Waste Not

WARNING: this post is not for the squeamish; I'm going to talk about human waste, namely, my disposal of it as it relates to playing drums in a rock band. Read on at your own discretion.

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I tend to "sling a deuce" (in the parlance) prior to playing a gig. Not immediately prior. Usually about half-an-hour out, when a mixture of nerves and bourbon-and-diet-coke culminates in a troubling mix of lower-bowel gurgling, announcing the impending onslaught.

Okay, okay, "onslaught" is not the proper term here. But look: I have to poop every time I'm about to play a gig. It's almost a superstition at this point, and tonight I didn't "rid myself of the bad notes" (as I like to describe it). And, frankly, my playing was sub-par.

Now, correlation not being causation, and I not being one to succumb to the whims of the superstitious, I hesitate to tie my failure to "rock the shit" with my failure to "shit the rock", as it were. But there's a lingering doubt. And we just may never know.