It happens once every couple years or so, or at least has happened that frequently since I started traveling; My body’s Central Command surveys it’s domain, finds something it does not like and issues the order: “everybody out!” Every half hour over the next twenty-four hours finds me vomiting and… um… the other thing... My entire body convulses and shakes as each of my internal organs, having received the order from Central Command, makes it’s own plea for why it cannot leave. Spleen and pancreas tend to make the best argument, while my large intestine seems all to willing to make an exit. (Little known fact here: I never had my wisdom teeth removed surgically; they were simply asked to leave during one of these episodes and very quietly did.)
The first of these instances took place in Oklahoma of all places. I was on a run of shows with Bebo Norman and had split off from the rest of the tour to do a pair of shows on my own. On the drive in to OK from TX, Central Command issued the order and my innards began to organize themselves for evacuation. It was directly after the performance that the evacuation began… and I mean d-i-r-e-c-t-l-y; off the stage, out the back door and I was “shout’n for Huey.” That one landed me in the hospital overnight with and i.v. in my arm. So much fun.
Other memorable run-ins with Central Command have taken place in Chanute KS, where I actually vomited into a backstage sink moments before I went on stage and then again into a bucket off stage right as soon as I finished my set, and in Jacksonville, FL, which is the only time I’ve missed a show in 10 years.
I’m at the end of this bout with the yucky-yuck, and had just about enough energy to blog. In closing, I’d like to thank the inventors of modern plumbing, saltine crackers and Gatorade.