I am now forbidden - yes, officially forbidden(!) - from moving amps and equipment around in my studio!
OK, I'm allowed to move the HXDA because it's on a cart on wheels. But that's it!
No lifting the DG30 head and cab and moving them to a different spot in the studio to find a cool spot where they sound best for a track; no lifting the Lone Star (even to put the wheels on it). Nothing. No putting the power conditioner in the rack I have for it. WTF?!?!
"Les, you've reached a point in life where you simply can't do the things you used to do without risk of further injury. If you have to move something, get a friend to help you."
I am so, totally, completely f*cked!
I have the attitude of a young guy, in the body of an old guy. What is up with this??!!?? You live a halfway decent life, you work hard, you achieve a modicum of success, you put your kids through college, and then what happens? I'll tell you what happens:
You get old and someone tells you that you can't move sh!t around in your own studio. You are forbidden!
Before you know it, you're wearing depends and drooling when you fall asleep at your dinner table. Then you're ashes in a freaking can or worm food.
There is something totally ass-backwards about this scenario, and I can't quite put my finger on it....
OK, I'm allowed to move the HXDA because it's on a cart on wheels. But that's it!
No lifting the DG30 head and cab and moving them to a different spot in the studio to find a cool spot where they sound best for a track; no lifting the Lone Star (even to put the wheels on it). Nothing. No putting the power conditioner in the rack I have for it. WTF?!?!
"Les, you've reached a point in life where you simply can't do the things you used to do without risk of further injury. If you have to move something, get a friend to help you."
I am so, totally, completely f*cked!
I have the attitude of a young guy, in the body of an old guy. What is up with this??!!?? You live a halfway decent life, you work hard, you achieve a modicum of success, you put your kids through college, and then what happens? I'll tell you what happens:
You get old and someone tells you that you can't move sh!t around in your own studio. You are forbidden!
Before you know it, you're wearing depends and drooling when you fall asleep at your dinner table. Then you're ashes in a freaking can or worm food.
There is something totally ass-backwards about this scenario, and I can't quite put my finger on it....