Back Street Blues

I had to haul my weary behind, and the rest of me, out of bed at 7:00 this fine Sunday morning and take FOUR trains to go supervise an audition that began at 9:00. I firmly believe that no one should have to work at 9:00 on a Sunday morning, but that is the nature of the beast when one is freelance. A friend working full time recently said, “Gosh, being freelance must be great. You can work when you want to.” “No,” says me. “I work when THEY want me to. That’s not the same thing at all.”

The English part of the audition was done by 9:30. It’s a good thing that I love the Back Street Boys because I wouldn’t take this kind of sheiss from anyone else, at least not without becoming colossally grumpy.

Now, before you go getting yourself all worked up, it’s not the BSB you’re thinking of. It’s a production company called Back Streets. The name was taken from a Bruce Springsteen song. I would take the Boss over a boy-band anytime, but when I first started working with them, the company was just three guys, so I started calling them the Back Street Boys and the name kind of caught on.

They did finally hire a young woman, and a director we worked with a while ago pointed out that they’re actually the Back Street Middle Aged Men and a Girl, but let’s not quibble.

So I gave a mighty sigh and headed back to the station. I rode the same four trains to get back home, by which time I was mightily hungry since I can’t eat that early in the morning. I treated myself to a brunch of blueberry pancakes and bacon because bacon, like warm cake, makes everything better.

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