My elbows hurt. A lot of me hurts. Playing last night, shoveling ice this morning, spending too much time on the computer, knowing the world would be better if I could spread out my workspace, not having the gumption to do it.
Gumption.
Sounds like an oniony gumbo, doesn’t it?
In any case – somehow against all the odds in the midst of a pandemic where all shows are streaming shows and we haven’t had an away-from-home gig in months we got snowed out. It’s a little frustrating. Especially since it wasn’t an entirely DECISIVE snow-out… we could’ve probably dug out during the none-hailing-window, driven up to the part of Heather’s community that was plowed out and met her there, driven down to the venue… the venue and Rowan weren’t hit too hard it sounds like, but it could’ve sucked a lot. And frankly maybe we could use another 6 days of selling tickets. Maybe it’ll be better on a Wednesday? Who knows.
Second-guessing arbitrary dates can only ever be second-guessing.
I think we made the right choice.
Big snow. Small hail. Going out today and realizing I don’t even have the strength and stamina to chip the ice from the door to the walk – I settled for making our stairs and porch less treacherous – figuring the sidewalks are at least flat. Maybe I’ll go ahead and do some more chipping in a couple of hours – but only if there’s no more big snow, no more small hail.
We stayed in and played a gig instead – kinda sloppy – I’ll be the first to admit. It was kind of a last-minute decision and I think if we hadn’t pre-scheduled it I might’ve called it off – but it was an interesting experiment in arbitrary time. Not sure if we saw different people because of the different day of the week or because we fooled with going to our profiles instead of just the pages. I was sloppy and a little distracted and MORTIFIED when Will Schaff popped in and I couldn’t for the Life of my dig up Playground!
On the one hand, it wasn’t at ALL what I wanted to be doing tonight. On the other hand, it may have allll been worth it to get this version of Tom Waits’ “Clap Hands” as translated by Facebook’s closed captioning…
Sing sing the and I
find the Cincinnati in the Sabbath be
hanging up with the bottom for
the clap hands. Clap hands.
The Thunder and the son of a bitch
ain’t coming back here in home.
You can always find a shovel a lap dance.
Happy Hands hands hands.
I said 100 going up to Harlem with the to
$50 out of palette of town
Nobody show mister Nick’s eyes.
Oh what the son of a bitch ain’t
coming back here, No don’t go
in the window and a bird on the
always had a millionaire to
show Love.
Our senses 100 going up to
Harlem, pest and jeans and $50
out of palettes. Don’t show
mister nick’s eye.
Sunshine the real time all the
way to Baltimore but out of
time salvation to wind up in
the they all went to heaven and
little clap hands. Hands.
Crabs I’m you know.
Have him.
