Originally published on Oct 22, 2014.
Levi Hastings
One Saturday morning about a year ago, I woke up to the sound of my younger daughter begging me to play Frisbee. She’s 10. “Pleeeeeeease, can we go? I’m so bored! It’s like noon, why are you still in bed?” She had already gotten her older sister to agree to go, and now she was trying to get me. “Dad, did you sleep in your shoes?”
I tried to open my eyes, but the universe felt too small for my head. My band had played a show the night before, and clearly I’d had too much to drink. As a professional trumpet player—that’s my day job, because you have to not make money somehow—one of the few ways I am compensated is in green-room beer. The tubs of PBR are like a weird backstage low-income subsidy program.