Find the Promoter... More Dumb Shock and Awe... Never Give Up!
I vaporized my knuckle. I hit a large, unforgiving wood door while attempting to hit the promoter in the face. I missed. There wasn't as much pain as I expected, but my mood turned foul as the promoter fled the scene. I was left to the mercy of Jen, Cris, and Rocka and the bandmates who were less than thrilled at the prospect of my inability to load all the gear back into the practice space at 3am. I'm hoping for a rematch once this heals, but I think the promoter has skipped town in congeto on a Thai cargo ship filled with human feces and syphilis-ridden semen. We knew he was a drug-addled vicious rat when he double-booked the night, making promises to both bands - and leaving me to deal with his rotten mess.
I'm off to the goddamn hospital, where I will undoubtedly have the opportunity to read through several good books before someone is able to provide me with a new, metal knuckle. Which ought to help when I head back over to Thailand to find this motherfucker. I'll ask the Doc whether he can provide me with better aim with this new knuckle.
Update: I've only managed to provide myself a convenient contusion. Unfortunately the Doc wasn't keen on replacing my currently bruised knuckle with a shiny new contusion-free stainless Knuckle of Justice. I'm left with a hampered ability to type, a prescription for vicodin and an complimentary ice pack.
Taking account of it all, last night was a bad show. There is a bad shock in being left a few minutes to wire together heavy amplifiers, losing power, and running out of time about a quarter through the set. Snapping the headstock off the bass in the ensuing melee is a heavy consequence for any professional musician to accept.
I'm off to the goddamn hospital, where I will undoubtedly have the opportunity to read through several good books before someone is able to provide me with a new, metal knuckle. Which ought to help when I head back over to Thailand to find this motherfucker. I'll ask the Doc whether he can provide me with better aim with this new knuckle.
Update: I've only managed to provide myself a convenient contusion. Unfortunately the Doc wasn't keen on replacing my currently bruised knuckle with a shiny new contusion-free stainless Knuckle of Justice. I'm left with a hampered ability to type, a prescription for vicodin and an complimentary ice pack.
Taking account of it all, last night was a bad show. There is a bad shock in being left a few minutes to wire together heavy amplifiers, losing power, and running out of time about a quarter through the set. Snapping the headstock off the bass in the ensuing melee is a heavy consequence for any professional musician to accept.