Lot We Live in!
8 years ago when I showed up in San Diego, the first band I ever got to open up for was a guy & group
called Gregory Page & the Troubled Sleepers. I didn't know what their name meant. Gregory was a
soft-spoken man with powerful words. His posse provided the rock. Maybe that's why they had trouble
sleeping. Maybe the music over his message was too loud. Maybe no one ever got the rest they
deserved because everyone in the group had a different view for the fate of the band. I don't really
know to be honest. I never asked Gregory about it. I should have when I spoke with him yesterday.
Maybe he could give me a tip for my insomnia.
I don't want to blame my waking life on jetlag. Crossing time zones has never been a problem for me.
My pee-brain pumps melatonin like Starbucks pumps flavored syrup. I shouldn't blame my energy on
Starbucks either. My third environment welcomed me back this morning to plop down and spill these
espresso beans as if I'd never walked out on them last year. I was given a gift card for Christmas worth
a rather large sum of Starbucks bucks and I've been unluckily stuck on sipping the sweet drink ever
since I returned to this patch of earth. My taste buds have been spoiled for the past two weeks with
Indian authenticity. The word Chai actually translates into Tea over there. SO the flavor we all enjoy at
home is pretty much the standard sweetness on our planetary opposite. Me trying to recreate the
original is Original Sin. Isn't it? Or was original sin about intercourse? Or fruit? How embarrassing. I
should know this. Perhaps I'm still awake misfiring because my mind wanders in wanderlust, lusting
for the imaginary great girlfriend who should blow in on the next gust of wind thru my garden.
Goodness no.
Goodness knows Mary Poppins doesn't come easy to just any old groveling Burt. One has to first write
and dedicate their entire request to the cause, and then renounce the words and remain unattached to the
desire. And then with blind faith in heart return to business as usual, doing work for a greater good, not
one's wants or needs. This is where NOW comes into the story. This is where will power is keeping me
awake to settle the score between my many intentions. Darn it. Right there. Just recognizing more than
one intention creates a bondage I wont break in this passing.
In order to return to business I had to venture into town. I came to my little corporate coffee corner this
morning to count the letters under my acrylic nails, calmly try and retell a story in a timeless setting
under an overcast sky. Without a wristwatch the day looks the same from 6:48am to 5:02 pm.
Unannounced resolutions until now include how I refuse to shave or change my clothes until the words
begin to glow and the clouds part and show me the more simple sea, the one worthy of riding its waves

in a patient manner. Right now is such a blustery day in pooh corner there's waves in my swimming
pool. I also resolve to cease using swear words and challenge my creative child to say Shirtsleeves
instead of Shit. To replace The "F" word with a variation on the "F" sound. Words like Physics and
Fingerbang flow nicely from between tooth and fat lip when you find yourself disgruntled. Or just get
out there and make no sense whatsoever, "Fajamilla," is a good one.
My body odor smells like Indian food. My teeth are wearing their fuzzy sweaters. I don't remember
which socks I put on and when. My boots are bonded to my calf muscles. There is a cheerfulness under
my skin that equals the strangeness of my deadpan. I am too equal on both sides to go either forward or
back not realizing on the first try that time doesn't actually exist, forgetting momentarily that we're all
hurtling through space at great speed, vibrating at an even faster rate. Forgetting this important fact as
quickly as I do when during commercials I forget which show I was watching. Forgetting just as easily
as I do as when I walk into my kitchen, stare into the fridge for ten minutes and wonder what it is I
came in to satisfy, when in fact it was just to get scissors from the junk drawer. Feeling forgetful as
those showers when I forget to wash before the water got cold, having just stood there in the heat for so
long, staring at a far corner of the bathroom floor, lost in Yonkers.
I am excited about today which must be why I sprung up to see it start. And I love it so that I'll be here
when it ends. And I love it so much that I'll scribble lines on top of one another until they stack up to
form a landscape of bricks, a fort made of Times font and 12 point type, a shelter to memories in an
emergency exit row on this flight of the mind.
Last night I held a VHS movie marathon that included clips from Michael Jackson's Moonwalker, Shag
Lessons with Pat and Earl, Break Dancing with the Pro's, Close-up magic made easy, Home Videos and
a few high School communications projects. One video I found was 99 era Jason Mraz having just
arrived in San Diego, less than a month after the show with Gregory Page & the Troubled Sleepers.
That moment is forever preserved on this solid gold cassette tape. The me inside the plastic case is
perpetually stuck at that gig, always singing the same songs, wearing the same clothes, believing in the
banter over and over again. Is anything different about right Now? I can back up my words. I can read
ahead a little more. I can be kind, AND rewind. I'm supposed to be talking about India.
Religious Studies and Jon Heder films are my two greatest guilty pleasures. I have wicked faith in all
of the above in both categories. I also believe in the Power of Ten and how much space actually exists
between us, within us, and how we are all made of the same stuff. I have no worry anymore about my
words. No more concern for my glow, or my shape or my smile. I know my smile works just fine
because the rest of my senses experience what happens when I am kind to others.
Have you been kind today?
I'll include more about India in my next post. Perhaps i'm still suffering from culture shock returning to
the Americas. What a beautiful parking lot we live in.
Sunday, February 04, 2007

Fingerbang Me With A Michael Jackson Glove
I'm feeling bright and shiny this post groundhog grey day in New York Citee'.
I liken public typing to public speaking. Like returning to the stage after some time away from the
lights, if you let it, nervousness can curtsy before you and keep you from the fun of creating something
out of nothing. I've had my nose in the books and my forehead forged over the bindings of a guitar
writing and recording a new family of songs, inventing sounds, combining styles, and finally saying
something that represents the shape I see the world's silhouette, and from my perspective, it's a sexy
shape that steams that invisible squiggle and distorts the heated sheet of horizontal earth-skin beneath
and beyond us. I've been fortunate to view the world as if Tom Cruise is constantly walking in front of
me on his way across a tarmac before an aerial dogfight. I'm speaking cinematically here. The
homoeroticism was an accident that I wont dismiss. It's a nice analogy that I'm sticking with to describe
the joys of living. Did I just say anal?
A Happy February to All by the way. I have further plans for my India stories that will soon appear
hopefully in a podcast or a new video feature where I actually read the journal on camera so the deaf
can see my lips moving and finally enjoy my humorous journals. I love the deaf. I love watching two
deaf people argue. I bet deaf people give really good high fives.
I've been fasting from sleep, surfing more, singing stronger and still saying thank you for everything.
Watch "AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH." Watch it again if you have already. I've found that lots of
people eventually turn the conversation into one about the kind of film it was and whether or not they
thought it was too long, or whether or not Al Gore is cool. How mundane. Its time to speak more
openly about the state of the speck we live atop, and care less about what a scene there is.
I'M SORRY I DIDN'T VOTE.
I AM. AND I PROMISE TO NEVER MISS A CALL TO THE POLLS AGAIN. I will support
members of congress who support the environment. I will support my community and not think I'm
safe on the farm as long as I pay my taxes. I don't want there to be War anymore. I want the schools to
have all the help they need to better educate future leaders. I've been foolish to think I can't make a
difference. I know I can.
Random Conversation actually heard in NYC:
Guy 1: Yo. What's Butt's mama's middle name?
Guy 2: Butt's mama's middle name is Clarence. Joelle Clarence Butner.
Guy 1: Word.
I'm starting my Christmas list early this year. 11 months is plenty of time to manifest a William Shatner
Tattoo. Please Santa, hear my spoken word. Captain Kirk longs to live on my leg.
Since I'm not on the road much this season, I implore you to check out my four fiancs. Raining Jane
currently on tour circling the US & A. Visit them on Myspace slash RainingJane. Tell them J-Balls sent
you and get a free cupcake after having your mind blown.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007

My Children will be made of 100% post-consumer recycled material and get soggy
when it rains
I stay in mid-town as its close to the office where I usually have my meetings in NYC. Most new
Yorkers avoid Times Square entirely as its riddled with Middle American Touristas and trailer trash, so
they're touted. I see just the opposite. I see an explosive region filled with wide eyes and optimism. The
square is full of travelers who might have saved a whole year to be standing in the midst of this
international crossroads, breathing in excitable fumes from peanut vendors and auto exhaust alike,
munching on musicals and malaise, making memories jaywalking thru every "don't walk" signal. The
polar extreme in panorama is the sight of all sights. The electricity is provided by every corporate entity
in the world spewing its graphics and advertisements onto the streets where the tired Disney & MTV
generations sparkle over frozen sidewalks, keeping the atmosphere alive like a mythical frozen Walt
Disney. This is where and what the Christian calendar depends on for its shimmering north star or
"ball" to stripper-slide or "drop" down the pole of democracy, ejaculating anthrax and confetti over the
thousands of drunken participants waiting to be pick pocketed while puking at the corner of 52nd and
7th. This is the ultimate background for many a film and television moment. The set never changes and
the season never ends. If this place isn't the heart of America, its certainly the pacemaker.
It is colder than cold here. I don't walk far, but when I do I am chewed upon by an invisible set of teeth
sharp as sheers shaving the skin from my cheekbones, nipping the nose down to the nostrils, removing
all cartilage once intended to shape my face. One is left feeling flat and helpless walking against the
wind. Sometimes the chill burns so deep you flip extremes and feel warm suddenly, similar to nights
you drink yourself sober. After two short blocks the biggest of my worries set in regarding the frostbite.
Where are all the homeless people?
Is this what we can expect from now on; Colder winters and Hotter Summers?
In the entertainment business, artists and industry peeps on the go fall swiftly into limos and sedans,
paying a high price for luxurious travel. This is common in New York especially. However, NYC has
one of the most amazing public transportation set-ups in the world. SO, I'm learning how to do my part,
thanks to the encouragement of my friends at ClimateCrisis.net and the NRDC, to use light rail and
public transport whenever possible. By doing so I keep one car off of the freeway to and from the
airport. Back in Diego, we too have a remarkable rail that runs north and south along the pacific coast
for 5 bucks. Unremarkably, its usually empty.
Here are some other things you can do to help stop global warming:
Change a light Replacing one light bulb with a compact fluorescent light will save 150 pounds of
carbon dioxide per year. It also reduces your electricity bill.
Recycle More You can save 2,400 pounds of carbon dioxide just by recycling half of your household
items. By dividing waste into 3 groups; glass, cans, & plastics mixed paper - & Cardboard, you
actually end up taking out less trash because it doesn't pile up as easily. To really boost your spirit start
composting your leftovers and raw food wastes into the soil in your own backyard. The earthworms
and flowerbeds will love you for it.

Avoid products with a lot of packaging I know you can reduce your garbage by 10% at least, and by
doing so you will save 1,200 pounds of carbon dioxide. Avoid plastic bags from the grocer or when
you're out shopping for jasonmraz cds. Be a model for others and carry your own bag to bring home the
bacon. Canvas bags are the best. Every store sells them now. Buy one, use it forever, and free your
pantry and cupboards from grocery bag overload.
Turn off Electronic devices this one I can't stress enough. When you're not using your TV or
Microwave (god help you if you're still nuking your food to begin with) unplug them as they continue
to draw energy when not in use. Use power strips to kill all power to stereos and computers and phone
chargers while you're away. This will reduce your electricity bill as well which means more money in
your pocket which means more opportunities to go to a jasonmraz show this year.
Learn more and get active at ClimateCrisis.net and then love yourself with a bowl of ice cream or a
hooker.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Happy Valentine's to the me that am you!
I've been single for a year. This is a new record. Throughout my 20's I'd chain-smoke girlfriends, most
often to create one element of stability where everything else remained chaotic and free to move about
the country. It certainly was pleasant to have someone around to tell me what I wanted to hear about
myself, to kiss me goodnight, and someone I could call and complain to. It was nice to not have to
confront my shyness about meeting girls. I was always spoken for.
If you own the song "Come and Talk to Me" by Jodeci, I recommend playing it while reading this blog
as not just in some aspects I'm begging for it, but because i once recorded that song at a theme park
onto one of those Kareoke cassettes and i haven't been able to get it out of my head since i woke up this
morning.
For valentine's this year I've returned to Hawaii. My hand has been begging for a vacation ever since
we became so serious last year. This is also where I learned to surf two years ago this week, so it
seemed fitting to come back, raise the bar on a waterman's skill level, practice gratitude, yoga, and
continue to learn a lot more about what love is.
Did you know the Greeks have 4 different words for Love? That's not fair! I think I deserve to have a
way to say I really love ice cream and I really love my Nanny (grandma) without bringing my Nanny
into a world of lactose intolerance and a madman's craving for chocolatey deliciousness.
Eros is the passionate love, with sensual desire and longing; where erotic comes from.
Philia is friendship, a dispassionate virtuous love.
Storge is natural affection, like that felt by parents for children, or little ones for Nanny.
Agape THIS ONE IS MY FAVORITE is an all-inclusive unconditional love. This is the one widely
used in religious teachings. To have agape is to see all people doing the best they can with the light
they've got. Agape is not spoken about. It's a space you rest in, a state of being that is pure uninhibited
love. Someone in this state is not looking for a return on the investment. In fact they don't see it as an
investment at all. This is remarkable compassion.

There are many here in Kauai remarkably compassionate. My guru and mentor on the island is a 60year young surfer and yoga teacher known as Denise Kaufman. She was in the first all girl rock-band,
opened for Hendrix and toured with the Dead, and speaks so clearly with just her eyes. Words aren't
required to prove her love to anyone. She gives me the surf reports, introduces me to everyone, and
encourages me like no other in a kind and gentle way.
I was eager to share with her my adventure yesterday surfing at Tunnels. They call it Tunnels for it's
ever present barreling in at least ten locations over a razor sharp reef. It's a world-class wave reserved
for experts. I somehow managed to be convinced to make the 20-minute paddle out to the infamous
spot with a pro Denise had introduced me to that night before while I was high on caffeine. It was
hardly 7am and we were the only two bros in the water. Few get the view of the island from this place,
hovering only a few feet above a jagged reef in the clear blue under the steep and mighty greens of
forests rising directly from the sea upwards into the clouds. One of Kauai's peaks is continuously in the
clouds therefore making it the wettest place on earth. It is a fine place to practice gratitude and say your
prayers.
I wont bother my mother with details of the life-altering session. I'll just say I lived to tell the tale and
managed to catch three photo worthy rides. When I saw Denise that night and told her where I had
surfed, her jaw dropped. Often times a question to follow is, "was it fun?" but a return from Tunnels
yields the question, "Any cuts or bruises?" Out there the reef is so sharp you don't realize you'd been
cut by it until you get back to the car, or until a shark finds his way to your bleeding kneecap. Let's just
say I have a few souvenirs of the experience.
Altogether it was what I hoped to achieve on my trip to the islands. I was looking for a challenge. I was
looking to reunite with dear friends. I was looking for a place to get a star tan; that is the nights are so
bright here sometimes you can see a night rainbow. I was just looking for some more of me and to
remove some unwanted bits as well. Not to be separate, but to dissolve some worries and get a lot
closer to the oneness that one needs to have Agape. I came to row my boat gently down the stream,
merrily. And learn that Life is but a dream.
So what about being single? I guess I'm no longer single. I am everyone.
I hope this finds you well this Valentine's Day. I appreciate not what you do. I appreciate what you are.
Sunday, February 25, 2007

Hand Me a Square of the Airport
Here I am in the airport. A great hall I'm all too familiar with. When I was a kid I wondered if I would
ever afford the luxury of traveling by sky ship. I guess we took one too many long car rides down the
east coast, often times three in the backseat. I'm sure you remember that drill. Bless my brother Chris,
the youngest but not by much, for always sitting between my sister and I. I bet if you put us all in the
car today the seating order would be the exactly the same. Its funny how that works.
I remember playing slaps, or knuckles I've heard it called, with my brother on the long trips. That's the
game where one person places their hands on top of the other person's, palms to palms, and the bottom

player has to manage to slap the top of the hands of the opponent. It's like thumb wrestling but with
more drama. The game would always begin in laughs and end in tears wiped away by red itchy digits.
Hey here's a way to win at thumb wrestling. Place this addendum onto the end of the intro: 1,2,3,4 I
declare a thumb war 5,6,7,8 with this hand I masturbate.
Nowadays my sister, brother and I all have our own vehicles and vacations. Each of them has a kid
where I have a laptop and a blog to nurture. We are all very different despite our time together in the
back of a Lincoln.
The airport is great for many reasons. From this great chamber of modern engineering I could step thru
one door and be taken to San Salvador, capital of El Salvador, home to the world's second largest
congregation, Iglesia Elm Central, a Pentecostal/Evangelical megachurch with 220,000 members.
Or I could walk into another hall and be transported to Lincoln, Nebraska. Which is among the
emergency landing sites for the NASA Space Shuttle and was home to Fred Astaire and Malcolm X. Or
I could walk thru another door in the airport, unrelated to air-travel, sound an alarm and be taken to jail,
an entirely fantastic adventure in itself.
Airports are practically portals for time travel, important to history, humanity, and Hudson News.
In one sweep of the eye across the panorama it is easy to have ones mind blown. If there is any place to
practice loving all beings this is indeed a good place to start. For it's in airports that not only are you
likely to see unique looking people, but its highly likely that some of those people will be stressed, in a
hurry, angry, hungry, smelly, snazzy, rich, engaged in romance, or in a coma. Of course most of the
assumptions you make will be nothing more than assumptions, but they will fill you up with the
wonder nonetheless.
What a wonderful delight this variation I say! And what a need we have for it!
Friday, March 30, 2007

Til the bees come down...
I return to this journal page like it's a cold toilet seat. You have to sit right down, dive right in. As
familiar as the seat may be, you know the look is different than the feel. There's no easing onto it. The
same goes when entering the pool in this new season of pretend warmth. We get hot days but lo and
behold below the surface those water molecules are clinging to the richness of winter still. The chill in
our bones makes like a pre show to the chill bumps doing the wave across your body. You go into that
pool one toe at a time. At waist level you curl your arms up like you're a Tyrannosaurus on the attack of
the jesus lizards defying the laws of water physics. Mouth wide open in delight, a perfect companion to
your body language, it looks as though you want to type something in the air were two typewriters
suspended above your shoulders about where the Y is to your M C A. In this case, the anticipation isn't
always best. Just go under already.
It's been a weird couple of weeks. It's mating season after all. Find a quiet spot away from your focus
group and heavily paved areas and listen to the natural mix of the birds and the bees to retain sanity

whenever possible.
Crushes have been tossed around like hot potatoes since late winter. Last week's Spring Equinox was
sort of the pinnacle for activity involving the heart. It seemed if you hadn't said something yet to the
you know who in your life, then nature would either crush you or you would crush nature. I witnessed
love in so many ways on all levels. Friends, acquaintances and family all chimed in to wish each other
the best this season. I also had the pleasure to observing anger in another and watching him overcome
it, and even had to deal with the blows of death, which resulted in the overwhelming sense of oneness
that I had been searching for. I've been wowed by Nature this year already.
Life is but a dream. There are no rules, only loves and fears. No one knows just why we are here and
what the point is but we have figured out so far that it's based on having experiences. We all get to have
a wonderful time, even if it is limited, to dance and play out here on the surface on the earth, on the
side of the rock, and thankfully we're not sliding down to some bottom or being flung off the side of it
as it spins and do-si-do's around the galaxy. When was the last time you sat and thanked gravity for the
rain or skydiving? The wonderful time is obviously introduced in so many different ways across the
plains. Our parents and theirs before them set into motion where you would dance and how you might
do it. From early on we became conditioned beings.
But we are water and light and that is all. This is why the dawn of spring moves us so. Flowers are
nothing but water and light. Our food is solely water and light, granted you don't eat processed food in
shiny and noisy packages. According to the human genome, everyone on this planet is 99.9% identical.
Only the slightest variation in our genes makes us appear different. We even rock the same chemical
happenings in us as a banana. So even more specific, consider yourself in the tribe of the living the next
time someone asks what you are or where you're from. Using a town name or a race description is
entirely political and is no longer needed. You are light.
So when you're out there this new season, making connections, sending love, experiencing rejection as
well as romance, look to others with your light and welcoming gratitude and appreciation, and see them
as doing the best they can with the light they've got. And maybe toss out a smile.
I've got bees at the back door. There's a nifty bee farmer in the area who lures them away and takes
them back to his place to make honey and pollinate the orchards and groves. No killing.
Thankfully there are no bees inside yet. Second to a snake in the pipes, a bee in the toilet might just be
my greatest fear.
Have a nice weekend.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007

yes, i broke my leg on an exercise bike
About a month ago I received in the mail the top 100 classical masterpieces of all time. It's something
that could be ordered from TV or the back of a magazine. I'm not sure who voted to determine why
these selections were chosen for the compilation, but that's beside the point. And besides that, I don't
know enough about classical music to care. I just know I like the stuff.

The collection once belonged to my grandmother on my mom's side. She passed away about 7 years
ago. She probably ordered the CD's by phone sometime in the early 90's while watching the weather
channel on the glassed-in back porch addition to her house; the same house I'd spend my afternoons
after school between 3rd and 6th grade learning to draw and paint and eat my vegetables while
acquiring a taste for whole milk and red apples. This is the same house where I'd break my leg while
riding an exercise bike. And the same house with the piano rarely tuned donning the sheet music for the
Muppet Movie as well as all the Christmas Classics that my sister would sing all year as if rehearsing
months in advance for the holiday sing-a-long. My Grandmother, or Nanny's house was a workshop for
cultivating craftiness. She herself was a painter. She loved wildlife, birds mostly. My grandfather, or
Papa, was a gifted carpenter and woodworker and would make blanks for Nanny to paint on and sell at
craft fairs. Blanks like the shape of an hourglass, which my Nanny would turn into an old maid. She
would bring to life with her paints all kinds of kitschy creations to place at the hearth of the home or sit
in someone's garden or doorstep. She was a master of two-dimensional southern accoutrements. She
was also good at painting fruit on the 2inch boards shaped by my grandfather. Grapes and leaves I
remember vividly having much character. To this day I remark at how the placement of a white dot in
the right location can create the illusion of reflecting light.
Around the same time the CD's arrived in the mail courtesy of my Mom, I was informed that a friend
from recent tours had passed away. The news came in an email. I was home alone. It was early in the
morning, grey as a new day, but promises of sunlight lay just ahead. It was a short email that didn't give
many clues or closure. It just stated the fact. My friend was dead.
I sank into my stomach. I felt the loss immediately. I experienced lack. This lasted for a good solid
minute. The pain had a color. But it was swirling and constantly changing. As I was allowing and
emotions were rising I opened my heart and head to tears. I opened my mouth to breathe in what I
expected to be gasps of sadness and instead I joyously shouted her name. Oh Kelly, I said. And I was
surprised by the sound of my voice in the empty space. I closed my eyes to hear the echo better and
suddenly there she was standing inches from my nose. Tears never came. Chills stood up on my body
and a warm smile graced my face. She looked exactly the way she did when I last saw her. When I
opened my eyes I felt her everywhere.
Then I had a flashback to the night I heard of my grandmother's passing. I was about to play a gig in
LA when I got the news. I cried in an alley behind the club keeping cool from the public while I
communicated with my Nanny. That night I felt my grandmother's presence at the show finally,
something neither of us ever got to experience.
So, I started thinking?
Why is it when someone passes we can immediately talk with them and welcome them into our home,
thoughts and prayers as a spirit? We feel their spirit is free, ethereal and everywhere, where we are the
ones trapped here in this limited capacity. Why is it I never sat and enjoyed a visit with Kelly or my
Grandmother in meditation before? Did death grant them the power to be free and omnipresent? Heck
no, they were always omnipresent. It was me who had failed for so many years to make contact with
loved ones on either side. It was I who didn't trust or communicate with the Omnipotent.
Just because the stuff that makes us "us" is busy keeping us alive and active and involved in our

somewhat mundane tasks, doesn't mean we are limited to being just us. We are unlimited! When you
dream do you not escape the confines of everyday life. Can we not use our imaginations to soar above
the skies or tell people things we might be afraid to say to their face?
For the first time in my life I am experiencing what I imagine is that universal sense of being connected
to everyone, to everything. This oneness that so many have preached about and tried to teach aloud for
centuries is today's posthumous gift from my dear friend Kelly and late Grandmother, Virginia.
Kelly has now made it clear to me how to access her gift and I'm spending more time with loved ones
in my thoughts than ever. Just because someone is still alive doesn't mean you can't think of him or her
in close ways and/or feel that person thinking of you. Just because you don't have their phone number
anymore doesn't mean you can't talk directly to them.
Prayers are for all spirits, those of us still walking around and those us flying high lending our energy
to all sorts of new things.
If the word "prayer" has you confused by it's religious connotations, use another word like "wish" or
"meditation." Hell, don't define it in fact. All it is - is a positive thought coming from your true nature.
So here I am playing these CD's in my home. Enjoying my grandmother's knack for classical hits.
Loving the fact that they arrived in my mailbox the day after I spent time in meditation remembering
her. I'm uploading them into my computer one at a time so I can enjoy them on my ipod in the sky and
in hotels across the world, bringing not only music but also my Nanny along for the wild ride I'm on.
But as I'm importing the discs, I notice she never opened Volume 8. It's still in the plastic. Apparently
1867 1876 weren't some of her favorite years as she skipped straight from Offenbach to Dvorak.
Perhaps she was saving me the thrill of opening a new CD. The peeling of the plastic wrap is
something I have a special fondness for. I equate it to peeling dead skin after a sunburn. For some
reason or another she never got around to it. Maybe before she got to it I had started making recordings
and she diverted her attention to criticizing my music, which I heard she did on occasion.
Grandmothers have the right if it isn't gospel. Either way, I'll open Volume 8 after I listen intently to the
others that she spent time with. And when I do, I'll know she is listening. Then again, she's probably
been hanging out with the actual composers. Whatever the case and however the truth exists, I am
happy and I say thank you to everyone and everything.
Life is a miraculous occurrence. Billions of years had to go just right to produce you and I. Weather had
to remain stable long enough for us not to get caught in a freeze or violent explosion. Species had to be
fought and won. The evolution of the modern human, some 200,000 years in the making had to go
accordingly and is going accordingly. What a glorious mistake if we are indeed an accident in nature!
But so be it. I am that I am. This is what it is. And it works in mysterious ways; giving life, love or just
delivering the mail at just the right moment to make us appreciate the magic. Each one of us is
responsible for the ripple, even if we never leave the house.
Be grateful. Your family past, present, and future depends on it.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Caterpillar Flavored Ice CreamCaterpillar Flavored Ice Cream
Caterpillars: a late night ramble from a grandmother's kitchen table
If I had access to the internet I'd be on The Google right about now looking into caterpillars and trying
to uncover the reason for there being so many. Today I crawled out of the cocoon I'd been living in and
woke up in a vibrant Virginia spring setting. The dogwoods were shaking their pedals and the apple,
cherry and pear blossoms were in full repose. Fairy tale pinks and snow whites sing in a chorus of
greens of all textures and voices. The vibe in my rented Pontiac Vibe was one of virginity and nostalgia
both. Every spring is new. But just the right mix of lawn clippings, tractor oil, and the musk of
humidity could make even a blind man see he was back where he once belonged, if he once belonged
to Mechanicsville, Virginia that is.
I visited the Dentist office first to settle a score with two cavities. After 8 years in California you'd think
I would have found a local dentist by now. I just love my dental family I guess and haven't the heart to
cheat on them. They're all so tender and calm and loving and they don't skimp on the gas either,
which is a bonus. My first dentist was old fashioned. He used old-fashion gear and old-fashion
techniques and his clothes were old fashioned. Come to think of it. Forget fashion. He was old. But
then I had a middle school crush on another dentist's daughter and got to spend afternoons at their
house when we were young, thus being introduced to new friends and practices.
A few years ago, during the making of Rocket, I had to have my wisdom teeth removed. I was dreading
it. I went in to have the x-rays and prep work a few days prior and my usual trombone playing happy
go lucky dentist dad was on vacation. In his place was a new Dentist, a guy I went to high school with!
Is that legal? Shouldn't he still be in school? I was panicked. I went in that day for surgery and calmly
told him I'd changed my mind and I'll just have a cleaning and come back another time. He ignored me
and snapped his latex gloves at which point I collapsed in the chair, hypnotized on cue, because I don't
remember too much else other than it was cake. No pain. No feeling whatsoever. Not even when I saw
him put one foot up on the chair to yank out the last gory tooth. He's a fine dentist and I thanked him in
the liner notes of that record. Nowadays I look forward to the Dentist's chair as a great place for
meditation and relaxation. Once they enter your mouth, all you have is your mind to keep the peace and
keep you company. It is a unique test for the spiritual warrior to spend time with the true self while the
body is repaired or tended to. And the gas is nice.
Waltzing out of the office I was instructed not to eat for a few hours, but I couldn't help it. I had some
superior munchies happening. Go figure. Directly across the street I spotted a new ice cream shop.
How appropriate. My dentist must be invested. It was ice cream that got me into his chair in the first
place. I had a banana split. Twice.
When I arrived at my folks place, my mom sweeping caterpillars off the side of the house. They were
everywhere. On the walk, in the drive, on the windows, entering the front door. I froze. I didn't want to
step on any. They're so cute. I could see the tiny thought bubbles over their tiny heads saying, "I am
brown and fuzzy!" They just want to nuzzle you like a microscopic kitty. I did my best to move as
many as possible but it became tiring, so I made a formal pre-apology for any little guys that might get
smooshed while I ran around with my dog and niece in the new bubble blowing machine I brought

home. We were transported in time to other worlds thanks to that machine. I performed my one magic
trick for her and she drew me a picture of her watering a flower for earth day and another that read, "I
like you." She's smart. At 6 she already knows her uncle Jason totally rules.
Strawberry shortcake for dessert and a Klondike bar as a late night snack it's no wonder I'm still up. I'm
crashing with the grandma. Making my rounds on what's now known as the ice cream tour. I reckon
I've filled my quota for the day. Yesterday I hit it all in one sitting. One of the sponsors in Buffalo was
Ben & Jerry's and they put a bucket of Cinnamon Bun flavored goodness in each dressing room. The
problem I have with that is how I'll usually eat until the bowl is empty, so if my bowl is a bucket, the
evening often ends in an intervention of some kind. Or tears. Or indigestion.
I'm working on palate discipline I am. I just can't help myself though. My favorite thing besides
yummy nutritious foods is yummy sweet junk food. When I'm not drinking water and yogi tea, then I'm
slurping down cappuccinos. Ice cream. Cookies. Movie popcorn. Free samples. Forget it. Food has
become a totally sexual experience for me. With no gal pal around for months what else is an orally
fixated boy to do. Believe me I'm sending the signals out there to find a kissing partner, but all I'm
getting back is free ice cream.
It's nearly midnight now. The mini clairs are wearing off. Eyelids are drooping. In the morning I'll
drive to North Carolina with the windows down listening to the Juxtaposse CD they gave me back in
Buffalo. They were the opening band the other night. Kind of a rock reggae thing. I'll boom shock my
Vibe down I-95 gliding and swerving over all the caterpillars in the road on their way to the show. It's
no wonder they become butterflies. Being a bite sized morsel for a bird must be hell. They see their
potential fast and get on with it. No messing. Otherwise you're at the mercy of a 6 year old with a stick
or a 29 year old in a Pontiac high on espresso, ice cream, and Niagara Falls roots rock reggae.
Caterpillars: a late night ramble from a grandmother's kitchen table
If I had access to the internet I'd be on The Google right about now looking into caterpillars and trying
to uncover the reason for there being so many. Today I crawled out of the cocoon I'd been living in and
woke up in a vibrant Virginia spring setting. The dogwoods were shaking their pedals and the apple,
cherry and pear blossoms were in full repose. Fairy tale pinks and snow whites sing in a chorus of
greens of all textures and voices. The vibe in my rented Pontiac Vibe was one of virginity and nostalgia
both. Every spring is new. But just the right mix of lawn clippings, tractor oil, and the musk of
humidity could make even a blind man see he was back where he once belonged, if he once belonged
to Mechanicsville, Virginia that is.
I visited the Dentist office first to settle a score with two cavities. After 8 years in California you'd think
I would have found a local dentist by now. I just love my dental family I guess and haven't the heart to
cheat on them. They're all so tender and calm and loving and they don't skimp on the gas either,
which is a bonus. My first dentist was old fashioned. He used old-fashion gear and old-fashion
techniques and his clothes were old fashioned. Come to think of it. Forget fashion. He was old. But
then I had a middle school crush on another dentist's daughter and got to spend afternoons at their
house when we were young, thus being introduced to new friends and practices.
A few years ago, during the making of Rocket, I had to have my wisdom teeth removed. I was dreading
it. I went in to have the x-rays and prep work a few days prior and my usual trombone playing happy
go lucky dentist dad was on vacation. In his place was a new Dentist, a guy I went to high school with!

Is that legal? Shouldn't he still be in school? I was panicked. I went in that day for surgery and calmly
told him I'd changed my mind and I'll just have a cleaning and come back another time. He ignored me
and snapped his latex gloves at which point I collapsed in the chair, hypnotized on cue, because I don't
remember too much else other than it was cake. No pain. No feeling whatsoever. Not even when I saw
him put one foot up on the chair to yank out the last gory tooth. He's a fine dentist and I thanked him in
the liner notes of that record. Nowadays I look forward to the Dentist's chair as a great place for
meditation and relaxation. Once they enter your mouth, all you have is your mind to keep the peace and
keep you company. It is a unique test for the spiritual warrior to spend time with the true self while the
body is repaired or tended to. And the gas is nice.
Waltzing out of the office I was instructed not to eat for a few hours, but I couldn't help it. I had some
superior munchies happening. Go figure. Directly across the street I spotted a new ice cream shop.
How appropriate. My dentist must be invested. It was ice cream that got me into his chair in the first
place. I had a banana split. Twice.
When I arrived at my folks place, my mom sweeping caterpillars off the side of the house. They were
everywhere. On the walk, in the drive, on the windows, entering the front door. I froze. I didn't want to
step on any. They're so cute. I could see the tiny thought bubbles over their tiny heads saying, "I am
brown and fuzzy!" They just want to nuzzle you like a microscopic kitty. I did my best to move as
many as possible but it became tiring, so I made a formal pre-apology for any little guys that might get
smooshed while I ran around with my dog and niece in the new bubble blowing machine I brought
home. We were transported in time to other worlds thanks to that machine. I performed my one magic
trick for her and she drew me a picture of her watering a flower for earth day and another that read, "I
like you." She's smart. At 6 she already knows her uncle Jason totally rules.
Strawberry shortcake for dessert and a Klondike bar as a late night snack it's no wonder I'm still up. I'm
crashing with the grandma. Making my rounds on what's now known as the ice cream tour. I reckon
I've filled my quota for the day. Yesterday I hit it all in one sitting. One of the sponsors in Buffalo was
Ben & Jerry's and they put a bucket of Cinnamon Bun flavored goodness in each dressing room. The
problem I have with that is how I'll usually eat until the bowl is empty, so if my bowl is a bucket, the
evening often ends in an intervention of some kind. Or tears. Or indigestion.
I'm working on palate discipline I am. I just can't help myself though. My favorite thing besides
yummy nutritious foods is yummy sweet junk food. When I'm not drinking water and yogi tea, then I'm
slurping down cappuccinos. Ice cream. Cookies. Movie popcorn. Free samples. Forget it. Food has
become a totally sexual experience for me. With no gal pal around for months what else is an orally
fixated boy to do. Believe me I'm sending the signals out there to find a kissing partner, but all I'm
getting back is free ice cream.
It's nearly midnight now. The mini clairs are wearing off. Eyelids are drooping. In the morning I'll
drive to North Carolina with the windows down listening to the Juxtaposse CD they gave me back in
Buffalo. They were the opening band the other night. Kind of a rock reggae thing. I'll boom shock my
Vibe down I-95 gliding and swerving over all the caterpillars in the road on their way to the show. It's
no wonder they become butterflies. Being a bite sized morsel for a bird must be hell. They see their
potential fast and get on with it. No messing. Otherwise you're at the mercy of a 6 year old with a stick
or a 29 year old in a Pontiac high on espresso, ice cream, and Niagara Falls roots rock reggae.
Saturday, April 28, 2007

Just Off Turner
JUST OFF TURNER (Takes you to http://www.myspace.com/justoffturner)
JUST OFF TURNER
JUST OFF TURNER
JUST OFF TURNER
What makes a good song?
I'd say it's when the lyrics mesh with the melody...
That's when you start reaching people.
I love this song... Wish the chorus happened one more time
But that's infinitely more interesting than wishing it would stop...
Very very very cool lyrics.
very cool.
JUST OFF TURNER
JUST OFF TURNER
JUST OFF TURNER
JUST OFF TURNER
Saturday, May 05, 2007

200
"What happens if you get all forty on the challenging stage?" Queried Leroy. You get a bonus 10,000 I
said. Which is important if you're playing against the High Score. Plus it gives you extra cool points to
redeem in society, earned when someone is observing your firepower from over your shoulder.
The first sweet toy I purchased for my home a few years ago was a cocktail Galaga & Ms Pac Man
machine. I grew up on these glass top beauties between the local Pizza Hut and the Gym where my Dad
worked out to meet girls. Throughout my 9's, 10's and teens I developed a championship knack for
stretching out the duration of play with one quarter. To this day people don't like to take me on in a
two-man version as I climb into level 20 something before getting exploded.
I just wanted to get to 200,000 last night to remind the machine who was boss. When I first got the
gadget I stayed up however many days it would take me to see 1,000,000 in the high score. Turns out
nothing happens. No prizes. Just Carpal Tunnel. The numbers reset to 0. But that's how dedicated I am
to the fingerbang dancing of the blue and red bee-looking creatures from space.
As for Ms Pac Man. She's a pill popper and a loner and I love her for it.
Today is Cinco de Mayo. Today is blog entry #200. Today is the Eta Aquarid Meteor Shower. Today is
a great day to say thank you for all that you have and have experienced. Today is for nothing else but to
Be Here Now, and to interact honestly with fellow amigos. Today is the reminder that there is no right
or wrong, only we who make it so. Today is a great day to expose a crush you have on someone with
hot sauce on the breath.

Tomorrow will be a great day to feel awkward and to figure out how to go back to being just friends.
Monday night (5/7) in San Diego: I strongly suggest joining Raul Midon w/ Bushwalla & Friends at the
Belly up Tavern in Solana Beach for an evening of new jazz and bohemian rap antics. The circus
continues in my favorite tent by the sea. Bring your crush.
Aloha.
Monday, June 11, 2007

Balls!
Current mood: Balls
First of all: I'd like to give a shout out to Artists/Designer Jon Marro, he who created the art for Mr.A-Z
as well as years' worth of Mraz t-shirts and stickers, has now made available for us his latest creations
at www.BlendApparel.com
Blend Apparel offers clever designs intended to spark conversation while being printed on 100%
Bamboo shirts. Bamboo is inherently organic and doesn't absorb the moisture sweat and stink like
ordinary or organic cotton. I have about 9 of the 15 designs and I keep giving them away because so
many people are loving them. They are the softest shirts I've ever owned. They're stretchy and they
hang well on any torso and come in a variety of awesome colors. Show up to any show wearing a
Blend T-shirt and I'll slip you the tongue.
Now on with the Blog:
Non-Swearer: One who chooses neither to swear, nor cuss. I know several people in this category.
Some who do it gracefully as so you can tell they've never integrated it into their lexicon. These folks
often talk like the people on Happy Days. Square. You might hear an accented "Gosh" or uppity
"Golly." I like these people.
Then there are the few people I know who have chosen to be Non-Swearers and continue to work on it.
I'm one of those people. I hate to admit that the crew I roll with is known for their occasional dropping
of F & S bombs. I've grown tired of it and I continually challenge myself to think more creative. The
best I've got going on right now is "Physics" with the accent on the F sound. Pronounced, "Ffffffffffffffizicks!" Then there's the newly added "Balls" which I find exclaiming to myself helps when walls of
water rise up before me on days I choose to surf in conditions larger than my level of expertise. On
Sunday I add the spiritual prefix making the phrase "Holy Balls."
"Son of a Balls" has a nice spice to it as well. Great for around the house.
The album's coming along nicely, but I can't say when it will be released. Early 2008 is more than just a
new year's resolution. I credit the incredible amount of time spent at home as the reason for both the
magic in the new music as well as the delay in the release. My bad. But you can't blame a guy for
loving his community, his kittens and not wanting to leave the beach.

Working Titles for the next Album:
The Art of the Deadpan
The Sagittarian
We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things
The sound of what I smell like
Your mother called and canceled your birth
Balls
Chinese Democracy
So I've been Bro-ing out like crazy with all my crazy Bros.
Bro-ing Out: Hanging with good friends and Brofessionals, making regular trips to the Brocery Store,
night after night of healthy home grown Bromance, taking Bro-bitussin, the band Switchfoot, etc.
Between tending the flowers, melons, and avocados and untangling the array of studio cables while
sifting through months of journals and napkin scribbles, I'm stoked to be traveling more than ever,
returning to the stage, the blogs and the awesome people around the globe who share an interest in
these melodies. The shows are going to be fierce.
In London, Brighton & Sweden look for the Return of Adam King on the drums with Ian Sheridan on
the Bass. The rest of the summer I'll flying solo. I look forward to Scandinavia the most and a visit
from Bushwalla in Copenhagen.
Random Dialogue of the day:
Question asked by Bushwalla while texting:
Bush - Is "coming" one N or two?
Me Depends on what you're trying to say.
Ciao for now. Still some packing to do and loose ends to tie up. Have to kiss the girl.
Sunday, June 17, 2007

A Fathers Day Fan Letter
Current mood:
nostalgic
Where I live in San Diego might be on one of the most beautiful hillsides on earth. My home faces
west over farmlands that produce strawberries, flowers, lettuce, beans, you name it. The soil is
constantly turned and renewed and mulched over. I built a deck with my Dad facing these rolling fields
so I could sit and watch more intently. It's become my TV. I can sit and watch lettuce for hours.
Because it's facing west, over the last 9 months at home I've been watching the sun set further south
each day towards winter solstice and return again to the north fast approaching summer's longest day of
the year.
The sound out there is incredible as the view. I wish I could produce a nature mix for my ipod,
equivalent to the awesome music made by the creatures in the yard.
Thru the day I'm buzzed high and low by the hummingbirds, finches, crows and lizards, and a variety
of songbirds. But by night the sound moves so swiftly, most people think it is wind they feel on their
face.
Crickets and frogs usually begin the night anthem with their meditative droning instrumentation. This
is followed a variety of whistles and calls of night birds either waking up or calming down in the
growing purple of night shade. Sometimes the calls pan so wild and wide you'd think you were
listening to electronic music.
Then comes the common canine's howl at the moon. The joy in hearing the dog bark across the valley
at night is that you hear it at a different frequency.
Imagine a dog barking up close. Yikes. Ouch. So abrasive! But at night in the dark and distant valley
beyond my house, the dog's bark is expansive and travels in audible, ingestible waves. Just as Morse
code is figured in dots and dashes, one could easily begin to hear how the waves & patterns of the dogs'
bark spreading out in the night could be interpreted and decoded as a language. Maybe the dogs do
have it figured out and are here to serve and protect. Maybe we're just not listening hard enough. Why
else does a dog insist on hanging his head out the car window? Perhaps he's listening to the news of
neighboring villages and communities that are echoing beyond our capacity for current understanding.
(Allowing for this kind of thought process is a must if we wish to evolve from the ego/materialistic
master race we've become as humans to a more enlightened, loving, and sharing species.)
Between the dog's carrying on, the coyotes let loose. It's said that the coyote only cheer when it's made
a kill. If this is true, they seem to be on a mass-murdering spree near my house. The bunnies in my
neighborhood stand the least chance. The joy of the celebrating coyote sounds like an army of 6 year
olds on the playground. There is laughter and shrieking and howling and surprise. It lasts anywhere
from two minutes to ten, once or twice an hour, sometimes a mile away and sometimes it feels like
they're under the deck.

When all returns to quiet, delightful and still, the hoot owls begin their transmission. It sounds as
though I have about 4 or 5 in my nearby vicinity. Who? (Pause) Who? Who? (Pause) and so on.
Sometimes they overlap each other making dissonant harmonies that like of the dial tone. These are my
favorite creatures to share the evening with. If you sit still enough you may see the silhouette of an owl
fly across the starry sky before you. It's pretty amazing. Sometimes I don't know what causes my skin
to stand up, the air, the music, or the scenery.
I'll miss that deck as I've tripped off for the summer heading to Europe. Fortunately it's where I live so I
know I'll return soon enough and by then I'll be missing my family in Europe. I built that deck with my
father back in March. He spent his whole San Diego vacation helping me design it and making sure I
had the right materials as we tripped back and forth from the home improvement and lumber stores. We
never made it to the beach that whole week as we poured sweat and sawdust across the hillside and
gazed at the farms while soaking up the sun on our shoulders.
My Dad is a giver and a great teacher. On his Father's Day card I've insisted he return soon to enjoy the
deck he inspired. The deck is obviously more than a deck now that's it's done. It's become my TV and
my stereo. It's also where I get my haircut now and where Bushwalla has his weekly massage
overlooking his herb garden, climbing tomatoes and sprawling melons. It's where I do my morning
Yoga and munch my cereal prepping for the daily surf. And it's where friends will gather to
philosophize under the stars later that day when we tire from recording or doing our necessary farm
chores.
My dad has been a supporter and inspiration to so many great events in my life and continues to do so
and be so. I love him a million times over.
Back home in Mechanicsville we went cruising in his 51 ford yesterday. He let me drive. If ever I've
felt cool in this life. It was then.
Thanks Dad.
And to all the Dad's out there.
Have a Happy Father's Day.
Thursday, June 21, 2007

The Longest Day of the Year
Split from NYC for London on Tuesday evening sat for hours on the runway before taking off.
The 7-hour flight turned into an 11. I guess didn't mind. Those were just those moments reserved for
travel and I knew we'd be out of it sooner or later. I was sleeping, drooling and dreaming wildly
anyway under the cover they give you that's sadly not long enough to warm both feet and neck, though
it made an impressive tent pole on display for the flight attendant and passenger in seat 15K.
I had to rent a van upon arrival and drive into central London. Stick shift on the left. Backwards H.
Wrong side of the car. Wrong side of the road. Nothing but yucks.

Apparently which side of the road to drive on was determined by horsemen long ago in days of Kings
and people who speak like Ben Kingsley, and it pertained to which side of their armor they carried their
swords/shields and what not. Think of the joust event from the Renaissance Festival or Medieval Times
and you've got London traffic.
I told Ian, the lover of the low-end, on the bass all up in this place, and trusty navigator, that as long as I
didn't hit any people in the zebra crossings we'd be fine. Cars and trains I can handle. Not so much
living things.
And a great success it was. No deaths. Yet. Thought we were called a "twat" once, but Ian sorted it by
shouting back, "it's okay, we're American." Other than that, I'm sure our other citations will be mailed
to the van rental shop for all the red lights I eked through.
Brighton is actually our camp headquarters for the UK leg of the tour. Adam King, the King of England
on the drums, is currently making his residence here by the sea and has offered us some carpet space in
his quaint and anal-retentive Kingdom.
Upon our arrival yester-yore his queen prepared a midnight Baked Ziti so we could carb-up throughout
the night as we sang and drank and danced til morning light. This all night dancing isn't much of an
amazing feat as it doesn't get dark until after 10pm and begins getting light again around 4am.
However, we hadn't seen each other since we broke up the band back in September so we had lots of
catching up to do and reasons to postpone sleep if not for time zone disadvantages and scotch whiskey.
Brighton is Right-On. I'm gonna open a t-shirt shop here and sell BrightOn is RightOn shirts and
decals. It's gonna be a hit and I'll finally be able to retire from my grueling 9 to 5 job of world travel
and blogging about it.
Speaking of Bright. Today is the longest day of the year. Summer Solstice. The Day we are tilted as
close to the sun as we'll get all year. Starting tomorrow we begin our journey spinning farther away
from the sun on our slow return to winter. One year ago today I was packing thru Italy and made a stop
in Venice. I had never been there before and was overtaken by the beautiful and timeless nature of one
of the world's most romantic cities. I was too inspired to sleep. After hours in the Piazza listening to the
rotating mini orchestras I sat by my hotel window and wrote The Longest Day of the Year. Included in
today's post is a demo version of the song I recorded that night.
As for being back in Brighton, the music history doesn't stop. Brighton is where I penned Life is
Wonderful some years ago after a walk along the windy Channel. In the original recording from my
hotel room you can hear the Brighton Beach seagulls singing away as they do over Adam's rooftop
terrace where I slept last night. Not much has changed here, which for England is a bonus. The sun still
shines, the birds still sing, and life is continuously full of wonder.
Onward with your brown sauce.
Time for rehearsal.
Thanks for breakfast Mr. and Mrs. King
Happy Summer Solstice.
Sunday, July 01, 2007

Wikipedians, Leaf Beef, & Sunsets in Sweden
Things I knew about Sweden prior to this trip:
The Swedish Chef
Swedish Massage
Swedish Fish
My Aunt Dodo's Swedish Meatballs
Ace of Base
Things I now know about Sweden:
No Grown-ups
No Nighttime
Nothing but Hotties
I asked the hottie at catering yesterday what the meat selection was in the buffet line. It could've been
turkey, pork, chicken, beef or something else entirely. It was cut into thick generic slices and was the
shared color of all aforementioned fleshes. She touted off something in Swedish across the room only
to return my gaze with the accented answer, "It's Meat." Sounds good. I'll have that.
I went from being a San Diegan Raw/Vegetarian to a meat loving/sausage stuffing Westerner in the
Nordic countries. It's just the way it goes I guess. I can make it up and swim it off when I return to the
seas and/or my next colonic treatment. Besides I'm not here to snuggle or look good in swimwear. I'm
here to read, write and rock my new musical about hotel living and so far we're doing a remarkable job.
Today I said goodbye to my Superband, the Casual 3, Ian and Adam. We delivered our trio funk to one
last audience in Sweden last night to rave reviews. I'll miss those guys. We were just getting into a
groove. But now I'll strut around Europe with just the guitar for the rest of the summer seeking new
ways to deliver to the flavors you love to savor.
So I mentioned there's no Grown-Up's in Sweden. It's true. Only teens, 20's and 30's and everyone
seems eager to hook-up. I think it has to do with the sun never being too far away. Imagine the last 20
minutes of a gorgeous sunset and then make it last for three hours and that's what's happening up here.
It is said that the first and last light of day is the best to ingest. You can actually look right at the sun in
these moments and take the rays right into the pupil absorbing the nutrients directly. Can you say
fountain of youth? Okay, that might be a bold guess, but it certainly helps the highlights. I don't think
we've ever played before a more blond ambitious audience.
Sweden feels like a forgotten land to those of us who travel mainly via the jet and gulf streams. Way up
here the rules are applied differently apparently. For starters, if you want to hop over the turnstiles in
the subway you can. There are no authorities to control the free travel. This makes the underworld look
and feel like a mall. Every hipster in the hook-up culture is down there, on the move and ready for
action. But it isn't an aggressive world. Because everyone is hot, they don't know the difference. Ego
appears reduced and everyone is friendly.
If that don't beat all, my hotel serves up the best soft serve ice cream in the history of soft serve, 24

hours a day. In the US, an ice cream machine in a hotel lobby would shut itself off by 10pm at the
latest. But here you can grab a delicious cup before bed at 4am, long after the sun has already returned
to the skies. Blackout curtains were also invented here apparently.
I've only been here less than two days. But Today I'll finally get out of concert and hotel mode and
finally see some sights, perhaps some of the 2000 islands that make up the archipelago of Sweden and
Stockholm, or maybe I'll cruise by city hall and snap a shot of where they give out the Nobel Prize
every year. I also need a shot of me in a Viking ship with a funny helmet on.
If this place sounds too good to be true, it is.
Reality is Malleable. It's constantly changing and shifting and becoming something different each day.
Because of this amazing quality of life, I am challenging each of you to help me create an exciting new
life courtesy of the loopholes at Wikipedia.com basically, I'm encouraging everyone to visit the Jason
Mraz page at Wikipedia and make minor amendments until the entry sounds as absurd as humanly
possible. Keep in mind you'll likely be notified at least once by the Wiki-Police for "vandalizing"
Internet real estate, so be careful.
Feel free to add that I'm settling down in Sweden with my beautiful blond wife with our blond dog and
cat in our blond house. Mention my Pulitzer Prize for online journalism as well as my many awards for
philanthropy and breakthroughs in stem cell research.
And don't forget about the New Gregory Page Ep, Knife in my Chest, produced by Jason Mraz & G.
Page that is now available thru GregoryPage.com as well as Myspace.com/GregoryPage.
Okay. Time for meatballs.
Tack.
Friday, July 06, 2007

Dangling In Denmark
On grey days I'm reduced to the confines of this dwelling. I sit by the open doors to the balcony and
remark at the rain's refusal to stare back at me. The rain comes down slanted and dances on the deck
surface making microscopic splashes and flea sized tsunamis across the tide pool developing in the
corner. Some rain hangs onto the edge of the apartment, perhaps timid about the crash landing,
eventually making a slow vertical drop closer to my toes. I absorb some of the pain for the weenie
raindrop. We are united by moisture.
I should be outside walking for a cup of hot java or on a bike cycling back to Christiania, but I haven't
the prepared gear for such a simple excursion. Over here, The Danish know how to keep on despite the
weather. I've never been more impressed with the quality of raincoats and rainpants and tall
Wellington's to wade in. Even backpacks have their own little ponchos that can be cinched up.
I should be down at the port of Iceland forming a cannonball with my body and breast-stroking the
length of the pier. It's only rain. Back in Brighton, the showers didn't deter the beach volleyball camp

that lasted hours on the sand in chilly wind and wet temperatures.
Rain is no stranger to Europe. In Belgium, at the "Rock Werchter Festival," bands and officials would
review audiences and general awesomeness of each event by using a barometric scale, that which
measures precipitation. May as well use the tools you're familiar with I guess.
I will brave the weather and take the plunge. I crave the cappuccino. I doubt I'll melt in the downpour.
I'm human after all; one of the luckiest organisms to grace the pages of earth.
Being human gives you the opportunity to experience the swim and be grateful for the long walk across
the surface of this interactive story. Being human means I can type this to you or tell it to you should
we cross path. And I will remind you to look up and out often, past where the rain comes from and
deeper into the day. The sky starts on the ground here. So when one is walking outside, you are as close
to deep space as you can get. You are in it. Stuck to the side of the rock, dangling out here in the middle
of nowhere with the rest of us on this more than human planet. Every living thing contributes to the
magic that am us, the busy humans. It's okay to stop and say thank you once in awhile. What else is
there to do while we dangle?
Thank you rain. Thank you my Danish friends for offering your home to us. Thank you blow up
mattresses for keeping us humble and comfy. Thank you Turbo & Ozone. Thank you JessiePayoBand
for rocking my headphones. Thank you late night Kebab shop. Thank you mayonnaise. I am grateful.
Thursday, July 12, 2007

Amsterdamned
Travel only with thy equals or thy betters; if there are none, travel alone.
-The Dhammapada
Dutch Chocolate and access to Cadbury and Toblerone make it difficult to keep my girlish figure.
Amsterdam is Mt. Everest for fans of Marijuana. Here they come from all over the world to sit in peace
in a public house with their palates tuned to philosophy and their ears adjusted to easy listening. I sat
down with a bro from Mexico City to discuss global issues and attempt to cross-pollinate cultures.
Here's what we had to say.
ME in my glasses: Popeye is from Amsterdam, yes? A sailor, always smoking a pipe Crazy in love
with the slender Olive on the bike That hamburger guy And Bluto, that's a Dutch name right?
JUAN with a Lisp: "Popeye!? It's Pronounced Pop-ay-yay. & Hell no. Pop-ay-yay is Mexican," Says
Juan proudly.
ME in a coffee cup: (aside) They must draw him different down there.
Insert 7 minute lull in conversation while both parties alternate between staring at various corners of
the room, a short stack of funny coins, and some smoking papers dissolving in the ashtray. Juan seems
to be pondering something deeper than the rest of us as his eyes roll around under his curly Spanish fro.
JUAN with the lisp: "What does Pop-ay-Yay's dick taste like?"
ME: "I dunno."
JUAN: "Olive Oil I just translated that." Rejoices a Proud Juan.
It's been easy to make friends on this tour. But even easier to stay indoors as we've been chased by the
rain for weeks now. Amsterdam was kind enough to share some sunshine yesterday, which led us to
playing in Vondelpark with our juggling balls and practicing bad hand stands.
Sometimes it's easier to see a city simply spinning the postcard rack.
Though Toca wasn't a part of this week's show, below is a fun story originally posted March 14, 2003
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------TOCA'S TRIP TO AMSTERDAM - by jasonmraz. (original post 03-14-03)
Once upon a yesterday there traveled a large, freakie man from san diego with his pet garden gnome.
far and wide they wandered sipping coffee and staring fiercely into innocent faces from behind a single
pair of sunglasses, willing to try whatever the world was willing to offer them. on this yesterday, the
san diegan freakie we call, toca, was invited out to wander with the nederlanders, in their raucous city
by the sea, amsterdam. toca had never been to such a place as amsterdam and was curious to know
what all the fuss was about behind all of the rumors that made this city so unique. so right away he
went.
first he visited a crooked old lady by the name of white widow. a gardener, or florist rather, of the most
magical flowers in town. toca sat down and spoke with her intently, in a deep, mind altering
conversation, putting him into a trance long enough that he lost his murse (man purse), which contains
all of his important traveling documents, and forgot where he had been or how he had even arrived
there. luckily my pal and i were aware of what was going on, thanks to toca's special gnome who told
us everything. we recovered his satchel before it was stolen from where he had left it, but unfortunately
didn't recover toca for a few hours.
we ran into him later in the evening back at the hotel as we freshened up before visiting our friends,
tenacious d, who were gearing up to play a concert just down the block at the Paradiso. toca was
delighted to be reunited with his passport, id, his credit cards, his cash, his palm pilot, his favorite pen,
basically his life in a hip sack, and he told us the story of his paranoid panic attack around the similar
looking streets and alleys of the bitter sweet amsterdam.
"isn't it grand?," i asked. "did you visit the van gough museum or ann frank's house?," meaning mostly
to inform as i knew he hadn't.
"i dunno. that white widow hypnotized me," he wheezed. then he splashed some water on his face and
we mozied over to the start of the show.
the hall was magnificent. brilliantly worn by centuries of entertainment. the house was packed. toca and

i had excused ourselves thru the crowd to a promising location near the front and were ever ready for
our first experience seeing live, the self acclaimed, greatest band in the universe. we were a tad bit
early to grab our good shoulder to shoulder spots on the main floor and watch the set change as it
interests us both. i was keen on the crew moving and clearing things and running cables and checking
monitors and toca seemed to enjoy listening to the pre-show warm up music that varied between all
kinds of american rock and comedy anthems. at one point he mumbled something to me about
something the white widow must've said, and that he suddenly felt paralyzed again. i waited as i
often do to acknowledge him, about 20 seconds or so, and when i did i saw one of the most amazing
things i had ever seen.
toca and i have placed ourselves in many situations. we've traveled the world the same way we've
strolled the easy streets of san diego. toca is famous for laughing about how odd we must look hanging
out together, be it in a car, at a bar, or in a crowded club in amsterdam. we've always been there for
each other at times when we needed each other the most. without the other we realize we'd be two very
bored and vulnerable individuals.
as i turn around to see what's up in the absent and paralyzed mind of toca, i see he is as wide eyed as
ever his sunglasses do hide, and somehow staring straight through me. i don't have any time to feel
weird about this as he pays no mind to blink and surveys the rest of the room as if he was seeing not a
nightclub, but the gates of heaven, or something equal in value to amazing astonishment. it's very
difficult to describe this, toca rivera passing out in public, without making it seem less of an event than
it actually was. it all happened so fast. although, he was rather gracious about it. the same way a
building falls when it's demolished, it knows where to go without injuring other structures in the
surrounding area. but also imagine the way people may clear an area calmly if say, a macy's day
balloon were toppling down onto the streets of new york. combine the two and you have a clear view
into what i saw toppling before me.
everyone thought he was dead since he never blinked nor closed his eyes, even while laying on top of
his knees, which were bent under him and looked very painful. a friendly hand reached in to check his
pulse. for some reason i was more concerned about his legs. after 10 seconds of not responding he
finally broke through, or came back from the other side, either one is still unknown, by asking, or
gurgling rather, "my sunglasses?" which seemed to be missing from the top of his head.
he rose to his feet fairly easy and i guided him to the back of the theater to the nearest exit. it looked as
though halfway on his journey he wanted to lay down again and i wouldn't let him. "keep going, we're
going to get you some air," i was yelling to him from behind, at which point he leaned forward again
and proved to all the patrons of the club, especially one young woman in particular, that not only does
he drink his beverages without ice, but that he also had bratwurst for lunch.
there have been many times when we've needed each other the most, but at this point i figured my job
was done. the poisons were out, patrons were being puked on, and he was close enough to the door to
find the exit himself. he's a grown man and can handle the rest. i used his sunglasses request as an
excuse to go back up front and look for them and instead enjoyed the whole of the concert now
beginning. sure i felt awkward. there wasn't a ten minute period where i didn't wonder what should be
done in case he is badly bruised or to be mentally challenged from now on. i
worried, i did. but thankfully those tenacious d fellows kept me entertained with music, comedy and
certainty that there was nothing else that mattered. the end.
Sunday, July 29, 2007

i Wanna Catch up to You
07.16.07
This morning we arrived in Nice after watching the Sunrise over the North Sea. By noon, Jarrod and I
were swimming in the Mediterranean realizing that the weight of mercury in retrograde had passed and
so had the transition period returning to whatever is opposite of mercury in retro... We felt it as we
breezed thru security in 15 minutes where it was taking others a good hour. (we've developed some sick
airport techniques for line cutting. It helps to use doe eyes and pouty lips while acting innocently lost,
confused, and late) we felt it by not hauling a million cd's & t-shirts with our luggage! We felt it as he
managed to get his haircut and I, my nails did. We felt it with the good eats we've had the past few days
and regular exercise we've been getting. We can see that our health has returned 10 fold. We felt the
transition end completely when we stumbled onto a scooter rental shop and spent the entire afternoon
and evening racing thru the crooked coastal streets from Cannes to Monaco.
We paused on a peak above one of the many ports to look down upon the illuminated yachts and
promenades. There we saw the last minutes of the new sliver of moon as it descended early into the
evening blues over black mountains. This new moon cycle will carry us thru our next month of travels
and already we can feel this is the real deal. Whatever happened during the previous cycle is what it is
and makes us appreciate this day all the more.
Yes indeed the shows have been great, but to keep my spirit up has been a challenge. We've finally
found our stride in the last few days and I can honestly say that I am happy to be here.
I love my community I do, but home is where I make it, and at present it's in the South of France with
my SPF 4 Super Bronzer and tiny shorts.
-------------------------------------------------07.21.07
Ah, Switzerland. Despite the rain and not being able to see mountain peaks (except for in a few
glorious minutes at sunrise (a time in which I should have but didn't have my Polaroid on me))
Switzerland is the stereotypical Storybook setting. Wow.
We're in Lucerne, which apparently is a great place to start. It has a little of the whole of Switzerland
wrapped up in one small lake town, similar to Tahoe but rich with Frescos, Flowers, and Friendly
Swans.
I rocked a three hour set in two parts yesterday. At one point I had to switch to a wireless headset and
guitar-pack for a stroll from the stage thru the crowd, eventually up a few flights and finish "I'm Yours"
on the Roof of the art museum during the Blue Balls Festival Kick Off Reception. Smooth. The director
of the fest made us his chosen one's all night. I received 5 star treatment at a 6 star hotel. Best breakfast
ever. Sort of why I was (still) up in time for sunrise.. 4 example: The buffet hosted 4 copper cauldrons
of the most delicious freshly made Jam just for the assortment of breads. D-lish.
The days prior in Paris & Nice were heaven and ice cream. Paris makes me want to learn French, find a

lover, French her, and then be in love forever.
Along the lakefront in Lucerne the shops and restaurants are so quaint and fabled. I'm expecting to see
fairy god mothers doing their day shopping while mice do a song and dance in the alleys. But then
there's a Starbucks. Weird. The building looks authentic to the rest of the street but the logo of the
company clashes entirely. I suggested to few in the area to simply rearrange the letters a bit to make it
more appealing. Everything else could stay the same inside. I suggested: SCHTARBUC. It's the same
amount of letters. But it has a fonder Suisse/German ring to it.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------07.29.07
I give award for Best Depiction of Man to Leonardo Da Vinci. His study of the mathematical anatomy
of man is perhaps one of the most famous works of all time as well as one that would inspire for
centuries. In fact, were it not for Da Vinci I wouldn't know where to pee.
Bouncing from country to country, in and out of foreign languages, it is important to learn the words
for "men" & "women" from the start. It won't be long before you find yourself having to make a very
important decision. Which restroom do I go in? Lucky for us, Leonardo gave us the first of long line of
drawings for boys and girls. Today we're reduced to stick figures mostly, but I can still appreciate that.
It's art and it's practical and I'm able to get a lot out of it. Pun intended.
Italy is Bellisimo. Wow. For the first time on this tour I have been inspired to write new words and
melodies and sleep very little. Sure the rest of the trip has been amazing and I've learned so much from
the shows and the people and the various cultures and connections made on local levels. But in Italy I
have been humbled greatly and may have overused my "Grazie" if that's at all possible.
My Mac has decided to do it's own thing and work according to it's own schedule so I've had my nose
in the longhand all month. That's good news for cursive, but bad news for blogging. And I'm not one to
transcribe later so what you get is what you get this month. Also, the small villages and castles we've
called home haven't lent themselves to the kind of places that offer internet, nor are they places I want
to spend my moments staring into a shimmering electric screen. I only have two-ish more weeks here.
It's best I fill my head with whatever I can get my eyes on.
Like the leaning Tower of Pisa for instance; I don't know what's more enjoyable, the kitschy tower
itself or the array of quintessential tourists in brightly lit Capri pants, hairspray and drawn on eyebrows.
Basically, Pisa looks like Florida decided to take a field trip.
Stretched out for 100 hundred yards or more down the length of the court is a long line of these photo
seekers having their mugs profiled to the effect that they are holding up the tower or pushing it over
with one hand suspended high in the air while someone else directed them as to how to keep their hand
extended. This is the best show in town. If I hadn't been so strung out this morning I would've ran down
the line giving everyone a high five. They were asking for it.
Monday, August 13, 2007

Does Europe have a lost and Found?
I was working on this blog back in Norway when my computer decided to go into a coma. I find it
amusing that Loss was the topic when the technology department checked out. At first it was a real
dookie sprayer but then I began to see and feel the light of being non attached having had all my
contacts tossed out into the universe of forgotten passwords and recycled address books burned like the
bras contained within them. Again, my cursive is stoked to be getting so much attention.
But now I am home and it feels like no time has passed. My kittens love me as if I'd never betrayed
them with my absence. It kind of feels like I just ran to the store, but while I was out, Bushwalla's corn
got really tall, Eric grew a beard, the truck tires went bald, and the kitties now have giant heads and
need shots.
THINGS I LOST ON THIS SUMMER'S TOUR of the EU & SCANDINAVIA:
Laptop Power Supply (Followed by laptop itself)
Spectacles (Eyeglasses)
Shotgun Microphone for Video Camera
Sleep
The last cheeky episode of Mraz Vs. Tour (shot on a nude beach actually)
One Pair of Ugly Shorts (on purpose)
Socks (a variety of course)
One Juggling Ball
Money
Calories
Virginity
Brain Cells
THINGS I MISSED THIS SUMMER:
Train (once)
Toilet (repeatedly)
Kittens
Toca
Mexican Food
Surfing
Her
THINGS I GOT USED TO:
Mayonnaise
Rain
Sausage
You Tube
Dirty Laundry
Dandruff
Jarrod
Tuesday, September 11, 2007

The Beginners Mind is a Beautiful Place to Come from
On a day significant to tragedy I feel foolish writing of my own personal tragedies. However, each one
of us has our own battles to fight and variety of emotions to deal with. No matter our status or situation,
we're all still equally human.
A little over a week ago, God and his wife showed up at my door and told me I'd better sit "the fuck"
down. It was harsh, but it was the only way I'd comply. I'd become a busy body, rising at 5:55am to
host a friendly surf camp that began every day at sunrise, followed by a trip to the gym and a full day's
shift in the studio putting me to bed around 2am. Rinse and repeat for over two weeks. I thought I had
it made. I was ruling; stringer and smarter then ever.
Even with a fried laptop and all my missing videos, pictures, and music I wasn't letting that keep me
down. Even with a busted cell phone I was finiding ways to communicate with nature and those closest
to me. Technology wasn't one of my top priorities to master. It was my mind and body and I was
styling.
Then the Gods had me clean out my garage. That was the first strike against me. While moving
mattresses I managed to step thru a box spring and give myself a nasty laceration on the ankle resulting
in a chubby row of emergency room staples. The very next day my dermatologist decided to add 40
stitches to my other leg with removing something pre-cancerous. I'm all for preventive medicine, but
already the outlook was griming. Now that I had a new walk that looked like I crapped myself along
with instructions to stay off my feet and out of the water for 2 weeks, I was caving. No problem. With
tour coming up I focused on healing. By the time I'd return home I'd be back in the water and dancing
to the playback in the studio.
Then Mrs. God left the back door open and let one of my cats out during Coyote happy hour on the
farm. That was the clincher.
I could handle the loss of information on hard drives and all the silly feedback from the record label
about how my record still is a long way from being done. I could cope with human error somewhat.
But as soon as I heard my cat cry from his brother, my heart imploded. That's when I finally sat down
and dried my face of the blood, sweat & tears.
Getting out of dodge was going to be a good thing. I'd arrive in Minneapolis Sunday, rent a car,
reconnect with old friends and rev up for a quickie new tour with the Leroy's. But it seems you need a
driver's license to rent a car; something I lost months ago but forgot about until I hobbled up to the
rental desk. Ok, so I'll take public transportation and reconnect with old friends.
Bad luck has its way of making you pay attention to what the Gods are trying to tell you. Slow down.
Start over. Try a different approach. The beginner's mind is a beautiful place to come from.
With plenty of time to think and plenty of practice writing in cursive, I've decided to start anew.
Leaving both the confusion of my website and Myspace in the dust, my blogs will now appear at
www.freshnessfactorfivethousand.blogspot.com This new home will allow me to post more often, add

pictures, and give the soul a sense of someting fresh; getting me back to feeling good.

The Beginner's mind is a beautiful place to come from
The title of this post is a Zen saying. it's something i've referred to for a while now. because of a strong
belief in it, I learned to surf, juggle, play guitar, cook, and get fit comparatively late in my youth. I don't
bother with "it's too late to learn that, i'll look silly." Be here now. What better time to give yourself a
positive affirmation and start having fun.
With so many recent defeats in my day to day. i decided it's what the planet ruling Gods had in mind
for me. So i got this commemorative stamp in honor of these trying times.
This picture was intended for my friend on the phone. But it seemed to encompass the idea of this new
Blogspot quite nicely. So we'll just pretend its you on the phone.

This is what i look like today...
...and i'm trying not to pull out my hair...
Actually, what seemed like another day of tiny miseries thanks to the breaking-in of new flip-flops
(because my old ones are covered in blood & gore) has turned out to be one that sits like the aftermath
of a great catastrophy instead. (a great conversation about this at lunch revealed the following) Sudden
catastrophies unite families, force us to sit and stay put, possibly read a book, etc. Usually the damage
is quick and the healing is what takes time. Whereas it's a greater bummer to have to deal with small
tragedies that seem uncurable and reappear or off set us daily. i'm happier already knowing all i have is
healing ahead of me. No more needles this week.
btw: i am aware this world is huge. i am aware that i cannot possibly be aware of every accident in
nature. i understand there are villages flooding and storms a'blowing and my heart sends out it's
message of peace. So if there's anyone out there who saw my time of woe as an opportunity to collect
pats on the back... you were right. The world gets too much attention.
p.s. Not every link in internet history is in sync. i applaud those who found the old school method of
copy & paste resourceful.
damn i wish this blogspot had spellcheck.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007

This morning i woke up Juggling
and i'm as good as i look...

Gonna buy a new toothbrush today.
It's ladies night at Sally's after all.
Friday, September 14, 2007

Excuse me while i kiss this guy
On Tuesday there was a solar eclipse visible in south America & Antarctica. I hope they watched. I feel
like the cosmos gets less and less attention these days. People are people. They forget to look up.
Last month there was a total lunar eclipse. We held a small gathering in blankets and gowns outside on
the deck at my home with hot tea and popcorn. We watched the whole moon lose its luster between
1am and 4 something. It was wicked as much as it was boring, but a great meditative event nonetheless,
and a wonderfully quiet way to spend an evening with friends.
Heres an idea you can try to remind you how magnificent and accessible the universe is. Next time
youre stargazing, lie flat on your back so you feel physically stuck to the earth at length. Now instead
of imagining youre looking UP at the stars, remember youre really looking OUT at them. Arent we
indeed simply stuck to the side of the planet anyway? When you look at a picture of earth, were not
necessarily on top of it. Nope. Were just stuck to the side of it; all of us just dangling out here on our
sides of the rock. Lucky for us there IS gravity to keep us safe here. Gravity is like the yellow line they
ask we stand behind when the roller coaster is about to pull into the station. Or its the fence that keeps
us from peering too far over the edge of the great canyon. Gravity is our seat belt protecting us from
oblivion.
Also, when youre lying there looking out. Look down towards your feet and up past the top of your

head and experience the great height at which were floating. Its pretty far out.
I promise this small activity; this change of direction in your thinking will make you feel different
about the linear surface of the earth, that which we often spend too many hours defending our egos, our
political borders and the imaginary boundaries created to spend our funny monies, chasing celebrities
and watching TV. Boo.
The US wont see a solar eclipse until 2012, which I find fascinating. Do yourself a favor and Google
2012 and see what you get back.
Basically, we adopted a calendar some thousand plus years ago from the Mayan people who had a long
calendar that matched perfectly with the moons and stars and orbits of the planets; A perfect time
system for measuring the days, months, years and seasons. Interestingly, the Mayans were only able to
calculate as far as December 21st, 2012. And thats it. The calendar stops there at the Winter Solstice,
which is also the day our familiar sun lands in the center of the galaxy; a place it passes once every
26,000 years. No biggie. Except its never happened with close to 7 billion people on the planet before.
Ill let you read around all of the rest and marvel at your own discoveries as to what effects are
anticipated as we get closer to the Nuclear bulge in the center spiral of the Milky Way Galaxy.
This is not it.

This is The Sombrero Galaxy - 28 million light years from Earth - was voted best picture taken
by the Hubble telescope. The dimensions of the galaxy, officially called M104, are as
spectacular as its appearance. It has 800 billion suns and is 50,000 light years across.
Welcome to the Future you beautiful beings.
The word Google is not yet recognized by spellcheck as a real word. I thought technology would have
covered its own ass. But then again, spellcheck isnt an acceptable word either.
Question of the day* - Does sloppy have one or two Ps?
*Brought to you by the same guy who asked How do you spell of?
Friday, September 14, 2007

Meet The Leroys
Dehame a presentarle de Los Leroys!
Left to Right:
Ian "Leroy" Sheridan
Michael "Leroy" Bram
Lolo "Leroy" Mraz
Noel "Toca" "Leroy" "Chi-Chi" Rivera
Coming to a College Station or YouTube Location near you.

Blood on the Tracks
Last night the San Diego Music Community honored my buddy Gregory Page with The Award for
"Best Local Recording*" for his EP, Knife in My Chest.
(* ever)
Gregory gives me credit for co-producing the tiny album but i swear all i did was press record, stop and
rewind occasionally. and i made tea and offered snacks. But i guess great producing is being a great
host and making sure the vibe is killer.
But I should've seen this win coming. Look how the gash on my ankle eerily matches the artwork of
the EP foreshadowing last night's victory.
"CONGRATULATION"
"LACERATION"
Nutty.

Think like a winner.
Do your ears a favor and score a copy of this EP at GregoryPage.com
Wednesday, September 26, 2007

The Dreamlife of Turbo & his Former Fuzzy Nuts
I felt bad taking my cat straight from his motor running slumber and into my car to the vet, where he'll
have his nut sack removed. Poor Fella. Apparently he won't remember anything after a few days. But
we'll still have to co-exist between now and then and I'll be forcing syringes of syrupy pain medicine
into his gullet on a regular basis. He'll wonder what he did wrong. As he sits on the toilet while i
shower, he'll wonder why I still have mine. Not to worry little fella. Mine are quite small and are of no
use whatsoever.
Last photo ever taken of Turbo's Fuzzy Nuts
*not that there is a surplus of fuzzy nut pictures lying around*

*that you know of

If you've never seen THE PRICE IS RIGHT and you're unsure what to do about your pets' reproductive
organs, here is some useful information.
http://www.hsus.org/pets/pet_care/why_you_should_spay_or_neuter_your_pet.html
I wonder what happens to the nuts once they are removed? Could they be bronzed and made into
earrings for me to give to a girl I like? Could they be preserved in a glass sphere to hang on the
Christmas tree each year? Is it possible to clone a third one so i can juggle them? Are they available for
me to give to a hungry Coyote in the area? You know, the Association of Vets could open a "Wild
Animal Starbucks Type-of-Store" selling bits and pieces of healthy animals to scavengers. They could
even start a record label and sell CD's of the most popular bird calls or dying creature sounds. You
could call the record label: CDs Nuts
Other Nuts to go Nuts about:
Sunday, October 7, 2007

Look at my Lizard
the blogs have taken a back seat this past week. i've nothing to report. life is ruling. attentions are
elsewhere. heart is swollen with goodness. having a ball.
just thought i'd take 5 minutes to update this rather than keep my cat's nuts top story. he's doing just
fine. recovering nicely. though he cuddles me harder now and spends more time watching Judy Garland
movies.
i wish he had more reasons to see the vet. i'm developing a combo of crushes on my local animal caregivers. there's a few that work there. maybe i could catch some lizards from my yard and take them in
for health exams.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007

Bumming in Business Class Again
I havent crafted an entry from 30,000 feet in ages. About as long as its been since Ive had a good
sleep. As the world turns I turn with it, sometimes in the same direction and other times against it like
walking backwards on a people mover, one of those flat escalators, not really going anywhere. People
ask me how I deal with time zones and jetlag. I dont deal really. I set my watch to whatever time it is
and start walking hoping I arrive on time to sing, dance, or steal whatever it is Ive been assigned to
steal.
Ive been working in London this month, not on my tan, but on a new batch of songs suitable for a
discothque nearest you, tentatively titled: San Disco, California
From UrbanDictionary.com
San Disco, California: The future name of the Urban/Metro sprawl from Tijuana to Berkeley. San Disco
is a blue voter district. San Disco has the highest average Real Estate prices in the Nation. San Disco is

a new sound of music pooped out by Jason Mraz & friends.
Then again, this is a project Ive themed differently every week for over a year. Last week it was a
charming instrumental album of mostly wind instruments called: Songs for Snakes.
A highlight in the creative process this year was teaming up with super group Raining Jane, an all
female posse of 4 players based somewhere between my backyard and the bay area. I met them in
September of Oh Six at a gig and immediately asked them to be my next band. They agreed, so long as
I donated sperm somewhere down the line. The collaboration evolved quickly from the girls as
background musicians to writers and producers alongside Mraz, who now refers to himself in the third
person. The team will release some of their collection of songs next year on Mrazs forthcoming album,
but they will save the majority of their work as previously unreleased material for their Greatest Hits
Album due to hit stores in 2012. Note: they are not the current band here in London but served as demo
goddesses in preparing the tracks.
I dont worry about the fragrance of my farts. I worry if theyre loud. Up at this altitude with such little
oxygen, I know based on what Ive eaten that the gases are dissolving like a dream. However, with Hall
& Oates heavy on the flange in the ipod, I have no idea to what decibel Im giving off. I can certainly
feel the intensity. But I cant even hear myself swallow. Luckily, it appears everyone else is listening to
Hall & Oates too. No one looks at me after the explosions.
Why London?
It certainly isnt the cost of living as the American Dollar continues to fall in value. Your usual at
Starbucks favorite would likely spend you 8 or 9 dollars, another good reason to reuse your tea bags or
drink water.
It certainly isnt the convenient location close to the beach either, although trips to Brighton, UK are
inexpensive and take about an hour by train. I hole up with drummer Adam King when Im down there
and we reminisce about the gay times we had in the back of the bus when we used to play in a little
super group known as The Take it Easy Buddies.
Perhaps its the mayonnaise that lured me back to the UK, or the understanding of REAL football.
Is anyone with you? Toca? The Leroys? Raining Jane? Bushwalla? Turbo? That answer is No. Who are
they? Actually, Turbo is my cat. Turbo was part of a duo, but Ozone was savagely eaten by coyotes last
month. And since Turbo is a sorry name without Ozone to clue us on their break-dancing nomenclature,
I am officially changing his name to Holmes. It has a better ring to it. Besides, hes only 6 months old
and thinks his name is Time To Eat. Plus, hes always home.
The alka seltzer is making me loopy. I brought it to control the body aches I started getting yesterday.
The lack of sleep, poor diet, and shacking up in confined spaces with strangers who are likely the 5th
guy have encouraged a slight weakness in my immune system. But Ill beat it. I always do. My Chi
kicks ass. The 5th guy is the new term for that 1 out of 5 folk who dont wash their hands before they
leave the restroom.
I took a break from recording this weekend to fly to Virginia, home of the Lovers, to witness my

sisters marriage to a really cool guy. The bride and groom both have 6-year old children and made
them a special part of the ceremony, as it was more a uniting of a new family. It was a teary eyed
celebration and a reason to dance with my grandma. But shes so short my Dad couldnt get both of our
heads in the picture even when he was zoomed all the way out so Ive nothing to post of the historic
cuteness.
Hey Cuteness. Surfs Up is now showing on the United Airlines in-flight movie in case you missed it
in the theatres. Its a hilarious animated feature about Penguin Competitive Surfing. Perhaps my
favorite film ever and the present reason Im still awake.
Meanwhile. Im royally screwed. We land in two hours and I cant remember when I last slept, what
day it is or where Im supposed to go when I land, but I do know Im supposed to be in the studio for
the biggest week yet in just a few hours. Hello coffee. Goodbye immune system. Hello rain. Goodbye
new socks.
I also bought underwear thats too big for me. It gives a whole new meaning to the term bummed.
Saturday, October 13, 2007

He's Crafty
Last weekend I revisited my hometown stretch of strip-mall highway, Mechanicsville, Virginia to be an
usher at my sisters wedding. An awesome event that put the idea in my head that I too will someday be
married simply for the cake and the good reason to take dance lessons. Its my dream to exploit a
wicked ballroom style tango, cha-cha, and salsa thing in front of my friends and future family when I
take my first dance with my new bride. To me theres no better audience to captivate than the ones
that knew you in diapers or when you were arrested that time or used to blow dry your hair like one of
the New Kids on the Block. A wedding is a great redemption to stand up and say, this is my Hot Wife
and these are our hot moves. Prepare your guts for that awful feeling of jealousy and enjoy the open bar
before we say goodbye and get busy in the back of a limo.
I arrived at the sisters wedding in full magicians garb. Meaning, my suit was well stocked with every
trick Ive learned in the last year, minus the doves. My goal was simply to become the worlds greatest
Uncle to the worlds most awesome niece, but it turns out 6-year olds are hard to entertain. I bent a real

penny in front a small boys eyes and he gave it back hoping I could turn it into something else, like a
dollar. So I made my rounds wowing the adults instead with great results except for a few that feared
Id given up my day job.
Random quote of the wedding was grandma mistaking me saying, Im a little hot. She fired back
surprised with a rather loud, Youre a little High?
The highlight of the adventure to the motherland was the visit to my first place of employment after I
decided I didnt want to build fences with my Dad. I got a job at a craft store when I was 15 to earn
some cash. I was a stock clerk responsible for taking inventory of all things crafty, from boxes of glue
to big fake bouquets of plastic plants, the kind you see on tombstones. During the holidays I was
entrusted the glamorous task of making garland and wreath displays high up on the store walls using
Christmas lights, hot glue and papier-mch reindeer. On good days I cut great lengths of ribbon and
learned how to tie elegant bows. Plus, the workplace was entirely women. Sure, most of them were
Senior Citizens, but I cant think of a better group to go to the movies with for the up front parking and
amazing discounts.
Nerd Alert.
When I moved back to my town from New York City in 1996 I returned to the craft store for
employment, but this time I was promoted to the Frame Shop, a respectable corner of the store where
you werent bothered with requests about everything else. We were specific to framing, cutting glass,
mattes, designing, creating, etc. It was choice. (That is, until my girlfriend of the next 11 years came
walking thru the door. Shes a long, twisted and painfully romantic story that began some years before
that and deserves its own blog to be honest.) But it meant me writing I Quit, on my timecard and
punching out for eternity when I was supposed to be going to lunch. I hadnt stepped into the craft store
since the day I returned to pick up my last check. When asked if I was all right by the management that
day, I panicked and told them the first thing that came to mind. Im Moving, I said. To Maine.
Yea right. Main street maybe. About 9 miles away. I dunno why I said it. I was weird in those days. I
wanted people to see me on a greater adventure. The one I always had in my head. The one Im
currently living today.
It felt good to be back in the store that inspired so much creativity as well as mischief, not to mention
my first practice in capitalism a la minimum wage. Being there smelled the same as the day I lied my

way out the door 10 years ago. The pungent and familiar odor was likely due to some of the same
ladies still working there. Apparently the fountain of youth flows in the potpourri somewhere between
the Garden of Beadin and the fall mums.
I gathered some basic materials on my in-store visit and revived my skills in the craft world by
assembling a scrapbook of Polaroids I took at my Sisters wedding. It will be her favorite gift to open
when she returns from the honeymoon, pictures of me eating cake & dancing the electric slide. Classy.
Count on my next album having a new dance on it. Something any hillbilly can do. Im ready to retire
by making everyone crazy.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Lock Your Bike Before You Rock the Mic
See if you can spot the missing items in this photograph!
If you guessed my head, score 10 points.

If you guessed logical traffic flow, score 20.
If you chose clouds, score 30 and add a bonus 10 for being in tune with nature.
If you guessed rear tire and comfortable seat, please return them.
It's always the criminal who appears first to assume innocence. Kind of like "Whoever smelt it dealt it."
Other than that. It was a gorgeous day to walk my bike to work. London is fresh, frosty and brisk and
the sun cuts through every crack in the falling leaves. Every block counts for another thousand
shadows. October is in effect and it smells like Root Beer.
Happy Birthday Evel Knievel, for he too probably lost a bike tire or two over the years.
Thursday, October 18, 2007

Today's Mood: Tight
Perhaps it's because today is Jean Claude Van Damme's Birthday. Did you know he was in the original
Breakin' Movie? You can see him in the beach scenes crowding around the lino-dance floors wearing a
unitard and dancing only the way excited extras do. That's where we first fell in love.
News from the studio is exciting as well. What began as simply an acoustic album has evolved into an
ambitious soul/folk album for robots. Not to worry though. For all you fans of the slow boat to crying
island, a proper heart wrenching acoustic album will follow in some fashion. Until then, the fashion is
the unitard. Ow!
Friday, October 19, 2007

My Hat is Haunted
It took forever to fall asleep last night. Each time I found comfort in the still, I would feel the bed
shake. I pretended it was the tube passing underground. But i knew better. The Tube never ran under
my bed before. I focused my thoughts on my thank you's and brought a lot of attention to the spook in

my room, paying thanks for having my nerves checked. Yep. Every one of them is working just fine.
After two or three trips to the bathroom, I returned again to the still of the pillow. Approaching that
extraordinary boundary between a heavy breath and the whirlwind of dreams, I woke up again to the
sound of my own voice saying, "October 12th." Hearing my voice in this silent space startled me. Then
i was back to square one, practicing thank you's and having to pee, but with more of a laugh this time.
October 12th is a day I forgot until last night. Many months ago I was headed to San Francisco to see a
friend and on the drive up I called and booked a hotel room in the city. Not an hour after I booked it I
got word from a friend that I could stay with them so I called back to cancel the room I'd just reserved.
"I'm afraid we can't cancel this close to your arrival, sir." What! I had just booked it. I quickly came to
realize that the best I could do was change the reservation to a later date, though I had no plans of
returning to the Bay Area anytime soon. So I shouted the first date that came to mind, October 12th,
assuming I'd call again and reschedule at a later date, or pass off the reservation to a traveling friend in
need.
And so, The months flew by and with every passing day the memory of the hotel reservation buried
itself deeper into the squishy spaghetti of my brain. Until last night of course.
Oh well. I suppose I could call them back, claim a slight retardation and insist I was referring to
October 12th, 2008.
My memory serves me less and less these days. In a way it's good as it keeps everything fresh and new.
But what a nice hotel it was. Maybe they let a homeless person stay free in my place.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Hey San Diego! What's Cookin'?

I leaped out of my sleep this morning fearing I had overslept again. My body was convinced it had
slept longer than I was planning to allow. Yet only the streetlight outside my window gave any credit to
brightness; A premature signal of morning in London. A relief. I flipped my phone on to check the time
to reset my body clock assuming I had at least another hour. To my surprise it was only 2:30am. I had
only been in bed since midnight. This filled me with as much excitement as concern. I was stoked to
know I could stretch out for another 5 hours. That would feel like snoozing until noon. But this wasnt
the first time such an early-riser-thing had happened, and I wondered what my mind was up to.
I too have to pee real bad in the mornings.

Id been receiving all kinds of reports of and from San Diego regarding the fires. Anytime I turned my
phone on or checked my email in the last week it would light up so full of messages that it was almost
annoying. I only wanted one report and that was the one from my roommates, Bush or Eric, currently
evacuating the premises. It seemed a few of the fires were too close for their comfort. Plus, the police
had arrived in the middle of the night to suggest the early departure.
It was a harrowing feeling just experiencing some of it on the phone. Bushwalla sounded slightly
nervous asking, Is there anything you want? He and Eric were loading up their cars to flee the valley.
I was standing in a busy coffee shop in London. Helpless. I scanned the bedroom and closet in my
head. I couldnt think of one thing I needed them to grab. Then I made a short mental list. Well, My
favorite Polaroids are at the print shop. I have my Guitar and Ukulele with me here. Anything of
interest is on my back really. I almost said to pull a surfboard but its size would be a burden and I can
always get a new one. Just grab the kitty and go! I pleaded. Everything can be replaced.
The news in the UK had been brief about the wildfires. The story on the loop is Stars like Mel Gibson
and Kelsey Grammer evacuate their homes as fires rage through Malibu and other parts of Southern
California. Then they show stock pictures of Jennifer Aniston and Courtney Cox along with aerial
photos of their sunny mansions. Then the news breezes through a quick montage of real homes really
burning. In California so many neighborhoods look the same. Track homes. Cut out like cookies on a
sheet. On the news Im convinced I know whose house that is. I thought of everyone. Thoughts turned
to prayer.
Kelsey Grammer, left, pictured here with Golfing buddy, Chewbacca

My mates in London ask me how come Im not on the list of celebrity evacuees. Ill get my publicist
right on that. I deadpan.
I hear from Toca. Hes evacuating too. His town is on fire.
Before I know it Im on a plane for home and all I can do is think about the neighboring farms and
place my faith in the old trees that hug my home. Theyve provided so much love and shelter this long.
They wont let me down during this storm either.
Approaching lake Arrowhead I already count three fires from my window seat; wind blowing
everything west. Welcome to Earth. All of a sudden Im a stranger to this place. Once the plane passes
we ride in a dark cloud the rest of the way to LA.
The view from my private space jet.

I hear from Eric when I land. He says the only way up to my house is with proper ID. The roads are
closed to prevent through traffic and looters. Good thinking. But none of us have IDs that say we live
there. Bad thinking. All my DMV info is based out of LA. But. I get my best people on it, and before I
know it Im bound for my home with a million documents in my hands proving the place is mine.
Close call.
It was dark by the time I arrived at Camp Pendleton, the vast deserted stretch of brush owned by the
Military. It doubles as a gnarly training camp and pleasant divider between San Diego County and the
megalopolis of LA suburbs that pour down the coast like a lava flow of homes and burger joints.
Highway 5 runs down the Camps barren mesa coastal spine with nothing in site for at least 15 miles.
The mighty pacific plays the fourth wall to the Mountains upstage in the east. Tonight it was blaze
orange in the inland hilltops. Smaller fires illuminated the smoky skies nearby but the grass beside the
freeway was too tall to see over. Who knew how close it was? We were already pedal to the metal but
at those moments you want to press harder. Even with the windows up we could taste the char in our
throats.
I just wanted to go to my house for 5 minutes. I was honest with the police at the roadblock leading to
my hood. I told them about my arrival from overseas. I presented my paperwork without question. I
introduced Bush, with whom I would be staying at the beach with he and his girlfriend. I just wanted to
get my car and fill it with surf supplies and towels.
The cops couldnt promise us that wed make it all the way in. Said we may run into another blockade
and if so wed have to turn back. Now I was getting nervous. I hadnt seen the freaky orange glow on
any horizon since back at Pendleton some 15 minutes ago. But I knew there were 12 or more other fires
running rampant on all sides of the county. Yes sir I said. And they wished us good luck.
Bush and I try to make sense of everything while driving in on the empty street. It would probably be

empty at this time of night anyway, but the presence of police makes it feel like ET has landed and the
area has been quarantined. We see lights on and cars still in the driveways of many homes. Not
everyone is gone. Were relieved and cant imagine the ordeal to be too close anymore. For some stupid
reason I ponder the idea of staying at home after all, forgetting my cat was elsewhere and how I would
be alone in the hazy forest. But at that moment our jaws let out a synchronized and slightly
harmonized, Whoa. Straight ahead on the horizon at the back of my neighbors farm was an eerie
orange light, much wider than the roads on the farm, too wide to be headlights, panting like an angry
mob about to summit the slope. No matter which way the wind was blowing or how many miles away
it was or just who was watching after it didnt matter. Nothing mattered anymore. It felt like we had
done something wrong by being there. It could probably smell us and by that mob was coming straight
at us.
I lasted about 10 minutes in my house before I decided it had been way too long. My car had in it more
than I needed, which is nothing but a tall stack of towels, some surfing boards, toiletries and first aid, a
guitar, a few last minute precious Polaroids stuffed into favorite books I felt silly shoving a stuffed
duck Ive had since I was 5 into my backpack. But you never know.
I walked thru every room in the house and surveyed it as if Id sold the place and wasnt coming back. I
flipped the lights on in the studio and sang a loud note and listened to it merge with the silence near the
ceiling. I thought the piano looked a bit dusty and noticed where Eric had already saved his vintage
keyboards.
As I strapped on a surfboard to the roof I admired the falling ash in my headlights. It never snows in
San Diego. Smell those chimneys. This is kind of nice I pretended. And with my car half full, I drove
off as if I was headed somewhere for Christmas.
The glow on the farm across the street was still on the backside of the hill. But it gave me chills and
watered my eyes a little to know it was there.
I cant think of a thing to listen to in the car while I follow Bush to his ladys pad to meet my cat and
write all this down. The quiet makes a lovely soundtrack to my pace on the throttle up and out of the
hills under a full moon masked in brown by the soot. I try to do some math and figure out what time it
is but Im still not right in the body to know. All I know is that couldnt sleep last night for fear Id miss
something today. And that I got up way too early for this.
Me-out.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Letters from Lexiphania

Dear Good Lady Friday,
I slept at the studio last night. The couch was too short and a backwards jacket my only blanket. It was
too late when I got back from the gig to try and make the trip home. The night before George had been
mugged so the thought wasnt tempting. I slept between the keyboards and the guitars, the number 23
bus route, and the cleaning staff that showed up around 6am and cleaned around me.
I knew you wanted something from the bar last night, so I ordered it. But you never came, so I drank it.
I played a short set last night. I knew you d have some requests. And though you never came, I still
sang them.
Today I feel dirty and my hair confused, but in a romantic Neal Cassidy kind of way. Ill have to rock
the same socks and jocks as yesterday all for the love of you and the game. I can hide my shame under
my hat while an old toothbrush takes me back. Thats close enough for jazz and good enough for rock
and roll.
It was only a Thursday after all. You didnt miss anything. I only missed you.
-m
Tuesday, November 6, 2007

A Good Vintage (on Blogger) Black & White & Read All Over (on MySpace)
Amidst the fading wall paper and throws, between the cracked ceiling and spider holes in the
hardwood, sit stacks of tea sets and 100 possible Picassos hiding behind old portraits in dull frames.
Taxidermy birds with fierce expression fly eternal over the couch. A good number of lamps leave you
guessing as to which one is actually plugged in. In the pantry under the stairs I am not surprised to find
a passageway leading down to a secret mirror-ball world run by mannequins on pulleys dancing to the
music of a jewelry box ballet.
Im back in London living with the owner of a Vintage shop. Inside a maze of leftovers or perhaps
items too precious for a price, under a fragrant blanket of elderly and cedar, I make my bed next to a
candle and wonder if the princess is jealous that I am using her pea.
My humble suite is complete with a fairytale balcony where the moon provides a Magritte skyline
overlooking a messy headed garden and the west sides pointed chimney-sweep rooftops. I couldnt ask
for more perfect setting to unpack, take a bath and do what I need to do as a lifer to figure it all out.
Since I moved in last week I hadnt figured out how to use the shower. It was a real brain buster before
I learned it doesnt work at all. Water would burst out everywhere and soak the entire room. Ive had to
use the claw-foot tub and get all sudsy like a cowboy; although, now Im growing quite used to it and
feeling more like the posh royalty I rightfully am.
Last night was bonfire night, a celebration involving fireworks, costumes, and the most burglaries
London will suffer in one night. On my bike ride home through the echoes of childlike warfare, I could
see the sizzle and sparkle of the skyrockets in the alleys and puffs of smoke over the canal where Id
just missed a dim yet dazzling display. The roads were empty and the night clear so I pedaled slower
than normal under the unusual London stars. I made my eyes like movie cameras and imagined a
spooky WWII scenario that eventually turned into a Vampire drama involving me pushing faster past
the crematorium. When I got home I made up for missing Halloween and decided to go Vintage at the
costume party I held for myself.
Keep it light.
Monday, November 19, 2007

Me & The Major
The Major lost a lot of weight last week.
Only moments after my rejoice for the stroke of good weather London had seen in the last month, a
gust of hell and high water poured without warning over our 3rd floor settlement and terrace. The mid
day cobalt skyway turned the color of wet cement and treated us with a similar mixture, churning wind,
debris and sheets of moisture-rich filth in all directions. We stopped work to watch at close range from
the windows where our mouths and noses made cold renderings of our faces in the condensation. The
white noise played by the sheets of rain power-washing the aluminum roofed building made it
impossible to record our brand of quiet funk.
Earlier that day I had been congratulating The Major for his participation through yet another
remarkably stable season in the island city. It was obvious he was about to turn in for his long winters
nap.
Little by little each day, the ground below the mighty torso of The Major becomes more colorful than
he. His broad leaves so perfect they fall in slow motion like parachutes against the wind, like tears
crawling over a high cheekbone, or a skiff tacking and jibing through a vast, invisible vertical ocean.
The story of The Major begins somewhere around the turn of the century, but possibly as late as the
1920s as the storys tale is tall and is passed from mouth to mouth thru the studio like todays gossip. It
begins with just a humble chestnut tree planted in the courtyard. The green thumb a young boy, likely a
Conkers champion, would go on to become a respected authority in the British Army. When the

military man met with retirement, he sold his industrious estate of warehouses with the courtyard
tucked in the middle of it. But under one condition: whoever purchased the compound mustnt remove
the tree. This one specific moral clause is the reason the compound remains today and hasnt yet been
demolished to become another stack of condos like much of the block in Kensaltown. Instead, since the
late 1960s it has grown into a community for recording artists and songwriters. It is a magical place.
Today the Majors tree, from the center of our courtyard stands taller than the 3-story building itself. It
peers up and out above most of the rooftops in the area and gets itself a great view of the west city and
beyond. Our studio nests inside its expansive branches near the top. Not too many recording facilities
have this beautiful feature thru the glass. Most studios dont even have windows. Vibe plays a huge role
in where and how to record an album. Not being a city-boy I was surprised when I chose London of all
places to capture some new sounds. But theres an amazing vibe here. I felt it immediately, which is
why I tell most people that London chose me for this one.
I came here to experiment for 2 weeks and it turned into two months. I saw the Major when he wore a
massive Sunday hat of green and I watched him transform during the Halloween season, shedding
many of his crunchy accessories. As I prepare to leave hes all skin and bones, skeleton fingers pointing
the way for migrating birds escaping the rub of the oncoming witches tit. Spiny chestnuts hang like
planets in the Majors untouchable cluster galaxy, awaiting a new child to recover a fallen Mars or
Venus and allow the cycle to begin again.
A question, courtesy of my friends at Caf Gratitude, The Makepeace Bros.
Would you rather:
Be planted in the ground, rooted like a tree in front of a breathtaking natural landscape for the rest of
your life or,
Travel the world forever under the conditions that you had to leave the city you were in by 2 oclock
the next day and couldnt return to that city for 3 years; able to see the world but always moving
locations at 2pm everyday.
Hmm
Thursday, November 29, 2007
I am you in a different situation

Assuming this is my last stint in London having returned from the United States Gravy and Yam
festival, Ive packed a modest suitcase, one that would hold me over for about two weeks if I launder
mid way and/or wear my wearables for two or three days in a row, prolonging the use of the garments
and acting as carefree as commas prolonging the sentences I scatter.
I read by candlelight at night now. Its just enough to see but not enough to startle or keep me awake.
Ive been choosing pocket-sized books and Plays as theyre easier to stuff in my suit rather than have to
carry a bag. But Im finding great joy in the moving in and out of stories and characters more quickly.
Though I always wish I were as brave or as wild or lost as everyone I read about. I want to explore

every place and live in every era. Sometimes this delusion gets me down about the state of things,
vaguely, the world. But candlelight inventory keeps me in check before bed. Im happy to be me. Here
and now. Not chasing likeableness as much anymore but choosing to do so within myself. Something I
stole from someone I read about as well. Her name is Stone.
When I blow out the candle it never works the first time. It only blows back with its tiny and intense
retort. I reply with a more powerful thrust like that of a birthday wish or the hocking of gum from a car
window.
This is what you look like today.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Gone a Bit Doolally
Doing laundry in London is more like an evening hanging out with all your clothes. First, You do your
wash in the kitchen where the washer is. This is handy if you want to put a pot of tea on or bake
cupcakes for the next days function. Then, since there is no conventional dryer and it being the chilly
season and all, (too cold and damp for the washing line) the clothes are draped over available radiator
space you can find throughout the flat.
Tonight Im giving my sermon on the bed with my socks and underwear poised like a congregation
worshiping me, the body god they usually cling to. Across the stage of heating coils against the wall,
the bikini briefs tangle in a kind of performance art not unlike a very, very slow moving ballet. The tshirts get set out on the heater in the hall and dry fast before bed. The jeans however, have a tendency
to remain cool, as they should, but I can expect them to be crispy in the morning, perhaps from being
hung over.
The UK certainly has had its charms. I found certain in-between words of my basic language changing
without effort. I now say these things as if I always had:
Lorry (a truck)
Dodgy (a bit shady)
Doolally - (a bit crazy)

Biscuits - (cookies)
Minging (a bit nasty)
Bits (small items, could be anything)
The Rubbish (what the girls put my voice mail messages in)
Fannying about (screwing around)
For Fucks Sake (general exclamatory)
I also find myself breathing heavier into the H that are, Herbs.
Id hoped to have fish & chips one more time before leaving the country but my usual pub wasnt
serving them last night. Instead I found the next best thing. WhiteBait. A plate of tiny fish that look a
lot like, well, bait. Although they are lightly battered, the little pile of eyeballs and fishtails are still
somewhat slippery and moveable in your fingers. Its not like theyre crispy fried and easy to hide. As
they are dipped into the sauce (and I do recommend the sauce) they bow their tiny heads toward the
tarter pool and pray they are swallowed quickly and not chewed. Best NOT served cold.
Speaking of Cold. If theres ice developing on the toilet water, chances are the seat is going to be a little
chilly.
Goodnight Socks Sweet dreams underpants.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007

If I wasn't such a dork i'd be really awesome.
I took this picture right before I dominated over this Galaga Machine at Kennedy Airport last week. If I
have any enemies in this world, its the blue bees. And based on the damage I did, Im surprised
Homeland Security didnt get involved.
When I was a kid Id tag along with my Dad to the gym where he used to go to meet girls. This is
where I was first introduced to Galaga. I would dive into his gym bag and steal his quarters to go and
save the galaxy and see my initials on the high score board.
Id often be limited to just one or two quarters but had to be entertained for more than an hour,
therefore I learned to stretch those quarters out and defend myself against the dizzying army
relentlessly trying to make me explode.
Alright. Im already sounding like this is a major obsession. But in fact this is the first time in my life
Ive admitting an admiration for the game using these role-playing type first person metaphors.
I have no formal training in anything. I didnt study music other than the special edition of Thriller

complete with commentary by Rod Temperton and Quincy Jones. I never took a creative writing course
other than Julia Camerons do it yourself-help epic, the artists way. Nor have I taken a cooking class,
which is why Im so good at juggling and interpretive dance. Really.
But if there is one thing I have unofficially trained for year after year, it would be becoming the all time
greatest Galaga Player. Ever. (among my friends.)
I can make my first man last 15 to 20 rounds. Which is cool. But no one wants to play against me
unless they bring a book.
There was a Galaga Machine at the community pool where I grew up. If you were the slightest bit wet,
you get shocked every time you pumped another quarter into the slot. And it was a serious head to toe
jolt. But when youre a rat. You still want the cheese.
The Kennedy Airport machine I just taught a lesson to, costs a dollar to play. Go America.
I dont own a Playstation or Sega Genesis or Wii or even Guitar-Hero. Instead. Ive got Galaga. It was
a major event in my life driving it home. It was like I had 25 years of quarters in the back of my truck
and I was heading home to feed them to my dreamers thirst. It was the ultimate quenching. I own the
nifty cocktail version of the classic arcade; the very same sit-down kind that used to be in the pizza hut
by my high school. If youre wondering what the dcor is like in my home; think Silver Spoons meets
Pee-Wees Playhouse.
At home I dont need quarters and because of this Ive mastered the game. I once played so long and so
late that I watched both the sun come up and the high score numbers reset to all zeros. Thats a million
points bitches. (And zero bitches, get it)
Ian Sheridan, my bass playing sidekick, actually earned his nickname BDA (pronounced BDuh) from
his achievement on the high score board. Though he placed third, he was too hasty and drunk to enter
his name correctly in the allotted three spaces designated for champions initials only. I usually enter
GOD.
Monday, December 24, 2007

Christmas is a Sirius Subject
Ive recently taken up astronomy. All my life Ive never known the constellations. When I think I see
the big dipper, I see it in several places. I know not the origins of anything, like who Orion is or where
he got that fashionable belt. As it turns out, the stars used to be of greater importance than they are now.
Many years ago, the stars were our map for not only navigating here on Earth, but also for figuring out
our position in the universe.
The Stars are also the origin for the greatest story ever told, the one about a Sun that dies on the cross
and three days later rises into the heavens; The Sun that is our light, our way.
Sound familiar?
It should. It happens every year. Its our winter solstice, when the sun is farthest away. And where this
Astrological story originated, the sun would dip below the horizon for three days and on December
24th, the Three Kings, aka the stars in Orions Belt, would align with Sirius, the Star of the East, and
point directly to where the Sun would rise on the 25th, on its way back to the heavens, meaning longer
days, warmth, and a promise of a new season for crops. It is an age-old story of hope that continues
today.
The Stars have provided centuries of stories. Stories that became personified versions so twisted we
eventually forgot to look up anymore. Thats all thanks to rulers who scared the shit out of us into
thinking we were so important, or non-important, depending on how you look at it.
So this year I was planning on getting a telescope for just about everyone I know. With even the
smallest telescope or binoculars you can spend hours lost on the moon. With something a bit wider, you
can see the rings of Saturn. Turns out our neighboring planets are more accessible than we think. But
you know what isnt? Telescopes.
Where I live in San Diego we are blessed with a Fabulous Telescope store with a knowledgeable staff
and a wide selection of Reflectors and Refractors. Before I walked in I had no idea the difference. But
now I can determine whats best when theres light pollution, when I want to look into deep space or
just wish to gaze across the horizon or out to sea.

So here I am in VA thinking Ill find a similar store so I can style out my family this Christmas. But I
have trouble finding locations online. So I call the Science Museum of Virginia. If they dont sell them,
they should certainly know. After all, they have a sky watch program. But you know what they said?
Try Wal-Mart.
My Heart Sank.
Science in VA is now just a sporting good novelty next to the Blaze Orange and Deer urine. I refuse to
enter a Wal-Mart store on any account.
So then I find out other sporting goods stores carry basic Meades and Celestron Scopes but were sold
out. Thank goodness. The last place in town was Sharper Image, but the scope sat there like a dated
gadget waiting to be broken by the kids. I didnt have the guts to buy it. I decided to do all my space
hunting online from the San Diego shop. At least there you get to speak with experts and you know all
the parts will be included and guaranteed.
After my referral to Wal-Mart I suddenly began to see my town differently. I mean I already knew it
was plagued with Applebees, Fridays, Lonestar, and every other fast food chain on the planet. But now
I was beginning to feel the entrapment that everyone here has to suffer.
There are only 5 locally owned and operated food establishments that I know of. Im sure there are
more. But to see them among the major food conglomerates is like looking into one of those 3-D
images waiting for a second image to appear, or better yet, its like you need a telescope to find them.
The effects are dizzying and disturbing and the parking lots are frightfully empty. All the while, the
townspeople get fatter and pretend not to mind.
Maybe Im being too quick and too critical. After all, Im only here for a long weekend. But honestly,
its all I can handle. There are people Ill miss when I go back to California. But I wont miss the
manners.
To make me feel better I decided to spend more time at Church. If anywhere, Church should have it
together. And they do. I applaud the local church for organizing an extensive homeless shelter in the
gym and taking donations of every kind to use for various missions. After all, the Christ hero spent all
his time dealing with the sick and the poor, something our Christian nation and current administration
could use a refresher course in.
My mom sings in the Choir there and I volunteered my time to sit in at a later service and do the same.
If I believe in any God at all, my God exists in music. I know this because music makes me happy and
thats the point of having a God. God isnt responsible for Wal-Mart or for the War on terror; therefore,
I dont blame God. I believe those things happen by people who forget to look up and see what God is.
They kind of ruin it for the rest of us. But then again, maybe their God gives them riches and power
and that makes them happy, so who am I to judge?
Still, just after Church, I heard enough gossip to be turned off by some of the congregation. Do people
go to Church so much they forget why they are there? Do people assume their inner connection with
some divine spirit makes it OK to blast off and be selfish again immediately?

People are strange.
I think Santa is a Wizard. Or was a Wizard. Look at his clothes; especially in vintage pictures. And how
else could he defy gravity and stop time like that?
oops, wrong picture.

Well believe anything wont we? I think thats why I recently became so attracted to the Stars. They
remind me that our position here is far greater than any myth or any astro-theological forecast. The
Stars are practically permanent. More so than us anyway. And I think it would be a shame to live here
on the surface of the earth, on the edge of oblivion and never know our neighbors; those who tell us
how long a year is and what exactly is going on out here. I dont like to forget that were just floating
around in space, calm, quiet and peaceful. Its a happier story than media fed linear thinking, feeling
like a slave in debt on a War torn and divided planet. Yuck.
Dont let anyone get the best of you.
Another year is fast approaching. Go be that starving Artist youre afraid to be. Open up that journal
and get poetic finally. Volunteer. Suck it up and travel. You were not born here to work and pay taxes.
You were put here to be part of a vast organism to explore and create. Stop putting it off. The world has
much more to offer than whats on 15 televisions at TGI Fridays. Take pictures. Scare people. Shake up
the scene. Be the change you want to see in the world.
Youll thank yourself for it.
Merry Christmas to You. Happy Winter Solstice, Kwanza, Chanukah, etc
All are one.

And for a wicked Telescope for you and your family, check out the San Diego Dealer online @
www.optcorp.com

Jason Mraz Blog Journals 2007

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Jason Mraz's Journals 2007

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

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Thursday, June 21, 2007

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Thursday, July 12, 2007

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Sunday, July 29, 2007

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Monday, August 13, 2007

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Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Jason Mraz's Journals 2007

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Jason Mraz's Journals 2007

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Jason Mraz's Journals 2007

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

and i'm as good as i look...

Friday, September 14, 2007

Jason Mraz's Journals 2007

This is not it.

Jason Mraz's Journals 2007

Friday, September 14, 2007

Jason Mraz's Journals 2007

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

not that there is a surplus of fuzzy nut pictures lying around