Do you know what I expect when I see a sign that reads “Automated Dinosaurs Ahead?” Dinosaurs. That are automated. Shame on you, Stewarts Petrified Wood, for letting us down with your lies. They did have petrified wood, though, along with an ostrich farm and a whole host of dinosaur statues featuring unlucky female mannequins. So maybe they were only half-lying. Such are the potential pitfalls of traveling along Route 66. Things that are not a bait-and-switch include Crater National Park, which is breath-taking and features an exhibit featuring the sweet MIDI tunes of Nashville composer Frank Cicalese, and our current residence, the Motel Safari, which beats the hell out of the Circus Circus Manor in Las Vegas. Note to potential customers: do not bring up how much the town of Tucumcari reminds you of Radiator Springs from Cars. Apparently they find the comparison unfavorable.
“OH MY GOD THAT’S PAUL RUDD!” exclaimed the drunken man in the backwards-facing baseball cap as his SUV barreled by the stage door of the Beachland Ballroom in Cleveland. He was yelling at me. “I LOVE YOU MAN!” This would have startled and puzzled me had the exact same thing not happened to me only a month prior at a party. Apparently a certain demographic (25-34, male, inebriated) is convinced that I bear a striking resemblance to the 
I would like to begin today’s entry with the sad story of 
Bleary-eyed and bluster-tongued, we hurtle along the deep suburban veins of inland New Jersey, our minds consumed with one word: Shartlesville. Home of the giant farmers, the tiny trains and the larger-than-life ambitions of Laurence Gieringer, the now-deceased proprietor of 
WARNING: This post contains moody, spooky and downright weird photos. I’ve been on something of an artsy photo kick lately, due largely to the awesome capabilities of my new-ish EVO 4G paired with the vintage effects of 
I admit it: I failed to live up to my promise. There was no tour diary entry yesterday. That said, there is a good reason: I’ve been having a @#&% blast! I decided to have my cake and 
ons! Vic-20 is back in the game and coming at you live from the Fairmont Olympic here in lovely Seattle, where I sit and rest my weary feet which have covered an ungodly amount of convention-hall ground during this first official day of the 
It is true. This is the last entry for the Frontalot 2010 “Zero Day” spring tour. Since I won’t have another chance to beguile you with the ins and outs of road life until we go on tour again, I’ve decided to go the extra mile and make this entry particularly insightful. Case in point: for those of you following my facebook page, you already know that we were tailed for an uncomfortably long period of time on the Pennsylvania Turnpike by a creepy Saab. I even took a photograph, though the face of the driver was indistinguishable. UNTIL NOW. Thanks to my friends over at the CSI NY labs, I was able to get the photo 
Join Ken’s Mailing List!
sending...