Y'all don't EVEN know.

It’s been almost a year since the collective insanity of the Snarky Puppy family descended upon the swamp for a day I insisted was “immortal.”  Michael’s general response to my incessant lauding is an endearing/exhausted blink followed by a humble request that I calm down.  Cut to today, where I am dancing in the corner of the Philly train station to “White Cap” and continuing my wicked habit of telling everyone I meet — friend or otherwise — about the greatest band in existence.  Call me biased all you want, this shit is good!  You don’t have to tattoo the horn line transcription onto your wrist, but I honestly extol you to purchase this album for one of two reasons:

1. It will make you smarter.
2. You’ll get some ass.  The more you listen, the better the booty.

And all you have to do is listen!  Our mad cool friends at Ropeadope officially drop Tell Your Friends today, so now you can enjoy the perks of Pup Culture (see above).  For 15 bucks you get a cd/dvd and watch for my goofy mug making google eyes at the boys during “White Cap”.  OR you can load up your iPod lickety-split for 6 bizzos!

I was a very happy panda that day.

Now, for your reading enjoyment, the boudain-stained pages of my diary the incredible day this album was made.

November 21                                                                          Dockside Studio – Maurice, LA

The rain is letting up.  I’m waiting for an alligator to pop up out of the water.  It’s been too long since I’ve been down on the Bayou.  I left my pad and pen at Jess’ house, but managed to track down a few spare pieces to occupy my mind while the boys rehearse.  I like to give them band space.  A bit of time on my own doesn’t hurt, either.

We drove all night, and I managed to sleep most of the way.  I feel more rested after sleeping in transit than when I’m confined to a fixed locale.  Trains, cars, planes… I can only rest when I’m going somewhere.  This is a fairly new phenomena and it began on the dodgy orange school bus parked out in front.

The sounds of rehearsal are building their way across the antebellum plantation.  I feel such a peace in a strange and beautiful place.  Louisiana is my Oz.

How special is it that I am here today?  I hope today serves to remind me how incredibly blessed I am.  To be with these people—and to be family with them and to be surrounded by such humble brilliance and undeniable talent; to dance with abandon through each day.  The world blossomed in my very hand.  It sounds of the happy tempo of New Orleans through the seductive pull of intricate guitars and horns to welcome me home.

Uh-oh.  Creepy well.  I’m going to definitely not think about alligators in wells.  I swear my Grama Crisman must’ve told me some story when I was at a frightfully impressionable age.  Pretty sure I haven’t grown out of that level of psychological vulnerability.  This concept is further evidenced by Aditi’s (herself a doctoral counseling student) analysis of my alligator phobia.  She suggested it was perhaps “a cognitive issue.”  I am wont to agree.

We’re hanging out in the Lady house – well, Devin is here and Andy is buzzing around with his film crew.  Today is a much documented day – today we are immortal.  An album, a documentary, and a book; this must be special.  The women (and Devin) are in the kitchen planning tonight’s meal.  I am beyond useless in this department.  I only cook when the boys are in Denton.  Something snaps and I start nesting and cooking and clucking around like a mother hen.

But not today.  Today I am too busy basking in a pool of contentment.  No, it’s now contentment… it is sublime.

Also, I have to focus on capturing fancies like “smoking cigarettes at the Charisma Tuxedo Den.”