Jordan Turns Six!

Jordan Turns Six! Birthday video for my niece with much help from Ginger. Background song is "Wild Horses" by The Sundays. Enjoy!

Jordan Turns Six!

I never said it wouldn't be corny ;) Read more!

Ladybug, ladybug...

So yesterday was a rough day at work for me, including but not limited to my dogs attacking my front door for what seemed like 3 hours mid-day (I get a lot of deliveries and I KNOW the UPS dude rarely naps on my porch, so I didn’t unplug to go down and check it out.)

After work, as I descended the stairs, I did indeed see a small box waiting inside my front porch. Oh joy, I thought, another coffee mug for someone who can’t drink caffeine. Upon opening it, however, I was very touched to discover a lovely card and a never-before-seen solar-powered dancing ladybug from a sweet co-worker in northern WI!

It was growing dark so I set it on the kitchen window sill and studied it more closely (I don’t have much of a social life). For the record, the wings do not open. Seriously—don’t try and force them.

This morning, I made sure to take ladybug upstairs to work with me. I set her on the sill and she immediately started dancing.

Cue Maggie, my Cujo-related Chihuahua. She hopped up to check it out, quickly jumped down, and I haven’t seen her since. I then moved ladybug to a location where I could take a picture and noticed that Ginger had mistaken ladybug for a GODDESS and was prostrate before her. THIS, I though, could be useful. I asked Ginger what she thought and she immediately hushed me, saying, “No talking in front of the ThunderBug!”

I think we have a winner. Thank you VERY MUCH, Ellice! Screw Thundershirts—ThunderBugs for the WIN!

Get your own Thunderbug-this one is MINE!

Read more!

Myles Kennedy is coming to Madison's Orpheum Theatre!

Very nice way to start a Monday: Myles Kennedy and Slash are coming to Madison, WI, to play at the classic theatre where I worked in 1989--the Orpheum!

Show is May 16, Wednesday. Now where's my old key?? I'm getting tickets Wednesday if anyone is really interested. (This is rock, not acoustic--you've been warned.)

Click Read more for larger version of thumbnail picture on the right ;)


Now all I have to do is find out if they have a pit now at the Orpheum. Pleease! Read more!

"Goodwill" New fiction by Nancy Dietrich

The year of play is over, and it's time to get back to work--to writing. I was, like everyone, devastated by the final culmination of the Powell tragedy that happened one week ago today.

All week I have been obsessed with the details, and the faces of the boys, Charles and Braden. I had to face the reality that for me, the only way to stop obsessing was to let the story consume me long enough to write the story it generated inside me. I wrote the first few sentences, but the rest wrote itself.

For someone who refers to herself as a humorist, my writings are starting to get as dark as Stephen King. But to give credit where it's due, it is the gothic yet true-to-life stories of Flannery O'Connor that came to mind as this horrible event unfolded. Despite the circumstances, I had to laugh at her description of herself, which I found on Wikipedia: "O'Connor described herself as a 'pigeon-toed child with a receding chin and a you-leave-me-alone-or-I'll-bite-you complex.'" I'd love to have her talent, but I'll accept our similarities in personality.

"Goodwill" is noticeably ripped from the front pages of today's news, but sculpted as my mind's eye saw it. It is dedicated to Charles and Braden, their mother Susan, their surviving relatives, and to their social worker last Sunday, Elizabeth Griffin-Hall.



Goodwill


Of course there were several pieces missing from the Mr. Potato Head box. There was no red hat or black moustache, and the boys had never seen him with both ears, and that’s a fact. But Goodwill was still happy to receive three full boxes of gently used toys. No one wondered why they weren’t battered and bruised the way you’d expect two young boys’ toys to be, but at least one volunteer later remarked it was nice to have some better quality toys to offer the community. Most used toys were accepted with a smile and then disposed of as soon as the donor pulled out of the parking lot. Little boys have no mercy when it comes to their playthings, and that’s just the way it is. So as Peter Dean pulled away in his minivan, he could have, if he’d wanted to, looked in his rear view mirror and still have seen the three boxes there on the loading dock. He didn’t, but a gentle smile rested on his face none-the-less. He was remembering how the boys once accused him of stealing Mr. Potato Head’s moustache, because of the one he had recently grown.

Peter remembered buying almost every toy in those boxes, most from the Wal-Mart in the center of town, some of the bigger trucks from Farm and Fleet. Though Peter preferred the true-to-life Caterpillar model trucks, his boys loved their Tonkas. Nathan would usually be the one pushing Seth in the backyard on their dump truck, but sometimes the smaller, four year-old Seth would try to push Nathan, his elder of two years. Though it usually ended with someone falling off, it rarely ended in tears. They just climbed back on and picked up where they left off. Peter loved how tough his boys seemed to be growing up.

For Nathan and Seth, playing at dad’s was always fun. It wasn’t very often anymore, but there were more toys each time they went to his new house and he let them do whatever they wanted, unlike Nana and Papa Williams. Both boys noticed that their grandparents were not especially fond of mud. Nathan never understood that. What’s not to like about mud? Their dad didn’t care about muddy shoes in the house. His boots were usually muddy too.

Nathan actually remembered how his mom never worried about muddy shoes either. Well, they did have to take them off in the tent after hiking. Line them up just inside the tent flap on an old towel so nothing would be waiting inside them the next morning to surprise them. Nathan remembered her telling him once that most surprises were good, but sometimes surprises could be bad, and it could be hard to tell which kind of surprise it was going to be. He didn’t really understand how that could be true—a bad surprise?—but if she said it, he figured it must be true, somehow. Mommy never lied.

Nathan was really the only one of the boys who remembered Sue Ellen clearly, their mother who had disappeared under mysterious circumstances two years ago this winter. Nathan was four years old when she left—well, daddy said she left, Nana and Papa said she died. Whatever the difference was, one day she was there and the next day she wasn’t. It happened while they were all camping at Arches National Park in Utah. All Nathan remembered at first was that no one really felt like going camping after that. They never got to take their Tonka trucks camping anyway, so staying at their father’s new place was just as fun anyhow. And nobody yelled at nobody else, except Seth, who shouted even the simplest of sentences. Nathan did not know if Seth thought everyone around him was deaf, or if he just wanted attention. No one belted out “I’D LIKE A GLASS OF MILK, PLEASE!” like Seth could. It was always followed by an equally hearty “THANK YOU!”

By contrast, Nathan was very soft-spoken, and grew more so after Sue Ellen was gone. Teachers at his elementary school would stand together during recess and just watch him as he played or worked on a project. Sometimes they’d talk among themselves, but mostly they just watched. Nathan noticed but wasn’t particularly bothered by it. There had been a lot of unwanted attention and confusion since his mother left, and as long as teachers didn’t start taking pictures, it didn’t matter to him.

People taking pictures was something that made his dad really angry. Not people the family knew, but strangers that would stay parked in front of Nana’s house, or especially at his dad’s new house in Vancouver, WA, where they had moved to be closer to Nana and Papa WIlliams. Peter would yell bad names at them, sometimes throw rocks, even, until they backed up across the street. Nathan never understood why people were not taking pictures of the neighbor’s house—the two nice men there, Hal and Joe, had a short round dog that snorted whenever it got up and had the most hilarious bow-legged walk. He would have made for super funny pictures, but no one seemed to care about Rascal the English bull dog, except Hal and Joe, of course. Daddy always told Seth and Nathan the attention was because the Deans were a special family and people were curious, but he never answered when Seth asked “CURIOUS ABOUT WHAT?” Nathan never asked, because his dad’s face always got crinkled right between his eyes, mad-like, when they talked about it, and Nathan hated the crinkled face. He only wanted to see the enormous smile, and sparkling eyes, like how daddy looked at them every time they went to visit after staying for a long time with Nana and Papa.

It was Peter who had passed the admiration of mud to his sons. Peter was not a construction worker or welder, or someone who worked outside at all unless he was mowing the lawn. Peter was a nurse at the university hospital, and a very good one. Everyone said hospitals were really, really clean, and that’s why daddy liked to go camping so much and get his shoes and clothes muddy when he wasn’t working. Nathan figured if hospitals were going to be picky about mud, then that made sense.

Even if Nathan had not remembered his mother bragging about how good daddy was at nursing, he heard it from Nana. Well, not so much anymore, but that’s because, like Nathan, Nana and Papa Williams had sort of stopped talking right after his mother, their daughter, left. They still smiled all the time at Nathan and Seth, but Nathan was starting to notice that they had stopped smiling with their eyes. They just smiled with their mouths. He didn’t talk to Seth about it; he knew he was too young to understand. Nathan knew that it was because they were sad, and missed his mommy like he did. He knew because he could talk to Papa anytime about mommy. Papa would always listen and nod, and hug him at just the right time. Nana would listen too, but she always started crying and ended up leaving him alone in the room, and he didn’t like that so much. That just made him feel like crying, too.

Sometimes he was jealous of Seth because he didn’t remember their mother so much. From time to time Seth would wake up from a bad dream and cry out for her, but Nana or Papa could usually get him to fall back asleep not long after that. But then Nathan would stay awake, listening to the dark and the sound of Seth breathing, sometimes for hours. Those were the times he could remember his mother the best, so he didn’t mind.

Lately, he was remembering more. Some of it was from the very last weekend they all spent together, and all of it was confusing. Talking about this had a very different affect on his father than it did on Nana or Papa. Papa wanted to hear everything Nathan could remember, even if it was fuzzy and all like a dream, but daddy—daddy didn’t want to hear it at all. Nathan learned fast to not tell his dad things he remembered—even silly little things like when she tripped and dropped a full pitcher of lemonade on the new wood floor daddy had just put in—because once his face got so crinkly and so red that before he knew it, daddy had struck him hard on the backside. He didn’t say a thing; he just hit Nathan and walked back into the house. It hurt more on the inside than on the outside, and it made no sense to Nathan, but Papa Williams said that everyone shows sadness differently, and it was probably best for Nathan to save those stories, those memories, for Papa and not daddy. Nathan saw no reason to argue with that. Papa was a very fair sort of man, Nathan thought, who didn’t say things without having a good reason for doing so, even if it had to do with leaving muddy shoes on the porch.

Nathan wondered sometimes if his own dad was fair. For one, he was so different from Nana and Papa—especially after mommy was gone, and in the beginning he yelled at Papa Williams a lot. Nathan and Seth were usually in the backyard or bedroom when this happened, but when it did, they were as loud as Seth and it was hard to ignore. Papa seemed to blame daddy for something, for everything, he heard his dad once say, and that made daddy’s face so it was always crinkled when he was around them. But they were never around each other anymore, so that was a good thing.

Instead, there was always a man or a woman who seemed very polite, if over-smiley, who took Nathan and his brother from Papa’s house to daddy’s house and back. Nathan could tell something was wrong with their smiles because, like Nana and Papa, they never smiled with their eyes, just their mouths. But unlike his grandparents, Nathan could see it was not because they were sad. Why would they be? They never knew his mother. The court-appointed social workers saw Nathan as a quiet six year-old who liked to watch people’s faces, and it made some of them nervous, so they would smile a little wider to cover for it. But Miss Manning, or Miss Sarah, as she let the boys call her, smiled too much because she felt that no one could ever smile enough at these boys. Her eyes even smiled. Nathan liked her best. Her car always smelled like McDonald’s french fries, so how could he not? She never forgot to stop for fries on the way to pick them up for the ride. Yes, Miss Sarah was definitely better than the rest. Even Seth knew that. “I LOVE THESE FRIES, MISS SARAH! THANK YOU!” That always made her laugh. Nathan could see her doing so in the rear-view mirror. Seth was too busy eating his fries to notice things like that.

Nathan could see that his dad tried really hard not to show his crinkly face around Miss Sarah or any of the other adults who drove them from one house to the other. Sometimes Peter would manage a smile, but Nathan knew no one believed it was real. Nathan knew because daddy’s eyes were too hard and focused for the bottom of his face to be smiling at the same time. His dad and Miss Sarah never talked much, and once Miss Sarah was settled in the stuffed orange chair in the living room, daddy pretended she wasn’t even there, and then, sometimes, his real smile would come back as they played. It was very odd to have someone watch them all together, but Nathan hardly remembered a time when there weren’t at least two adults with them at all times—except for the drive between houses. Miss Sarah never had to stay at Papa’s house, but she always did at daddy’s. Nathan assumed it was because everyone needed two parents, and Miss Sarah or her friends were just there to fill the empty spot that mommy left. Nathan sometimes wondered what would happen if there wasn’t someone to fill that spot. He guessed that would qualify as a surprise, if it ever happened.

Speaking of surprises, Nathan was already excited about this month’s visit to dad’s house. He didn’t know what he would find, but Nathan had been very careful to keep mentioning a new fire truck he saw at the Farm and Fleet by Papa Williams’ house, and he couldn’t help but hope that dad had picked up on the hint. He told his dad about it every time they talked on the phone, so Nathan was sure there would be one there when they arrived. Seth said he didn’t care what he got, but a new sled or “elevator” (Seth’s word for excavator) would be nice. They both wondered if Rascal would be out, since it was pretty cold and snowy now. Seemed like forever since they’d seen him. His family never came over, ever, so the boys just had to wait for Rascal to wander over on his own when he was out. Nathan always saved a few french fries in his pocket in case they saw him. If they were driven by Miss Sarah, of course.

Nathan and Seth were both thrilled that it was in fact Miss Sarah who pulled up outside Nana and Papa’s house in her little yellow car to take them to spend the day with daddy. Both of them ran out to her car so fast they almost forgot to hug and kiss their grandparents good-bye. What did grandparents know about french fries and bull dogs? thought Nathan as he hugged Nana. Nathan saw the crinkly face on Papa this time, and he almost asked why, but decided against it.

Buckled up in the warm, delicious-smelling car of Miss Sarah, Nathan and Seth took turns telling her what they expected to find when they got to their daddy’s house. Seth started to mention Rascal and the french fries, but Nathan kicked him before he could finish. Even Nathan didn’t think Miss Sarah would be thrilled to learn that she was buying fries for the dog next door. Seth stuck his tongue out at Nathan, who ignored him.

As it turned out, there were no fries left in the car by the time Miss Sarah pulled into daddy’s driveway, because the drive took longer than usual. It had snowed the night before, and she had to drive very carefully so they would not slip and slide on the roads. She wanted to be careful, she told them. “Better safe than sorry.” She smiled into the rear-view mirror at them both.

Miss Sarah had no problem pulling into Peter’s driveway. He had carefully cleared all the snow and ice before they arrived. “Small favors,” thought Sarah to herself. She always had a knot in her stomach the size of a grapefruit during these visits, and thanks to the slippery roads, today’s felt more like a basketball. She didn’t trust Peter Dean, but tried to push that aside and adopt a more professional attitude before getting the boys out of the car. She was there because most people didn’t trust Peter, and she released a long, slow breath reassured by the knowledge that she was able to be there for those who could not.

Nathan waited for Miss Sarah to come to his side of the car, though he was already out of his seat belt and helping Seth with his. Seth was preoccupied looking for dropped french fries, upset that they had not managed to save any for Rascal. Nathan saw no sign of Rascal and tried telling Seth this, but he wasn’t listening. Dad had just opened the door a crack and sent out a knowing smile. As Miss Sarah opened his door for him, Seth practically fell out in his rush to run up to their dad. Nathan stayed just long enough to grab the backpack they always brought with them, then he was out of the door Miss Sarah was holding and yelling a “Thank you!” as he ran towards the door.

Flustered, Sarah yelled “Boys, wait!” sharper than she intended. She closed the door and rushed after them. It was about twenty feet from her car to the front door. Though it had been open as the boys ran up, Peter clearly in view, just as she reached the threshold the door slammed shut and she heard Peter throw the deadbolt. She felt the imaginary basketball imploding inside her stomach the same time she smelled propane gas coming from the house. Without thinking she tried to open the door with her right hand as she pounded with her left. If he had heard her shouting “Mr. Dean! Peter! Please let me in!” he didn’t show any sign of it. Still yelling, she reached for her cell phone.

As soon as Nathan ran into the house and felt the door slam shut behind him, he knew something was wrong. For one thing, it smelled weird. Seth was standing in the middle of the living room looking around as if he had never been there before. Their dad was no longer smiling, but rather looking at them both as if he didn’t know who they were or how they had gotten into his house. Peter turned towards the fireplace as Nathan glanced around him. Not only was there no fire engine, the whole room was virtually empty—even the orange chair was gone. Where was Miss Sarah going to sit? At the same time he heard her trying to get in, and turned towards to door to let her in.

“Do not open that door,” commanded Peter. Nathan turned back to see his dad holding the small ax that they used to break up wood for the fire. Now he was even more confused.

“This is not a toy,” his father had told them both repeatedly. “We never use this inside the house.” Now he was holding it and Nathan was terrified at his unusual breach of protocol.

Seth had not moved, and was silently staring at this man he once recognized as his father. He was still standing in that same spot as Peter swung the hatchet in his direction, catching him with a startling blow on his right shoulder. Seth fell to the floor with a scream as Nathan moved to protect him. Faintly he could hear Miss Sarah yelling both of their names from outside the house. He hoped she stayed outside, because he knew for certain that if she got in, this man with Mr. Potato Head's moustache would try to kill her too.

Before Nathan could reach Seth, he felt a surprising thud as the blade met his upper back. Surprising, he thought to himself, and not in a good way. He lunged towards Seth, propelled by the blow of the weapon. Time slowed down until it actually stood still. Nathan landed on top of Seth, still screaming, as he smelled the fumes that filled the house. With the house so bare, Nathan’s eye was drawn to the two red plastic containers sitting by the fireplace. He recognized them from their old road trips. They were gas cans. As he filled his lungs with poisoned air to scream for them both, his father raised the arm holding the ax. His face was not crinkly, nor smiling. Nathan recognized confusion and fear. As Nathan raised his arms to protect himself and his little brother, the room and everything in it was consumed in a ball of fire. Peter had fallen to his knees, and every part of him seemed to be covered by flames. Nathan’s scream had been lost in the explosion, and he once again tried to fill his lungs with air, but only smoke remained to fill them now. He felt Seth move under him and heard him crying, but Nathan did not want to get up and expose him to the fire and smoke that surrounded them. He needn’t have worried; neither of them would rise again. The smoke was too thick and the flames too hot. An image of Nathan’s mother came to his mind just as he heard his father say “Sue Ellen” as he crashed to the floor.

Next door, Rascal barked and scratched at the inside of his front door. The windows of his house had been blown in by the blast. His owners, Hal and Joe, let him out as they stumbled out into the odd mixture of cold and heat, their eyes riveted to the inferno next door. At the bottom of the drive was a young woman they recognized as one of the social workers who often supervised Nathan and Seth when they visited their father, a man still suspected in the disappearance of his wife two years before. Word around the neighborhood was that the woman’s parents, Ann and Nathan Williams, were extremely close to winning permanent custody with no visitation rights for the children’s father.

Sarah stood motionless beside her car at the bottom of the drive, where she had pulled to safety after smelling the gas. She was still holding her cell phone to her left ear, but she had stopped trying to convince the 911 dispatcher that her charges faced imminent danger. A voice on the other end repeatedly yelled, “Are you hurt? What happened?”

The house was entirely engulfed in flames by this time, its structure no longer visible beneath its deadly cloak. No sounds came from the house but smaller explosions and the roar of the flames. Every witness but one simply stood and stared at what was left to burn. Rascal had seen it, heard it, smelled it, and most importantly, knew the meaning of the yellow car in the driveway. Without anyone noticing, he made his way from his house to the young woman by the car and sat at her feet, watching her with deliberation. In the midst of all the powerful odors filling the air, Rascal noticed that the young woman smelled faintly of french fries.
Read more!

An American in Norway

American tourist's summary of Europe and Scandinavia: The miles are shorter, the yardsticks are longer, and the stones are heavier.

But the rock stars are just as sweet :)

Photo album of my whirlwind trip to Oslo to see Alter Bridge with artist and fellow tweep Jenny Widding. First full day, we played tourist in sunny, 40 degree weather. Second day, we played groupie, staking out the concert venue until the sympathetic guitarist, Mark Tremonti, invited us in with VIP passes. We slept with them all and enjoyed a great concert.

Wait, not entirely true--Myles has a very painful sore throat so the concert was a bit off. And we did NOT sleep with the roadies (though I love ya, Ernie!)

Okay, we didn't sleep with the band either--jeez! The expectations were SO HIGH for this trip!

Read more!

Mission Accomplished!

Just a brief note to confirm that a truly magical time was had in Oslo, Norway last week. My gracious hosts, Jenny and Roy Widding, and the members (and select crew) of Alter Bridge made the trip absolutely unforgettable.

Lots of pics and stories to upload but I'm starting with the highlights as I toil through our busiest season at work.



Myles Kennedy who, despite having a seriously sore throat, refused to cancel. We sang our lungs out to help him out.



Mark Tremonti, another hero of the day after he brought VIP passes outside for Jenny and me so we could wait out the day inside the venue, watching set up, sound check, and chatting freely with crew and band members as they wandered about. Highlight of the day, no question!

Myles and Jenny, meeting at last. Jenny painted the shirt Myles is showing off, as well as a pug cap he wore all day, show included. All the guys but one had on the shirts Jenny painted. She was a rock star among rock stars Wednesday! She also painted the dress she is wearing, and had it signed by all members of the band ;)

There is nothing better than sitting in a venue with your favorite band, eating "bollers" (warm cinnamon chocolate buns) and drinking hot chocolate. I wouldn't have changed a thing--except perhaps the part where I sat for 20 minutes after the show on a beer-soaked step before realizing it. Awkward.

Read more!

12 Hours and counting...

In 12 hours I board the first plane to get me to Norway and Alter Bridge, if the gods are with me.

Catch you on the Flip side!

Read more!

Take-Off in Two Days

Stressed as hell trying to get ready to leave Sunday morning for Oslo, Norway, to see Alter Bridge November 9. Only one more nervous than me is probably Myles ;)

I'll behave. Don't I always?

Read more!

8 Days--Who's Counting?

I am... and my focus on anything other than Alter Bridge is for SHIT (pardon my Norwegian.) I leave Sunday for Oslo.

Note to self: Adrenaline makes asthma worse.

Read more!

My Stories and Published Novel Excerpts

Christmas in Cairo, 1993 (Photo by Kacey Dewing)

I am intensifying my search for an agent and/or publisher, and am using this as a place to list the links for my stories (excerpts from two novels) which have been published.

The genre is creative non-fiction (a.k.a. true stories). These were all published in a handful of issues of Mused--Bellaonline Literary Review.

[Following are excerpts from Below Sea Level, novel about 10 years with husband suffering from Borderline Personality Disorder]

Shadow of the Mountains

Dog Day Afternoon*

Goodyear

Cycles

*Personal favorite

[Excerpt from The Agoraphobic's Guide to Cairo, about my year abroad in Cairo, Egypt in 1993-94]

Al-Abyaad - The White One (About the horse who did not kill me.)
-----------------------------------

Interview:
Nancy Dietrich: In Her Own Words


Further unpublished excerpts can be found on this blog:

Kickback from Below Sea Level

Painting the Town Blue from Below Sea Level


Al-Qitta (The Kitten) from The Agoraphobic's Guide to Cairo


Bustan al-Hayawanat (The Zoo) from The Agoraphobic's Guide to Cairo


Any suggestions appreciated. Thank you. Read more!

Hi Sally!

Welcome to my twisted world!

Below Sea Level is the dark novel.
The Agoraphobic's Guide to Cairo is the light novel.

And Myles Kennedy is the one that makes me fly all over the country--and world, now. ;) Yes you, Sally. Thought it would make you laugh. Read more!

Maggie Joins the Dietrich Family!

Me? Crazy? Only if you ask anyone who knows me—But I’m SO happy to have another “Dickens” in the family, especially one who acts a little more well-adjusted. Maggie is trusting of humans, affectionate, curious, and as sassy as you would expect a Chihuahua-Papillon cross (?) to be. Don’t need the sassy to rub off on Dickens, but hope the bravery will…

How did she get here? Well, Dickens is well-known at our local vet clinic, and I once mentioned to them that I knew he had family out there, but I had missed the chance to adopt his sister when she was rescued.

So when I called in last week to make a reservation for Dickens for my Norway trip, one of the gals mentioned that she had just started fostering a Dickens' look-a-like and knew she had to tell me.

Oh, shit, I thought. The foster mom sent me a picture and I was helpless.

Separate meetings with Dickens and Maggie, then Ginger and Maggie, went well, so I took her home Friday night. She immediately started bossing Ginger (yeah, the pit bull) around, who took it like a champ, so I tried to calm Maggie down and give Ginger and Dickens extra lovin' to make up for the abrupt intrusion upon their privacy.

Her name? Well, it was Gwen when she came from the Waukesha shelter, then Leila at her foster mom's, but I wanted to stick with the Dickens theme and use a 19th century (female) writer. Many obvious choices: Jane (Austen), sisters Charlotte, Emily and Anne (Brontë) and another woman writer (who used a pseudonym) who was influenced by the Brontë sisters; George Eliot, who wrote The Mill on the Floss. In that novel, the protagonist is a strong-willed, precocious, yet highly devoted child named Maggie. So far, the name has proven to be a perfect fit.

They turned out to be exactly the same age and build, though Maggie could use a bit more weight. The way she attacks her meals, that shouldn't be a problem :)

Ginger: “Why does she have to spread it all over the floor? Why can’t I HELP?”

Dickens: “You want to pull WHAT prank?! You've only been here an HOUR!”

Bad hair moment for Maggie after Advantix application yesterday morning.

Better hair day for Maggie this morning, and in her own harness (w/bell!) and office bed, finally.

Siblings? Cousins? You tell me? Exactly the same age.

She weighs 6.4lb., but could use 2lb more. Dickens weighs 11lb., but could stand to lose one.

Dickens: “Thank you for getting me my bed back. I guess she is kind of cute when she’s sleeping…”

Read more!

You'll wear out this new webisode from Alter Bridge. Out-takes, their specialty!!

Rockol - AlterBridge, la special edition di III e il tour on MUZU.TV

"For the 49th fucking time..." Scott "Flip" Phillips kills it in this video. Read more!

Alter Bridge Debut Their October 2011 Webisode

LOVE these regular Webisodes put out by Alter Bridge. Such a blast and honor to go behind the scenes, and put more names to the faces!






Had to get a screen grab of Myles' Red Monkey :)

Read more!

Carnivals of Madness--Alter Bridge in WI and IA -- Part V

Myles and Selena Kennedy somewhere more formal than a rock concert...

[The rest of the story is mostly conversation... Picture us all in a dusty parking lot in front of the buses, behind a stage where Theory of a Deadman was wrapping up.]

I remember all of us starting the conversation off by telling him how much we enjoyed their set. I told him it really stood out, and I meant it. He interrupted me, “No, no,” he said, slapping his hands together in frustration like Rumpelstiltskin, “I’m a perfectionist. And it. Wasn’t. Perfect.”

Made us all wonder what he’d actually sound like “perfect.” I’m not sure we could handle it!

I told him: “Hey, I thought Come To Life was flawless!”

Sarah hit me. It didn’t click with Myles at first… At their show in Boston in May, Myles started singing the wrong song when Come To Life started, and could not figure out which one he was supposed to be singing. (He was beginning to remember the story now.) Mark and Brian just grinned at him and kept playing until he came in on the second chorus. “And that one was taped!” I added, prompting Sarah to thank me for pointing out to Myles one of his most embarrassing moments.

“I’m sorry, Myles, but you handled it with such humor, it ended up being my favorite part of the night.” At the end of the song he told the audience he had never in his career started singing the wrong song. Forget lyrics? Yes. But not forget a whole song. “Daddy needs a vacation,” he told us, to rousing applause. I was just trying to say, it could have been worse, but as usual, didn’t quite handle it with the best tact… He was nonplussed, especially since he’d forgotten it (until I reminded him.)

Selena Kennedy, standing off to our right, had not stopped smiling since she accompanied Myles out to talk to us. At this point we introduced ourselves to her. She was wearing a fitted black t-shirt with a nice silver necklace, rolled up jeans, sandals, and an adorable straw fedora with a black band. I told her so, embarrassed by my water-warped Aussie fedora. She argued right away that if you had to stand outside all day, you needed a good hat like mine—and that she liked it.

Holy shit, someone nicer than Myles?? Then she realized we HAD been outside all day. “How long have you been here today?” she asked us. Since 9 a.m.—14 hours, we told her.

“Oh no, you must be dying of thirst! Do you want some water? I have to get you some water!” and despite our protests she ran off to get water for all of us. I turned to Myles and told her she was amazing; beautiful. He didn’t even hesitate:



“As beautiful as she appears on the outside, she’s a thousand times more beautiful on the inside. She’s… she’s like an angel that was dropped down to earth just for me. I have no idea where I’d be right now if she hadn’t found me. Ten years I have known her and I am still madly in love with her.”

I wish I had a picture of his face as he said this. I’ve never seen him more sincere. Then he added, in a whisper, “And she has no idea she's that beautiful!” He looked like he was keeping the biggest secret ever. He briefly told us about their first date (they were set up by friends) to prove his point. I don’t think it qualifies as public knowledge, so I won’t share that for their sakes.

As she came back with the water, we all looked at her with new eyes. Sarah and I still have the bottles she gave us—yes, we’re geeks. We thanked her effusively, still humbled by the fact that Myles’ wife ran to get water for us. We tried to regain our composure…

Suddenly I remembered how I had wanted a picture shaking hands with Myles so that both our Red Monkey watches were in the shot, so I could send it to their designer, Torry Pendergrass. I’d promised him one months ago.

“Are you wearing your Red Monkey?” I asked Myles, since his Hellfest jacket sleeves covered his wrists. His face fell. “No, I took it off.” Then his face lit back up and he pulled back his sleeve. “I’m wearing a new one.”

Selena smiled and stepped closer. He was clearly excited about this new toy. I asked him what kind it was. He explained it was a “real” diver’s watch, one you could take deep underwater. “I love that,” he grinned. “I always wanted to be a marine biologist. Instead, I ended up doing this.” And he swept his arm around to indicate the musicians, fans and innumerable buses. He made it sound like he ended up as a clerk at a gas station. We had to laugh.

I told him I had promised Torry a picture with our Red Monkeys so we’d have to try again. I had lifted my wrist a little as I said it, and they all gathered in—can I write that again?—they all gathered in; Myles, Selena, and Brian, who had joined us—to examine my watch. I could care less if they were humoring me—I was in heaven. Brian especially seemed interested in it, asking which one it was, and both Myles and Selena liked it. Selena wanted to see the front and back, and I was embarrassed again for having such clunky hardware around such a feminine figure.

Around this time, Nate, whom I’d completely forgotten in my selfish haze about 20 minutes before, posed a question to Myles. “So you must be LOVIN’ shark week!” Myles lit up—that was a yes. SO that explains the octopus tattoo then, I added. Priceless reaction.

He rolled his eyes and said something like, THAT was not thoroughly thought out, as he mimed drinking out of a glass. “I had befriended a tattoo artist and that’s what I got.”

“Actually,” he leaned in to tell us, “He wanted to do an octopus with a naked woman riding it.” We roared. “Thank God you were just sober enough to draw that line!” I told him. No shit, he said.

So here’s this tattoo we all SO identify him with, and he brushes it off as having had too much to drink. “But this other one I like…” and he started to pull his left sleeve up just as we were interrupted. Throughout the evening we were naturally interrupted by fans and musicians stopping to greet him, hug him, shake his hand, and maybe grab a signature. I seemed to be the only one with a Sharpie, which I found odd, so he used it to sign a myriad of items, including a bar stool.

Anyway, we didn’t hear the end of that story… of the tattoo he liked, which is too bad, because I don’t know anything about that one.

Whenever the person who popped in, popped back out: one was Emphatic’s temporary lead singer, whom Sarah was smart and quick enough to grab a hug from as he left; while I think another was BSC’s lead singer, as well as TOAD’s singer (post-concert etiquette, apparently). We soon resumed talking about tattoos, but from another angle.

Awkwardly, I told him that after 45 years of no tattoos, I was actually thinking of breaking down, because of him. He actually looked somewhat alarmed at that remark. I explained that I had considered getting a tattoo of his signature, smallish, on my right inside forearm—until my young friend Stacey in Indiana had a HUGE one done of Myles’ sig just the week before.

“But that’s not artistic enough!” Myles protested. “It will be with you the rest of your life!” Spoken like someone who knows! I told him I had considered that, too… and hesitated just enough for Sarah to ask what I’d been trying to ask. But instead of asking Myles, she turned to Selena and asked her. Took all the awkwardness out of an awkward question.

“Does Myles doodle?” Sarah asked Selena, whose eyebrows raised a bit. “You know, draw things when he’s bored?”

Myles looked at her as if he himself didn’t know the answer. She was thinking, her brow slightly furrowed. He then shook his head and said, “I haven’t really done that since I was a kid…”

“Oh, c’mon.” I said, “Not even pugs? Puppies?”

“Nah,” he shrugged, “Huh-uh.”

“That’s not true,” Selena finally said. “You’re always drawing horses.”

[I’m sorry, but did the evening just get a little more perfect? Why yes, it did!]

“Horses?” said Sarah and I in unison. Sarah continued, “Nancy LOVES horses.” I reminded Myles of Julian, my avatar. He shook his head in a “duh” moment of recognition.

“I just thought I’d ask if there was some signature sketch you always do, and thought maybe I could tattoo that…” Me.

“I don’t know…” he trailed off. “I think I’d have to work on it to make sure it was good enough.” Sarah and I exchanged glances. Then a light bulb flashed over his adorable black fedora. “I should have Slash draw something for you—he’s great at that!”

Sarah and I in unison again, “No!”

“I draw a lot of sharks!” he suddenly remembered. “Big open mouth full of teeth—I LOVED Jaws.”

Sarah said, “You could do that one for me!” And I wasn’t even thinking how perfect it would be for a dental hygienist to have a tattoo of Jaws on her arm.

As he had already done several times, he brought us in for a huddle. His brow wrinkled as he thought something through. “Can I take some time and work on it?” He then looked over at me in all seriousness and asked, “And can it be an Arabian horse?” since he had been reminded I had a Percheron. I threw a glance at Sarah that asked, “Did he just ask me if it would be okay for him to draw me an Arabian horse?” to which she telepathically replied “I’m pretty sure he did.”

“You can draw whichever type of horse you like," I told him. "And I love Arabians, since that’s mostly what I rode when I was living in Cairo.”

“You lived in Cairo?”

Men, never paying attention. So I gave the quick run-down on not getting anywhere with my Zoology degree—“You have a degree in Zoology? Really? What can you do with that?” We were going off track, I told him if you’re really patient you can work at zoos or other cool places, but I was stuck at a boring lab job. So I applied to grad school to learn Arabic just for the opportunity to travel to the Middle East.

“You speak Arabic?” Didn’t look at Sarah but heard her unuttered, “Here we go…”

So in Arabic I said, Yes, I can speak the Arabic language. Didn’t tell him that’s about all I remember. Sarah joked that we had no way of knowing if I was really saying something or just speaking gibberish. Hey, if it’s me, it’s usually gibberish in any language, I thought to myself.

Myles then started talking about how sad it was that different cultures were so soundly stereotyped—here and there—that no one realizes how alike we are. He said that was a real gift of being a musician, seeing in person how music transcended all those boundaries and brought people together. It humbled him. I mentioned the Facebook page by Moroccan AB fans and said they’d LOVE to have him over there. He got a look on his face that seemed to say, If only it were that simple.

“You know, I really want to see the pyramids. I’ve never been to Egypt.”

They are incredible, I told him, but he didn’t want to climb down into one. Why not? He asked. I told him how, if you went into the largest one, Cheops, it was a 45 minute descent, at a 45 degree angle, and the shaft was so small you had to bend over the entire time. I doubled over as an example. I noticed my new Converse were already really dirty. “And then you get to the empty tomb and all you smell is urine.”

I straightened back up, looked at his face, which looked as if I had just popped his new balloon. “Okay, I just killed that whole experience for you, didn’t I? It’s still a blast to ride horses or camels around them…” Nice job, Nancy. Sarah tried to save it.

“When you DO get the chance to go, and you need an interpreter—you know who to call!” Good re-direct, I said with a glance.

Then somehow we got to talking about Twitter. Selena had walked away to find other entertainment. I was probably thanking him for using it to find us. He told us that he’d been cutting back on it lately. I HAD noticed that, as have others, but I didn’t say anything. He was clearly still reading them, because on occasion I’d mention something and he’d say, Oh yeah, I saw that on Twitter. But he’s trying not to get drawn into conversations. We waited for his reason.

“It’s affecting my writing!” he said. Tell me about it, I thought. You have something like 400 tweets in the last year and I just passed 15,000—enough words for about ten novels. To myself, I said this.

“Well, that’s not a problem,” I joked. “I won’t have to tweet as much once you give me your cell number.”

He didn’t even pause, though he looked awkward (my fault), as he said, “I don’t think The Wife would go for that. She lets me Twitter, but not give out my phone number.”

As we were chuckling at his polite excuse, he looked at me and added:
“Especially to beautiful women.”

Did not see that coming, and I almost hit the ground. I was so embarrassed, and actually at a complete loss for words for once, so I literally looked down at the ground and kicked the dirt with my dusty Converse. Sweetest. Man. Ever.

About this time Selena came back to our circle—holding a skimpy pair of black underwear with an AB logo. “Look what I found in the truck!” She exclaimed proudly.

“Do you want me to put them on now?” asked Myles, laughing. Yes, I kept my mouth shut. But for the grace of God… Selena looked at them this way and that and said, “I wonder what else I can find in there.” She walked away again.

We all let that one go. Was cute to see her horsing around. She spent a lot of time standing over by the bus talking with Flip, Mark and a couple people I didn’t know.

“So,” I said to Myles, “about this drawing…” Myles and Sarah looked at me. “I have to ask him this one alone,” I told her, turning her to face the other way. Myles looked confused but followed me over a few steps.

“Do you think you might have a sketch ready by, um, Oslo?”

“Norway?!” His eyes grew huge. “You’re coming to Norway?”

I must say, that was exactly the response I had hoped for. I told him how much I had always wanted to see them perform overseas, because I knew their relationship with Europe was different than the one they had with the US. Yes, it sounded as weird as it looks typed.

I told him about my Twitter friend I'd be going with, Jenny, who is an amazing artist that has done work for Slash Band… namely Todd Kerns. (I actually said “Todddammitkerns,” his twitter name and nickname. I sounded like an idiot.) I told him we had many mutual friends on Twitter and she picked perfect timing when he showed him a marker sketch she did of Myles the day after our show. He was blown away.


Jenny Widding's marker sketch of Myles

“Anyway,” I told him, “my family will probably have me committed for flying to Oslo.” At which point he looked concerned, possibly (who knows) remembering that I HAD been hospitalized for depression two years ago. Quick—lighten it up! I thought.

“Well, not really, but they’re not thrilled with the decision.”

This is where I meant to come out and ask if I traveled all the way to Oslo, could I come backstage? And completely chickened out. Staring into those baby blues, without my back-up that I’d moved away from, I was about to melt into a puddle at his feet. Took a deep breath.

“So, that would be a good time to get your sketch,” I ended lamely. I turned back and shot a look that said FAILED! to Sarah and she moved back in to jump-start the conversation.

While she was talking, I suddenly noticed our surroundings. When we had been led in, there were musicians, technicians and fans buzzing everywhere. Now about the only thing buzzing were moths around the parking lot light. It had almost completely cleared out. TOAD had been off the stage for well over an hour and everything was being packed up.

That’s when I realized how long we had been talking to Myles, and started to feel guilty for monopolizing him. (Better late than never, right?) Selena, Flip and Mark were still waiting patiently over by the bus, chatting. Sarah or Nate was talking to him now so I wandered over to Mark, brandishing Flip's drum stick (which he had signed as soon as we got backstage).

“So did everyone get their cards?”

“Yes,” Mark said, “the [hand] lotion for Brian’s deck was funny—and Myles’ hand sanitizer. But I wasn’t sure which ones were for me?”

I don’t know Mark as well as Myles, so I don’t know if he has a really dry sense of humor or if he was serious. I’m assuming the former. I tapped his chest with the stick (lightly!) and said, “The Fender ones! Your Fret12 company doesn’t sell any!”
I turned and asked Flip if he had his.

“Um, no.”

“Mark?!”

He blushed, “I put them right up on the shelf in the bus!” I shook my head. “Flip,” I said, directing my/his stick in his direction, “yours are the Zildjian ones, though to be honest I couldn’t remember what you play.”

“Zildjians! Thanks!” Whew. Should have bluffed my way through that one, in retrospect.

I thanked them all again for spending time with us, and hugged Mark and Flip. I cannot remember if I hugged Selena—I was so scared of getting her dirty. I may have just shaken her hand again. She was still smiling.

Our main group was breaking up and Myles was walking over to join his wife. As he stepped up to her, he kissed her briefly on the lips. Both smiled at each other. If Norman Rockwell were still alive and painted rock stars, he could have painted them.

Now we had to tear ourselves away. It was not easy. Sarah and I each hugged Myles one more time and thanked him for the umpteenth time. Katie, Nate, Sarah and then I, very slowly, walked away from the group. My last look was at Myles, of course, and he had his head cocked slightly to the right and had this expression… of warmth. We were both still smiling as I tore my eyes away and followed my group towards the parking lot.

We were all silent, all still digesting what had just happened. So we were caught off-guard when an older man in a security shirt stopped us about 20 feet from the exit and asked where our passes were. Sarah and I just laughed. “You’re a little late,” I said.

“You don’t have passes?”

Sarah: “No, we don’t, and we’re on our way out.”

Guard: “Well you can’t be back here without passes! You have to leave!”

We were leaving until you stopped us, I almost said, but we just resumed walking in the direction of the parking lot, now laughing to ourselves.

“That was perfect,” Sarah joked.

Yes, yes it was.


Read more!

Carnivals of Madness--Alter Bridge in WI and IA -- Part IV

Myles opening the set with "Slip to the Void"

(Remember, this is a crappy disposable camera...)

Alter Bridge put on an inspiring show, to say the very least, and Myles was in a great mood, possibly fueled by the presence of his wife, Selena, at the side of the stage. Sarah and I saw her at the same time and both had the same thought—We could be finally meeting The Wife tonight. This just kept getting better. It was an hour set, so we were able to enjoy the backbone of the set along with Blackbird, and the dueling guitars before Rise Today.

I have seen Myles and Mark’s “dueling guitars” at five shows already, and the difference between last year’s and this night’s was remarkable. Mark unleashes his speed demon fingers, as has did last year; but it was Myles who had taken this game to another level with his wailing, improvised blues licks, all the more entertaining given his wild range of facial expressions. There was no question afterwards that we had two winners—a metal god and a blues god, side by side. It was the highlight of their set.


Mark shredding it, as usual


Love it when Brian, Myles and Mark come together and tear it up!

That, and the love he showers on his “regulars.” He smiled broadly at each of us together and separately many times during the show and it always made my knees buckle. We sang/screamed every lyric—as did he this time, LOL—and had our fists in the air for so long my arms were sore for days. At the end of their set he came out on the towers and attempted to toss us a few picks. They all blew back under the stage. We laughed and held up our hands, telling him not to worry about it, and he shook his head laughing.

Then Flip the drummer came out on the towers with a drumstick, looking at me. (If my fist wasn’t in the air, I was air-drumming the entire time.) He aimed carefully and low, and the stick fell right at the feet of the young guard in front of us. We were relieved until the kid picked it up, smiled, and put it in his back pocket.



Oh, HELL no. You do not work a show to take souvenirs from the fans. The whole front row erupted in anger at the guy, who wasn’t quite expecting that. His smug look quickly faded as it became clear that we were NOT moving until he surrendered that prize to the one he was handing it to. I think this is another case where being 45 to his 20 gives you a leg up. We explained to him that he was breaking every working man’s protocol by stealing that, and that it was NOT going to fly. He soon succumbed, and handed it to me. I thanked him, grateful I didn’t actually have to jump the rail and pummel his ass for it. (Boy, that water REALLY gave me a renewed sense of energy!)

Following the episode, we took about 5 seconds to catch our breaths and let our collective blood pressures lower. Then we looked at each other and Nate and both said, “Let’s go.” As we did, my neighbor David and I made sure to get a young girl into my spot on the rail, as she’d been having hell the whole time. Yes, it occurred to me I could have done that much sooner and just leaned on the rail from behind her, but I’m not sure I could have taken the lack of air. We’d been there for 11.5 hours when AB took the stage, and I’m sure as hell not as young as I used to be.

As soon as she was planted, we worked our way out. Kids were looking at us like we had lost our minds. Who leaves before Theory of a Deadman?? Fucking Alter Bridge fans who have gotten a DM from the lead singer—that’s who. I handed my drum stick to Nate and furiously typed off a message to Myles that we were headed for the (now empty) signing booth and off the rail, so he could find us. We planted ourselves and waited.

By this time Nate’s girlfriend, Katie, had found us, so to kill some very nervous time, we chatted about grad school and other topics, waiting… just waiting. Sarah was watching every angle looking for him or the show owner—and we spotted tha latter at the same time.

He wasn’t close—but he was within yelling distance. It took both our voices to arrest him for a second, then we waved like idiots as he took a second to decide if he had the time to humor us. Thank God, he decided he did. I pulled out my phone and pulled up Myles’ message, showing it to the owner as proof that Myles really did want to see us—we just couldn’t get back there. At that moment, Myles sent another that simply said, “Hey where are you guys?” which clinched it for our new guardian angel.

“Alright,” he said, “C’mon.”

As we quickly mentioned that the kids were with us, he led the four of us through the gates and back behind the RVs. A small group of people stood under a light post chatting, Mark among them. As soon as he saw us he broke away and trotted over. Myles DM’d me again, saying, “I’ll be right out!!!!” So I looked at Sarah, phone in hand, and nodded from Nate to Mark, and she introduced them as I tweeted back that we had moved and were now backstage with Mark. The owner no longer had any doubts that he’d done the right thing, and we both took the time to give him a big hug (he’s a big guy!!) and thank him for taking us back, and letting him get back to work.

As soon as I looked up from my phone, Mark looked at me and said, “Has Myles seen you yet?” I told him no—but that we’d gotten messages he was looking for us. “Wait here, he really wants to talk to you guys. I’ll go get him.” And he trotted off towards the bus.

With barely enough time for Sarah and I to exchange glances that screamed, “Is this really happening?” Mark came back out, followed by a grinning Myles and his gorgeous wife. Put that feeling in a bottle and I would be a fucking billionaire.

I did not hesitate. I grabbed our cheap, disposable phone, hit the flash set button, and asked Katie if she’d take the picture. Sarah was already hugging Myles. I took my turn and said, “It’s been too long,” which is ridiculous considering we had seen them two weeks ago, and I had gotten to hug and talk to him back in May. But he took us each under an arm and I think between the three of us we emitted enough light that the flash probably wasn’t even necessary.



I think this was when the night finally turned surreal. Details aren’t fuzzy—just the order in which they occurred, so try and follow best as you can.

To be continued...

Read more!

Carnivals of Madness--Alter Bridge in WI and IA -- Part III

Emphatic was first to take the main stage and was a very pleasant distraction

Having finally delivered my goods, I made my way back to the rail, which was getting harder and harder to see due to the building crowd. As soon as I was back in position, I sent a tweet to Mark, tagging Myles, thanking him for coming out to see us and hoping they enjoyed their toys. It was also a message to my back-up crew on Twitter that they could stop hounding the guys to come and see us. I know AB dreads the shows I go to given the number of tweets they get regarding our presence there.

A few minutes later, my phone rang with a private message. I assumed it was Andree or another friend congratulating me on making my delivery, but it turned out to be from Myles himself. Sarah saw the look on my face and leaned over to read it with me. “Hopefully we will connect after the show:)”

Good God, we started smiling like WE had just seen the most adorable pug on earth. I tried to be subtle about sending a private message to Andree that he had contacted us, but my shit-eating grin could not be concealed. I also sent a tweet back to Myles (mine are public, his are private, so our friends quickly caught on) thanking him and assuring him that we would not leave before we found him or he found us.

It was a promise we fully intended to keep.



Standing behind us there was a young man with an Alter Bridge shirt. Sarah also had an AB fan to her right, Angie. It was SO hard not to spill the beans about that unexpected DM. So we chatted with Nate and found out it was his first AB concert, having discovered them last year. He had fallen HARD for their music and was already studying Tremonti’s instructional DVDs for playing guitar. He told us he was just hoping he might get a pick—nothing more—just a pick. Sarah and I exchanged glances, knowing there was a Tremonti pick in my pocket. I waited a bit, and we told him a few stories of meeting the guys. He was easily impressed, bless his heart, and vowed right then he was not going to leave our sides the rest of the night in case we got lucky again.

There was no question anymore—this was a deserving fan. I reached into my left pocket and fished out the Tremonti pick. “Ernie tossed this to me earlier as he prepped the stage. It’s one of Mark’s.” His eyes grew the size of saucers. I gave it to him.

He resisted, unable to believe anyone would willingly give away a pick from AB. What he didn’t realize was how many picks we each had at home in our collections. I could already see this was going to be a tough set to get picks from, with the wind blowing towards the stage and the security guards not very good at giving the goods to the person they were originally aimed at. He took it like a piece of gold (or a communion wafer!) and just stared at it.

“I am never leaving your sides again. I love you ladies, and if you ever need ANYTHING the rest of your lives, you just ask, and I’ll do it for you!” Not an offer we get every day. But the look on his face was worth it all.

So then I told him about Myles’ message—and that it could lead to something, or nothing. But when we left after the set… He immediately said, “Don’t worry; I am not leaving your sides.” We had definitely made a friend.


Black Stone Cherry put on a KILLER set, as usual

The crowd, by this time, had grown to resemble a large can of sardines opened and left in the sun for too long. It smelled, there was NO room to breathe, and skin pressed on you from every direction. Without the rail in front of us and a glimpse of open space in front of it, I’m not sure I could have withstood it for as long as we had to to get to AB. Though the day was waning, the heat was only rising, and it was long past possible to leave for more water. One ass-clown security dude, when we asked for water, started piercing holes in the caps with his pocket knife and squirting water into peoples’ faces—usually their eyes. I’m no expert, but I do not think that it is possible to rehydrate sufficiently by having water squirted in your eyes. He wasted more than a dozen bottles that way.

During the final break before AB, well after I’d taken my last hit on my inhaler, things started looking a little fuzzy. My knees didn’t seem to be working normally. Sarah asked if I was okay and I told her that even if I fainted, the crowd pressure should be more than adequate to keep me on my feet. I don’t think that reassured her. We HAD scored one warm bottle of water from a younger security kid before Black Stone Cherry but it was long gone. I needed air. No fucking way I was going to go unconscious just as my boys took the stage.

I took off my fedora, no longer caring what my matted hair looked like underneath it, and leaned over the rail to fan myself. It did help, but I could tell my body temp was well over the norm, and things just kept getting fuzzier around the edges. A different security guard caught my eye and asked if I was okay. Not time to be proud. I shook my head. Without hesitation, he handed me a full, ICE-COLD bottle of water. I was ready to have his children. That water was like a liter of fluids going right into my veins, and brought me back to life. I split it with Sarah, who was just as hot and dehydrated. Now, we were ready.

To be continued...

Read more!

Carnivals of Madness--Alter Bridge in WI and IA -- Part II

Sarah planted in our #1 spot at Waterloo

Get to a festival early enough and you meet some very interesting people. It started with young Mikey, who was struggling to get a printer working in his little ticket booth, and ended with the owner I had talked to via email a day or two before. Sarah and I both stared longingly at the yellow lanyards and laminated all-access passes the staff wore, but managed to tear our eyes away long enough to make eye contact with the owner and shake his hand with determination. He said he guessed we weren’t kidding about being devoted, being there well ahead of anyone else. Nope, we weren’t kidding.


Just one of the many interesting people we saw working the show

Turn the clocks forward 3 sun-filled hours to noon, and there was a nice, long line behind us and, at the very last minute, a few red-shirted security guards who would decide if my gifts for the guys would make it into the show. We smiled, and smiled some more, and convinced them that they might as well search our bags while we were all just standing around. We’d both been in too many security lines where a delay at the beginning meant a real struggle for a center rail spot. We intended to cover all our bases that day.

By 12:15, we were planted center rail, next to a young kid named David, who was there with his friends to see Theory of a Deadman, who would take the stage later that night right after Alter Bridge, who went on around 8:30 p.m. We made friends and assured them that those not on the rail could have our spots when we left after AB. They couldn’t believe we would leave for TOAD. We couldn’t believe they would stay—but certainly didn’t argue the point. We weren’t looking for competition while trying to find a way backstage.



I must be honest: those first several hours dragged. The sun was directly overhead and on full blast, and though I had my fedora (still warped from the downpour at Twin Lakes two weeks prior), Sarah had lent her visor to a ticket lady we were trying to befriend, thinking that the size of the stage was going to keep us shaded. It did look that way from where we were positioned, but sadly, that was not the case.

As with Twin Lakes, and most of the other festivals, there were more bands playing than were advertised by the Carnival of Madness (which included Emphatic, Adelita’s Way, Black Stone Cherry, Alter Bridge, and Theory of a Deadman.) The other bands, mostly local, were playing on stage two, the Jagermeister stage, set up on an angle adjacent to the main stage, from which several die-hard fans of varying bands refused to budge, ourselves included.

As the other bands played and the teenagers danced, we watched the AB crew continue to set up for their performance hours later. When one of Myles’ guitar techs, Brian, a.k.a. Wookie, brought an electric blues guitar out to test it, we got pretty excited. That was the kind of guitar Myles used to play juicy nuggets like Robert Johnson’s Travelling Riverside Blues. We yelled our hellos at Wookie, and I even tried to get him to take my bag of presents to the guys, but he shook his head and indicated he wasn’t going to be leaving the stage area. Hey, we tried.


Wookie testing our a guitar at Rockstock IV

Ernie, grey-haired, ponytailed guitar tech for Mark Tremonti, also took some stage time to test some guitars and fill a microphone stand with picks for Mark. During a quiet moment I yelled out, “Great job, Ernie!” and was rewarded with a laugh, head shake, and a pick toss. It landed short (they all did that day, due to unfavorable prevailing winds) but a security dude retrieved it for me. Into my pocket it went.

As the day wore on, I kept checking Twitter. I noticed my friends had started tweeting the band to remind them we were here and had gifts for them. Our friend Andree from New Brunswick was clever enough to tell Brian Marshall that I had 52 naked tattooed women with me and they were all his if he went out to the rail. Though he did not come down, I am quite certain she piqued his interest.

Sometime mid-afternoon, Sarah started elbowing me, shooting a look at the far end of the rail. It was Mark. He had come out to meet some fans. I looked back at her and she just said, “Go!” I assured my neighbor David that I would be right back and I weaved my way through the growing crowd to get clear, then ran to the side where Mark was signing a few items and shaking hands. The fans seemed understandably star-struck and were giving him an unusually wide berth. I was past that and just saw my goal being realized, so I walked right up to him. Before I could say anything more than “Hi!” he had opened his arms and given me a hug. Now THIS was how a concert was supposed to work. I quickly handed him the bag of goodies and made him promise to tell Myles how much we wanted to see him as well. He was sweet as peach pie, as usual, and I knew I could count on him. Hard to imagine a nicer guy than Mark Tremonti.

To be continued...

Read more!

Carnivals of Madness--Alter Bridge in WI and IA -- Part I

Myles at Rock the Ranch, Twin Lakes, WI, August 13, 2010

I have been a fan of Myles Kennedy and Alter Bridge since their first single, “Open Your Eyes,” came out in 2004. It was the voice. I listened to the chorus over and over, reveling in the clarity and depth of his tone, and wondered to myself, Can he be for real? Can he do this live? Not since Chris Cornell had I been so moved by a voice.

So in 2004 I went to my first AB concert in a small bar in Scottsdale, AZ. That’s when I discovered that Myles’ voice was very real indeed. I vowed to follow every musical move he made from that night on, and have been doing so ever since.

Last Saturday night I got the chance to tell him that in person; not in 30 seconds while battling for his attention with 20-30 (or more) other fans standing outside their bus in the rain, but rather during a long conversation shared with him, my sister Sarah, Myles’ wife Selena, and our two new AB friends, Nate and Katie. Fellow band members Mark Tremonti, Brian Marshall and Scott “Flip” Phillips also moved in and out of our conversation circle over the course of an hour or so—as did numerous fans looking for autographs (there’s now a bar stool with Myles’ signature on it somewhere in Iowa) and fellow festival musicians seeking a chance to compliment his performance and shake his hand. But through it all, we were the ones he focused on, told stories to, and asked questions to learn more about.

How did this happen?



I’m still shaking my head trying to work that out. In short, Myles invited us backstage to talk to us. This was a result, and I’m guessing here, of our numerous but brief meet-ups with him after shows over the years, plentiful short-but-sweet Twitter exchanges, gifts we’ve given him over at shows, and most importantly, our constant presence at center rail, singing along with every word and smiling as if our faces would crack. Sarah and I have been to almost every show as a team, though a few we did separately. Over the last 7 years, we’ve each seen AB about 12 times, and we saw Myles and Slash together in 2010. Seems like more, and given time, it will be.


Sarah and I at center rail in Waterloo for Rockstock IV.

Last Saturday was another Carnival of Madness tour stop—this time at Rockstock IV in Waterloo, IA. Only a 3.5 hour drive from Madison, it seemed a good choice in that it was a small town, which meant a smaller crowd and a greater chance of seeing one or more members of the band. We had tried this two weeks earlier in Twin Lakes, WI, at Rock the Ranch (the first Carnival of Madness stop) but had little success other than a wave back from Flip off-stage, and Myles’ laugh and wide smile when he saw the deflated pug balloon that had survived the day’s intense thunderstorms with us.


Myles' reaction to our sad little Pug on the rail at Rock The Ranch

I was checking Twitter as usual all day during that show, and saw numerous tweets from friends reminding the guys we were there, and had brought gifts for them. We also saw that Myles was having trouble getting to the venue, also due to the storms. He later told us he almost missed it entirely. Coming in late meant chaos and rushing, and we were not able to get to him after the show. That was a long, hot, wet, then cold day filled with more challenges than we could have imagined before-hand (thankfully) and we were soaked, exhausted and not a little disappointed by the time we limped through the mud back to the car late that night.

The Storm coming in at noon in Twin Lakes


Ten inches of flood water that eventually forced us off the rail at Rock The Ranch.

Rockstock IV offered another chance, and we didn’t like the idea of failing, so we planned for every scenario we could imagine. We drove down the night before to be well-rested for another very long day on the rail, and packed ponchos and sunscreen—and the gifts I was still determined to get to the men.


Later added hand lotion for Brian and hand sanitizer for Myles...

We had some extra ammunition packed this time as well. Of course, my friends on Twitter were all in position to rain tweets on the band once the flag was dropped, and those have proven invaluable in the past, but we had another ace in the hole.

A few days before the gig, I received an email from FM Entertainment offering me two free tickets to the show. How’s that for timing, I thought. I sent back an email letting them know we already had tickets but would be willing to settle for, say, a Meet & Greet. We got to chatting, and I mentioned what it had been like attending (surviving) the first Carnival of Madness, and how we hoped to avoid a repeat scenario in Waterloo.

“Yeah,” the return email read, “a lot of people were unhappy with me when I had to make that call [to suspend the concert during and after the storm].”

It suddenly occurred to me that I wasn’t talking to someone at a ticket counter. I asked to whom I was speaking.

“The owner.”

Now this was getting interesting. I learned I was exchanging emails with the man in charge of putting on both Rock the Ranch in Twin Falls and Rockstock IV in Waterloo. As much as I wanted to hit the all-caps button and start begging for backstage access, I managed to remain relatively calm. As I was “staying calm” he friended me on Facebook. So much for calm. Luckily we weren’t chatting on Skype.

I thanked him again for the free tickets, promising to try and scare up some friends willing to spend 14 hours at an outdoor heavy metal festival. Chances seemed slim. All our friends that WOULD have been up for that lived half-way across the country, or across the Atlantic.

So Sarah and I made the trip alone, getting lost a few times just for good measure. Unlike the first festival, we didn’t stop (except for directions) on our way to the hotel in Waterloo.

Two weeks prior in Burlington (outside of Twin Lakes, site of Rock the Ranch), we did stop, pulling into a local Sentry just minutes before 9 p.m., with the very distinct goal of obtaining some chilled wine to start our pre-party. On our way to the liquor department Sarah stopped and let out a scream of delight. I turned around to see her gazing into a large box filled with inflated dog balloons. Seemed to me that the older she got, the easier it was getting to entertain her. She in turn looked at me like she’d found the Holy Grail. Then she lifted a perfect Pug balloon out of the balloon kennel. Cue a second squeal of delight, this time from me.


Sarah and Pugsly in Burlington before Rock the Ranch (and wine ;)

Every man has his weakness, be it women, alcohol… or Pugs. Myles Kennedy is known for his inability to resist puppies of any breed, but most of all, Pugs. Just recently someone posted a new picture of Myles at a signing table where he wore one of the widest grins we’d ever seen. In fact, we were all so curious as to who it was that caused such a reaction that I finally sent him a tweet asking just WHO could elicit such a reaction from him. Not minutes later he tweeted back, “…a pug :)”


Myles' best smile--for a Pug :)

The Twitterverse roared in laughter over this bit of information. So that night, when we found the Pug, all we could see was that brilliant smile aimed in our direction. We took Pugsly and ran to find our wine just before they closed the store.



At our hotel, we proceeded to tailgate from the comfort of our Hampton Inn room. And of course, we included Pugsly in the festivities. There may have been a bit of tipsy tweeting that night, as we woke up to find we had sent poor Myles several pictures of Pugsly with headphones listening to ABIII on my iPod, and at least one of Pugsly laid out sideways next to some hotel glasses and an empty bottle of wine.





Sarah, Pugsly and I all slept soundly that night, and moved quickly in the early hours to get ourselves over to the festival grounds in time to be thoroughly soaked, physically threatened, and bruised all to hell by young and old moshers over the course of a very long, 14-hour day. But that was Twin Lakes. This was Waterloo.

Eventually we found our luxurious Super 8 and settled in—but not after checking the room thoroughly for bugs. Hey, you can never be too sure, and we’d been living high on the hog for the Cornell and Eddie Vedder shows recently. Our last two hotels for Alter Bridge had been two of the nicest we’d ever seen which, looking back, was pointless given that we spent so little time in them.

At exactly 9 a.m. Saturday morning, we pulled into the first parking spot at the National Cattle Congress, site of Rockstock IV. As AB bassist Brian Marshall would point out in a general tweet the next day, it was a bit of a dustbowl. And busy. There was already a horse show going on at the other end of the grounds, and planes of all types flew overhead prepping for the annual air show, which would later include a stealth fighter, and the Blue Angels. But our focus was on the Alter Bridge bus we could see clearly in the large bus parking lot. Their equipment semi was already backed up to the stage and the crew was setting up. The band and crew had traveled all night from Louisville to get here, and though the latter were hard at work, we knew the boys in the band were all in their bunks, and probably would be for several more hours. We stood by the empty ticket booths, up on concrete blockades, checking out the height of the chain link fence that separated the fans from the buses. Once again, this was not going to be a walk in the park.

Or so we thought.

To be continued...

Read more!