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14 june 2000
----- Sitting in the living room, waiting for a Swanson "Hungry Man" (that's me) tv dinner to finish cooking, going through a mental checklist of a shitload of things I can't forget before I leave the apartment tomorrow morning. Razors (to shave before the gig), shorts and hat (to wear at the gig), checkbook (for my post-surgery follow-up visit at 10am), percocet (just in case), flyers (for last-minute hopefuls who I might persuade to come see us), dry cleaning ticket (for the jacket I'll wear at the gig), and, of course, my usual good spirits. (note heavy sarcasm there) Sang my ass off tonight at practice, and my jaw is getting looser, although it still hurts like hell. It was a short practice: we ran through the set, stuffed the new cd jewel cases, and packed up the equipment so we can easily load it on the truck tomorrow at 5pm. By 6 we should be loading in at the club, sound checking at 7, doors open at 7:30, and we go on at 8 sharp. I hope to shave sometime between 7:30 and 8, and I'm really praying there's a sink in the dressing room. We're pretty ready for this gig, although I'm not discounting any last minute snafu's and fuckups to completely throw us off kilter. It's a new club to us, an unfamiliar stage, a strange sound system, and if the turnout is paltry it'll adversely affect our performance. Nothing like positive thinking... Just popped my final antibiotic for the day. The lower half of my mouth is slightly throbbing. I need to sleep, but first I need to eat, and I really hope I'll be able to down the contents of this tv dinner witout too much pain. I managed to consume a bag of Cheetoes this afternoon, and a couple of pretzels and cookies after that, so my tolerance for chewing food is definitely improving. Tonight, though, will be the first time I actually pick up a fork and try to down an entire solid meal. ~~~ In the forum:What does "Malibu" Mean to You? 14 june 1999: : didn't write 14 june 1998: just shouldn't write : The real question is, fifty years from now, when I'm all shrivelled up and what's left of my brain is wired into whatever passes for a personal computer, will I look back upon these words and be happy that I decided to write this entry? Yeah, I probably would. It doesn't take much to get an eighty-year old excited.
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