On Saturday night, I lost a fight. Even after delivering a ferocious headbutt, which left my opponent covered in blood, I was knocked unconscious with my head split open and my face and body covered in cuts and bruises.
I wish I could tell you that the above injuries are the result of a bad ass bar fight, or a rugged motorcycle spill, but, sadly, the truth is nothing sexy. The staples in my forehead are just a cruel reminder of an avoidable, dumb luck mishap that sent me to the emergency room in the middle of Saturday night.
Saturday was a long work day. In an effort to catalog the inaugural year of our newest musical collaboration, American Murder Song, Saar Hendelman and I spent most of the daylight hours photographing the project’s props and costumes (a full gallery of the historical wardrobe created for our music videos and tour can be viewed here). We dusted off and ironed dozens of garments, posed and photographed even more pieces of graphic art and handmade props, and carefully indexed and stored all of the elements for a rainy day.
Laid out before us, the Murder Collection was quite impressive. It left Saar and I feeling both accomplished as well as exhausted. We decided to conclude our productive day with a dip in the hot tub, conveniently located in Saar’s backyard.
Over the multi-year course of our artistic partnership, many a writing session have ended in Saar’s trusty hot tub. Sure, it’s the steamy cauldron of slash fan fiction, but it’s also the bubbly bed from which many great song ideas have been formed. On Saturday night, however, it became a bloody crime scene.
Just before midnight, feeling sufficiently cooked, Saar and I decided to call an end to our jacuzzi jaunt. With no remaining plans but to dry off and head home for a night of well-earned sleep, I stepped from the hot tub. Immediately, something felt wrong.
Emerging from the hot water into the cool night air, I felt unusually lightheaded, so I set down on the short flight of steps connected to the side of the jacuzzi. Watching me wobble, Saar asked, “Are you alright?” All that I remember after that is waking up on the wet cement beside the hot tub, blood pouring from my forehead, and Saar on the phone calling 911. The drastic change in temperature had caused me to blackout and fall face-first off the steps.
So, there you have it folks, I picked a fight with the concrete… and lost.
Aside from a bruised ego and a bloody noggin, I’m fine. The staples will be removed in about a week and I’ll be able to get back to more important matters: namely, celebrating American Murder Song‘s One Year Anniversary with you.
On Wednesday, March 15th, Saar and I are hosting an online anniversary party, and you’re invited. We’ll be streaming free music all-day, so if you’ve been on the fence about checking out American Murder Song, here’s your risk-free chance. There will also be live video chats, special guest appearances, and sales on some of our screen-used props and costumes. Saar and I will also be baking a Murder cake, answering your questions, and who knows? Perhaps I’ll even remove the staples from my head for your bloody amusement.
Just kidding on that last part.
It’s going to be a blast, and I hope to see you all there. Mark your calendars and pop in this coming Wednesday for some murderous tunes and treats. Hell, pop in just to see how well my wounds are healing. Pop in and let me know if scars on a man are indeed sexy? See you there!