Talking to myself again

"Louie, how was your day?"

Ah, same old same old. Crammed into an editing room for what seemed to be another endless amount of hours listening to Roy Orbison (appy polly loggies; merely the Swedish wannabe). That man can't take high notes without starting really low. Which means he makes sounds suspiciously alike those he probably would have uttered if someone accidently stepped on his tail. Although he has no tail, so nothing could be stepped on. My point is... Well, you'd have to hear for yourself to understand where I'm going with this. And believe me, you wouldn't want that.

On an upside note, we've (me and my posse) managed to fall lightly in love with an old man. How wicked this might seem, we can't deny his charm and don't be affected by his adorable on-goings. Not only does he sing remarkably better than "Roy", but for an old man he can move more than what would have been expected (you notice that if you're trying to get close-ups while standing by the stage, and the oldie just won't stand still for more than 4 seconds). This manner is more entertaining than the plain and rather embarrassing fake guitar playing our friend in quotes Roy got going.

So yeah, how was my day? "Olyckan" got me through this day.
I'm in desperate need of confirmation. I know, I know. I'm a confirmation-whore. I'm the one who said it first, remember?