Can you show me a dream?

The cold light of day slants through the window.

I am drifting, floating, wandering, wondering.

Pushing through hazy strands of gauze, shimmering, glimmering.

Reflecting on last night.

Dinner with Tricky and Janelle. Tricky is from Atlanta. Janelle is too, but she was born in Minnesota. They are really, really nice people. He is a fellow disillusioned lawyer. I guess that I cannot even really call myself that anymore. A lawyer. Or disillusioned, for that matter.

Tricky and Janelle were going to see a show. They invited us, but we were too wiped out to go.

So we came home and played some music.

It was good.

Gonna play some more this afternoon.

The Mitten is gigging.

Hello, Belgrade.

I spell M.

A, child.

N.

Way past twenty-one.

You and me, girl... we'll have lots of fun.

Ain't that a man?

I watched The Last Waltz again this morning. (Dad, if you are reading this, put it on your Netflix, you would really enjoy it.) I used to watch that movie a LOT in college.

For the uninitiated, The Last Waltz is a documentary of The Band's farewell concert. Martin Scorcese flimed it. They were breaking up after 16 years of making beautiful, eclectic, completely unique music and they had a big farewell concert with a bunch of friends, like Van Morrison, Eric Clapton, Joni Mitchell, Muddy Waters, Bob Dylan, and Neil Young. They just get down and have a good old time. I wish I had those friends.

Anyway, it is pretty much the seminal rock and roll concert movie.

Check it.

Here's Up On Cripple Creek.


I gotta run. The pyrotechnics guy wants to talk to me about the flashpots and dry ice for the gig this afternoon.

Plus, I guess Aden is pitching a fit about the sound system in the venue, so we have that to deal with. Which is strange, since the venue is his living room. But I guess when you are a dynamic frontman like that, you can do those kinds of things, and the rest of us just scramble around to make him happy.

Peace.