Driving along Highway 2 in the Okanogan Highlands. Washington State. Heading east toward Spokane.

A taxidermied brown bear in my dad's neighbor's house. Cashmere, Wash.

Wallace, Idaho. Silver capital of the world.

Wallace is the center of the universe. New York City, Brangelina, please take note.

Tobey, before a hike to Trout Pond at Chico Hot Springs. Pray, Mont.

Kitten therapy. Oberlin, Ohio. For the record, I did not adopt this little guy.

11:14 AM ET
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08-31-2009
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If you haven't seen this already, we posted a new ThunderAnt video last week.
You can check it out at Thunderant.com.
Warning: this video contains explicit content.

And don't forget to follow ThunderAnt on Facebook!
10:57 AM ET
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08-31-2009
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Here I am on my first Monday as a New York City resident. I've got a cup of Portland's Stumptown coffee on the table in front of me, and a bicycle that's driving me mad because it won't fit anywhere but on the ceiling.
I meant to blog from the road, but underestimated the level of exhaustion and lack of consistent wi-fi access. Pray, Mont., for instance, where I stayed at the fabulous Chico Hot Springs, didn't even have A/C in the rooms, let alone a sweet Internet connection. And sorry if I couldn't muster the nerdiness -- or insanity -- to blog on my iPhone while soaking in a public mineral bath. I did have the energy, however, to purchase an alcoholic beverage by the poolside bar, but that didn't involve typing or the fear of plunging pricey electronics into 110-degree water.
So please forgive me if I have to write this entry as more of a summation than a play-by-play journal.
Let it be known that I've never driven across the U.S. as a mere traveler. Every mile I've ever traversed in a car (outside of the West Coast, of course) was as a musician in a member of a touring band. In other words -- and scoff if you will at this term -- I was always on a "business trip." So, without the pressure of performing each night or having work to do, it opened up the U.S. as some kind of lazy and sprawling adventureland. Mining towns? Check. Wall Drug? Yes. Sandwich shops off squiggly highways that name each item after a dog breed? Well, of course. (I ordered the Black and Tan Coonhound.) Sleeping in, hikes with the dog, crashing at friends' parents' houses, soaking in their hot tubs, and eating closer to the food pyramid than ever before? Did it. And all of that happened on or around I-90. I basically picked one vein of road and stabbed needles into it a hundred different ways.
As for the music in the car, it was the least consistent of any of the travelers present. Rarely did the songs provide motivation or inspiration -- or, more importantly, stave off sleep or restlessness. There were a few mixes on hand, most of them too worn and familiar to be of much use. What I thought would be reassuring (Led Zeppelin, The Zombies or The Magnetic Fields, for instance) only made me anxious. Strangely, it was songs that I wouldn't listen to in most other contexts that underscored the momentum of the trip: Big Country's "Big Country," Jackson Browne's "The Pretender," anything by Neil Diamond. Basically, I was programming my own radio station, trying to make the music feel surprising, random and somewhat novel.
In the end, I downloaded a somewhat asinine book onto my iPod and came up with the idea of truckers' reading groups.
Growing up and living in the Pacific Northwest for the past 34 years has informed all of my experiences and opinions about music fandom and criticism, about artistic aesthetics and philosophy. So, what happens now that I'm living in New York? Well, I still think I'll explore the world from the perspective of a Northwesterner. Perhaps, even, I'll be able to make more sense of Washington and Oregon, now that I can observe and miss them from afar.
10:54 AM ET
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08-31-2009
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