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The reward? Usually nothing more than a sense of accomplishment from doing something you loved entirely on your own. And it was worth every drop of blood, sweat, and tears.
As morbid as it may sound, I would often fantasize that I would be in the crowd at a Scream gig and an announcement would come booming over the PA system—“We apologize for any inconvenience, but due to an emergency with their drummer, Scream will not be able to perform tonight. That is . . . unless there’s someone in the audience who can fill in for him . . .”—and I would jump up on the drum set and save the day. Juvenile, I know, but hey . . . a kid can dream .
“WANNA PLAY DRUMS WITH IGGY POP?”
EVERY DAY IS STILL A BLANK PAGE, WAITING TO WRITE ITSELF.
