The roosteriest rooster there ever was
I was off my game on Saturday, but I attributed that fact to the rigors of an uber-procrastinated housecleaning. Whoops - yep. Really was sick, and here I sit on a Monday with my head in a vise, up to my eyeballs in yogi tea and kleenex.
It was interesting meeting Buckner after the show on Saturday - I only wish it hadn't been at, y'know, two in the morning. Or close. Poor Austin and Eric, held prisoner as I tested the very limits of my live-music endurance. I've got to make it up to you guys.
I was chatting with an old friend yesterday, and they were laughing that I'm very nearly the eponym of the Chinese rooster sign. Heh. Ca-caw.
So now I return to finish watching Ewan and Charley slurp carbonated camel yoghurt on The Long Way Round, finally get around to finishing a couple of good books, and curse the gods for bringing this scourge upon me, like, today, when I had some very important things to do that can't be done with a band of raw pain wrapped around one's temples.