by DirtyMartini on 12 Aug 2008 15:33
Previously on "The F-Files," a bunch of psychos were stalking a mop-haired drummer with a flag, a daft plot to hang said flag on a ginormous symphonic gong was being buried by the sands of time, and our narrator was/has been/is clearly confused as to what verb tense she is using . . .
By Thursday morning, I slept lousily and woke up nervous. As I mentioned to someone, I wasn't performing that night, but somehow I woke up ready to puke. That just ain't right.
We had certainly tried; I had certainly tried Jeff's patience. I even arranged to get into Manhattan earlier than originally planned -- just in case -- and I let Jeff know my time table and that I would be sure to stick close to MSG. But it seemed moot. Despite the valiant efforts, it just didn't seem possible that things would work out, especially not on such a crazy day.
So we got ready to leave. I checked my bag a million times -- phone, flag, markers, ticket information, wallet; phone, flag, markers, ticket information, wallet -- then realized about 5 minutes into our commute when I came across my SD cards that I had left my camera at home. Crap. Okay, that's not so bad -- there would be plenty of cameras around, and I was hoping to force myself not to take photos during the show anyway. As oversights go, a pretty minor one. I still had my phone clutched in my fist, the Flag in my purse, and all the items necessary to pick up my ticket. And poor Moeskido (whom I owe greatly) patiently understanding that I was going to be a bit twitchy for most of the day.
At MSG I picked up my pit ticket -- which was funnily labeled Row 1, Seat 1 -- and we bumped into stingingintherain and analiafer. Together we tracked down the insanely long pit line consisting of Dietmar and stevel, bumped into Takeshi, met pdxracer and Bongo (!), and then my phone "eyo'd." (My ringer for text messages is "Reggatta.") Text from Jeff: "Still want fly the flag if u r game."
Did I say "twitchy" earlier? Let's make that "unhinged."
If there had been a way to SCREAM in anything louder than ALL CAPS over text message, I would have done so. I may have actually typed loud enough for the poor man to hear me. I told him YES, that I was awaiting instruction -- and then proceeded to hold my breath for the next few hours.
Suddenly there was a glimmer of hope. A beautiful, horrible, fabulous, cruel glimmer of hope.
And once again, it was time to wait. . . .
Last edited by
DirtyMartini on 12 Aug 2008 15:44, edited 1 time in total.
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