As you can probably tell by the brevity of my posts lately, I’ve been busier than an ant during a buffalo stampede. Huge projects at home, huge projects at work, huge projects of an artistic nature permeating everything. I need a freaking holiday. You know, the kind where you’re incommunicado with the office, there are no renovations to be done and every art project has been labelled either Finished, Fuck It, or Sold.
A former teacher said there are two kinds of working musicians, the ones who do it full time and are single, poor and renting a suite in someone’s cobwebby basement, or the guy who does gigs at night, and has house, a family and a fulltime day job. The former miss out on the house, a stable relationship, and kids. The latter, he says, get some of everything, but they’re likely headed for an over-work aneurism ambulance. Yeah, the latter. Moi.