Openly Weeping

I’m writing this from the Honolulu International Airport, en route to the mainland for a couple gigs before hightailing it back to Hawaii for another week of R&R. I’m privilaged to spend the holidays each year in a VERY rural part of the Big Island that’s mostly native Hawaiian, with nary a Bubba Gump Shrimp outpost in sight. Even after just ten days, it’s amazing how jarring it is being thrust back into the world of knee-high socks, garish floral everything, and people from Wisconsin.  

All this said, it’ll be fun performing with the Allen Stone team at the Seahawks-Cardinals halftime show - from what I understand, we’re playing on the SkyDeck, which means your friend Trevor, much to the amusement of our crew, will be placed near the railing and rendered non-functional by his crippling fear of heights. Mercifully, we play for eight whole minutes, plenty of time to soil myself but not so long that I can’t pass the time making deals with God, and then it’s self-soothing via free booze until my shaking and openly weeping subside. Oh, the glamor of show biz!

362 of 365. Almost one full year of writing every day…