HEY, CHECK IT OUT

I've been shamed.

Last night, this touring band from Ireland going on right after me brought an entourage of happy drunks and apple cheeked maidens to my show, and they were a pretty good band too. Apparently Vidiot was there, but I didn't see him. (I'll give him credit for attendance, though. The three increasingly agitated cell phone calls were a big ole hint.)

I was scratchy and hesitant, with stage rust I have no business having, even after six months. My guitar sounded like a ukulele, my voice resembled Jack Nicholson's at the end of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, all slurry and kill-me-now-chief. But the place was lovely, I got paid, which is always nice, and though I was fully prepared to take all my new frie-ends out afterward, a mess of people took off at the end of my set, so I was even in bed at a decent hour, which of course makes the baby Elvis very happy.