I always love it when friends come to visit me here in Ocean Beach and totally fall in love with it. My co-worker Bryan and his girlfriend Annika came on Sunday, hungover from a wedding. We spent Sunday sitting on the cliffs drinking wine and then we went to The Vine. I also met my good friend Cheryl and another slowtalker, Trish. It was a fantastic day. Bryan and Annika and I came back to my apartment, danced to Arcade Fire and then fell asleep to Sigur Ros. It was a fun, fun day. Bryan and Annika LOVE Ocean Beach. Now I am trying to convince them to move here.

Yesterday was a little tough at first, what with the 700 bottles of wine we consumed on Sunday. But it turned out to be a mellow, lovely holiday. It wasn’t so crowded on the beach this year. I went over to my friend Danielle’s house and watched her dip strawberries in chocolate. Eventually Danielle and I, along with a cool, funny architect, Jennifer, went and fetched Jennifer’s also cool boyfriend, Nick, and went to the beach.

It was beautiful down there. There was a red tide. I can’t seem to get a real answer out of anyone as to what causes the red tide. I tried to take a picture of Danielle and Jennifer running to the water, but it didn’t turn out too great.

Oh well.

After the beach I went to The Vine, where Brian was grilling meat for an assortment of employees and uber-regulars. Some people got on surfboards and paddled out to see the fireworks, and the rest of us scattered. I ended up on a deck on top of my friend Andy’s building. It was quite mellow and I didn’t have to worry about bottle rockets being launced at my neck. I HATE when that happens.

Today was totally mellow. I had the day off, and meant to do a bunch of writing, but instead went and sat in the window at South Beach Bar & Grill and ate a shrimp tostada and merely thought about writing. Then I went back to the beach. Yes, it is true – I am an obscenely lazy person. And Ocean Beach is such a great place to be totally lazy.

I know this is really boring but if you have made it this far – there are two kinds of people in the world. Dickheads, and everyone else. Thankfully there are more non-Dickheads than Dickheads. I always strive to be a non-Dickhead, even if I am a fucked up and lazy person. I am glad I live in Ocean Beach, where being a Dickhead is kind of verboten. I’ll always love my last home – Venice, Italy. Yet, Ocean Beach is Better. It really is. Really! For me, at least.

Type “pro life blog” into a search engine.

This is going to get really fucking ugly. I love my country, and I love living here, but things just keep getting scarier and scarier.

Now is the time to get involved with NOW. All the work our grandmothers and mothers did might be history if we don’t. There’s going to be violence. It’s really, really scary. Thanks god for self-medication.

After all the hoopla after the last few weeks, today I had a bit of reality – Oral Surgery. Shocking that I can even write after all that Halcion.

I was quite sketched all day. Nervous and sweaty until it was time to take the drugs, an hour and a half before the appointment. Then I was nervous and sweaty about taking the drugs. Which is weird for me. Anyway, I took them and within a half hour or so I was sighing deeply, and in another half hour I couldn’t make my keyboard work right.

Brian came and got me and delivered me to the doctor (we drove the two blocks) and the whole thing was rather bizarre, not really painful, but trippy. First they gave me a lot of shots and I was kind of loopy so they didn’t bother me so bad. But the weird thing is, they blindfolded me with this big black cloth. So I could see nothing. I could hear, turn this way, turn that way. They were pushing and pulling but all in all it wasn’t that uncomfortable.

Then it was done! Brian picked me up again (I think we walked this time – did we?) Back home I think I ate some soup and fell asleep for awhile. But then I woke up and watched “Year of Living Dangerously” and now whatever drugs were there are gone. Halcion is kind of cool, if you don’t plan on doing anything for awhile, at least in my first experience of it.

I have an over active imagination and I had the most gruesome and scary thoughts of the afternoon. But really it wasn’t that bad. Still can’t figure out the blindfold. Kind of hot, if you think about it. Dentistry and Bondage. Hmmmm.

It was an insane weekend, but I am still here to tell you about it. Kind of. If you can stay tuned till the end I will tell you all about the killer Arcade Fire/David Byrne show last night at the Hollywood Bowl. But first….

If there is one day every year where one can be assured of total drunken insanity, that day would be the day of the Ocean Beach Street Fair. This year did not disappoint. It was a beautiful day, and everyone was happy. It’s kind of a trip how many people I know here after only three years. This was my third OB Street Fair and it was definitely the craziest. And that is Saying Alot.

There were parties on the beach and one giant party on the street. The weird thing about OB is, you can’t drink on the street, but you can drink on the beach. You can be holding a 20 oz. plastic Martini glass full of straight gin on the beach, but you can’t touch the sea wall at the same time. Hence, you have:

A Keg in the Sand. You also have:

A smiling police officer making sure you don’t lean up against the sea wall holding a cup of beer. He looks happy!

I drank a million glasses of wine – I kept going home for more. After hanging out on the beach all day me and Mark went to Tony’s bar. And I am shocked – SHOCKED – that we were all allowed to continue drinking.

Everyone was already hammerlaned, and it was only 7:30 or something like that. I do remember running into my friends Danielle and Zach. I need to get off my lazy ass and hang out with them more. Zach bought us all shots of tequila. At this moment a general feeling of haziness became no-turning-back.

You’d think it would all end here. But NO. I get home, and there is a message from Brian about a party up the street. Remember how I said I was happy The Vine was closed for the OB Street Fair? Remember? Well fuck me, instead there was a party with all the people from The Vine. I grabbed a bottle of Iron Horse Sangiovese and headed up to Bob & Margaret’s, just a block and a half away.

I was already a goner when I got there. Details are spotty. I’m just hoping everyone else was in the same general vicinity, blood level wise, as I was. Whew.

Anyhow, yesterday I woke up with a truly severe hangover, and this is coming from someone who knows her hangovers. And I had to drive to Hollywood for the Arcade Fire/David Byrne show. It took awhile, but I finally made it out of the house and through hellish Sunday traffic to the Best Western on Highland Avenue. Thank you, Best Western, for being so close to the Hollywood Bowl on a day when the thought of a two-mile walk is akin to the thought of, well, not having any thoughts from the night before. If you get my meaning.

It was four o’clock when I got there and I was starving. I couldn’t even get a whole piece of peanut butter toast down for lunch, so I was seriously running on empty. There was a little coffee shop in the hotel and the check in girl told me it opened at five, so I went to the pool to wait it out. Went back, not open. “Er,” says the check-in girl, “I guess they aren’t open today.” This same girl didn’t know who David Byrne was, so I guess I’m not too surprised.

I decided to go up to the Bowl early, grab something to eat in the Patina Marketplace there, and relax before the show. Well, the food from Patina kind of sucked (what happened, guys? You use to ROCK) but hanging out at the Hollywood Bowl was totally awesome. I really love that place. You can bring your own food and wine in, so the place is just a sea of wine bottles, Trader Joe’s bags, and acrylic stemware. I sipped on a glass of Esca Syrah, ate my nasty Patina sandwich, and read the L.A. Weekly. I was slowly recovering.

The Bowl was half empty when openers Si Se came on. Smooth jazz lovers, take note. They are smooth, not really jazz, but mellow and sweet and innocuous. They were good – don’t get me wrong – just not my cup o’ tea. I kept peeking at Jonathan Gold’s restaurant reviews. I was too tired to shift in my seat, or I would have done that, too.

Dusk, and then Arcade Fire. And holy fuck, they did not disappoint me. I LOVE them, but so does everyone. They opened with “Wake Up,” and I thought my heart would stop right there, but it wasn’t loud enough. I can’t believe, can’t believe, can’t believe I didn’t drop everything and see Arcade Fire at the Casbah in January. But I was at the Hollywood Bowl, on a summer night, sipping a really good wine, seeing this band that I love, and even though they seemed really far away it was worth every minute of that 2.75 hour journey through hell to be there. All of them all over the stage, playing their hearts out, playing with each other, so totally into it… man. When they did “Crown of Love” I started to cry. It was so beautiful, and they had Tosca Strings on stage with them. I’m not sure if it was my delicate state or what, but I got teary quite a few more times before they were done. I’m getting teary right now just thinking about it.

Most people sat down for the first half of the set, including me. I was simply too exhausted, and after last weekends Raveonettes show where I was one of three people who actually stood up, I figured I would just chill like the Chardonnay drinking, St. Andre eatin’ Hollywood Bowl crowd. Then Arcade Fire started playing “Tunnels” and I looked back to see pockets of people jumping around. Soon my section was on their feet, and I was happy to join them. Joy is a good motivator.

I did have to move seats right after they came on. Four obnoxious dickheads sat down in front of me (four songs into the set) and proceeded to talk and look around to see who was looking at them (Dude. Nobody. Is. Looking. At. YOU.) I could only stand about five minutes of these sadly typical L.A. concertgoers. I mean, what is the point? But the gods of rock ‘n’ roll were smiling on me. Right next to my bench there were some folding chairs, I guess for use in extreme circumstances. They were empty and I simply grabbed my wine and scooted on down. From my new vantage point I had a view of some really cute youngsters who were totally into it. So, I think L.A. Concertgoers have the same dilemma as American tourists in Tuscany. There are cool tourists in Tuscany, but the assholes are more noticeable.

Alas, the Arcade Fire left the stage way too soon. I am going to be kicking myself for missing that Casbah show for the rest of my life.

David Byrne came on the stage wearing a pink suit and with bleached blond hair. He had Tosca Strings too, and of course his backing band was stellar, but it is pretty hard to take your eyes off the man himself. Three songs into his set, the Four Obnoxious Assholes got up and left – by climbing over their seats, and over me in my cramped folding chair area. I mean, what is the point? Get to a show late, talk loudly and look around, then leave way early. They totally missed the best part.

About half way in to David Byrne’s set, I noticed, to my left, a bunch of crazily-attired people walking to the back of the Bowl with horns and drums and other instruments. I was like, OK, this is going to get crazy. CRAZY is not the word for it. BLISTERINGLY INSANE is more like it. They all looked like extras from Cabaret. There was a bit of time between that which I spotted them and when they came down, from the back of the Bowl, totally blowing everyone away. The Extra-Action Marching Band, equipped with hot drag-queen pom-pom girls, flag waving chicks wearing some kind of Xena Warrior Princess kind of outfits (I think) and then the band which was huge and also, chaotic, moved towards the stage and when they got there, it wasn’t so hard not to look at David Byrne anymore.

Arcade Fire came out and did one more song (in my state, I can only remember the vibe, but not the song) with Byrne, and then the whole entirety of the Extra-Action Marching Band was on stage with him doing an unbelievable “Burning Down The House.” I will never forget it – why, oh why, didn’t I bring my camera??? The pom-pom queens danced around, in formation, and the flag waving chicks stood rigid, never moving, through the whole song. The stage was awash with people. The entire audience was on their feet. I was standing ON MY CHAIR. Then, when it was impossible that things could even have a chance of getting better, Byrne rips out his final song, a cover of Beyonce & Jay Z’s “Crazy in Love.” A fucking brilliant and totally inspired choice! That is a GREAT song and with all those horns and scantilly-clad drag queens rolling around with pom-poms it was just unbelievably cool. The Xena flag wavers waved their flags over the rich people in the front and the scene was one of barely controlled abandonment. What a moment. What a night. You can check out a bit of the madness HERE.

At the end – and it had to end there, though I don’t think David Byrne wanted it to – the drag queens started throwing their pom-poms, somewhat violently at Byrne. In a playful way, but still. It was a great show but it would have been nice to have a bit of an encore… I was in bed by 10:30, and that is why I have the energy to write.

A few nights ago, I was at The Vine and ran into Bryan, one of the guys from Stone Brewing and his buddy (oops. forget his name.)

Anyway the buddy gave me a sample of a lip balm he is selling, called Zinka, your basic lip balm in a skateboarder type package. I told him if he really wanted to appeal to the ladies, to make a lip balm with the flavor of Absolute Mandarin vodka, and to put glitter in it.

So if an orange vodka flavored glittery lip balm comes out into the market soon, DUDE – THAT WAS MY IDEA.

Getting back to the point, I was talking to these two guys about some stuff that happened in the late eighties and the buddy goes “whoa, you are OLD!”

“Uh, yeah, I am forty,” I said. Then Brian said, to his friend, “aren’t you turning forty soon?” That guy was the same age as me! Sometimes the politics in this town can be pretty twisted.

In other news, it looks like Jack White from the White Stripes just got married. All kinds of shamans and shit, plus his ex-wife as the maid of honor. What is up with that weird hair and that hat? Is he blow-drying every day? Or just using a lot of product? Whateves, maybe it will work out with his supermodel. In the meantime I’ll keep getting older.

A long time ago, in a galaxy totally close by, I produced a play based on the TV show “Bewitched.” I haven’t thought of it in ages, but in a random search I came across a little bit written by Mr. SF, Hank Donat, who I kind of remember, a little. Before you start coming after me with scripts you want me to produce, let me tell you, this production cost very little money. I think we had a fund raiser where we lost money because so much sangria was consumed. Still, we somehow made it.

I even acted in the second incarnation of the stage production of Bewitched. I was the “Commercial Girl” and in between acts I did commercials, alone, on stage. I silently mixed cocktails, and drank them, I smoked a cigarette out of a long holder, drove a car, and hula hooped. Sometimes all at the same time. At the end (because it was Christmas) I got to go into the audience and throw toys at people. It was time consuming, nerve racking, and fun.

Someone quit in the speaking cast, after awhile, and then director Prentiss Smithson (who was also one of my best friends) made me take a speaking part. That part, a one-liner, was a lesbian activist who falls in love with Joan of Arc. My line? I remember it very clearly. “I like HER. I REALLY like her.”

That was a million years ago, really. It always feels like time is going by so fast, but that was eleven or whatever years ago and it feels like an eternity. So maybe time is not speeding by the way we think it is. Maybe days, and months fly, but years don’t. Doesn’t it seem like last June was a really long time ago? It does to me.

I haven’t seen Prentiss Smithson in forever, and he was a very, very good friend. It’s weird how people come and go in life. I remember so many insane nights sitting in the front room of Prentiss’s house on 16th Street in San Francisco, with all this Egyptian shit painted on the walls, drinking wine and ingesting whatever, eventually slithering around with a bunch of bohemian types to the soundtrack of “Hair” or the Velvet Underground, or Ween. It was quite a scene and I met a lot of people there. But now I am gone and they probably don’t remember me anymore.

But I remember Prentiss! And I know some of the people who read Poptarticus will, too.

I desperately want this dress but check out the freaky mannequin! You have to zoom in for the full effect. (Track marks, forgot to wipe off makeup for two years, among other things.)

My good friends Pauline and Steve lost their cat Butch today. I know how much they loved him, so I am drinking a glass of Chimney Rock Cabernet in Butch’s honor. Farewell, Butch! In the next life I want to come back as a cat that is as loved as you were. Even if I can’t wear any Betsy Johnson as a cat.

Butch! Take care of yourselves P & S.

I bet you all are wondering, did I pay a million dollars to stay one extra night in Vegas, to see Queens of the Stone Age.

Well, no I did not. But I did try. For a while, until one reservation lady said “we have rooms, but it’s gonna be expensive. Stevie Wonder is in town, and he’ll sell it out.”

I’d think that was weird but I just spend $300 on tickets for the Rolling Stones this morning. I can’t believe I spent $75 for each ticket. What the fuck was I thinking of. Now I have two extra Beck tickets, two extra Wilco tickets, and two extra Rolling Stones tickets. I need to take a sober pill.

Anyhow I did not stay, and anyway I truly believe four nights in Vegas is about all I can take. That place is INSANE. And I have spent many a night there. It is even more insane than before, only because now it is expensive AND insane. Before it used to be, eh, a value and insane.

It has changed plently in the five or so years since I have been there. It is a different town.

The very first evening I won $115 on a video poker machine in the truly crap casino at the Best Western Mardi Gras, where we were staying. I hit four of a kind TWICE in something like twenty minutes. This would be my only streak of luck in all four days, but no biggie – I gambled with that money for a couple of nights, and also, I ate very, very well. Because if there is one thing you can do well in Vegas (besides gamble and roast in the hot sun like a piggie being prepared for dinner, also get really drunk on tall, fruity drinks and puke on the strip, not that I did any of these things… except the gambling part) it is eat well.

The very first night, after an excruciating set up of our booth at the Convention Center, me and my co-worker Freddy, plus my bosses Donna and Elliott, motored on over the the Forum Shops at Caeser’s for dinner at Chinois. This is a Wolfgang Puck restaurant, and I booked there thinking the sommelier would hook us up. He didn’t (except for an order of egg rolls – lame) BUT the food there was So Fucking Good. I was starving, and after some sort of crappy, boring appetizers, I wasn’t looking forward to the rest. But it was awesome. Sliced, tender steak with a sweet and sour sauce and Wasabi mashed potatoes, perfect fried tofu, Peking duck with pancakes… it was all awesome. Hard to believe food this good was coming out of a giant Wolfgang Puck type deal. He should go and check on his restaurant at O’ Hare Airport – they could use him up there.

One thing that bugged about this meal though – and I must say it bugs me to no end no matter where I go, was the wine “upsell.” I hate, hate, hate, when Mr. Waiter tries to sell some gnarly-priced wine to unsuspecting customers. Dude, please let us peruse the list and make our own decision. You are NOT a sommelier and are in fact only trying to make money for yourself, and not very suave-ly.

Oh yeah, we’ll take a bottle of that $225 bottle of wine, no problem. NOT! I feel so bad for all the people who got shafted by this guy. Vegas is an expensive town now, but Cristo. I didn’t hit four aces on a $5 machine. It was just quarters.

We got a $65 bottle of Roederer Estate from Anderson Valley and then, much to our waiter’s dismay, a $42 bottle of Australian Shiraz which went PERFECTLY with our food, thank you.

The next day we worked, and that night Donna and Elliott had plans, so me and Freddy went out. I have worked with Freddy (short for Frederique, she’s from France) since 1987, so we have a long history. Our relationship hasn’t always been easy, but time and age have mellowed it. Also we both really care about the company we work for. So it was fun to hang out with her.

We went over to Bellagio, thinking we might sit outside and watch the show on the lake with it’s mile-high operatic spurts. Fat chance. Lucky for us though, we ended up at the bar at Todd English’s Olives. Our bartender, Dave, took fine care of us, not even balking at the $9 glass of Rose I ordered. We had an uber tasty ahi tartare thing, and a flatbread with hummus and greek salad on top. We had one more thing coming (we told Dave just to bring us whatever) but we were full and Sweet Dave held back on the third thing, whatever it was. Instead we had a dessert of three homemade ice creams and three fresh, hot cookies. Then Dave brought us two Espresso Martinis, on the house! Yum! I think I love hard liquor, especially in Vegas.

After, I lost $20 at Blackjack and $20 at video poker. Freddy was so funny, asking questions like “so it’s bad if you go over 21?” All in all, a fabulous night.

The next evening, we went to the top of THEhotel (yes, that is what it is called) to eat at Alain Ducasse’s Mix. I mean, it is at the top – of VEGAS. You are looking DOWN at the MGM. We were way high up and it was so beautiful up there. The sun went down and it was pink and orange and so, well, Vegasy.

Bad Alain Ducasse/Mix – lame waiter. Trying for the upsell even on WATER. Sadly we fell for it (well I didn’t, but I wasn’t paying.) We probably had eight $12 bottles of water. Everytime I took a sip of water my glass was filled. When we left, all the water glasses were full of really expensive water. I pissed our waiter off good by ordering two appetizers instead of a appetizer and a main. And I know I could be such a better server and I would never, ever treat my customers like walking wallets. What a wanker.

Good Alain Ducasse/Mix – the sommelier. He ROCKED. For one thing, I asked him about a Pinot Blanc and he had two – one from Chalone and one from a winery called Lorca. He sold us the Lorca, which was half the price of the Chalone, and a bargain at $32. Later our French Corkscrew Supplier (who was paying for this fine event) would order two bottles of expensive, over-oaked red – one Kenwood Artist series Cab, and a St. Julien. Both wines needed to decant for a few hours, and they just didn’t taste good. He should have just let the sommelier decide, but he doesn’t speak any English.

So for dinner, I had an ahi tartare thing (WINNER – Todd English’s Olives) and then some porcini flavored gnocchi. I chose badly on that one. Everyone else was eating lobster and scallops. I just felt so bad for our Corkscrew guy, who was picking up the check, so I was trying to be nice. Then I saw how much he spent on the wine, as he was sitting right next to me. I could have ordered five lobsters for one of those bottles. Oh well. For dessert I had a really bizarre combo of some chocolate wafer thingies and a Lemon Grass flavored ice cream. It did NOT work. In fact all the food there was just OK to me, but damn if the setting wasn’t worth the $150 PP price tag, especially since I was not paying. But, the winner of the week, at a fraction on the price: Olives. I really loved that place. No upsell, fun bartenders, great food. At Olives they know what it’s all about.

After dinner we all went into the high-falutin lounge and had some more $15 glasses of wine. I was totally shocked when a big, fat, ugly bouncer came and told us we had to find another table as the one we were at was reserved. But there were no other tables. We got kicked out! We weren’t cool enough. Also we weren’t escorting any high-class hookers. Oh well.

So this leaves my last and final night in Vegas. I would go it alone. Donna, Elliott and Freddy left for home after we broke down our booth. I went out into the hot night in search of adventure, or at least another four of a kind.

First, I went to the new Wynn resort. It was OK. The outside was really cool with forests and waterfalls. But the inside? Boring. I left really quick and went to the Venetian where I drank a really strong Absolute Mandarin and Soda and lost $40 on a video poker machine. I really know better than to play in a place like that, but I was so thirsty, I can’t even tell you.

I cruised over to the Imperial Palace because they have this area to play blackjack where musician impersonators are dealers and once in a while some hot chick gets up on a stage thingy and lipsynchs to J. Lo. My dealer was Billy Idol and first I was way down, then up. It was fun there. At one point there were these two guys from Liverpool on one side of me and a frosted, older lady on the other. Then this Mariah Carey impersonater gets up and starts doing “Loverboy.” Well let me just tell you I HATE that song with a passion. I hate it, hate it, hate it. It sounds like three different songs with no direction and only Mariah’s practically naked titties could have made that song a hit. But when it was playing loud, in the casino at the IP, with Billy Idol dealing me blackjack, it WORKED. Everyone’s head (including mine) was bobbing up and down. It was pretty sick, let me tell you.

I knew it was time to go.

So I went next door to O’ Sheas. My gambling money was dwindling. I sat at the bar and played video poker, and actually got up pretty high, but of course I was dreaming about the four-aces (PLEASE) and I lost it all. A loud commotion threw me off. It’s Vegas, so I can’t really complain. But I think I’ve written enough, so I’ll continue this later.

I am so tired. I am sooooo tired.

I spent the weekend in Columbia, the gold rush town that is now a state park. There was a wine tasting there yesterday, and I stood behind a table and talked to people for three hours.

Then I went and did something really cool – I wrote a short story.

I have been wanting to write some fiction for a long time – the last time I did was ten years ago. But I never seem to get around to it. Yesterday I was sitting at this picnic table outside my hotel and this short story just came out. It was hella cool. My summer project is going to be to write a whole bunch of them. Of course, wanting to write them is not the same as them just coming out.

After I finished, and was walking back in to the hotel, Tom, the guy who runs the hotels and the wine tasting in Columbia, told me there was going to be a party in the parlor of the City Hotel up the street, and that all the wine people who were staying were going to be there. I knew though that before I went to a party I’d have to eat something, so I went and ate some Mexican food. It was good but then on the bill the server had written a scripture – Romans 12:10 or something like that. I got kind of irritated. I mean, is there no escape from the Christians? Also, why just write the scripture name and not what it means? She forced me to ask. It was some scripture about brotherhood. I am going to start writing every where: Pete Townshend, 5:15. Then people will have to ask me what that means, and then I will tell them, that is a song from The Who’s Quadrophenia.

So after all of that I went over to the City Hotel, but there was no party. As I was leaving I saw Tom again and he said no one had showed up, but that there were some people in the dining room who said I was joining them. This was complete and total news to me; I hadn’t talked to anyone about plans for the evening. It turned out to be this guy Kevin who works for a winery in the Shenandoah Valley, a charming, Irish-style drinker who I ran into in the parking lot before the tasting, where I mentioned “maybe I’ll see you in the bar later” figuring, knowing Kevin, he would definitely be there.

Kevin was with his lady-friend Vicky and this other guy, Chris. They were well on their way to Hammerdom. It was pretty funny. It is always funny to join a group in that state when you are pretty sober. I had some wine and then some grappa and watched the show. Chris was so drunk he was absolutely cross-eyed and made no sense – you could tell sentences were forming correctly in his brain, but when they came out they were all jumbled. Kevin was his usual charming self, and Vicky was cool but then disappeared right before dessert, and so I was forced to eat some of her chocolate souffle. Eventually Kevin left too and then it was just me and Chris. “Balcony wine nice moon come there?” He said. “Dude, I have to work tomorrow, sorry.” I said. When I left I looked through the dining room window and he looked so completely sad and dejected that I almost went back in.

So now I am in Jackson, at the public library. I am going to take a bath and crash early tonight. Seriously, I don’t think I recovered from my trip to Italy and Malta yet. And after Wednesday a series of wine fueled, active nights begins again. And in San Francisco, something awesome is going to happen. So I’d better rest up.

It’s always a sad day when you find one of your favorite bands has broken up. I was lucky enough to see The Delgados twice, both times at the Casbah, with my hands on the speakers. Both shows were awesome… the first time I heard these guys (The Great Eastern record) I was under the influence of, uh, something and it was pretty unbelievable. “Thirteen Guiding Principles” remains, to this day, one of the most epic listening experiences I have ever had.

Check out that song. It’s seriously and totally EPIC.

I think these guys partied so hard on tour that they just couldn’t do it anymore. I remember many calls for Maker’s Mark and coke at those shows. Getting older sucks that way.

My brother Tom has, finally, discovered The Vine. He came in to find me on Wednesday, and loved it so much he came back on Thursday. The first night, he ordered a fucking BUD LIGHT. I was like, Tom, PLEASE… but he insisted. Thanks god the next night he graduated to a Pure Hoppiness. Anyhow, this is pretty exciting, because now I’ll maybe see a little more of my brother.

There is a little picture of Brian and Sky at the bottom of my friend Keith’s web page. But I have it in my mind to do better. I’m going to wait ’till Sky gets drunk and get a really good one.

Now, for your viewing pleasure, PALERMO.

Some might think this is ugly, but I think it ROCKS.