Well, summer time is here, and that means outside gigs. Outside gigs totally kick ass. I mean, who doesn’t like being outside for one thing, and then who doesn’t like a gig? No one!
Sam, Francisco and I did one this weekend at the Emory University campus. They were having some sort of greek olympics or some shit like that. They were playing flag football and ultimate frisbee and totally not paying attention to us whatsoever.
We set all our shit up and started to play. My drums sounded great. Here’s a picture of Sammy on stage in front of my drums, giving it hell. This was taken just before I pulled my pants down and trotted back and forth in front of him with my lily-white ass hanging out.
“I’m a little teapot short and… where’s everyone going? Hey!”
After a while I started to get bored, so Fran and I switched up. He loves playing drums. He’s awful at it and he divots my heads up, but he loves doing it. I played guitar.
When it came time for me to take a solo, I just got totally fed up with the college kids who hired us to play not giving a shit about us actually playing, so I started running around like an idiot. I jumped up and down. I ran back and forth. I laid on the ground and kicked myself around in a circle like the three stooges, all while soloing my nutbag off. Still, no one even looked.
Well, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t interested a disaffected college student in much.
The same thing happened to me Sunday night at my Tin Roof gig, so I just pointed my mic stand at the floor and laid down for a few songs.
Here’s the frightened crowd at the Tin Roof:
You want to put WHAT in my WHAT?
That’ll teach em.
Hi. I'm 
Jim
OK, so I’m sitting in my office pondering how you want me to try recording you tonight at Tin Roof, which sounds like fun as I’m sure I’m the only man on the planet that can succeed in making you sund like hell. Anyway, I realized that I want to call you and listen to your whispery voice so that I can masturbate (I prefer to spell it mastErbate, because I like S&M, and I am my own master) but I left your number at home. So I was thinking I could call Sam to get your number, but then I would have to choke off to his voice and not have any energy left for yours. Either way, I’ll try to come out tonight and fondle, I mean, record, you. Perhaps, however, if you check your messages, you could give me a buzz.
Dwight