Dixie Hangover

Had a merry ol' time Thursday night. Our new keyboard player, Roberta, had a Christmas gathering at her place. She plays in a New Orleans-style jazz band called The Happy Pals, so a few of those folks were there, along with some players from another jazz band called The Silver Leaf Jazz Band. After some obligatory socializing, out came the trombone, tuba, sax, banjo, cornet, snare, guitars, with Roberta on piano directing traffic. What a blast! It was a small basement apartment in a house she shares with her sister and mother, who live above, but everyone was down in the basement. Space was at a premium, but thankfully nobody was skewered by the trombone.

I sat in on nylon-string guitar for a few bluesy numbers (couldn't play real jazz to save my life), and then later in the evening (morning by then, actually), I sat behind the snare and had fun holding down the beat or a while. It was a great time. I left around 3 a.m., had to run like a bugger to catch the bus down Coxwell. Woke up at 7:30 a.m. on my couch with my head on the arm rest. My first thought was 'oh my god, I'll be late for work', then remembered with much relief that I had taken Friday off. My ear was numb for the rest of the day and part of the next, where I had slept on it on the couch. My back was killing me, also from the posture I had slept in, my left calf muscle was sore as hell, likely from the sprint for the bus, and I was hung over like a bastard. A hurtin' unit I was.

Got up from the couch, threw some food in the cat's dish to shut him the hell up, and crawled off to my bed. Woke up around noon to a dreary, rainy day. Rest of the day was a write-off while I recuperated, though I had to slog out to buy cat food and groceries. Felt good to get back inside, warm and dry, and spend the evening watching a tape of the Gram Parsons tribute on "Sessions At West 54th" and the "VH1 Storytellers" with Tom Waits. A night to explore one's inner raindog.