Parenthetically Yours

Favorite Things Friday - MONO CASE!

I'm not usually one for blatant promotion. Oh, wait. I totally am. That's what Favorite Things Friday is all about. 

From time to time I like to mention a cool piece of gear that I've run across...like this week. For those of you who aren't musicians, don't tune out. I'm sure there's a musician lurking around your family or friends...and don't they have a birthday coming up? 

This week, I'm all about MONO CASE. If any of you have ever travelled with a guitar in a gig bag, then you understand why I get so nervous when I fly. I have literally $1,000s of dollars invested in my guitars so that's reason enough to get skittish. Now, put those expensive guitars in a case that has no hard edges and no bracing to protect the neck. It's not that big of a deal, as long as I have control over my bag. Back in the day, I could check up to three things, but now I have to simplify and carry-on as much as possible. Even then, half the time I have to hand my darlings over to a a burly bag handler who would like nothing more than to set them gently under a 500 lb steamer trunk. It's enough to make me want to take up a cheaper profession. And Kung Fu.

About two months ago, my buddy Barry Graul showed up on tour with his new Mono Case. It looked like something out of Star Trek and I knew instantly I needed one, but one that carried two guitars. He said the company was working on a new double gig bag and it would be out soon. Well...SOON is here!

Gorgeous! 

Even if you're not a musician, you have to appreciate the design. It just looks awesome and say, "I do this for a living." Is that a little smug? Maybe.

The best feature, however, to me is definitely the neck brace. Now, I won't have to be scared to check it. As long as the neck isn't moving around, I can hand the case to the burly baggage beast with confidence.

Like I said earlier, you don't have to be a musician to love the cases. In fact, they have a pretty awesome line of messenger bags/cases if you travel with a laptop, headphones, books, etc. It will definitely make you stand out in the coffee shop or airport. And let's be honest, isn't it kinda cool to be the guy/gal with the coolest looking bag? Is that just me?

Click on MONO CASE to see everything I'm talking about. Tell 'em Randy sent ya.

(rw)

Favorite Things Friday - Northwest Edition - Pt 2

Well...this is gonna be a quickie, but I wanted to get something up before I'm detained by the Canadian authorities. Ok. That's a joke. I'm sitting at a coffee shop in Seattle waiting to leave for Vancouver, British Columbia to do a show there tonight...so let's jump in.

TULLY'S COFFEE - There's a running joke in Seattle that if you want to find a Tully's, go to a Starbucks and turn around. This is my favorite chain coffee in Seattle, beating Starbucks' burnt bean juice by a mile. I'm enjoying a piping hot Red Eye (coffee with an added shot of espresso) and there's nary a hint of bitterness. Mmmmmm.

VANCOUVER, BC - If you're dying to go to Europe but don't want to bother with all the travel expense, hassle, and language issues, you have to visit Canada. I know, I know. Canada evokes images of snow, bad fashion, Bob and Doug McKenzie, and progressive rock music. Well, at least it does for me. But...three of the most amazing cities in the world are up here in the great white North: Vancouver, Montreal, and Toronto. But for my money, Vancouver is where it's at. I really wish I had more time to dedicate to this paragraph, but just take my word for it. Good memories in Vancouver.

THIS VIDEO - Ok, this has nothing to do with the Pacific Northwest, but it's awesome. Below is an excerpt of a hilarious interview on Conan with the comedien Louis CK. I saw this the night it aired and loved every word of this interview. I finally found it on NBC.com (an amazing site). By the way, if you get irritated by the 12 second Lowe's commercial at the beginning of this, you may be one of the people Louis is talking about. Just a thought. 

Ok...the weekend is your. Do something great or hilarious with it.

(rw)

Favorite Things Friday - Northwest Edition

Today's Favorites come from the most beautiful part of these United States, the Pacific Northwest. I'm in all of my favorite cities this week (Seattle, Portland, and San Francisco), so it's only fitting to trump up these towns. If you're into the best culture and coffee the US has to offer, you have to come up this way at least once in your life. 

WEIRD PEOPLE - The strangest and oddest people live up here. I think it's because they didn't really fit in anywhere else, so they made their way west and when they went as far as they could without falling into the ocean, they called it a day. There also seems to be an abundance of homeless people in these cities. I don't know about you, but if I were a homeless person, I'd figure out some way to get to the NW and settle down. It's gorgeous, really liberal (lots of handouts), great bookstores (see below), with lots of free things available to the public. Make your way over to the grungy artist/musician parts of town and you'll feel that you stepped back in time, as if you just walked into a metal/goth/grunge documentary circa 1991 (completely void of hairspray). Do you like to people watch? Your eyes will be full all day in any of these cities. 

 

POWELL'S BOOKS - I have a fascination with bookstores. I'm not sure why, but somewhere in college I developed a slight obsession with them. When I'm away from home, my favorite way to pass the time is to sit in a bookstore (preferably an independent one, but I'm not picky) for a few hours reading the most random assortment of books and magazines. My favorite bookstore in all of America (and I've been to more than a few) is the crown jewel of Portland. Spanning an entire city block, Powell's is the largest independent bookstore in the world. Plus, let's say you'd like to own Jack Kerouac's personal copy of The Collected Poems of John Keats (and you have an extra $11,000), they have it in their rare books room. I've spent literal hours in this place and feel like I've only scratched the surface. 

QUEEN ANNE DISTRICT - In Seattle, most visitors head straight to Pike Place Market to see the guys throw fish, or buy fresh produce and flowers, or get a glimpse of the very first Starbucks. Or they head to Capital Hill for some funky food and people watching. Nothing wrong with any of that, but for my money (or lack thereof), I like the Queen Anne district. It's more of a neighborhood and not really a tourist destination, although it's dangerously close to the Key Arena and Space Needle, so I'm sure there are plenty of vacationers who happen to make a wrong turn, as I did when I first found this spot. Many of the condos and apartments here were originally hotels built for the 1962 World's Fair (which unveiled the Space Needle). Most have been updated, but they still have some of that retro-modern feel. My favorite places here are Caffe Ladro (best coffee in Seattle, period) and Easy Street Records, a great indie music store that has an unbelievable selection of foreign music magazines and pretentious alt-literature (which I secretly love). Hours of geeky fun on these streets.

Enjoy the weekend.

(rw)

Dick Clark and Grace

This is an old blog I wrote on Myspace three years ago today. No one read it then, so you'd never know about it unless I told you. I still like it, so here it is. As an interesting sidenote, three years ago today I had my first 6-hour, talk-until-daybreak conversation with Katie and the person I mentioned in the entry who I "wish I had been kissing" was, indeed, her. Worth noting. 

I'm lying in the bunk of our bus, riding along I-40, headed home. The ball dropped in NYC about two hours ago and I celebrated by...well, watching MTV. I know, it's a little lame but my other option was watching Dick Clark's Rocking New Year on ABC. Honestly, I was a little more inclined to watch Mr. Clark. This year, however, Dick was sporting the effects of the stroke that kept him from hosting the show last year. Wow. Talk about a buzzkill. I'm sure his publicists and handlers all were hoping for an appearance that would seem heroic and Oprah-worthy...but instead it was just depressing. But I think that's okay--definitely more appropriate than the joining of two generic bands who formed one superbland on Music Television. Oh, I realize there's nothing wrong to ring in the new year with revelry, parties, and kisses at midnight (which I missed again this year...but at least this year I know who I wish I had been kissing). I mean, there's much to celebrate about the passing of 2005. But there's something a little more human, honest, and sobering to watch a man pass not-so-gracefully into old age. Dick Clark, the world's oldest teenager is now just an old man. There's comfort in that. In an odd way, I feel allowed to age gracelessly, to stumble and fall into my late 30s. To be human without reservation. 

And that is grace indeed.

(rw)

Where am I?

What is this thing here? Oh…yeah. I have a blog. Sometimes in the hustle and bustle of the season, one can forget what really matters. Important things like peace on earth, goodwill to men, the Christ-child in the manger, and blogging. Not necessarily in that order.

Yeah, it’s been a little busy at the Williams homestead. We’re putting the finishing touches on two Christmas projects, both of which require a great deal of work. Nothing difficult, just time consuming…and no, I will not go into detail regarding the above-mentioned projects because they’re gifts and some of the recipients check this site out from time to time…so GET OUT! I’m trying to wrap presents in here.

To further complicate things, I left Tennessee last Wednesday to be the tour rep for Compassion International on the Point of Grace Winter Wonderland tour. I’ve done this all four years the girls have done this tour, so here I am again. In fact, I met Katie when I was on this tour in 2005. She was helping out when the tour came to Denton, TX and my heart jumped a little as if it recognized an old friend when I saw her. The rest is history, but not necessarily her-story.

Well, my friends, the morning is waning. We’re pulling into Wichita and I need to get back to work on one of the above-mentioned projects. It requires the use of a pretty intense photo-editing program that was designed to be used with newer computer technology. Let me just say that in computer years, a five-year old laptop is 118 in human years. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. But…we do what we can, we soldier on…but not before putting my head through a dozen walls waiting for photos to upload.

…it’s the most wonderful time…

(rw)

Gotta Keep on Rockin'...

I’m a prideful guy. I’ll just admit it and get it out of the way. I enjoy reading Important books and thoughtful essays by really smart people and having discussions about deep things—the environment, politics, the cultural importance of sports, and other nerdy subjects and I think pretty highly of my opinions. 

I love music too so I’m drawn to the Important artists—er, artistes—that have something universal to say (sing?) about life, love, and the general human condition. You know, the four B’s: Bob, Bruce, Beatles, and Bono. When people ask about my favorite song, I’m quick to answer “The Long and Winding Road,” by the Beatles and I’ve secretly longed to be the guy in “Born to Run” who promises Wendy to love her with all the madness in his soul and to die with her in an everlasting kiss. Epic, powerful stuff. That’s who I like to think I am.

But the truth is I'm not. Of course, I never mean to be phony, but recently I was listening to a local classic rock station (antenna’s broken. It’s either classic rock or conservative talk radio.) and I heard a song that with every passing word wrapped me up into a neater and neater package. I didn't know what to think. 

It was a song of hope deferred, of dreams fulfilled. It’s a story about a kid with delusions of grandeur but those delusions become reality. But after the dreams, the goals, the fame, he still remembers the kid with the big dreams and it keeps him striving for the best, to “stay on top.”

As much as I would love to say that I am defined by Dylan, that I’m aligned with the social worldview of Bono, that I can most easily relate to John Lennon, I can’t. I’m just a regular guy--a guy who prefers chicken fried steak to chicken cordon bleu. I’m neither a genius nor an artiste. I’m a kid who spent his mornings, afternoons, and nights playing air guitar in a mirror to KISS ALIVE and Van Halen II. I’m the middle-schooler who imagined what it would look like to see faces illuminated by the 100s of lights beaming from behind me on the stage, who wasted dozens of wide-spaced, spiral notebooks practicing his autograph and sketching band names in my textbooks.

I am the Juke Box Hero.

(rw)

 

The (almost) thief in the night

It’s been an emotionally jarring weekend. I left town Thursday night for shows in Philly and Chicago and I was looking forward to seeing some old friends over the weekend. Katie had plans of her own Saturday night with a girlfriend and called around 10:30 p.m. on her way home. The next call came at 11:45 and her first words were, “Well, I’ve had an eventful night. The cops just left.” Someone had tried to break into our back door around 11:15 but thankfully she had locked up everything less than one minute prior. Just typing those words still unnerves me.

They didn’t get in and as soon as they appeared, they disappeared. But what they left in their wake was something entirely more horrifying. Fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of the might-have-been.

Katie and I became CSI:Franklin the next morning looking for clues and recreating the scene. She had me shove windows, doors, etc trying to determine exactly what happened. We even found a few fingerprints but were unsure if they were ours or theirs. Kind of comical actually, but we needed anything to ease our collective minds. I unintentionally provided some comic relief by throwing my 165 lb weakling of a body into the door trying to recreate the sound she’d heard. “I think you’re too little,” she said through giggles. It helped her to laugh so I decided to not be offended by her calling me “too little.” I prefer the term “too awesome.”

The most difficult aspect of all of this is the constant replaying it over and over and over in our heads, adding or subtracting bits and pieces, playing out the various what-could’ve-happened scenarios. I suppose a big (BIG) part of that is my protective nature for my wife. As much as I’m ashamed to admit it, I truly think it would feel good to kill this person. And I don’t want to do it quickly. I want this person to understand what it means to fear, to wince, to flinch. Because that’s what they’ve done to my wife. She is the bravest person I know and it’s made her jumpy. I know this is all part of the shell-shock and it will pass, but the fact that some outside source has inflicted pain on her has made me a raging lunatic inside. I mask it. Partially for me, partially for her, but I literally want them dead. By my hands.

But this is not reasonable. Or right.

The most likely story is that this person was an addict looking for money, anything, to feed the monster living within them. We live in the downtown area of a small town. There is a social services building less than a mile from our house and we often see vagrants along our streets so this is most likely the case. Do I blame them? Sure. Do they deserve punishment? You bet. Should I have mercy? Absolutely.

We can’t live in fear although it makes the most sense right now. But, as we heard in church Sunday, the thief comes to steal. We also heard that perfect Love casts out all fear. This person who made the failed attempt to break in is my enemy. Yet I’m told by Love to love him, to forgive him, and that mercy will be shown to those who show mercy. Forgiveness and Mercy is a conscious choice, one that doesn’t come naturally. My flesh wants to sink a knife deep into his chest. God’s Spirit wants my enemy, His wayward son, to come home and find rest.

And that’s the difference between judgement and mercy, the law and the cross.

(rw)

The Glamorous Life

I have a great number of friends who have this wild assumption that I lead this glamorous, rockstar lifestyle simply because I play music for a living. Now, I’m willing to admit that it can be nice not having a “normal” job. When I’m off, I’m totally off…and I’m off three, four, sometimes five days a week. The flip side of that scenario is that when I’m at work, I’m out of town, gone. And it’s rarely what any of my friends imagine.

Take this past weekend. We left at 6 p.m. on Friday evening for a 14 hour drive to Orlando. Thankfully Katie was able to come with us, so I had unusually sweet company. Usually it’s all a bunch of dudes making dumb jokes for hours until we start heading to bed. When we woke up, we were in a back lot at Universal Studios. I got up and walked Kates to the front gate where she was meeting up with an old friend for the day. It was 9 a.m. and already 90 degrees inside the park. The sweat running down my back was flowing like the Rio Grande by the time I made it back to the bus. Then it was time to soundcheck. Outside. In the heat. Once soundcheck and lunch were finished, the theme park had arranged each artist a VIP tour guide to take them from ride to ride, and escort them to the front of the line. This is usually one of the greatest perks about playing shows at theme parks. Usually.

Oh, a great time was certainly had by all for the first 90 minutes. As we were boarding our first big rollercoaster of the day, The Hulk, our guide told us to leave anything that might fall off. I left my hat, sunglasses, and phone along with several other guys. Long story short, three phones and a camera were stolen! Our guide turned his back for one minute and BAM! Gone. We ran out to see if we could see anyone or anything. Nada. Zilch. I couldn’t believe how naked I felt without my trusty Treo. Glamorous.

Then…that night, as I was getting ready to change in to my “show clothes,” I smelled something that made my eyes water. What in the world could be producing such a foul odor? My shoes? Nope. My pits? Nope. What the…? I forgot that I had taken my jeans out of the washer and packed them while slightly damp. At this point they’d been in that bag for a week. Totally mildewed. Yeah, the smell was thick. It was as if someone had smeared cat poop mixed with burnt hair all over my Levis before slinging chunks of rotten barbeque brisket on them…then washed them in buttermilk and brine before leaving them outside in the humid Florida air for a week inside a boar’s stomach. Unfortunately, these were the only jeans I’d brought for the show so I had to put them on. All night long I kept getting pungent whiffs of my pants and gagging. That’s not a lie.  On top of all that I found myself looking the crowd over for anyone fitting the description of our thief.

This is the stuff that the audience and my friends don’t see. The sweaty soundchecks, the painfully boring time between soundcheck and showtime (anywhere from 8 to 12 hours), or the alarm going off after less than four hours sleep yesterday to make a flight to Wichita (whereupon United decided to not put my guitar on the flight and after arriving two hours later they refused to deliver it until 10 p.m. so we had to send someone on a two hour trip to the airport and back…good times). They don’t see this stuff, but this stuff is where my true character is tested, where my real self lives, not on stages. That guy is show-Randy. He’s usually pretty clever and smiling. If you really want to get to know (and dislike) me, though, meet me at an early morning flight check-in, right after the security checkpoint as I’m furiously putting my belt and shoes back on (something that feels so immodest for some reason). That’s the point when I’m at my nastiest. My scowl in that moment could melt paint off a fire hydrant. I’m not proud of that guy. He gives my parents and Jesus a bad name.

(rw)

And although it's a late addition, this is part of today's Watercooler Wednesday at ETHOS. My YouTube guilty pleasure? I could watch local news bloopers all day long.  Especially this one!

The Internet Doesn't Exist Here

I went on a six mile hike yesterday.  I'm sore.

(rw)

Tourist Trapped

Dear readers, you're not going to hear much out of me this week because I'm spending a couple of days off in Montana.  When I’m in places like this (Kalispell this morning, Glacier National Park today, Great Falls on Sat) I wonder why people spend their money vacationing in Orlando or Anaheim or San Antonio.  Oh, I know—when you have kids, you have to hit the theme parks and tourist traps.  But my goodness, this place is beautiful.  Why isn’t it crawling with tourists?  Now, I realize that I’m not very cool and my idea of a good time ranks right up there with toe-stubbing for most people.  But come on.  Shouldn’t a vacation mean getting away from plans and people and stuff?  Maybe it’s the elderly man in me, but this is almost heaven (I say almost because I haven’t found a Starbucks yet).  From my window, I’m looking at a mountain range surrounding the banks of a practically untouched lake.  In most locales, this would be called a state park.  Here, it’s just undeveloped.  This is what a tourist town should be.  There’s a population of around 12,000 and it triples during the summer months.  That’s only 36,000 people.  Nashville gets 36,000 visitors every few hours it seems.  And they’re all wearing the same uniform: a visor with the phrase “Too Blessed to Be Stressed,” a Garth Brooks t-shirt, denim shorts, socks and sandals (the hip ones wear footies and crocs), not enough sunblock and a camera—you know, just in case they see Tim and Faith at Chili’s.

In the hands of an over-aggressive developer, this place would become unbearably crowded and spoiled.  But as it is, it’s perfect for people who want their tourist destinations to be un-crowded, simple, gorgeous.  Perfect for people who just want to be left alone.  Like Tim and Faith.  Get out the camera.

(rw)