I wrote some stuff regarding the last couple of days, including the topic of jet-lag-induced tiredness and the logistics of setting up the gear here in Austin, Texas. Then my words were lost. After some cursing, I have come to accept this sign from the digital gods; I had little to share of any real interest. The balloon has deflated — I have no desire to recount word for word what coloured my blank screen earlier, feeling it suffice to say that nothing genuinely interesting has occurred thus far in rehearsals. Nonetheless, as many poor writers do, I shall prattle on, regardless of my shallow conclusion drawn in the previous sentence.
We had a ‘tech-day’; just the sound crew, production, wardrobe, and backline departments. We set the equipment up, line-checked it, and ensured the minimum requirements of electro-mechanical operation were met. It was a mere five-hour workday for The Winning Team, but my body felt as if it were subject to twenty. By the time we agreed enough was enough, I was a simple shell of a person, struggling to stay awake until a sensible midnight.
The Winning Team shall leave the hotel at 10am, have some breakfast on the way to the rehearsal studio where we will change strings, clean and polish things, unwrap new things, plug things in to other things and if, like me, others suffer from acute lack of time, place and self awareness, break and lose things.
We shall see Leonard and the band later today. Still feeling the shock of geographical displacement, I imagine come tonight, nearing the end of the first day’s rehearsal, I shall appear a clean-shaven werewolf, salivating to the idea of horizontal rest.
The only thing left to mention of interest is the multiple spewings of the F-word from my mouth upon realising this morning’s work was lost. But — as we so often say in The Winning Team: Fuck It.