NP: The Rolling Stone, Forty Licks (CD)

I just came back from the grocery store, where I very blearily bought a bottle of Gatorade, a box of donuts and a cannister of allegedly very strong coffee. I am NOT, I repeat NOT, massively hungover. Very tired, yes. A little dehydrated, sure. Just not hungover. Massively, anyway.

The skies opened up again about ten minutes after I got my drums back in the apartment last night (this morning?), which wound up making me feel slightly less annoyed at having gotten caught in a downpour at load-in. Compounded by the fact that the Vaughan's parking lot in the back was blocked by a humongous SUV, when there were still a couple of spots open that he couldn't fit into because of his obvious inadequacy issues. Fucker. He ended up moving his car when Tony got there with the PA, but I passed on the chance to make a scene. Those inadequacy issues didn't have to do with height or strength, by the looks of it. I'm not stupid.

And getting soaked didn't feel so bad when Anto arrived looking like a drowned metrosexual rat. That was pretty funny. Avi, on the other hand, got rock star parking out front after unloading, while I ponied up $7 on the corner, not wanting to have to search for a parking lot in the driving rain.

So the night got off to a roaring start. The show went well enough, as these shows often do. We can be a bit off and still deliver, and I think that was the case last night.

And I just realized why my office light has been on sometimes when I get home. The wind is strong enough with the window open that it's triggering the sensor switch. That, or there's a ghost in the house. If you don't hear from me for a couple of days, it may be the latter.