I slept for 12 hours last night and it’s snowing like mad, which is always pleasing to me. Kosovo is a hell of a place so far. The general reception seems warm, locals and soldiers alike. The restrooms are about 50 feet snowy feet away from my door, which means I probably won’t shower until we get to Holland. High maintenance? No. Lazy? Yes. But I will probably sweat only once before we get there. Maybe twice. Judge me.

Tonight we’re playing for the troops, supported by a band of Asian gentlemen from LA called The Slants. Which is awesome. Looking forward to hearing them and hopefully hanging out later. My goal is to party from midnight here until it’s midnight in Nashville (7 hours later). That will probably be a difficult thing to do on a military base, but maybe we’ll be able to hit the town and paint it a shade of 2012 rouge.

I would love to add some photos, but the WordPress iPad app won’t actually upload them for some reason. You can follow me on Twitter (evanweatherford) or on Instagram (evanweatherford). I’ll post a bunch when I get back to Nashville too.

This will be my last post for 2011. That was sarcastic, since I think i only posted maybe 4 times all year. Anyways, Happy New Years!!

Chris Farney (drummer extrordinaire) is looking over my shoulder as I type this and I’m instantly self-conscious about it. He stopped. Whew.

Chris just informed me of his plan to get a tattoo around his nipple that says “Always Erect.” He’ll probably get it in Papyrus font. Idiot. Just kidding. It’ll probably be in a cool spaceship font. He’s futuristic. (He’s looking over my shoulder again.)

I’m with Seth Philpott and Andy Davis, along with Chris, Bryan Lee of Pro Sports MVP, and Charles Noice (FOH engineer) on a short layover here in Austria, headed for Kosovo for another military outing. This time we’ll be ringing in 2012 with rock n’ roll and soul for the NATO troops in Europe instead of hitting 300-yard drives over the Tigris off of a picnic-table-driving-range behind Saddam Hussein’s palace while breath hot death dust in Iraq (easily one of the best and most meaningful experiences of my life). Then we’ll be off to Amsterdam, Cologne, Hamburg, Berlin, and Frankfurt for a couple more shows and a lot of shenanigans. A whole lot. We’ve discussed it in depth actually, and we aim to leave a noticeable mark on the face of post-midnight Europe, if for no other reason than retribution for the mark she’s going to leave on Chris’ left nipple.

Here’s to the use of commas in unnecessarily long sentences.

Cheers. Check back!

EDIT: Both boys teachers have been found safe!

I’ll keep this short. They desperately need our help. I’m asking anyone who feels moved and can afford it to donate whatever they can. Even 5 or 10 dollars will be very helpful to them. If you can give more, do it! It’s very rare that I would ask this sort of thing of anyone, but this is very important to me. Think of your own family. If we could get 200 people to give $10 per month for a few months, we could significantly cut down on their bills and help them get back on their feet. If we spread the word efficiently and got thousands of people to give $2 each, that would be simple and overwhelmingly huge.

Thanks for reading. You can click on the Donate button below to give via Paypal. It only takes a minute. You don’t even need a paypal account. Just a credit or debit card. You should get an email receipt. If you don’t, leave me a comment on here. I’ll get it on my phone. God bless you.

Also, please feel free to link to my blog on twitter or facebook or whatever it is that you use to get the word around.

Cory’s truck is parked in front of where their house used to be.

This past week has been one of the best of my life, as I’ve never felt so loved by those around me. My parents traveled all the way from Kansas City to spend a few days with me, my friends rallied ’round me, and the lovely Megan James, my… ahem… girlfriend, produced and edited this thoughtful masterpiece:

It made me tear up a little, which is big. I’m reeaally tough.

She presented it to me just before we left for the biggest progressive birthday bash ever (also courtesy of Megan), starting with a small get together at Imogene + Willie, a bigger dinner party at 12 South Taproom, a raging night at Melrose, and a nightcap (or three) at Patterson House with the remaining stragglers, my true friends (just kidding, but seriously). We literally partied for almost 12 straight hours from 4pm-3:30am, and my salty parents dusted off their party shoes and matched our younger stride with ease. I was so bushed by the time we sat down at PH that I could only keep one eye open, and I told everyone “my mouth is done.” It was the best party anyone’s ever thrown me. Thanks Megan

Fast forward to Friday, 4/1, Coach’s Pub, Hartford, CT:

I was standing outside talking to a couple people, and my buddy Dave came out, grabbed the back of my jacket, and pulls me inside as everyone in the bar loudly counted down the last ten seconds of my 20s, erupting into a fit of yelling and hollering, cheering and laughing. Like a band of wild pirates, they all sang Happy Birthday and For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow. That was easily one of the best moments of my life. I had an ear-to-ear grin and a few more tears in my eyes (still super tough though). I’ll never forget that. I love you guys.

Then we went to New York the next day and stayed out until 5 am. Then I went with my great friend Tiffany Thurston to Sarabeth’s for brunch, and to the Oak Bar in the Plaza Hotel for a Manhattan, which is somewhat of a bucket list accomplishment, personally.

If it sounds like I’m bragging, I am. I have the best friends and family a guy could ask for, and I’m bragging on them.

A lot of folks seem to stress out over such a number, but I welcome it. Sure, it feels a little strange to think about what I was doing 20 years ago, or to realize I’m 2 years older than my parents were when they had me, etc. But according to the majority of my friends of similar vintage, it’s the best time of their lives so far, so bring it on.

Let me also take this moment to congratulate my brother, Bryan, on making it to 21. You have a rich adventure ahead of you. Happy Birthday man!! Wish I could buy you a lot of drinks today.

Edit: i got this out a couple days late. Sorry Bryan.

First we should probably define the two subjects.

Dictionary.com defines art as the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.

Marketing is a hard one to pin down in any sort of dictionary, so we’ll just describe it as advertising and selling your set of skills.

My question is this:

Is doing great work for less-than-great product/client furthering mediocrity?

A few similar, but media-variant scenarios to ponder.

1. If you’re a good photographer shooting a sub-talented music artist, there is no doubt you’ll be able to deliver top-quality images to your client, cloaking them in a facade of perceived importance, legitimizing them, in a sense. You’ve done good work and made your client happy, and that’s ultimately the best way to market yourself.

2.  If you’re a record producer, and this same client comes to you with any sort of proper budget, you’ll be able to produce, at least sonically, a top-quality record. Again you’ve done great work and pleased your client. They’ll most likely tell everyone they know, which is the purest form of marketing.

3.  If you’re a web developer or graphic design guru, you can make almost any product enticing to the right people, regardless of it’s quality. You can use your talent and brilliance to make anything shine.

But what’s the cost? Is your own work cheapened?

Another thing, who determines what’s “great” and what’s worthless? By refusing to do great work for mediocre people, I’m effectively claiming authority on the matter, when it’s really just my own opinion. Who am I to tell someone what they should like and appreciate as art and what they should shun as noise (figuratively speaking)?

I guess it comes down to perception. How is your work perceived? I know I’ve been involved in shows where I could only hope know one would recognize me or remember me, just to make money. People afterward would tell me how good it was, when it was actually terrible in my opinion, and I didn’t know how to agree with them without being dishonest. I’m not great at the “smile and nod” thing, but I gave it my best shot I suppose.

I could probably keep chasing this rabbit, but I have a lot to do today. Let’s get a conversation going.  Tell me I’m right. Tell me I’m wrong. Share your opinions. I’ll definitely be responding.

Well I jumped in this time around.
Stood right by him, didn’t make a sound.
He was up, but the river flushed him in.
Now I’m sittin’ sad again.

I’ll ride on home, broke, alone.
Singin’ a song I oughta know.
I still believe one day he’s gonna win
My old fast fallin’ friend.

That man’s always been a dreamer,
Reckless heart, firm believer.
He holds on until the bitter end,
Leaves me sittin’ sad again.

Ride on home still alone,
Singin’ a song I oughta know.
I still believe one day he’s gonna win,
My old fast fallin’ friend.

GUITAR SOLO!

Drank one down and then another.
There was you and there’ll be others.
I know, I still believe one day we’re gonna win…

Ride on home, drunk, alone.
Singin’ an old song I oughta know.
I still believe one day he’s gonna win,
My old fast fallin’ friend…
One day my fast fallin’ friend.

Weatherford/McCloskey
©2010

These paragraphs struck me:

“So maybe comfort should be priority. But I don’t give a damn about comfort. I’ve been comfortable, and I’ve been in pain. There’s no difference. There’s no difference that matters. Maybe some other discipline that I’m good at should be the priority. Maybe design, or web development, or writing, or producing, or directing movies, or acting, or mowing fucking lawns. I mean, I’m pretty damn good at edging a driveway. But I’m already bored.”

So why do I want music be priority? I think it goes back to suffering. It’s about “being on to something.” It’s about feeling alive. Some people do drugs. Some people jump out of airplanes. Some people act like assholes. Some people go to church. We want to feel alive. We want to feel. It’s why we love art in the first place. It’s not that I want music to be my priority. I want being alive to be my priority. I want to live. I want to be. I want to feel.

My father has been a counselor all of my life, and all of his adult life. Growing up I never looked at that as his job. I looked at that as who he was. He wasn’t a counselor because that was what provided. He was, and is, a counselor because that is what he is. Provision or not. Who are you? What do you do? These are the most basic and most important questions we can ask ourselves. And the answers require no searching.We know who we are. What we do very rarely reflects that.

My response, primarily to the first paragraph:

Matt,

Your words have weighed heavily on my shoulders since I read them a week ago. Here are my thoughts on yours.

Comfort is defined as “a state of being relaxed and feeling no pain.” Pain is defined as “suffering or distress.” By definition, one cannot exist without the other. They are perfect opposites. Consequently, the pursuit of comfort is simply striving to eradicate pain, which is an anomaly in and of itself, as “striving” requires strife, which is, by definition, painful. Therefore, it would seem as though there can never be a true, express choice between comfort and pain. As Newton’s Law of Motion states, “for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,” and I feel that applies to these two as well as any. Both motion and emotion can be defined by a “movement or stirring.” Simply, If you choose one, the other has to follow eventually, equally.

I do believe, however, that you can decide how to distribute and prioritize your inevitable comfort and pain.

For instance, if you chose right now to give up music in order to make more money and forego the intense initial struggles of a career in music, your day-to-day life would immediately be easier. Less stress, more money, more spare time, etc… one might call these benefits comfort. These comforts, with good management, would long-lasting, but at what cost? Over time, as you’re an avid listener to your own heart, the dissatisfaction and utter boredom with life would begin to outweigh such “comfort.” I imagine your neglected heart would scream silently that all is lost at that point, and if you didn’t already own a motorcycle, you’d surely go out and buy one.

On the other, more likely hand, you could choose to fight it out and pursue music. It will be hard, painful, stressful, time-consuming, rewarding, life-giving, and satisfying. Maybe you’ll win a Grammy, or sell 30 million records and tour the world 7 times over. Maybe you’ll only play in Austin coffee shops for the rest of your life. Rest assured though that you will feel. Good, bad, high atop the world, trodden underfoot… In the end, you WILL, no matter your societal success, be able to look back at your life and take comfort in knowing that you listened to your heart, and made decisions to be who you are.

Equal pain, equal comfort, just prioritized and distributed differently.

As you no doubt agree, it seems to me there would be no simpler choice than the latter, and I’ve never known you to be afraid of anything. I hope you find this as encouragement… not that you’re floundering or anything.

Love ya.

Evan

Now, dearest friends and readers, I’d love to hear YOUR thoughts on the matter.

I got fitted for a new armored breastplate (in Dallas actually):

It was freezing in The Colosseum, and the gladiators all poked fun, but I obviously poked back.

I call this one “Terrorism on a Budget.”

Venice, CA is the Austin of the west coast.

From a bakery window in Little Ethiopa in LA:

Who knew Ethiopians had such an affinity for detailed cakes?

We all peed when this guy started reaching in his jacket with that look on his face:

Thankfully he was just reaching for a smoke...

Too bad he didn’t ask to borrow my awesome new (old) Zippo.

A Valentine's gift, given 37 years ago.

"Love the good, forgive the bad. 2-14-73"

The end. Now I’ll be in Austin for SXSW for a while. Let me know if you’re hangin’ around!

We just left, after 11 swift days, and I already want to turn around. It seems that every time I spend more than a few days here, I start feeling like I belong. I’m not sure what to do with that, however, because I have the greatest group of friends I could ask for in Nashville, and they’re truly the only reasons I stay put… for now at least.

overlooking Hollywood from some awesome hilltop sushi restaurant

Upon further waking up, I was thinking how I wish reality was such, and how I would live differently if my immediate world would provide whatever I needed as I went through life. Then another thought occurred to me.  My life IS that way. Now, I’m not saying my life is a charmed one. By some standards yes, and by others, not at all. I do believe, however, that God has always provided for me in so many ways, some wanted, and some rather painful. It is most certainly not based on convenience, but I’ve always had what I needed when I needed it, whether I realized it or not.

THOUGHTS?? If you choose to discuss, please do so below, not on Facebook.

Disclaimer: These are simply ideas written down. I know there are billions of suffering, starving, and dying people in the world. This isn’t to be taken as some ignorant, American Christian “everything’s right in my world” condescension.

PS. If that sounded bitter……. it might have been