07.19.08 Texas Embassy

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God bless, Texas.

07.19.08 Magazines

My friend Nancy Tyler (Board moderator as well), sent me an old relic this morning along with some kind words.

It reminded me of a ritual.  Before I signed a record deal, before I worked at a church, before I worked for a music publisher, I was an intern for tat music publisher.  A big-time writer guy named Brian White wrote in the office next to mine and pulled up a chair often to make me laugh - and dispense wisdom, often by accident.

Sometimes he’d pull an old CCM Magazine* off the archive shelf, for instance, and flip through it telling stories about the faces on the cover and in the ads - and asking the same question over and over again.  “Where are they now?”

Every face was the golden boy or girl of the moment many years ago or just last year, the big winner at the Dove Awards, the ASCAP writer of the year, on tour with so-and-so, the next big thing.  “Where are they now?” Brian asked.  And sometimes he knew the answer.  He’s selling real estate.  She’s teaching school.  He moved to Argentina to be a missionary.  She’s got six kids now - lovin’ life.

I learned from Brian not to put much stock in the kind predictions media casts for an artist’s future, not to value myself only because a journalist values me, and that everything in life comes to pass - everything.  Especially magazine covers.  As Wes Cunningham once sang before losing his record deal, “Paper gets old and brittle and yellow with time, and all of these memories just like old magazines must lose their shine.”

From time to time I come across a website or email asking me “Where are you now?” They wonder why I fell “off the planet.” I kindly bring them up to speed on my life these days, letting them know that I’ve not fallen off the planet; I’ve only fallen off their news stand.  I’m still here, with three kids and a wife, better facial hair and less expensive clothes and the gray left uncolored.  And no braces. I’m still touring year round, ten shows a month, selling CDs every weekend, singing and speaking and writing and releasing kids from poverty.  Thanks for asking.

And thanks for the trek back to 2001, Nancy.

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*Ironically, CCM Magazine has fallen off news stands and only lives on-line now - like so many artists.

07.18.08 Ticket

Eleven years ago this Summer my dad forwarded a piece to me from Texas. It was a letter from governor George W. Bush.  He had counted up the number of traffic violations I’d been convicted of in the last little while - four years I think it was - and decided that thirteen was too big of a number.  George was writing to let me know I’d lost my license in the State of Texas.  Love, George.

What Mr. Bush didn’t know was that I had just been issued a new license in the State of Tennessee.  And the State of Tennessee knew nothing about my driving record in Texas.  Or the folks checking it out couldn’t count that high.  Not sure.  Don’t ask, don’t tell I think is the best policy in this case.

So I was gifted a clean slate in Tennessee.  And I’ve been a pretty good boy ever since. I’ve had only two tickets in the last eleven years.  Not bad.

But, honestly, I don’t drive much.  My road manager does most of the driving when I’m on the road.  And Becky, who has been pulled over plenty but never ticketed on account of her being a beautiful woman I think, does a lot of the driving when I’m at home.  My driving frightens her.

Regardless, I have a pretty good driving record these days.  I’ve shown improvement at the very least don’t you think?

Driving to Indiana on Wednesday I was alone though.  I was on a distressing phone call while passing through Kentucky.  Someone I care about was having a hard time, to say the least, and we were disconnected mid-sentence with them in tears.  I closed my phone, tossed it on the passenger seat, and my mind filled up with words.  I started thinking about what I could and should say when we talk again.  What would I want to hear in their situation?  My brow was furrowed, my thoughts were racing, and I stopped paying all my attention to driving.

The speed limit must have changed about then.  I must have missed the signs.  And my foot must get a little heavier when I’m thinking hard.  I got pulled over going 82 in a 55 on interstate 65.  And I didn’t have proof of insurance because Tennessee, where I live, doesn’t require it.  And the police officer said both of these violations mean I must be present in court on such and such a day.  I can’t just mail in proof of insurance and pay the fine - I have to be there to hear the judge tell me I did a bad thing.  I have to be there to write the check.  That means a good three and half hours of driving there and another three and half hours back - an entire day wasted to go to court.  Completely my fault for getting the ticket, but does it make sense that I have to be present to settle up with Kentucky for it?

Make sense or not, I will have to go to court.  Unless I can find an attorney in Kentucky to go to court on my behalf.  Know one near Louisville?  Let’s talk.

How’s your driving record?  If it’s not so good I recommend moving to Tennessee.  They won’t check on it here and you can eat anything you hit with your car.  Sweet.

By the way, before the phone call and the ticket I took this.

Yes, that is a Mario brother - possibly Luigi - and his dog with matching mustache.

07.17.08 I See Your Sunset And Raise You…Some Cows

Boomama has posted a picture of a sunset.  She’s on vacation.  She got 29 comments.  From a sunset.

I see your sunset (over Puget Sound), Mama of Boo…

...and raise you some cows.  These particular cows I met in Washington last weekend.

I was trying to get a picture of the mountain majesty upon the fruited plain when the cows in the distance smelled Texan and came over to say “howdy.”

Oh, and I’m teaching blogging next week at a conference in Austin.  They’re paying me.  Because my blog is so awesome.

See how awesome it is?  I’ve got cows.  Cows! That’s more than Boomama’s got.  (I only point this out so you know how to pray for her.)

07.16.08 Camp Chick-fil-A

I was wrong.  The Chick-fil-A in Carmel, Indiana I played today didn’t bring me in for a grand opening.  Nope.  They’ve been open since December 2006!  Today, was what they called “Camp Chick-fil-A.” It’s one of a week’s worth of themed days - creating some fun for families in their community and a lot of buzz.

My friends the Lohes hooked me up with this gig and they’re sharing their tent with me tonight too.  That’s right, we’re sleeping in the parking lot of a Chick-fil-A.  Me and three members of the Lohe family.  And two friends of theirs.  No spooning.  We’re not there in our relationship yet.

Here’s a shot of everyone watching a movie on the big screen in the parking lot before turning in for the night.  Like you do.  At your local Chick-fil-A.

And I met a bunch of corporate guys from Chick-fil-A HQ in Atlanta.  We talked blogging.  I’ll be sending them a bill - or I’ll get free chicken for life.  I’ll let them choose.