I'm in Milwaukee today, where apparently swine flu has 'gone airborne'. We're through the looking glass, people. They've recruited Chuck Norris.
At this very moment there is a Belgian at my desk rummaging through a box of 100 assorted bottles of hand sanitizer trying to decide which one will keep him safest - Atomic Apple or Blasting Blueberry.
By the end of the week we'll all be wearing masks and we'll have sacrificed one of the percussionists. The Belgian's still here, the fucking moron.
This is doing my head in- it even started affecting me in Chicago. I was pushing the elevator button with my elbow, flushing toilets with my foot. Every pint was like a dance with death. Or at least a small jig with a sniffle and a sore throat.
Contrary to company advice we did brave the plague and leave our hotel rooms on our only free day amid a twelve-show run. I mean, hello, who's cleaning rooms and serving you breakfast in American hotels? Where did this thing originate again?
Hit Lake Michigan's beach in the morning, sushi for lunch and wound up in the blues part of town watching a country-rock showcase with 3 bands based around Nashville. It was canny good actually. No attitude or posing or preening. Just good, fun country-rock, well-played.
Having stumbled into Little Italy in Baltimore (very Little- it was basically two guys in wife-beaters arguing over a parking space)and walking through Foxtown in Detroit after a trip to the ER, Chicago seemed pristine, leafy, safe. Even serene.
Now if you'll excuse me. I have to go and wash my hands.
1 comment:
"Every pint was like a dance with death. Or at least a small jig with a sniffle and a sore throat."
I love this. LOVE.
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