so, let’s say you want to kill yourself (keep in mind, i JUST finished dr. oswald t. pratt’s book, you are worthless…depressing nuggets of wisdom sure to ruin your day), and you decide to do it by plunging from something high, like a REALLY tall building. now i know, from experience, that when i drop in elevation quickly (and i’m talking about a relatively short distance, like a roller coaster or something) that my ears pop, and to stop the discomfort, i yawn or pop my jaw or something to clear them. if someone who happens to be plunging to their death has THEIR ears pop, and they yawn or whatever to clear them, do they have a moment of clarity where they think, “holy SHIT…i just popped my ears. i DO care about myself…i DO care about my well-being…” so the last thought that runs through their head before their head is a runny pile of goo is, “OOPS!!!!”?
thursday at a glance…
roll out of bed WAY late (see previous entry) (2019 NOTE: or not – lol) because i forget that i have to leave the house as early as i do to be at the office in way west austin even though we’ve now been there for over six months. on the way in call randy only to be told it’s all good since i have to work that show last night which i had also forgotten about. get to the office and work on PCs realizing that the problem i had been dealing with the day before was all about having the wrong disc of software and not necessarily about my PC workin’ skills (or lack there of), get disgusted and rip disc out of PC drive and snap it into fourths in front of co-workers. go get chicken cesar salad from deli down the hill and munch before solving two big promoters problems that could have gotten me out of the office for a few hours over the phone so i don’t have to leave the office and therefore never seem to un-ass my desk for the rest of the day as i sit, work, talk on the phone, and write you folks a quick bit about waking up late (sorry for the late post…but at least that “days at a stretch with no entry in sight” bullshit seems to be behind us, right?) then go hit the gym where i forget that i will spend the several hours AFTER the gym working a salsa show (as in the musical genre, not some food fair or something) and therefore on my feet for several hours on a hard concrete floor so i push it and nail fifteen calf raises and ten leg press reps on six-hundred and fifty (650) pounds. after the show, i went home…
two notes from the show:
a rather lanky gentleman is buying tickets to see ruben blades (latin gentleman who’s been in several movies who also makes salsa music and who’s guest list included the likes of robert rodriguez and robert duval…neither of which showed at the box office to claim tickets, and i didn’t see them milling around backstage, but they may have been there) and waves at some woman walking past me as he does who greets him through the glass by name and says she’ll see him inside. the woman was NOT lanky…in fact, let’s call her “anti-lanky”, and THAT’S just to be kind. he goes in, and five minutes later is in my face demanding a refund complaining that the show isn’t music, but rather ruben just doing a monologue about himself. my response:
“sir, we’re only ten minute into the set, and you only came in five minutes ago…the timeslot for ruben blades on the line-up sheet is for almost THREE HOURS…i wouldn’t give up hope just yet.”
he responds by slamming his ticket stub down near my cash drawer and then holding it there. i look down at his hand, look back up, and very calmly say, “you don’t wanna do that”. when he inquires what i might be implying, i continue, “with your hand near my cash like that, it looked as if you might be trying to get a refund whether i liked it or not, and i was simply saying that if you DO try and reach for my cash, i can’t be held responsible for what i do to you, but rest assured whatever happens to you, you really deserved”, and then i give him my best, “so, you wanna keep FUCKING with me?” smile. he retreats, and mouths a bit more as he wanders off. jackass.
a few hours later, a small, round, latin gentleman comes up to me, spins the guest list around, looks at it, and then says, “there was a name left off of here…may i see your pen?” my response was, “why certainly…if you can tell me who the hell you are…” he apologizes and begins to introduce himself, and midstream the house manger walks by. “k.c., would you like to introduce us?”, i ask him. he responds by verifying that this IS the tour manager, and we’re all good, so i front him my pen. he compliments me on my professionalism. we’ll see how much of that i have left AFTER i deal with bocktoberfest this saturday, for which i might just shave my head…but we’ll see.
another 2019 note – i always remember shaving my head the same day i got it cut short, but maybe i rode it out for a bit? i do know i did it the first time, with clippers, right before bocktoberfest, so i’ll guess that was 2002.