The Magic Pocket


Over here, credit cards have chips in them. Mine doesn't have a chip and mostly is not accepted, regardless of the company knowing I'm over here. But check it out: problem solved. I just played my first Dutch gig! I spent every last pfennig of my pocket money to get to this door and now my pocket is full of money again. It's a magic pocket! Big thanks to Joanna Serraris for feeding me big cheesy pasta, giving me two eiderdowns because I'm a southern boy, and bringing the crowd. One guy bought seven CDs; I only have five titles with me. Someone videotaped and got my set lists. What fans! How much fun to teach you about NASCAR, the War of 1812, big trucks, chicken wire, wild ponies, and white oak. How riveting to see my country reflected in your eyes, to be amazed again at the Great Experiment, the wild bucking castaways of Spanish ships and failed religions, the almighty More is More. So great to get you singing, "If you got it, a big truck brought it." Wow.

The room I'm sleeping in has a copy of Bill AND Hillary Clinton's biographies. Quick show of hands from the Americans: anybody have two biographies of contemporary Dutch political figures? Yeah. Me neither. I suspect that it's not because we're more awesome. Quick: who is the prime minister of Canada? Ah ah ah, no googling. Does anyone really believe that Americans are receiving a competitive education? There's nothing like visiting the neighbors to jerk the curtain back on your own Oz.

Tomorrow, to Switzerland on a train. What kind of fool am I? I gotta get a different currency again. But I'm gonna yodel in Switzerland! What kind of cool am I? To hell with credit cards and ATM machines. I got a Lone Star boot full of Old World loot!

I'll be the one not wearing black.

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