T.C. Folkpunk

Okay, so here's how last night's one-hour gig during the snowstorm of the year unfolded:

00:00 to 00:15- The only mic cable they have at the venue is about five feet long, so I'm positioned right next to the mixing board. Weird, but I can deal. Voice is shaky (I'd had the flu all weekend), but holding up okay under the circumstances. My friend, producer Harrison Fine, is there at the front table for moral support.

00:16 - I realize that the 20-something guy sitting at the table next to Harrison (and who has seemed oblivious to the fact that there's live music) is wearing flip-flops. I'm not kidding. This starts me giggling, which starts me coughing.

00:20 - Harrison types the words "FLIP FLOPS!" in giant letters on his smart phone screen and holds it up so I can see it just as I'm about to do the quiet part of a slow song. More coughing ensues. So much for the quiet song.

00:28 - Mr. Flip-Flops has been reading a hard cover book, the paper sleeve for which has been lying on his table. As he prepares to leave, he FOLDS THE PAPER COVER REPEATEDLY UNTIL IT'S A TINY SQUARE OF PAPER, which he then stuffs between the pages of the book. He walks past me in an attempt to exit through a door that is blocked by a rather large coffee table. I stop my song to turn around behind me and tell him the exit is the other way. He leaves and I start a fresh round of giggling/hacking.

00:38 - My voice is almost gone, so I knock back a Jameson's and play Absolutely Sweet Marie. Harrison has typed the word "COUGH!" on his smart phone screen, which is amusing yet unhelpful.

00:49 - Suddenly, my vocal chords fix themselves and I cruise through the end of the gig. I credit the Jameson's. And proper footwear.