In a couple hours, I’ll be standing next to Ryan “Bear” Drozd at the sound board, watching Nick Waterhouse’s set in front of a sold out crowd at the Roseland Theater in Portland OR. I like their vibe - throwback soul, sharp and confident, a perfect counterbalance to our grip-and-rip, rock and roll McDonald’s dance party. Their spirit seems calm. Seventy days on the road will test the most stalwart’s wherewithal, especially keeping up with a bus itinerary in a van, but I’ve got a good feeling about these guys. Glad they’re along for the ride.

So far, today’s been remarkably smooth, and I write this knowing full well I risk jinxing things. Load-in was easy, no one’s running around like a chicken with its head cut off, soundcheck was a breeze, and the look of rapture on Bluto’s face while tasting Hat Yai chicken for the first time will carry me for weeks. Even the belligerent, perma-fried hippies lurching along Burnside are disappointingly subdued. So, here I am, writing this at a comfortable heart rate, hoping something goes wrong at some point so this newsletter doesn’t turn into a snoozefest.

After persevering all these years, through innumerable setbacks, victories, head-scratching good fortune and predictable bad luck, I suppose we’ve earned having a good first day. Then again, we haven’t played the show yet…