I’m in the press corral at the Park City Marriott using one of the public Machines (thank you HP) minding the signs that limit my use to 15 minutes. Uh oh.
My laptop died over the weekend and I”m getting that creepy, crawly feeling knowing that, instead of building my MP3’s for KCPW throughout the day, I’m going to have to head back to Salt LakeCity and home to cut the spots overnight before heading up here at 6am the next morning. This, I believe, will get old pretty fast.
Everything else is going swimmingly. I have my Press Credentials complete with 6 year old head shot from a gig I had teaching children how to act. God, when did I get this fat?
More to come…
“…when did I get this fat?” If your anything like me, it was last week. Just woke up one morning and POOF! I’d blown up. I’ve been to doctors and they can’t figure out what it is – no evidence I’m having an allergic reaction, I don’t have high levels of toxins in my blood, I haven’t been burned… the doctors just look at me and say “well… your fat”. Then there’s an awkward silence, and I’ll break it by asking “how can this happen over night?”, and they say “Uh, it can’t.”. This goes on for a little while until they call security, and I’m told not to come back. Which just goes to show you that doctors don’t know shit.