I don’t understand arguments. I don’t understand what happens or why. I feel like other people must understand them better. Am I wrong?
“Listen to me, you don’t have to push yourself,” Remo said. We were backstage at the venue, which was another outdoor amphitheater type of place, alone in a production trailer where the airconditioner was working overtime to battle heat and humidity in the mid-nineties. It was a losing battle.
“I’m not pushing myself,” I claimed. It was a complete lie and we both knew it but I couldn’t stop myself from saying it. From insisting, “I’m fine.”
Okay, so I discovered I couldn’t out-and-out lie. Which is good, because it’d make me a hypocrite. “Or, I will be,” I amended. “I’m not making it any worse by playing.” I held up my hand and fluted my fingers like that proved something. “And it’s only two shows to go.”
“I’m more worried about your head than your hand right now,” Remo said.
“My head will be fine, too,” I said. “Flip will make sure I don’t walk into traffic.”
“Don’t joke about that sort of thing.”
“I’m not joking.” I wasn’t. Not really. I knew going on stage unable to tell if my shoelaces were tied–or if I even had shoelaces in the first place–was not ideal, but as long as I stayed in the pocket and could minimally communicate with the band, we could get through it. No, it wasn’t the best situation. But at the end of the tour we weren’t making any big changes. I wasn’t going to pull any surprises. Not intentionally, I mean. “It’s only two shows,” I repeated, like that made all the difference.
He tried a different tack. “If Carynne could see you, she’d have my balls in a sling.”
“Court’s been watching me every night and she’s fine with it.”
“Your sister worships the ground you walk on. And your health isn’t her priority.”
“And it isn’t yours, either.” I know. I was getting downright stubborn about this. But come on, it was Only Two More Shows. “Look. You’re the boss. You don’t want me to play, you tell me to sit out.”
He made an unhappy face.
“Was last night’s show that bad?”
“No,” he admitted. “But last night?”
“I was okay by morning.”
“I thought I was going to have to take you out back and shoot you like Old Yeller to put you out of your misery,” he said with a shake of his head.
Okay yeah, I was miserable, but if I only had to do that twice more, I’d live, and besides, we weren’t going to repeat yesterday’s plan again, but I didn’t want to go into fine detail of my drug regimen with Remo. It felt…weird. Instead I said, “Tonight if I’m really hurting I’ll keep it quiet.”
I wasn’t expecting him to be angry at me then. “Dammit, Daron! That is not what I’m trying to say!”
So I was angry back. “So what do you want, then? For me to give up? Do you want me on that fucking stage or not? I’m here because of you, motherfucker! You, and no one else!”
And then I shied away from him instinctively, but he wasn’t trying to hurt me. He was trying to hug me.
Okay, fine. I hugged back.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
He was silent a moment. His jacket smelled like smoky honky tonks. “For raising my voice,” he eventually said, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t what he was apologizing for.
“Me, too,” I said, and we broke apart. And although a second ago we’d both been clenched-fist angry, now I felt, actually, like this was the best I’d felt about Remo in weeks. Months, maybe.
I still don’t understand it.
(Wow, you guys, you’re on pace to potentially trigger another Saturday post this week. We’re at $56 as I’m getting ready to post this. Remember, anyone who wants the St. Louis scenes from Ziggy’s point of view, plus the “honeymoon night,” drop a donation of at least $1 into the Tip Jar or use this direct link to our Paypal: https://www.paypal.me/daronmoondog. Thank you all for your support! -ctan)
It feels like Remo and Daron are finally working their way around to whatever it is they really need to say to each other 😉
They are both so good at expressing themselves, no?
I know I’m being a stubborn ass but COME ON
I think Remo wants *you* to make your health your first priority, Daron, and to let other people make you one of their top priorities without bristling and trying to find the catch. He cares about you, the whole you, not just the guitarist. You used to know that and it feels like you’ve lost sight of that over the past couple of years, that you can and do matter to the people around you as more than a musician (and, yes, you are more than “just” a musician).
What Sanders said
Same. Let people be concerned, nothing to be defensive about. Although I’m hoping you can get this together before the kickoff of Ziggy’s tour. I would hate to have you going through this during the weeks leading up to and throughout that tour. That’s when I really want you to rock!
*grumble grumble* you’re undoubtedly right but for whatever reason I just want him to leave me the fuck alone to get through it. I’ll get through it. I will.
You’re very prickly today. I suggest a little Vitamin Z. We all know how that makes you feel. 😉
Also, I forgot to mention the recent tweets and retweets. Two thumbs up for porn over hate and Lady Gaga fucking killed it! Hey, if we’re stuck with this joke of an administration, at least we owned the Super Bowl… Right?!
Yeah, I could definitely use my recommended daily allowance of Ziggy right now.
As for Gaga, some people say I should aim higher but I felt it was pretty significant to hear the words “gay, straight, or bi, Lesbian, transgendered life” and not as slurs from the frickin halftime stage of the Super Bowl. I don’t know how to aim higher than that? (Well, okay, one way would be have a queer president of the USA…)
That would be pretty awesome, indeed. Did you watch the Super Bowl commercials, too? Many of them had positive immigration themes, so of course people are complaining that they are anti-Trump and calling for boycotts of their products. Might have to stock up on Budweiser and I don’t even like it. Lol
You know what? I think even the SB commercials that were just generically patriotic american values seemed anti-Trump because Trump is so antithetical to those values. Even just the regular old “good sportsman” stuff they teach in grade school: share, be nice to people, help others, play by the rules–seem anti-Trump because he so patently doesn’t do any of those things.
James Buchanan. Historians discovered correspondence with his male lover in his papers after his death.
He was’t openly queer; he wasn’t competent either. He’s on my ten worst list.
Obviously I mean openly gay. History is full of closet cases. Kings and popes, too.
I like you better when you’re not acting like my stubborn eight year-old nephew when he needs a damn nap.
You had to be a self-reliant kid. Then you had to be a self-reliant adult. People treated you like crap. You internalized it. Now we’re all talking about it, people noticed, and you’re having to face some changes and some admissions that maybe you were wrong about one more thing about yourself. It sucks and it’s hard, but it’s not a bad thing that people want to support you. Just be glad that it’s Remo because he’s a wimp at confronting you. Carynne’s come to Jesus on this will/would make this look like a cakewalk.
Lucky for me she’s not showing up until the last day. And I need a nap. I really really really need a nap. For like a week.
Did I miss something? The show “last night” had to be Knoxville as there are only two shows left. I don’t recall reading about the show to know what went wrong, nor is it clear whether Ziggy is still with Daron.
It’s probably crystal clear to everyone else; old age explains a lot.
Daron tried hash oil and got a massive headache.
Or I was so wacked out that I forgot a whole day. But I don’t think so. The show was fine which is why it wasn’t memorable. It was the crash from double Vitamin F and hash oil that was the bad part.