Hello, Internet!

As you know, Rootabaga! is on tour. Right now, Heidi is face first in a plate of corned beef hash, Sean is up at the counter, surveying the pie situation, and I’m here on my laptop, writing to you from a diner on the road between New Orleans and Baton Rouge.

If you weren’t at The Stack last night, you missed out. The city may be the birthplace of American jazz, but the kids like the sound of a Marshall amp, too. I’m trying to convince Heidi to start the set with a little Bryan Adams because “everywhere we go, the kids wanna rock.”

But enough about music. I know what you really want. You want to hear the gossip from the road. This is our first tour on our brand new bus (christened “Ruth Bussy” with a bottle of gas station wine), but it’s also my first tour with the married couple. Sean and Heidi are just as insufferable as you might expect of two people coming up on their first wedding anniversary. When they’re not being insufferable, they’re having sex in the TV room.

I miss my boyfriend and my cats and my own couch to watch my own TV. But I know, as soon as we get back home to Chicago, I’ll be desperate to get out and play. Such is the life of a traveling musician.

Wes always seems to text me when I’m on stage; I don’t know how he knows. It’s like how my mom always knew the exact time to knock on my door when I was 13 and looking for some alone time. Sorry, TMI. So I call Wes back when we get to the bus, and he’s angry I woke him up. Or maybe he’s just angry because the cats are giving him attitude.

Rootabaga! is playing The Room in Baton Rouge tonight. Come out say hello! I’ll be at the merch table before the show–hugs for a buck! (After the show, I’ll be taking a shower. You don’t want a hug from me after the show.) Tomorrow, tune in to Wes’ podcast, live at noon Central. Heidi, Sean, and me will be in the TV room, huddled around a portable mic, talking about the tour, and not having sex. You’ll want to hear that.

But first we have to get back on the road. Sean’s brought back a piece of lemon meringue, and the meringue is epic. Not that I get to taste it, but it is literally a mile high. Only Heidi gets to taste Sean’s meringue.

One more month ‘til our welcome home show in Chicago. One more month until I get to see my boyfriend, unless Wes is planning something along the way, hint hint. One more month to spend with you, the best fans a rock and roll band could ask for, especially one who may never sell-out stadiums, but always sells out of t-shirts.

Your friend in rock, Charlie Mullen