THE YELLOWING ACACIA TREES DROP LEAVES INTO MY SOUP. I AM SITTING UNDERNEATH THEIR SCRAWNY BOUGHS OUTSIDE THE LEGAL SEAFOOD RESTAURANT (I KEEP THINKING IT SHOULD BE CALLED THE BARELY LEGAL Seafood Restaurant). Unfortunately, I am about to pass out. I forgot to eat. Damn. I walked all the way down to the harbor and was so pleased with the progress of my foot that I ignored the early warning signs, the sweating, the light-headedness, the shaking hands. Now the light keeps changing as though there are clouds scudding by in the sky on a windy day. Trouble is there are no clouds and there is no wind. These are my eyes. I’m blacking out. I’m going to lose consciousness right here in the busy Inner Harbor. This happens occasionally when I forget to eat. I remember my wife’s advice: “Put your head between your knees.” I remember my reply: “I’d rather put my head between your knees.” How can I make gags at a time like this? I am sweating, and my mind is clouding over. I was overcome in Banana Republic, and not just by shopping anxiety. I barely made it across the street, my mind on stage one of survival strategy; ordering massive amounts of food. Now I’m watching the light disappear from the corners of my eyes. The world is strangely out of focus. They’re going to find me passed out on the pavement: EX-PYTHON IN BIZARRE SIDEWALK INCIDENT. In the nick of time my waitress arrives with hot food and caffeine. I fight off the temptation to pitch headfirst into the cioppino and attack the food, chugalugging the Pepsi, and swallowing the hot black tea. Wow. Just made it. I’m a little uncertain at the end, but the sweating has stopped, and I finally crawl back to crash at the hotel.
I was crucified once and frankly I don’t recommend it. There’s something a bit chilling about turning up first thing in the morning and finding a cross with your name on it. Thirty-foot crosses they were, too, with a neat little sign on the back: Mr. Idle.
I wake up feeling fine to discover on the bus to Shriver Hall that John has been having a bad day with vertigo. Fortunately we are playing Johns Hopkins University, so soon our kindly promoter is calling in doctors and John goes off for a wrestling match with a medic. He is literally thrown around and held down for eight minutes, while his ears realign. Apparently the crystals in his inner ear are out of balance. I hear to my alarm that he may be being bounced around too much in the back of the bus. I must talk to Mike, his driver. John is the rock around which we plant our invasion force. He anchors the whole show around his ever reliable keyboards. We discuss what we must do if any one of us is sick from here in. Gilli will attempt to cover for John, Jen and Peter will cover each other. I of course am irreplaceable. (I kept trying to tell my wife that.) I must time my voiceless days to nights off.