By the time I finish writing this post it will be the glorious 4th and how am I celebrating? By getting a jacuzzi size bathtub to soothe my tired muscles. The universe has made an entertaining counter-offer, which I declined. Here in my hotel room is a bottle of Maker’s Mark whisky, still about two fingers full, which was confiscated from the dressing room of a certain long-established band who performed at the festival where I worked today. The already consumed portion helps explain a pathetic and pedantic scene which took place between that band and another, newer, slicker band. Misunderstandings and far from classy behavior all around. I poured myself a little to try it – poured, believe me, there are only certain bands I want to share lipspace with antiseptic properties of whisky notwithstanding – but I could only drink a couple sips before giving up in disgust. Good single malt has spoiled my tongue for lesser tastes. No loss.
Perhaps I always feel like this on the middle night of an event, but I am glad that I don’t work in the event biz all the time. Here’s to low drama! (I’ll raise a glass next time there’s something worth drinking in it).