All Bets Are Off

Y'know, I'd been planning on writing this post about how a former friend of mine had stabbed me in the back, calling me up and telling me the most heinous pile of lies that Cockbreath McPothead was probably spreading because his ass was in serious jeopardy (don't curse out a lipreader, fool - enjoy grill training at McDonald's!), but my situation has changed dramatically because of two little words my wife and I heard the other day at her doctor's appointment:

Multiple Sclerosis.

It wasn't a confirmed diagnosis, but it makes sense. After researching it online, it was crystal-clear. Every defined symptom of MS, she has it. Every last one of them. There will be tests coming, MRI's and CT scans, but a certain sense of inevitability has creeped into our trailer. And the weirdest thing is that one of the reasons for us moving here in the first place (Joy's allergies are relieved here due to the climate) is now the reason we will likely be forced to move home - that same hot, dry climate exacerbates the symptoms of MS. And Joy has already decided our course for the foreseeable future - if the diagnosis is confirmed, we're out of here, waiting only long enough to get her SS/D claim approved. I can't imagine the Feds turning down someone with MS.

In reality, it isn't a death sentence for her. At least not in the proper sense of the term. It's just another disease added on to her burden, another illness that kills by inches at a time. I was quite morose about it for some time, but now I've kinda gotten over it, and back on track. I've got a gig with the Stonz out on the Oregon Coast next week, and I'm taking a detour to drop Joy off in Bend so she can see her sister, who isn't doing too good herself - needing a hip replacement at age 45. October will be a busy month for me, but it will likely be my last October in Reno.

I just find it ironic that poor Mike and Arthur could wind up losing a second drummer in the course of a year for the exact same reason - moving away to care for an ailing relative. Which reminds me, I've gotta give Dre a call, see how his ass is doing.........

Is This Worth It Anymore?

I just don't know. More and more this is just becoming another job to me. And anyone who knows my track record when it comes to employment would know that when I start to consider being the drummer in a band as merely being a job, you just know the shit's gonna hit the fan, and soon. Just being in a band is no longer enough. It's not that I want to run a band, it's that I want to actually contribute to the processes of the band and not merely do what I'm told and otherwise shut the fuck up.

I've also lost a lot of respect for a certain agent. When I'm told from on high that I must go to the Atlantis and prostrate myself at their feet and beg forgiveness for my 'personal problem' without anyone hearing my side of the story (does anyone read this?), only to find that even that opportunity was taken away from me before I'd even had a chance to do so, I have come to the full realization of just how musicians are regarded here. Like week-old shit.

Friends, neighbors and colleagues, this has got to stop. When we get less respect than a burger-flipping miscreant at McDonald's, why is that? When the local media prefers to talk about the days-gone-by of the orchestras that used to do our jobs rather than us, why is that? When any talk of making things better for ourselves is met with cold hostility and threats of blacklisting, why is that? It's because nobody takes us seriously, that's why.

It's up to us to change that. I was actually serious when I said that delivering pizza was beginning to look better than dealing with this, and I know that I've invested way too much time, effort and money into this to just walk away like that. I'm sure that there are things I could do to make myself better, but I also know that we as a group must make changes as well, or else we'll be making even less money and enduring even more shit than we already are now.

So how do we get there from here...............?

There's A Clusterfuck Going On, And I'm The Cluster

This will only be a brief post, as I'm between sets at the Carson Station. But let's just say that the last 36 hours or so has been an exercise in what-the-fuck-now. Stressed, sick, and thoroughly pissed off is your humble blogger, and I'll be in the mood to vent about things when I get done with my night onstage and my time on the road.

Right now, pizza delivery in Port Angeles, WA is starting to look good.