Hey Jakey,

Here is a short list of bad boy behaviors that I witnessed this weekend that will not be tolerated in you:

* Boys are not to walk up to girls sitting at a bar, and ask them, "Whoo-hoo! Where's the party?"

* Boys are not to play air guitar, unless it is in an ironic manner, alone, in your room.

* When offered a pot of lip balm, boys are not to dredge their fingernail through the middle of it to scoop up the mentholated goodness.

* Boys are to offer firm handshakes, whenever the opportunity arises.

We all just got back from San Jose earlier this evening and boy, what a weekend. You of course, were lovin' it, with your grandma catering to your every whim. You did have a problem with the dog biscuits, though. You kept finding them in odd places, and sticking them in your mouth. And that's not even the bad part. There is something in those biscuits that you were having a bad reaction to, and you kept breaking out all over your face and back. Troublemaker!

L and I went out for drinks Friday night, and we bitched about work and fended off icky men. Dinner? Yes, a scoop of hot nuts from the hot nut machine in the corner.

The next day, grandma wanted to spend the day with you and take you shopping, so L and I spent a few hours at the beach, bitching even more about work, and SO's and life in general. Here's us at Pescadero Beach (I've been taking all sorts of crappy photos with my new phone):



Before the Son Volt show, we went back into Santa Cruz and had dinner at a place called Clouds. I had the Chef's Choice Sashimi Plate and two Cosmos, and L had le Steamed Clams and a couple of Jim Beam and Diets. Pretty yummy, I would go there again. We had about 45 minutes to kill before the doors opened, so we just walked around on Pacific Avenue, winding up in a cute stationary store called Paper Vision. As we walked out the door, JAY FARRAR walked by, right in front of us. Of course, L doesn't know him from the man on the moon, and I grabbed her around the waist and spun her in his direction and told her who he was. She suggested that we follow him, so we did for about half a block. I started to feel silly, so we just stood for awhile in front of a bridal shop and watched his disappearing back.

All right. I'm watching Jay walk away, the near-namesake of you--my son, and no one even knows who he is. This is the man who is the godfather of all the music I hold dear. Him and his little band Uncle Tupelo in the early '90s were the architects of alt.country, the founders of a new era in music, really. His life and musical career subsequent to the band's breakup has been endlessly documented in the music media, in books, whatever. He's a Bob Dylan, or a John Lennon, for his--my--generation, IMHO anyway. Seriously. Ask him though, and he always says he was just a guy in a band.

People on the sidewalk were stepping around him like he's nobody! We watch him walk down the street, obviously just taking a quick jaunt up and down the street that the Catalyst is on, getting some fresh air and checking out Santa Cruz. He walks up to the light on Front Street, watches the traffic for a little bit, then -- ack -- turns around and starts walking back. I start hyperventilating, which I tend to do, and I tell L, "I'm going to talk to him. I'm going to stop him, and I'm going to talk to him...." She eggs me on and by then I know that if I *don't* talk to him, L will push me in his path and we will cause an accident of some sort.

So as he approaches, I step up to him, and I say, "Hi? Jay?" He stopped, and looked at me and nodded. Okay, it's all sort of blurry after that, but I think I blurted out something like, "Have a good show tonight..." and, "I'm a real big fan of your work..." I stuck out my hand and he actually took it in his and shook back. He said thank you a couple of times, then nodded and smiled at L, then continued on his way. I do remember though, taking a split second to compare his speaking voice to his legendary singing voice, and sighing inwardly. Man oh man oh man. As largely as his presence looms on the musical landscape, he's a surprisingly smallish man. L and I dissected the entire event for the rest of the evening, and concluded that A: he was not annoyed, and that B: yes, I am a complete dork.

Anyway, the show was great, although the opening band, Earlimart, did nothing for either one of us. Jay and Son Volt played a two-hour-plus set, with most of the songs off the new album, a butt-load of songs off of the first Son Volt album, Trace, and a bunch of other good stuff. They encored with a tribute to the recently deceased RL Burnside, and... ta-dah... an Uncle Tupelo song, Chickamauga. Jay, not particularly known as an electrifying stage presence, was somewhat peppy and heartily rocked the mic all night. Here's a crappy photo:



A really good time. It makes me wish that we could move back to the Bay Area so we could go to the beach all the time, and see good live music all the time. We drove back this afternoon, and you were such a good little boy most of the way, until we got right around Jackson. We stopped in the Wendy's parking lot to stretch our legs. Momma snapped yet another pic:



Oh baby... I've got to call it a night. Back to crappy ol' work in the morning. Love you!