For the record, my birth certificate says Los Angeles; my heart says Monterey.
That's the thing about home, right? Nobody else can tell you where it is, or if it is even necessarily a place.
When my dad died I think he finally went to a place he called home. I don't think he ever felt settled while he lived, never felt like this is where I belong. Maybe that's what heaven really is; that one place where you finally know this is where I was meant to be.
|Oh Facebook, you funny cunt|
Thing is, I like that longing. I like having that place I call home. I like missing it and looking forward to tasting the salt air on my lips again. I love telling people about this place I love and hearing about the places that made them who they are. I get to see places through their eyes I'll likely never see.
That's pretty fucking cool.
I'm going for a swim in the ocean now. If I get eaten by a shark I hope I'm delicious.
Here's my friend Amanda doing a Frank cover. Believe it or not, she made me fall in love with Frank as a human being. I've told this story on various social media before so if you've heard it before feel free to skip the rest of this.
Frank was signing autographs and taking photos after a small acoustic set on the Salty Dog Cruise last March. I was in line with TGB to meet him and take a photo or two and just ahead of me was this very shy girl. Frank had to lean in to hear her say whatever she was saying and from what I could gather she was asking about making music. He smiled graciously, and told her (I am paraphrasing from memory), don't let anyone tell you you can't do it. One year after I started playing I wasn't any good. Hell, Jimi Hendrix wasn't Jimi Hendrix after just one year. And other sorts of encouragement followed by a huge hug. That was the very moment I fell in love with Frank Turner, the man.
I am also incredibly proud of my friend Amanda. Listen to this. She did good.