This is awesome and to it I say, all the time. In fact, my greatest fault is that I live in my imagination where it is always peaceful, and sometimes I forget to come back to reality where people could use a little guidance in finding their own piece of the peace.
Special thanks to EVERYONE for putting their creative ju-ju on the line for all to see. I find that drawing a picture of yourself is far more difficult than drawing a picture of anyone or anything else, as its your own mug that you seldom see, unless you live in a house of mirrors, or have a twin or a cardboard cut-out of yourself holding a Pepsi. I used to wonder if my own profile was human. I sit in class wondering, do I look normal? How tall am I compared to he or she? Is my forehead too tall? Do both eyes look the same direction? I have a lot of moles. Do I fit in?
After reviewing this and so many other sketches, I feel wonderful about myself. Whole in fact. Thank you for generously honoring our community with your practices and renderings while bestowing upon my crown the jewels of normalcy.
While I've got you here. CLICK THIS and vote for "They Will Surf Again."
LifeRollsOn.Org is an organization providing funding for research, inspiration, AND activity for those with spinal cord injuries. Their story has affected my life and by voting on this quick video, you can help them win some big money so they may continue their efforts. Thank You!
Also: If you missed tonight's colossal telethon, it's not too late to donate to StandUp2Cancer.org. That shit is crazy.
Hi I'm Jason Mraz, and when I'm not busy spinning the microphone or serving chocolate pudding to a bunch of cougars, I'm celebrating new music, like these artists whom I'm absolutely crazy about. Lisa Hannigan – We first heard her paired up with Damien Rice on the Romantically Tragic "O." Now she's flying solo and bringing her brand of angelic folk to the USA to be a part of our fall tour. Her voice is the sound of the clouds, only we can't hear it due to the cabin pressure. Finally she comes down to earth to delight us.
Ingrid Michaelson – This bookworm is bound for greatness with her buttery yet conversational vocals and melodies. Her myzpace page that'z been hit a bajillion timez advertizes the euro-tour with jazon mraz. I'm crazy about a girl who's crazy about the z's. We welcome her modern-retro-style to our stage.
Lykke Li – Super Swedish Super Amazing Super-Star. Lykke is a hybrid of Bjork, Goldfrapp, Feist, and Cat Power, but remains fresh and sultry. A real gem. A rare find.
Dawn Mitschele – (pronounced Mi-shel-lee) Dawn is a San Diego someone we love to spar, sing, and share harmonies with. Check out TWO of her latest videos.
Mayhem is Beautiful. This song is a hidden track from Bushwalla's latest release, and Dawn is a strong presence. My favorite video moment is Dawn's feline legs dancing at the end. Fun Fact: this video was filmed in my Avocado Grove.
Dominoes. Such a beautiful song and a fun concept to see a few different sides of Dawn. Fun Fact: I did her hair.
I didn't do her hair. But in 2001, I purchased a beautiful Taylor 612 acoustic guitar from San Diego/Chicago Jazz Poet/Troubadouress Joy Eden Harrison. I would use the instrument for many years in coffee shops and clubs all around the world, handing it over to Dave Matthews at the gorge, and recording my first two studio and live albums with it. Last year I sold it to Dawn after a long day of guitar shopping and not finding what she was describing in her dreams. I had retired the guitar from my stage and it was doing no good in my closet. The minute she dug her fingers in between the strings I knew she was next in line to play the soft mahogany machine. Today, it is my pleasure to hear Dawn making such great music while the guitar nurtures another inspiring career.
Grazie. Thank you to the badillions of people around the world who pester me about this famously delicious recipe. Here I have simplified the portion for your convenience and practicality. Enjoy. What you'll need in the bowl: 2 Ripe (soft) Avocados 20 yummy dates Some Coconut Oil, Agave Nectar, Vanilla Extract, and Raw Cacao
What you'll need on the radio: I prefer Italian, Flamenco, or Reggae. Funiculi, Funicula always puts a bounce over the cutting board. However, Bob Marley goes well with this tropical delicacy.
Halve the two Avocados and mush up all the green goodness. You may throw away the seed but save the skins as those will be used as serving cups later.
Chop chop chop the dates again and again and again. About 8-10 dates per avocado should do the sticky trick. A food processor makes this task super easy, but doing it by hand can be meditative. Careful you don't zone out and add fingernail or blood to the recipe. There's already plenty of calcium in the pudding.
Squirt/Pour/Drizzle in as much Agave Nectar as you'd like. I like to do a few tablespoons to start and then add more at the end if the mousse isn't sweet enough.
Just a drop of Vanilla will do.
Then throw on a Heaping spoonful of Coconut Oil. This is a must as it will really dress up the dessert and surprise the tastebuds with something more exotic that you'd anticipated. (on a side note, you can use cococut oil for cooking everything. it's a super healthy alternative, especially for those who still cook with left over bacon grease.)
Add one spoonful of raw Cacao PER avocado. Too much cacao could make the goo bitter, so be modest.
Now stir it up... little darlin' stir it up. If you have a kitchen mixer, try to harmonize with it. Otherwise mixing with a knife and fork will help you get those dates down to a smoother dimension.
The recipe should fit perfectly back into the Avocado Skins. Whatever's left over you should eat with your fingers right then and there.
Add your favorite garnish and let cool in the fridge. My parents prefer this dessert the day after as all the flavors congeal and the whole thing becomes more like a pudding.
Have fun. Get messy. Be creative. And If i can do this in a hotel room, you can certainly pull it off in your own Cucina.
I'm often asked if there's any food I miss since choosing to eat mainly a raw diet. The answer is yes (and no) because occasionally I stray from the raw food thing when something special presents itself.
I skipped (frolicked) down to Foodshow, Tokyo's primo super-supermarket, a fancy food court heaven home to 25-dollar peaches & 50-dollar cantaloupes and carrots as big as your leg. I'm sure Foodshow's perfect produce is genetically modified with animal hormones, but sometimes I can't resist the juicy temptation of a (cow) tomato the size of a pumpkin. Why buy a dozen tomatoes when you can share just 1 with 12 people?
I was there searching for individually wrapped blueberries and other mouth watering goodies when I stumbled onto Sweetie Pie, the gelato stand. Second to unhealthy GMOs, ice cream is my kryptonite-lite. It won't kill me, but it'll certainly put me to bed early with gas and a small amount of defeat. When I do eat ice cream, however, I make sure I'm going for something bold and new as if I'm doing some hard-core flavor research, enough to justify my caving into the craving of the creamy dream, hence, the double scoop discovery of Black Sesame Cream & Green Soybean with Rice Cake. If there were giant creatures in the sky fishing for humans on earth, they would need only ice cream to lure me in. Any flavor will do. I'm easily influenced and already hooked by the sight. Ice Cream is my gateway food. My addiction will lead to heavier foods I'm sure of it.
At first the Black Sesame tasted as it should, like an after meal to sushi, almost fishy or salty in the foreground. Though the aftertaste had that classic creamy-come-get-me appeal. The Green Soybean was alternative but not unfamiliar, like pistachio, and the rice cake gave it a Mmm-mm delicious Mochi vibe. I highly recommend.
The best ice cream I ever had came from a shop in Downtown Melbourne, Australia. They served up a chocolate chili ice cream that is so confusing you have to eat it with your genitals tucked between your legs. Your tongue can't tell which way it wants to go. Is it sweet? Is it spicy? Who cares? It's downright awesome. (I wish I could remember the shop name. Sorry. I guess I'm now forced to do more research next week when we drop in to Melbourne again.)
My favorite ice cream memory involves a time I shared with Toca. (Sort of.) It's amazing how similar a scoop of wasabi resembles a little scoop of green tea ice cream. Although, Toca's vomit would suggest the two have nothing in common.
We were about halfway thru the set last night when things started to take a turn for the worse. I'm not sure which town we were in. I couldn't even tell by the look of disappointment on the fans faces. Sadness says it could've been anywhere. It doesn't matter.
Somewhere around the halfway point of the show some members of my band thought to switch up the instrumentation and arrangements of the songs. I grew confused and tried to fill in parts I rely on, but that put me away from the microphone and meant the song wasn't being sung. As I tried to get back to my position there were too many tangles in the cables and I had lost the connection for my guitar. Scrambling to the floor of the stage to unwind the mess sent panic thru my fingers and back into my stomach. It didn't help matters that the lights were out. I dragged over small lamps from the bass and piano rigs but it only made matters more tangled with a look of collapse and destruction.
I stormed into the dressing room just off stage where the band and crew had retired now due to these complications.
"Ass-Holes! Get out here and grumpy me old jeans!" I demanded.
"Fixin's ain't like a chocolatey train to cha-boogie!" I snarled.
My mouth was tied up too for some reason and the crew just looked at me as if my temper was the cause for this fallen show. I received no help.
I took my big mess of knotted cables to the lobby to try to persuade the audience to stay. As soon as I could fix this the awesome ending of the show would commence! But it was over. Certain faces were shaking a shamed and silent "no." My reaction did ruin it.
Still my mouth was tied up and I couldn't explain anything to anyone.
"Just a drop of chicken will be changed and I will freak your foreign car. Luggage I mean. Make your mother wait for the filbert…. Everything is ffffffffff…fair." Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Why can't I say anything?
And then I sat up. Sweating. It was still dark. But only because the black-out curtains were drawn to prevent me from waking up too early. I looked at my phone and saw it was almost 9. I'd been sleeping off and on for 12 hours having started in the bus and then dropped at the hotel in the middle of the night. I peeked open the drapes and the most powerful of white lights burst into the room. It looks humid, but a beautiful day to have off.
It's strange how dreams get under your skin and give your heart a test for what's real and what's imaginary. I spent a few long minutes this morning calming myself down and apologizing to my soul and his brothers for my dreamy outbursts. Along with this journal post of chasing down the absurd, a long shower and healthy meditation have brought me back to earth. Should I relapse after this I'll just take myself spending. This city is great for that.
My doctor says he's going to put on a CD to help me relax. He says the music will resonate on the same frequency my heart functions on. I'm lying 99% naked on a padded table that crinkles softly with gift-wrap quality tissue paper. Eyes closed. So I flinch a little when he puts headphones over my ears. I wasn't expecting the music to be so direct but I welcome the full dose. I tilt my head slightly so as not to disturb the needles under the hairline on the back of my neck. I have about 20 needles, maybe more, residing on my surface from face to foot, hand to chest. I'm being treated for exhaustion.
The music is one long track of mantras swimming in reverb with various drone instruments guiding the breaths I take. There's a choir of voices that consistently chant "Om" in a way that suggests there's no need to take air in, ever. I first think about how awesome this doctor is. Then I think about how weird certain life situations are. Like how I came to know & love acupuncture and find doctors as Rad as this one. Then I started thinking about Peter Gabriel and his association with world music. And David Byrne. And Ry Cooder. They're all pretty bad ass.
In meditation it is okay to have thoughts drifting across your field, it's just recommended you don't become attached to any. I've always tried to see thoughts as passing clouds. Acknowledge them. Enjoy them. And allow them to blow away as effortlessly as they came.
But my mind at this point is still racing. There are many clouds. Like a storm is near and I can't tell if it's coming or going. The lesson is in the unknowing I figure.
To reset my composure and I open and close my eyes again. Like a blink, but in slow-mo. The amber of the room from a heat lamp burns a stain onto my eyelids. The ocher instantly warms me up and my mind sees only tall curtains pooling at the bottom. I'm cocooned perhaps. Or I'm in an issue of Domino, or Southern Living, any decorator's paradise. I wonder if the drape could maybe be the flowing-robe of a Swami and I a student groveling at the feet of his master. All fabricated scenarios are hiding a precious something that has yet to be revealed to me. The wait becomes the gift.
I focus again on just my breathing. The in and the out. In. Out. And after 6 or 7 minutes I nod off.
There are many time zone & flash bulb related reasons to be tired and I learn in these transitory times how I can face no one on the issue other than myself. Rather than confront another on differences in strength, I just have to withdraw to restore my spirit. No one likes a whiner, especially one who's living within his own fantastical dream.
Back at the lab, I'm snoozing to some wicked new age jams and start dreaming of tea. I'm a proprietor of an awesome tea-shop with Live music and yoga. Yoga WITH Live Music. More than that I'm a member of a stationary community. I'm frequent and reliable. A town favorite. I even have a dog that does as I command.
All this behind those curtains!
But then the dream takes a radical turn towards reason and I begin figuring how to make this tea shop possible. There's study into business management, researching coffee & tea, licenses and permits, and a shit load of money. And then just in time the dream goes Live on TV. It's Saturday Night's epic broadcast and I've finally got two songs to give them. And it goes well. Really well… And so, the new dream becomes the next adventure.
I come away from the doctor feeling rejuvenated and rewarded. Partly because of the visions I had and partly because he shot me full of vitamins with a needle that could easily be mistaken for a Monster Energy Drink.
I skate around the city later in the day with my own words trickling down the vacant shaft once filled by spinal fluid.
In the not too distant time ahead, There's a way to get things done without leaving your bed. There's a way to go to work just by using your head It's a quirk of the network of mind intent. Just visualize anything that you want And close your eyes and bring it up to the front And realize that every sprout is a route to the power of how? The Power of Now..
I love this. And I'd gladly get needled and treated for fatigue every day of the week if that's what it meant to be here.
Being out of the country, some people wonder whether it's weird to celebrate the 4th of July anywhere but home. This is yet another summer traveling abroad. Last year I saw a foreign nation pay tribute to our explosiveness by setting off fireworks in narrow streets, over abstract rooftops. Or maybe it was coincidence rather. I caught the glimpse from a nifty hotel perspective. I admired the sparkle, but I heard no boom. Not even a fizzle.
My Dad & StepMom are here this week touring the UK with us. This is the first July 4th out of the country for either of them. In fact, my Dad hasn't been outside of the US in almost 40 years. He said something brilliant to me yesterday with a well of water resting on his lower lids.
"I didn't know what day it was this morning," he grinned. "It's been years since that's happened me… and you know what? I don't care. I'm on vacation."
I hope July 4th goes beyond political independence and takes over individual lives. We are all free to be. We are free to forget. We are free to dream. We are free to scream. So celebrate something in your own way today, this week, and the rest of the year. Light that dormant fuse in your ass and sparkle once in a while. Help me hear the boom from way out here.
Miles from Here Inches from There 90 minutes from Nothingsburg
Tour season has come in on the lion's back, tip toeing thru the sleeping lambs. Playing catch-up with the many months I squandered taking it easy. The front yard is wherever the wheels are resting. Most often I'm walking the dogs or doing yoga at a service station off the M4 or the Autobahn, tasting salty sea tears on a Channel, North Sea, or Baltic ferry, or I'm down in the basement trying to wake up the instrument within.
The accent of the everyday local no longer phases the senses. We are all Japanese, German, Bohemian, and Glaswegian. Some of us just have a little more wine in the system where others may have Waffle House. Some days you wake up to find your home parked quaintly by a pond well stocked with ducks and Dutch roses and your neighbor is a Crow named Sheryl and the Town Mayer is a very gracious and gentle John.
And In the backyard, 50,000 of your closest friends. I always pinch myself when I read my name on a poster, especially when the other names in close proximity are iconic. Am I a contest winner or just a cartoon character drawn into a cheesy remake of an awesome original? (My Before Picture)
Club scenes welcome each new day with smoke machines. The days' headlines are the previous bands' backstage graffiti. We basement dwellers suit up like a sports team and ready ourselves with Yacht Funk, music of '77, a great year of our lord. And we unite like Ghostbusters armed with our immune systems for the new onslaught of slime oozing between rounds of applause.
Time doesn't actually exist.
I've been away from home for exactly 40 days. I use a strip of black and white photo-booth pictures of you and I as a bookmark thru various reads. You sleep with Pulitzer and I sleep alone.
Thinning.
But NOT tired - (Please Stop Asking) Never assume Anything.
The road is long and seamless. Even over water. And though the tar is paved in blood of the last animals on earth, it is also a path paved in love & light, where every direction is just a roundabout way home.
I am closer to God than ever. I am closer to you than ever. -mraz n'manchester
It is one of my greatest pleasures to announce the name of my Super Band night after night. And each time I do, I strive for a new twist on their nomenclature. Here are some names I have used in the past.
"Give it up one time for my Super Band, ________."
The Take it Easy Buddies
The Leroy's
The Hoophar Tet
The Golden Girls
Sambucha Milkshake
Cacao Nibs and the Lickity Shits
Has Anybody Got Any Weed?
Big Butt & a Smile ("They can't be trusted!")
You get the idea. There are no limits to the absurdity.
Now I'm looking for more. Feel free to post your Band Name suggestions along with the show/city you'll be attending and I'll do my best to shout it out and introduce them according to your own customizable wishes.
