Sick of Being Sick, but loving LMF

If you are reading this, I am grateful. I have spent the last 7-10 days sick to varying degrees because of this filthy pollution, trapped in my flat, alone.

It started as a head cold, migrated to my chest, then went back to my head. Today at last it essentially gone; I am still coughing, but it's what the doctors call a productivecough.

I get sick at least once a year from the pollution, and I have allergies and asthma every day because of it. But I love living in this madhouse, so I stay.

At one point, I was so sick that I gave up on helping Jun Kung/ Eugene and the Pows at Grappa's and the AnD New Year Party, both of which were on Dec. 31.

For me, that's a 25% drop in annual social functions.

I was still sick on the 2nd, but there was no f@#$ing way my ticket to LMF was going to go to waste. I'm glad I went, though standing on concrete for 5 hours with a head cold and a two-decade lead in age on everyone around me was less than optimal.

I am sure it re-invigorated my illness, since people smoked constantly in flagrant disregard for the rules.

LMF kicked a lot of ass, and I was surprised at how many of the songs I recognized.

As usual, Kevin Li deserves an extra-large helping of respect, for several reasons.

First, he was criminallyunder-lit on stage. Of course, when lighting directors, like soundmen, have become so accustomed to dealing with singers, it is vaguely understandable. But we should have been able to see more of him, or at least his drum kit. Drummers should be obscured by cymbals, not darkness.

Although unseen, he was definitely heard. He held down a monster beat that swung, which is especially hard when playing with a DJ. Some of the songs have pre-recorded parts, and it is much too easy for time to be the first casualty in the war between men and machines. Kevin met that challenge and kicked it in the nuts.

So the next time you see him, be aware that you are in the presence of an absolute motherf@#$er of a musician. You can tell him I said that.

Speaking of non-L MFers, Qiu Hong played a great opening set. It was short, but they gave it 110%, as usual.

Going back to my anti-Cantopop ways, the problem they faced was not of their own making. Soundmen who mix singers get used to a certain sound. It's not just Cantopop, either. I've heard it in Nashville and lots of other places. Basically, if size equals volume, it'sSINGER

bandWell, Qiu Hong isn't a singer, it's a band, and I wish everything was as loud as the vocals. But they still kicked ass.

As long as we're talking about kicking ass, I must apologize to The Golden Rock. There was moshing on the floor, and the only reason I enjoyed it is because I weigh 3x what the morons who hit me do. I admit, I kind of brought it on myself, because as tall as I was, there was an open spot behind me where no one wanted to stand because they wouldn't be able to see.

Unfortunately, at one point I mistook Kevin, who was trying to move back in front of me, for just some random f@#$face, and I elbowed him three times before I recognized him. I felt really bad about it, but he seemed to forgive me.

All in all, getting to see LMF in Hong Kong was great, and it was worth the illness relapse.

It's nice to quaff cough syrup guilt-free for a change.

But other than that, my days have been mind-numbingly repetitive. Wake up, eat breakfast, stare at the computer/TV all day, be physically miserable, eat dinner, eat pills, read, sleep. Repeat.

I've prepared for the start of classes next week, and I've actually made some headway re-organizing this guitar storage room posing as a flat.

What really frustrated me was that I had a ton of errands I'd have loved to accomplish, but they would force me out into the pollution, which several doctors expressly forbid.

I'm so bored I am actually looking forward to getting back to the gym.   

I am just happy to be (temporarily) healthy again. Just in time to go back to work.

Dammit.For the record, yes, I do realize the inherent folly of choosing to live in an environment that is trying very hard to kill me and succeeding at making me chronically ill. It's my Irish Catholic nature, I suppose.