Marc
South Bend, Indiana
The Housekeeping Lady just spent a solid three-minutes trying to bust into my room. I can't blame her, b/c it's nearly 11:00am, but she should seriously go fuck herself. A vacant room cannot deadbolt and flip the extra-protection device. Only an occupied room can do that.
Gearing up to get back in the car, and drive to Naperville to pick up Zach and Scott, so's we can be on our way to the Vagrant Show tonight at the House o' Blooz. Nanner better be in tip-top shape. Unlike everyone else, I have no quick and easy remedies. I usually just keep running my body into overdrive until it realizes that I'm not going to help it, so it better just back the fuck up and get healthy already. Not the best way to go about it, I know, but its the only way that I've ever known. Word?
I had a strange dream last night: (1) I was the singer in a band, and it was our very first show. For some reason, I think we were playing at the Fireside. My new Marshall was stacked all nice and neat on the side of the stage, and we were booked at a modest third on the bill. So, after the first two bands (whom I think were pretty horrible), I do my usual warm-up - which consists of blowing into my hands (to keep them warm so they don't freeze up on my guitar) and pacing back and forth by the merch section. They finish, say "thank you and goodnight", and get their stuff offstage rather quickly. I gather together my band and we start loading the drums and the bass equipment onstage. Once we get all that setup and decide on where to put me, I walk over to my amp and immediately grab my head - only there's a problem. My head is no longer solid. It's more of a shiny pillowy/plasticy type object. I grab from the handle in the middle, and when I lift, the two sides simply stay down on the cabinet. I start to freak. So I put my arms on either side and try to lift, but I only succeed in squishing the whole thing together. By now the audience, my band, and the soundguy are all looking at me, and I don't know what to say. I go at it from a few different angles to no avail. It's like a huge stress-relieving Marshall head. No matter how much you poke or push or squeeze, it always goes back out to its original shape. Then I start to cry ...
And I wake up - to the sound of the Housekeeping Lady trying to kill me. Indeed.
South Bend, Indiana
The Housekeeping Lady just spent a solid three-minutes trying to bust into my room. I can't blame her, b/c it's nearly 11:00am, but she should seriously go fuck herself. A vacant room cannot deadbolt and flip the extra-protection device. Only an occupied room can do that.
Gearing up to get back in the car, and drive to Naperville to pick up Zach and Scott, so's we can be on our way to the Vagrant Show tonight at the House o' Blooz. Nanner better be in tip-top shape. Unlike everyone else, I have no quick and easy remedies. I usually just keep running my body into overdrive until it realizes that I'm not going to help it, so it better just back the fuck up and get healthy already. Not the best way to go about it, I know, but its the only way that I've ever known. Word?
I had a strange dream last night: (1) I was the singer in a band, and it was our very first show. For some reason, I think we were playing at the Fireside. My new Marshall was stacked all nice and neat on the side of the stage, and we were booked at a modest third on the bill. So, after the first two bands (whom I think were pretty horrible), I do my usual warm-up - which consists of blowing into my hands (to keep them warm so they don't freeze up on my guitar) and pacing back and forth by the merch section. They finish, say "thank you and goodnight", and get their stuff offstage rather quickly. I gather together my band and we start loading the drums and the bass equipment onstage. Once we get all that setup and decide on where to put me, I walk over to my amp and immediately grab my head - only there's a problem. My head is no longer solid. It's more of a shiny pillowy/plasticy type object. I grab from the handle in the middle, and when I lift, the two sides simply stay down on the cabinet. I start to freak. So I put my arms on either side and try to lift, but I only succeed in squishing the whole thing together. By now the audience, my band, and the soundguy are all looking at me, and I don't know what to say. I go at it from a few different angles to no avail. It's like a huge stress-relieving Marshall head. No matter how much you poke or push or squeeze, it always goes back out to its original shape. Then I start to cry ...
And I wake up - to the sound of the Housekeeping Lady trying to kill me. Indeed.
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