I usually start my day with either a kick to the kidneys, whether it be from Wilder or Tilly who sneak in around 4am and prefer sleeping sideways across the bed, or it’s my face being licked furiously by our 9 month old pup George, by either love or a not so subtle hint that he needs to pee and we’re beyond the threshold of sleeping in past 7am. From there it’s a mad rush of brushing teeth, making sure the kids understand the concept of clean underwear, chocolate chip pancakes, finding shoes that fit, packing lunches they won’t eat, feeding the dogs, and getting to school by 8:45 sharp. There might be a quick coffee or green tea in-between. Never for enjoyment. Just to make the day begin to feel real. . . .

Writing used to be easy for me. Sometime after college and in-between the days of touring with the band. It was much easier for me to catch 20 minutes here and there or burn the midnight oil without a worry about what was on my calendar the following day. And maybe the fact that there were all these unknowns and struggles day to day that helped feed the fire behind the pen. Now my life seems a little more… organized. Less spontaneous. Which drives me crazy, since anyone who knows me well knows that I thrive off spontaneous impulses. I prefer a little chaos over the super structured life I live at the moment. . . .

When one of your own has what can only be described as a sweet hook-up to a slice of luxury on the coast of Puerto Rico, you don’t question the universe. You book nine plane tickets to San Juan. Get out of the office. Get some fresh air and perspective. So Rev Pop headed south in February 2019. From our unreal vista in the town of Fajardo, we ideated, ruminated, got a little intoxicated. What can we say? Tequila brings out our best notions. If you’re going to think big picture and plan for the future, why not do it poolside, drink in hand? We put our heads together, and out came blueprints for the website you see before you. Turns out, a change of scenery did this personal project of ours a whole heap of good. . . .