Man, sometimes I dream the creepiest shit. Last night, for instance, I got to sit in on revolutionary new Shoulder Surgery -- for all those people who have decided their shoulders are too fat and need to get them slimmed up. Wtf? So, in exceedingly gory detail, I got to watch a woman with chin-length blonde hair and wide-open blue eyes get her back sliced open from the bottom of her ribcage to her hairline; rather roughly, I might add. The doctor peeled back her skin and unceremoniously began hacking away at the exposed adipose layer of her skin. I could see her muscles, shiny and twitching and altogether gut-wrenching. I mean, I have a strong stomach, but damn. This was a bit excessive.
But, in other news, I'm singing today and tomorrow and the next day and ... well, let's just say I'm giving up all semblance of sleep, play, life, etc. Last night we sang at some swanky clubhouse somewhere in north Cave Creek. Surprise, they planted us in front of the giant, merrily blazing fireplace -- and I about passed out from the sweltering heat. (See earlier post on frightful weather and women for a description of my hellacious costume.) Well, you have to suffer for your art, or something. Right? Does this even count as art? And if not, why am I putting myself through this?
Ah, yes, $17/hour with which to pad the savings account. I remember.
But, in other news, I'm singing today and tomorrow and the next day and ... well, let's just say I'm giving up all semblance of sleep, play, life, etc. Last night we sang at some swanky clubhouse somewhere in north Cave Creek. Surprise, they planted us in front of the giant, merrily blazing fireplace -- and I about passed out from the sweltering heat. (See earlier post on frightful weather and women for a description of my hellacious costume.) Well, you have to suffer for your art, or something. Right? Does this even count as art? And if not, why am I putting myself through this?
Ah, yes, $17/hour with which to pad the savings account. I remember.
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