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It’s a Sickness

A couple of weeks ago, I worked a party at the New Jersey Performing Arts Center in Newark. We were in the small upstairs ballroom (the Chase Room). When we arrived, I was stunned to find out that in the Center’s main theater, Modern Drummer magazine was hosting their annual mega concert, featuring some of the world’s greatest drummers. I clutched my chest and popped a couple of nitros. Stewart Copeland is here in this building?! Fan me, somebody.


I pulled myself together and got to work. Somebody had to joke that all those drummers were in the house just to hear me. Ha-ha. Very funny. Of course, then I half-expected to see Stewart Copeland poke his head in the door to, you know, check me out.

Ever since then, I’ve been living in a highly agitated state. I needed to find a release to satisfy the nearly unbearable tension. Last night, I got it. While Anne was at a beekeeping meeting, I slaked my unquenchable thirst and indulged in that perversion so vile that none dare speak its name. In the quiet of the empty house, I plugged in the speakers, cranked up the volume, and surfed the internet looking for... drum solos!

It’ll just be our little secret, ’kay?

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