sweet home short room jack stepping fun
I have no time for rooms that are too short.Tonight I played a gig at just such a room. I'm not a hugely tall guy, either. I'm six feet tall. This room had to be like six feet two inches tall in places. It just drove me nuts.
It's like, I'm sitting there minding my business, trying to get drunk and play some guitar and there's this ceiling there just hovering over me. I wanted to poke it in the eye, but it didn't have any eyes, so I just gave it menacing looks in its light fixtures.
I think that's about the same thing.
I wish I had some juice. Apple juice would be good.
One of Walter's favorite things to do is shout at people in his car. I love it when he gets mad. I purposely annoy him just so he'll yell at me because it cracks me up. He's like a grumpy old man who is 40 years too young to be that grumpy. When people sit in his back seat he likes to yell at them not to step on the jack that's back there.
I step on that fucker every chance I get.
He also likes to throw his hat at the TV. He's almost always wearing a ballcap of some kind, so he usually has it on hand to throw at the tv. I guess sooner or later that TV will learn not to fuck around, unless it just likes being pelted with headgear.
Tonight I started to sing a song that I totally did not at all know the words to. I have no idea why I did that. I just knew the title of the song. I sang that over and over.
A lady wanted us to play Sweet Home Alabama. We told her no. She pleaded with us to play Sweet Home Alabama. Still we said no. She offered to buy us all shots if we did. I ripped into it as loud as I could.
And that, ladies and gents, is how it works.
<-- | Comments(4) | -->