magical, mystical three-day weekend

Sleeping in until 8:15 a.m. may not seem like much of an accomplishment, until you remember that it's (A) me and (B) I'd already conked out before eleven last night. However, I'm not sure how great of sleep it was, seeing as my dreams were essentially calling past shows in a battle royale of technical failures, line flubs, and FOH mishaps. So that was fun.


I wish I could remember what caused the cut over my right eye (as you'd think I'd remember such an action), but I'm going to assume it's another casualty of Monday's strike and hope that I perhaps get a cool scar out of it.



In completely unrelated news, it just hit me that I made lunch plans with someone at a mainly Irish pub on St. Patrick's Day. I think I'm going to ride that one out and see what happens.