hard labor.

It’s not quite as hot in our apartment as it has been, but it’s still warm enough that all I really want to do is have a couple more bottles of beer on the porch and then go to bed. But there’s so much work to be done: Burning (at least as many copies as iTunes will allow me — the rest will have to be done on Father of Uncle Crappy’s burner in Columbus), printing labels, covers and song lists. I’ve been a one-man sweatshop for the past couple of days, making sure that the CDs are ready to go by this weekend.

And doing this has done one thing: Kept my mind off the fact that the reunion is in just four days. Which still gives me plenty of time to freak out, if that turns out to be my inclination.

And if you see me in Columbus this weekend, remind me to buy some peanut butter at Kroger. I’m all out, and Giant Eagle’s peanut butter sucks.


One Reply to “hard labor.”

  1. You’ve been a one-man sweatshop for years…and will continue to be unless Columbus cools off this weekend. Your breakdown can wait. Just put it off until friday afternoon and we’ll go through it together. I’ve vowed to keep the spiritual condiments to a minimum and, by god, I’m sticking to it. ( Uh-huh. Famous last words. ) Try to work in an mid-pm arrival and we’ll tune up some on the porch. I’ve got a smudge pot and some sage to bless your ass and drive off the spirits of Dodd, Feinstein, Boxer and the rest of the bed-wetters. Come on home and get right.


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