My short-lived freedom has an expiration date and that expiration date is...tomorrow. Back to work for me. I was thinking about becoming a quasi-professional grifter but I just don't have the requisite skills or total lack of morality. That's okay though. I might've felt a bit squeamish about living on some old lady's permenantly borrowed pension.
So tomorrow, I return to the old job, which shall remain nameless so that my mere association doesn't cripple their stock options. It's nice that there's a slot waiting for me, and, although the job itself is about as fun as lemonade and papercuts, the folks there make it livable, even enjoyable from time to time. It's just that crawling back with your tail between your legs feeling I'm not looking forward to. If I had any pride, I'd be swallowing it.
With this single day of glorious destitute freedom, I went over to the East Bay to get the ol' banjo fixed. She's sitting here on my lap, positively purring. Which is just in time, because we have a little acoustic set to play tomorrow night at Thee Parkside, and the hideous-black-bass-of-death just isn't conducive to a strummy, rocking chair set. If you're in the city tomorrow, you should come. Cheap beer? Check. New Birdmonster songs? Check. Other kickass bands turned down, acoustic style? Check. Free? Double check. Game, set, match, tomorrow night.
Otherwise, all I'm doing is being a self-publicizing, internet slattern and thinking about how good Tombstone was last night. I mean, is there any greater shit-talking line than "I'm you huckleberry."? I don't even know what it means and I love it. Val Vilmer went from that-guy-I-hated-as-the-Saint-and-Batman to why-isn't-he-in-every-movie-ever status in two short hours. Sorry I doubted you, buddy.
Tomorrow, I'll be posting from work (unless my boss is reading this, in which case, I MOST CERTAINLY WILL NOT BE), with maybe something interesting to say.
Lastly, we owe everyone a big thanks who gave us feedback yesterday on the new songs that got posted in blogland and to anyone who bought a CD, thus keeping us from the gutter. Much obliged. We really, really, really (ad infinitum) appreciate it.