So there I was, zoned into the dream, standing on a stage in Boston, in a kilt waiting for the accordionist to get through the slowest remaining eight bars of the intro for Kilkenny Races. It’s been about 7 years since I had a dream about Irish dancing, but here one was…
I’ll save the discussions about competitive Irish dancing, kilts, and what the hell Kilkenny Races is for another day… today, what’s of the most paramount importance today is…
…the accordion.
Now, because of a lifetime of listening to accordions, and this is a common affliction, I can almost hear them playing in my head. It’s like looking at the sun, and then having a ghost spot for a few minutes. It can almost be as painful.
It’s been in my damned head all day. First, it was four hours of Kilkenny Races. Since then, it’s been other Irish dance music — set dances, treble jigs, slip jigs, reels, hornpipes… still Irish music, an interest, so aight.
About 5 minutes ago, it all turned Very Bad.
What popped into my head? The Chicken Dance.
Make it go away. I’m begging.
I’m trying to muster the interest in Beer and The Other Addiction in order to drive out the accordions. It’s difficult… Beer goes rather well with accordions. And, if I turn up the soundtrack of TOA to drown out the accordions, the neighbours will look at me funny.