Sad.
Happy.
Happy.
Sad.
Trying to remember happy.
So, I have a lot of gigs right now. That is a good thing. I am singing in Chicago on real stages with real jazz fans in the audience. Great. We even performed seven nights in a row. I am missing out on my so-called social life, though. A necessary sacrifice it is, saving money for travel and such.
Bob Schneider. Sexy. Talented. Not-so-sexy name, but trust me ladies and gentlemen, whatever your preference is, chances are, you wouldn't kick him out of your bed. Okay, so his band came to town last Monday, and I had a gig. Ticket-holding friends at work were excited and I was jealous. I went to Eatzi's for sushi to console myself. Sitting at the bar, alone, I chomped an unagi and heard a familiar voice behind me. I looked to the right, and there was Bob Schneider, walking to the sandwich counter, talking on his cell phone. After a phone consultation from Ashlee, I craned my neck to speak to the god among men atop my handmade pedestal. I can barely remember what words passed between us, but I felt about 14 when I walked out.
Tom Jones. Sunday. Ravinia. I swear to God, when Tom Jones walked onto the stage, the sweltering temperature that had finally subsided with the setting of the sun rose at least 7 degrees. What a great concert.
Back to the gigs. There are a ton of them. I know being in a band is about sacrifice. But I am missing out on Kelly's free tickets to see Jonny Lang to play with my rock and roll band which will soon (midnight Friday) be defunct. This is the second time I have missed The Blessed One to play a rock gig. Urrrggghhhh!!
Try not to be jealous. Try to remember that you met Bob. And you only had a little seaweed in your teeth.
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