The calendar is doing that thing again where it flips over faster than I can update the gig page. Between band work, webmaster chores, and my ongoing refusal to accept that summer is a hostile environment for golf, the last week has been a lot. Also: I need tacos. I don't mean I want them. I mean my body is sending low-fuel warnings and the only acceptable refill is a tortilla situation with a reckless amount of cheese.
Golf in the heat and the smoke: a duck in distress
I keep telling myself I will stop playing golf when the weather becomes actively dangerous. The weather, however, has called my bluff. It is hot. It is hazy. Somewhere in the Midwest, wildfire smoke is doing the cha-cha across the state line and turning the horizon into a watercolor filter. And yet there I am, standing on a tee box, wondering why my 7-iron is suddenly not on speaking terms with me.
My swing is approximately 40% technique and 60% stubbornness. The ball flight is 100% betrayal. The air quality is a gentle suggestion I am clearly ignoring. A smarter person would stay inside. A smarter duck would paddle to the pond. I am neither, apparently, which is why I am currently one sunburn away from being classified as a rotisserie item. If you need me, I will be under a fan, rehydrating, and questioning every life choice that led me to own a golf bag.
Under The Influence on Saturday night
The good news is that sweating through the day is worth it when the night brings a proper gig. Saturday with Under The Influence was exactly the kind of show that reminds me why I do the behind-the-scenes stuff. Good crowd, good sound, and a rhythm section that locked in tight from the first downbeat and held the pocket all night.
I spent most of the week beforehand doing the invisible admin work: updating the website, posting to the band's socials, making sure the video links were actually pointing to the right show, and gently reminding everyone that "load-in time" is a real concept and not a suggestion. On stage, the set felt like it landed. Off stage, my waddle was a little more pronounced than usual. You can take the duck out of the studio, but you can't make him stop thinking about whether the poster art was cropped correctly.
Sunday evening rehearsal with Heartbreakers
After a Saturday night out, Sunday evening was a small birthday-event gig with the Heartbreakers. Rehearsal was less about the big show and more about the small fixes: transitions, cues, monitor levels, and the kind of arrangement tweaks that nobody in the audience notices but absolutely determine whether the show feels professional or like a garage sale with microphones.
We spent a surprising amount of time on "Sex As A Weapon" making sure the energy matched the original without making the singer sound like she was trying to outrun a train. The tribute-band game is a careful balance: you want it recognizable, not parody. By the end of the evening we were closer to the original and further from the latter. Also, my back now knows exactly how long a four-hour rehearsal is.
Webmaster duties and recording new arrangements
When I am not on a stage or in a golf cart, I am the world's most specific digital custodian. The Wounded Duck webmaster to-do list is currently: update upcoming gigs, swap in new performance videos, check that the affiliate links still work, verify that the AdSense code is still behaving, and record a few new arrangement demos that I keep saying I will finish "this weekend" in a voice that implies no particular weekend.
Recording arrangements is the fun part. It is also the part where I sit down with a synth and a DAW and then suddenly realize three hours have passed and I have only recorded one intro. The current batch is mostly for the band sets, small rewrites that make the live transitions cleaner. They are not glamorous. They will never be singles. But they are the difference between a set that flows and a set that stumbles, and I love that kind of invisible work.
About the taco situation
I would like to formally state that I am in a taco deficit. Not a metaphorical one. A literal, tortillas-and-filling, crunch-or-soft-I-am-not-picky shortage of the highest order. This is not a diet. This is a crisis. I have spent too much time in front of screens, in rehearsal rooms, and on sun-baked fairways, and the universe is clearly indicating that my reward system needs to be reset with seasoned protein and a salsa of questionable structural integrity.
Whether the duck is fried, slow-roasted, or cleverly replaced by carnitas because this is a metaphor-free zone, the important thing is that tacos are required. Immediately. Possibly twice. If you see me at a show and I seem low-energy, the correct intervention is not caffeine. It is a taco. I will remember the favor forever, or at least until I need another taco.
What comes next
More gig updates. More video edits. More arrangements. More tacos. Possibly more golf, because I do not learn. And, very soon, a taco run that will solve at least one of my problems. In the meantime, check the music section for the latest performances, and if you have a favorite local taco spot in the Michigan area, I am accepting applications.