The mission I've chosen to accept and already paid for ... seven concerts in a month's time (or thereabouts). It started Friday night in San Diego with Rilo Kiley, which was awesome, a full review coming Monday night after I've seen the Santa Monica show (I'll compare. That's a writerly reviewing challenge I've not yet done).
Then Wednesday night is Missy Higgins (and amazing chicken quesadilla) at the Hotel Cafe, the following Tuesday is Gemma Hayes (and more quesadilla action), then The Pipettes Thursday of that week, then in November it's Joanna Newsom and Stars (yay! first time and I am really digging In Our Bedroom After the War).
Possible additions: a second Joanna Newsom show, Blair and Neko Case.
Honestly, though, I can't imagine having the constitution to add any shows. The past two weeks felt me literally at the most tired I've ever been. The quantity of hours wasn't anything new. I used to work minimum 50+ hours every week while working at the Times Union, often about 60 per week. And the last few weeks at L.A. Youth were similar, but I had a literal injection of like some calcifying lead in my blood that just wore me down. Age, eh?
A friend asked today how work was going. My only reply was that it was going. He thought I was implying it sucked. Not at all. The quality of the work is as good as it's ever been, if not better (we have amazing students with amazing taste in music), but the quantity of work has been kicking my ass, so yeah, you can have too much of a good thing.
Wow, after reading this post on the blog, I realized that it more or less parrots something I posted last week, save for the stuff about "too much of a good thing," the new writing challenge and the specifics of the shows. I suck it. A definite sign that tomorrow should be a massage Monday. But I looked at my monthly credit card statement and realized that it can't be a massage Monday. :(
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