When I was a younger man I lived in Athens, Georgia and worked behind the counter of a popular coffee house. It was a wonderful job because built into it was the opportunity to meet and chat with the illuminati of the Classic City. One of them, the lead singer of a rock band who shall remain nameless, used to come into my coffee shop when he was in town. He was a shameless flirt and when I crossed his path, he would turn his twinkling blue eyes on me. I was well rooted into heterosexuality by that point in my life so I considered it little more than flattering.

OK, that’s not exclusively true – this guy was one of the biggest rock stars on the planet at the time, so flattery is an understatement. As for my heterosexual roots, I’m not sure how far my protestations and denials would have stretched.

I used to get teased incessantly by friends and co-workers about this incessantly. They would call me Mrs. Rock Star X, they would turn on some of his more suggestive songs as soon as he walked into the coffee shop and so on. One late Friday night I had been drinking in the way I drank, immoderately, at the bar next door. I stumbled over to the coffee shop to try and straighten up a bit. I came up to the counter and asked one of my coffee-slinging colleagues for a perk me up. My barrista buddy started giving me the business about my rock star paramour and, in a fit of frustrated drunken rage, I loudly proclaimed: “I will not fuck Rock Star X!”

The rest happened in slow motion. My friend’s face dropped and his eyes focused on a point behind me. I knew before I turned, but I turned anyway and saw not only Rock Star X, but his manager, lawyer, and another well known chanteuse of the day, let’s call her “Ophelia”. I couldn’t actually tell you the expressions on their faces as I was sprinting in shame out of the shop.

From that point on whenever Rock Star X came into the shop, I would dart to the back and swap with whoever was doing the dishes so I didn’t have to deal with my shame. I did that for months.

There’s a happy ending. One day, whilst I was washing the dishes, Rock Star X poked his head around the corner and said in his inimitable voice, “Hi Chris, long time no see. You OK?” That’s why I still buy their albums even though they haven’t done a great one since 1996.

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There is no point to this story other than to say that “New Adventures in Hi Fi”* is one of the all time best albums for travelers. It was written and recorded on the road and that sense of moving while standing still pervades the record. It is the perfect soundtrack for this drawn out circumnavigation. This morning, I woke up dying – in pain, voiceless except for the muscular contractions that forced out mucus and tore the lining of my throat. My slightly weakened physical state made my defenses just porous enough for that little germ called anxiety to slip in.

And, while my immune system is busy with other matters, that niggling anxiety has multiplied to full borne fear. If the truth be told, I am scared shitless. I mean what kind of idiot moves his family half way around the world with no job and no house. What kind of pater familias am I? Is this all going to crumble around us like an illusion? More importantly can I keep it together? It was one thing when I was flitting around the U.S. in a pick-up truck with a steamer trunk. Wandering the world with a family in tow – well that a whole different box of spiders.

“These corrosives do their magic slowly and sweet
Phone, eat it, drink
Just another chink
Cuts and dents, they catch the light
Aluminum, the weakest link…”

-R.E.M.* – “E-Bow The Letter”

R.E.M.’s essential “New Adventures in Hi-Fi” is available from R.E.M. - New Adventures In Hi-Fi and Amazon.

* This should not necessarily be taken to imply that Michael Stipe was Rock Star X. The pictures, of course, are just gratuitous showing off of my new toy.

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