June 1st, 2004.

Cursed June. Yesterday I had allergies, band practice, and an open mic, and I’ve learned some important lessons.

A weird side-effect of playing with your back to an open door - lots of ass shots from the Folk Art Cafe. — A weird side-effect of playing with your back to an open door – lots of ass shots from the Folk Art Cafe.

1) Band practice is very important, but I’m really having so much fun with the threesome right now, that all I can think ALL through band practice is “mmmm…. threesome”… which isn’t something that should slip out into the microphone, because everyone gets all weird and thinks I’m talking about sex.

2) Don’t take drugs from the drummer. I was under the influence of something vicious last night, in the form of an antihistimine. I was still sort of high when we got back to the house. I’m not sure if I played really, really fast, or if I was percieving the world as running very, verrry, slooooow.

3) A lesson that I really should’ve learned by now – never judge an open mic until you actually play it. Alfred had asked us to come out and play the Sly Fox Pub last night – normally this thing takes place outside on their massive deck, but last night it was drizzly and dribbly with occasional damp, so the whole thing was moved into this very tiny, very Annapolitan space underground, where it was hot, and muggy, and nasty, and moist.

There was us, the host, and two other performers, and Alfred had wandered off, and we were up next (old friend Leigh, from the Year of the Rabbit was one of the other actually play it. Alfred had asked us to come out and play the Sly Fox Pub last night – normally this thing takes place outside on their massive deck, but last night it was drizzly and dribbly with occassional damp, so the whole thing was moved into this very tiny, very Annapolitan space underground, where it was hot, and muggy, and nasty, and moist.

This morning, we felt kind of bad keeping our catch, so we went and found a little idyllic spot to have a frog release party.

King of the Stick was the first to be extracted from the bottle - and he immediately, in keeping with his name, found a stick and climbed it. — King of the Stick was the first to be extracted from the bottle – and he immediately, in keeping with his name, found a stick and climbed it.

Puddle, on the other hand... immediately went for cover. I declare him the wiser of the two. — Puddle, on the other hand… immediately went for cover. I declare him the wiser of the two.

There was us, the host, and two other performers, and Alfred had wandered off, and we were up next (old friend Leigh, from the Year of the Rabbit was one of the other performers) and these two hippie-ish looking creatures have wandered it and are looking all around for someone – and they just looked too much like Alfredians to NOT be – so I started talking to them… one was this very cute percussionist, and the other started getting into the metaphysics of creativity. I apologized for my total inability to follow, and blamed it on Alfred’s antihistimines. We played fast and sweated profusely, and blew the room away, and the owner asked what we did with our Saturdays. Score for us.