I pretend I'm talking to Satan. It usually provides me with surprisingly judicious advice or complete indifference.
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DIRTBIKE LIVE AT ROSIE O'GRADY'S 1/25/02:
We made $200 for the night. This works out to almost $67 an hour, after factoring the fifteen minute breaks in between each set, which in turn works out to almost $16.75 per hour, per person. That's four dollars and seventy-five cents more per hour than I make at my day job. I love music.
Phil broke three (3) strings throughout the course of the evening. We improvised as best we could each time it happened but I can't shake the uneasy feeling that we could have been better prepared for such a contingency. This feeling is aggravated by the suspicion that it wasn't Phil's fault and hence I should not be angry with him. Nevertheless I have always been good at supressing my intuition and as a result I have decided to blame everything that displeased me throughout the evening on Phil and his excessive string-breaking. I hate music.
Playing for four hours was surprisingly easy, all things considered. It was physically draining but I can definitely see us doing it again, especially if it continues to pay the bills. I love music.
It seems that now, more than ever, we are officially a "bar band" and as such the spoils of the occupation are ours to be had. I hate music.
Our friends thought we did a good job and everyone else in the bar seemed to like us. I love music.
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