I've always been interested in the accident of birth. I don't believe in any guiding intelligence; it's always seemed to me at heart a cruel concept. If it was the choice of some being that I should be born into relative comfort, with loving parents, a (relatively) sharp mind, and all my advantages, then it was also that being that chose people to be born into the most horrendous, hellish lives; to be born broken. To be born into famine and disease.
I had a bit of a stumble - I went to Virginia for a gig, then got a bit sick, and soon I was two weeks behind on my song project. I'm almost caught up, but now there's another impediment. The Friday before last, on my way to my usual busking spot (Main and Howard), I did something stupid. I was carrying my guitar case on my shoulder, as I do when I'm hauling my busking gear. I turned my head at precisely the wrong moment, and walked straight into a parking meter. Full speed. And of course, the impact came entirely on my left ring finger, smashing it between the metal meter and my hard guitar case.
I set up and tried to play through it, but couldn't get past two songs. My finger was swollen and purple. Damn it! Here it is, a week and a half later, and I still can't play my guitar. So frustrating.
It's arrived. Another gig with Baaba Seth - my worldbeat band on the East Coast, for anyone who doesn't know. Every year I fly back once or twice for a show. It's always a blast. I love playing solo acoustic, but there's nothing like the rush of playing with these awesome musicians and good friends.