Grueling Weekend

I started exercising because I'm unemployed this summer and have nothing better to do besides "work[ing] on my fitness" (thank you, Fergie, for such poetic lyrics in your shitty band). I recently learned I can go a full hour on the elliptical without stopping, falling or barfing. So I thought, "hey, it's Sunday and the gym will be packed but I really should work off that half of a roasted chicken with french fries I ate the night before" - apparently the chicken had like 1,100 calories...oops!" So I went for a jog around the Panhandle. Turns out, my body doesn't like real exercising. I came close to barfing, my knees got all rickety and I went out of breath about every other block.

Bando started recording and it's my first time in a recording studio where I play on more than two songs. It's really hard. By the end of last night I wanted to drink some gasoline, barf it on to my viola, and light it on fire with one of those kitschy giant matches you find at Bed Bath and Beyond. A wave of defeat overcame me as I put intonation markers on the fingerboard - similar to frets on a guitar. If every joke has a layer of truth then I understand all those viola jokes:

What's the difference between a viola and an onion?

- You don't cry when you cut up a viola

How can you tell when a viola is out of tune?

- The bow is moving

Why don't violists play hide and seek?

- Because no one will look for them