I'm in the middle of a 4 gigs in 48 hours stretch, with the last of them being a mere 3 hours away. (LebowskiFest Live Lunch on Louisville's 91.9 WFPK radio station streaming live from noon-1 Eastern time).
Last night was the one I knew the least about. Peter Searcy booked it, and I thought I was just playing keyboards while he sang some tunes at some private party way out in Goshen. Goshen is about 30 minutes from The Highlands, which to me is a road trip. The only time I've ever been there is when I've been hired to play some fancy schmancy private party for people with tennis courts in their backyards. Usually at these things, it's well-known that the musicians are "the help," and we are not encouraged to mingle with the guests.
Turns out, I had a blast. I think if I suddenly found my bank account with a few million dollars in it, -- as it seems most of the households in Goshen must have -- I would (after saving, investing, buying a Roland Midi Accordion, and taking care of some non-profits) invite my friends over for some killer parties. I'd hire a band, I'd have someone else cater it, I'd import some divine Italian cheeses and olive oil and wine, and I'd have a 42-foot slide through my hilly garden down to my swimming pool.
The hosts at last night's party were not just great to the musicians, -- we were basically just guests at the party who happened to play music -- but they seemed like the awesome kind of people who just appreciate and enjoy life to the fullest. Peter played his songs, but I also played a bunch of mine. And the guests actually listened to the band ... totally weird for a private party.
When the party was over and Peter and I were packing up the van, I decided it was weird that not a single guest had been in the gorgeous swimming pool. I pulled up my dress just a little bit, kicked off my sandals, and stepped into the water just a bit. It was the perfect temperature, and the hostess saw me eyeing the water slide mischievously.
"Do it," she shouted. "I'll get you a towel!"
So I skipped over to the garden, and made my way up the hill to the top of the slide. Peter's wife was in shock and fumbling for her camera (I instructed her: No Facebook photos!), but I was too quick for her. It was just past midnight, I was tired from playing a gig, oddly completely sober, and I jumped on the slide ... winding and twisting down the hill unbelievably fast and spilling out into the deep end of the pool with a smile and a splash and all of my clothes.
Then I did it two more times and swam a few laps before driving home in a towel. You'll never tell the story about that time you almost went down the slide in all of your clothes, right?
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