Everybody had a good year, everybody had a good time
Everybody pulled their socks up, everybody put their foot down
Oh yeah
It's Friday, the day that dirty deeds get done. A yellow brick road promise of anything and anywhere. Forty consecutive hours to ride, rip it up and carve the fall line without being hassled by the man.
It warmed up here tonight, maybe to the 40's. That's bad news for me, because the five different weather websites I obsessively check promised a storm cycle, starting tomorrow. (At this point, I am fairly certain I could be a t.v. weatherman with little or no training.) It may still come. Who knows?
I was hoping to get onto the mountain. Screw it. I'll go anyway. If there isn't fresh powder, I'll entertain myself with high-speed screamers and some tree riding to keep the legs strong and the wits sharp.
There was some talk of plugging in and getting loud, but Bells has been severely, grossly negligent in repairing the high-hat on the drum kit. I offered to get it done, but he think's he's Spicoli's t.v. repairman dad - "He's got an awesome set of tools. He can fix it." Negative, ghostrider, the pattern is full. The high-hat is a huge part of my drum game. (There is precious little to my drum game, truth be told, however, it sure is fun.)
There is also an Ansel Adams exhibit at the museum where we played that Montana State Christmas gig a few weeks ago... I have been wanting to check that museum out.
You owe eight more hours to The Man. After that, you can savor the sweet taste of freedom for 2.5 days. If not, I hope you have a nice, subversive lunch.
Good day, sir. I said Good Day!
It warmed up here tonight, maybe to the 40's. That's bad news for me, because the five different weather websites I obsessively check promised a storm cycle, starting tomorrow. (At this point, I am fairly certain I could be a t.v. weatherman with little or no training.) It may still come. Who knows?
I was hoping to get onto the mountain. Screw it. I'll go anyway. If there isn't fresh powder, I'll entertain myself with high-speed screamers and some tree riding to keep the legs strong and the wits sharp.
There was some talk of plugging in and getting loud, but Bells has been severely, grossly negligent in repairing the high-hat on the drum kit. I offered to get it done, but he think's he's Spicoli's t.v. repairman dad - "He's got an awesome set of tools. He can fix it." Negative, ghostrider, the pattern is full. The high-hat is a huge part of my drum game. (There is precious little to my drum game, truth be told, however, it sure is fun.)
There is also an Ansel Adams exhibit at the museum where we played that Montana State Christmas gig a few weeks ago... I have been wanting to check that museum out.
You owe eight more hours to The Man. After that, you can savor the sweet taste of freedom for 2.5 days. If not, I hope you have a nice, subversive lunch.
Good day, sir. I said Good Day!
Labels: she keeps naggin at you night and day ... enough to drive you nuts
posted by Joe at
11:32 PM
2 Comments
