Ladies and folks,

We here in FXA had a weekend and a half. I mean, we literally squeezed three days worth rocking, rolling and general rapscallioness into the two days we were given. It's a scientific fact. (Ed. Note - not a scientific fact)

Anyway, so much stuff happend I need to split it into two entries, one each for Friday and one for Saturday. So here we go:

FRIDAY

We leave the Somerville rock house and hit Toad at around 8:30 for some pre-show dining and a couple of drinks to loosen up. So there I am, eating my pesto chicken sandwich, blissfully unaware that this would be the show where I would get more comically hurt than at any other, and that's saying something. In the course of this band I've sprained every muscle, broken a toe and had LOTS of indigestion...

It all starts in the first song, where I inadvertently split my index finger open on one of my strings. Now, this happens a lot, but usually it's pretty minor. Not tonight. It's like Friday the 16th in there. And it doesn't help that I'm sporting my strat, which has a considerable amount of white on it. Soon it's covered in blood and the people in the front are wondering what the hell is up. Of course, the finger does not stop bleeding no matter what I do. I put on some band-aids, I wipe it off with a napkin between each song, I ask it politely and promise it nice things - nothing works. By the end of the first set, I'm ready to amputate the bastard with a salad fork and the audience is dutifully lining up at a field trauma Red Cross booth that has been set up to test for blood borne illness. Unfortunately, two people have caught malaria and one other contracted a nasty bladder control problem that I carry the gene for but don't actually have (Ed Note - Hmmmm).

Anywho, during the break before the second set I get the bleeder under control and so I'm on easy street, right? Not quite. During the rockingest cover of Good Times, Bad Times we've ever rocked on Gordon gets the idea that he should jump into the crowd and dance with the people. Of course, I can't let Gordon one up me so I jump into the crowd too. So there we are, dancing with the folks. I have my head bobbing, which lets them all know that I'm really rocking out. All of the sudden......BOOM. It's like I've been hit in the head by a hammer, or the non-hammer-back-of-Gordon's-head equivalent. Everything goes white, my jaw snaps closed and for a second I almost lose my rockitude. Fortunately I make it back to the stage and finish the song. But now my head is bleeding. It's like God is playing a practical joke on me.

We finish the show and I go home with an ice pack and a makeshift finger cast made of napkins, duct tape and the love of a couple of sweet women. I look like Wile E. Coyote on a particulary bad day, and to top it off I have to stay up for a couple hours to insure that I don't have a concussion.

Upside? Golden Girls re-runs are pretty god damn funny. Betty White is just an absolute scamp...(Ed. Note - Joe may have been hit on the head harder than we once thought)