The only light in the apartment came from the streelights and the bluish glow of the numbers on the VCR. I could see no colors at all. A few feet away, Ziggy slept in the grand centerpiece bed, under a snow white duvet, his closed, lined eyes and tousled dark hair like slashes of urgent […]
Tag Archives: ziggy
I debated whether to wear the brace for my hand to rehearsal. You know, have it on up until the last minute and then whip it off to actually play? I was debating whether it would be better to do that–and potentially have everyone treat me like glass, which might undermine my authority but might […]
I waltzed into soundcheck feeling pretty good from Vitamin F kicking in. “Who’s doing the very last lounge act of the tour?” I asked. No one moved a muscle. I gave it another couple beats before I said, “Am I going to have to do it myself?”
(Thanks to generous donations last week from readers to our Paypal account, here is a Saturday post! Enjoy! -ctan) On the bus to the venue, Flip sat down with me to strategize pharmaceuticals management. We decided on a Flexeril 30 minutes before soundcheck, another one 30 minutes before showtime (five hours later), and debated whether […]
Ziggy and I slept in the same bunk. Good thing we’re small. We didn’t conk out right away. We lay there, spooned, our heads on the same pillow, talking quietly for a little while. “I guess I really can’t get out of going to your family Christmas this year,” Ziggy said with a low chuckle.
We got into a cab in front of the hotel in St. Louis. The weather was a hot drizzle, with the temperature around ninety and the air like soup. The cab driver was a black guy who definitely didn’t seem to think he had anyone but maybe a couple of college kids in his cab. […]
I woke up at five in the morning having a dream about Jordan. It was a super realistic dream where we were working on a project together and somehow we needed a piece of equipment they didn’t have in the studio and we were going to various lengths to try to get it, which included […]
Shit. Why did I ask him to come to St. Louis? It sure as hell wasn’t so he could watch me drop a guitar pick and almost crack a kneecap I went down so fast with a spasm in my hand so bad it felt worse than the fucking knife had.
The anxiety that hit when I got Ziggy’s page with his landing time was like a railroad spike to the throat. In a weird way that was better than the railroad spike to the head I’d been experiencing, though. And it was weirdly better than the stake-through-the-heart feeling that Ziggy-angst used to give me.
I finally talked to Ziggy for a good stretch on the phone around lunchtime in St. Louis. It had been like seven in the morning when we’d pulled in, Flip made sure I was tucked in and passed out before he went to bed himself, but he’d apparently slept through all the drama on the […]