Good day, wayfarers and troubadours. At this precise moment, I am putting the finishing touches on today’s NY Post crossword puzzle, and will continue on to the su doku puzzles next. As you might have guessed, it is a very slow day at the friendly confides of this part-time, pocket-filling (slightly, only slightly) mundane locale knows as “my job (sort of)”. By the way, what was Judy Garland’s daughter’s name? I don’t think I know this, other than it starts with an L and ends with an NA. Lorna, maybe? Anyone? Ah, fuck it.
Last night we had a five man rock exploration in the basement of 345 House. It hasn’t been that packed and humid in quite a while. It was thunderous, leaving those without earplugs deafened. Thankfully when I woke up this morning my ears had ceased ringing. I live to hear another day. It went something like this: we had two drum kits set up, one legitimate 7-piece kit and one makeshift kit with a 32″ marching bass drum and a snare, both operated with kick pedals, allowing for someone to play bass/snare and also a guitar at the same time. Then there was Ian’s obscenely loud Fender Dual Showman Reverb head&cabinet with an array of effects (distortions, delays, loop generator and phaser), my Twin Reverb and we even broke out the ol’ Peavy Bandit 112 for Jack to noodle his spastic anti-melodies through. Beers were consumed and rock was brought. At one point everyone looked at each other and, with nary a spoken word delivered (from my vantage point behind the drums) we burst into a raucous rendition of Chip Taylor’s “Wild Thing” with a shirtless Zlotsky screaming his head off. It was one of the most entertaining (and possibly homoerotic) jams we’ve had in quite a while. Supposedly, this Saturday will prove to be an even larger shindig, with the addition of 3 other musicians to our regular little clan. If you’re in the area you should stop by my dank little sound cave. Various passersby have hailed it akin to a religious experience. Deists and atheists are both welcome. If you want to join, bring some equipment because we’re running low on amps and cables.
A customer just came in and asked me how school was. I told him I had graduated and he was like, “Oh, I thought you were in High School.”
Note to self: The short hair, the shaved face and the body of an thirteen year old girl makes me look much less mature.
On the bright side, we had a conversation for a few minutes about the book and he was talking about how noble it was for me to attempt such a task. I was like, “Yeah, but you’re a doctor you don’t have to really worry about scrounging by like I am.” He laughed and told me that he wanted a copy. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I might not see him again because this place is closing soon. God, what the fuck am I going to do with my time when this cushy job comes to a fiery, bulldozed ending? Watch more television while eating Klondike bars, not showering, I guess.
Then the doctor told me his arm was getting tired, could I please turn my head and cough already.
