i don't remember growing older
Sunday, March 09, 2008
After a too-busy week culminating in this afternoon's gig, the fourth in a fortnight, am now experiencing a sort of brain bonk. Not the same as a mindfuck: it just means that I want to sit on the couch and drool quietly for a bit. And figure out how to make a tuatara cake for Madam's fourth birthday next week.
Still, simultaneously hosting a barbecue and playing a gig proved more feasible than I expected: the secret, it turns out, is to delegate, viz. wait until all the guests arrive, then thrust the wailing baby at your husband and leg it. And it was all worth it for the sort of guest of honour who manages to phone to offer to come and pick me up from the gig at the precise moment when, the Rebs part being over, the soloist had just started in on the Andrew Lloyd Webber. Which, surprisingly, was in no way improved by being sung in Yiddish. Talking of which, another Rebs cover idea: Baby Got Back, by Sir Mix-a-lot. Now that would sound great in Yiddish.
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