i am getting ready to play disc 2 of the art blakey band live at birdland with clifford brown and lou donaldson, (both volumes 1 and 2 are astounding and i strongly recommend them both) when i am sent on a rum run and a chicken broth journey. i head to the local co op, which as far as i know, i have no control over. i grab the cheapest phillip broth i can find, but to my dismay, i discover that the check out line is as long as tom jones's penis. i angrily depart and head to the library, where i am currently blogging.
next up is the rum. a couple of minutes ago, i just realized that i left my license to kill at the eddie house. even though i have archie moore hair than king kong, i am afraid they are going to bacardi me.
agh! i haven't heard clifford brown so long that i am starting to think of playing a grant green record instead. god, where have all the idle moments gone?
ok, i got to get back out there.
maybe i'll play out there.
what's the use? by the time, i get home, i'll probably be too george tuckered out to be able to concentrate on it. perhaps i'll make the obligatory phone call to ron not carter pinko instead.
freddie, i'm not ready for 08. the years just seem to get shorter and shorter.
until next time.
i better rum.
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