Last night, we had a phone interview after a fairly exhausting practice. I always feel silly doing interviews. I just don't like talking about myself, which seems weird, I'm sure, since this blog is such shameless and unveiled self promotion, but typing little blurbs at home or at work is well within my comfort zone. It's the phone yammering that clams me up.
Anyway, I bring this up only because we were asked my favorite question we've yet been asked in a situation like that: "If you four were on a desert island, who gets eaten first?"
Now, this requires serious thought. I based my answer on who'd be the tastiest, which would be Zach, because, hey, he's got the most meat on his bones and I think, in a nice coconut milk marinade, he's taste kind of like Tom Kha Gai. Later, the point was made that Zach would be far more valuable on a desert island than most of us, since he worked construction & seems to be adept at jerry-rigging. So Dave was suggested. But I think he'd be all sinew and, if the island didn't have dental floss, it'd be pretty aggravating to walk around with leg of Dave wedged under my bicuspid. In retrospect, my answer is this: have Zach rig up a barbeque, try and fix the boat, and then kill & eat him. Hey. It's rough out here. Don't judge me.
And that just reminds me of that band Fine Young Cannibals, who I will now get in your head: "She drives me crazy, and I cain't he-eelp myse-ee-eelf (oo! oo!)"
I guess since this is a journal about an album and not late '80s pop acts or the Donner party I should mention some news. Thing is, we didn't get a new mix last night. Which means its probably coming this morning, but I'm impatient and wanted to get some typing done before that happened. Plus, listening to music at work with my hated RadioShack earphones (which live here because, well, it seems appropriate) is never a real test of quality. I could listen to Vivaldi on those things and get sad. So, I'll keep today light and wish everyone a happy President's Day weekend. Take some time Monday to remember that, once, the executive branch wasn't filled with guys who shotgunned their friend's face.