One of the beauties of music is that it is the gift that keeps on giving.

When a band releases an album, it’s a melodic present eager for the listener to unwrap. When someone hands you a record, it’s the excitement of the unknown, the notion that whatever sound radiates from your speakers you’re hearing for the first time. It’s that chance to discover a song, phrase or chord that sends shivers down your spine and throws a jovial kick in your step.

Just as I took my first sip of beer I was told to turn around.

Outside the Tipping Point Brewing windows on Main Street, heavy snowflakes cascaded upon downtown Waynesville last Wednesday night. Cars cautiously cruised through the intersection, with the snowfall increasing as the minutes ticked by.

I was a weird kid growing up.

And, in many ways, I’m even weirder as an adult. Since day one, being weird is something I embrace. I’m proud of it, even though I don’t give it much thought, because I think being weird is normal, and being normal is, well, boring.

Face-to-face communication is a lost art.

Besides the actual act of writing, my favorite part of being a journalist is conducting the interview. Everyday, I meet up with complete strangers and immerse myself in their lives. It is a surreal and incredible experience, one that only gets sweeter every year I dive deeper into this profession.

What are you thinking about?

Staring out the window, the question asked shook me out of a trance. My gaze drifted to the femme fatale who just got out of my bed, putting her clothes back on and heading into an unknown day. She posed the question inquisitively, and I took me a moment to respond.

Wait, what?!

Ah, crap. By the time you read this, I’ll have turned 30. It’s a number that seemed as far away from reality as it was impossible to ever cross paths with. But, here it is, staring right at me when I get asked for my birthday while purchasing beer, only to look up at the neon “If you were born before this date” Budweiser sign near the register, and how the numbers flowing out of my mouth eerie matchup, some three decades apart.

It is the single greatest influence on my life.

The people, music and culture that encompasses the Grateful Dead is the exact reason I find myself typing this right now. The sights and sounds associated with this melodic ocean liner sailing the high and often rough seas of society set the course for my entire existence.

The temperature was 20 degrees below zero with a howling wind.

As I listened to the online stream of my hometown police scanner, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Way up yonder, on the Canadian border, in the tiny town of Champlain, New York, my elementary school was burning to the ground last Friday evening. Over 100 years old, the enormous stone structure was ablaze, with massive flames reaching up into the frozen winter sky of the North Country.

They say all great art comes from conflict. It’s conflict of the soul, the heart and the mind, everything that either nurtures or tortures us. And for the Drive-By Truckers, conflict is what fuels their intent. 

364 days down, one to go.

Hurtling down Interstate 95 from Boston to New York City, I’m sitting on a charter bus with my eyes aimed once again at New Year’s Eve in The Big Apple. It’s become a tradition of mine with my two best friends from college, both of who live and work in the city.