heavens, boiling
"boiling". that's a pretty good euphemism for the state, of late.
my radio alternate, for the second week in a row, was stranded with a bad radiator, notifying me a half-hour before showtime... and i was nearly an hour away from town. this, in turn, made me boil over with foul and abusive language on my swift return (i can report with all truthfulness that the Volvo 850 turbo wagon is quite stable at speed).
at the studio, the advertising manager filled in for thirty minutes... after his shoutingfest with the receptionist. she turned on him for not playing reggae... he retaliated by playing the most clangorous gas music from Jupiter by Pharoah Sanders. hitting notes that only a dog can hear. and laughing.
my stomach is boiling, now, with the aftereffects of IPA on an empty stomach. i suppose the nachos and guacamole were insufficient layering for my guts, last night.
above... the heavens have taken the hint: tornado warnings until 7PM. boiling black over town.
i thought the full moon was done, already?
enough of that. fate pushed me to the box office to buy a ticket to see Allen Toussaint.
got my tux shirt pressed. creases in my pleated wool slacks. a shine on my Doc Martens.
New Orleans soul/jazz/funk in an old movie palace.
that'll slow the boil to a simmer.
