Monday – Contest Day 6 –Cold, No Surf, and Rainy

The contest is off until 1:00, and most likely until all day. I would love to have this time to go to a museum or explore the coast, but I’m playing catch-up and still kind of hung over from the Pastors of Muppets rocking Machinehead till the wee hours. The house is still freezing and I can’t get the fire in the potbelly stove to light. I think the French put a fire retardant in the paper towels I’m trying to use as kindling. The soy milk has coated my “muselli” I picked up at the market where no one spoke a lick of English. But the mom and the daughter that run the market were nice enough to let me take the laundry detergent out of the store and over to the waitress a few doors down in the organic cafe who speaks some English so I could ask if I had the right stuff. I had chatted with her the day before, a world traveler with an interesting story to tell, recently broken up with her boyfriend, leaving to Cuba soon, etc. I was so excited to have someone interesting to talk to outside of the contest scene and tired of eating alone that I asked her to dinner and she quickly said “NO!” I don’t think she understood that I wasn’t trying to get laid, really. Just came off too strong, which I do. I don’t think she understood or I understood how much I would miss my wife and kids. When I showed her the detergent and asked her if this was good for a washing machine she said, “I don’t know. I don’t wash my clothes.”

“Alexander” is blooming “Wake My Body” in my ear buds and I’m trying to comply. But I can’t. I never quite sleep right the nights my wife works her 24-hr shifts, which is often, but I thought I’d be fine on the road. I haven’t been. When I rented this house on the beach, the owners forgot to tell me that there was a giant music & beer festival, and that the house sat, literally, in the middle of that festival. Saturday night, things quieted down by three. Last night was mellow by comparison, but I counted fourteen horns at one point, all interpreting speed metal. As the one guy said, in a thick French accent, “That was fucking Machinehead. You fucking know fucking know fucking Machinehead! Fucking Dude!” Here’s a sample:

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