So I'm sitting in a hotel room in Carbondale, Illinois with my laptop perched on the edge of the bed. I got a call last week from a very famous guitarist that his musical partner and he were going their separate ways and he needed a new one, so I flew out to Nashville and did a couple of gigs, which went very well.
Part of the musical divorce was that he got to keep the 34-foot tour bus, which has over 250,000 miles on it. It's really well kept up on the inside and the engine runs great, but some meathead took it upon himself to fuck up the wiring so that all we have is a speedometer and lights.
I live at the beach. I was not prepared for this fucking heat. My god, it's like getting fifty saunas a day. How in the world do you people live in this stuff? It's not the heat that bothers me, it's the humility.
I'm supposed to be sleeping because I'm getting him up in three hours to hit the road, but I thought I'd log on and babble at you folks a bit. I miss the asylum, for some reason.
Anyway, we're cutting things short so we can get to cooler climes and resume our evil ways, and will hit the road again this winter. I'll be home by wednesday (I hope) so you all can have this opportunity to tell me to fuck off and other epithets of wisdom and affection and I'll respond in kind as opportunity and hotels with free local calling permits.