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.

Gather round all you clowns, let me hear you sayyyy

Do you ever feel melancholy?

Y'know, the blues.

Like an aching feeling that just seems to be trying to claw its way from the inside out?

Bone deep?

When it hurts so bad you just want to cry and feel the comfort in being sad?

And, even though it hurts like your soul is being rent in two, the release, the surrender... to that sadness... it feels comforting.

Like when you were growing up and Home was your parents' house. You had your lunchbox; you knew where you stood, what you had to do, there was mac and cheese, and it was easy and you had love and this construct in your head of The Way Things Were Going To Be.

But one day, you eventually wake up to find that is not the case, and in fact, it isn't even close. So you do the best that you can with what you have to try and live a good life, do unto others, try to be cool, live with integrity, maybe learn to play guitar or speak Spanish along the way. If you do, great. If you don't, well, hey, you gave it the old college try.

You look back and wonder how that became this.

You do.

It'll happen, no matter what you do or where you are.

(((And who really cares what you do or where you are? It's who you are that matters.)))

If you're lucky (which I am, beyond freaking belief), you'll take some time, look around, and you just might find, you just might find....

You get what you need.
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P.S. Say a prayer for Blain's mom. Think some good thoughts, send some positive vibrations... just do it. She is fighting an aggressive cancer, and doing her level best to fight the good fight.

Send her some love, will you?

She's a phenomenal woman.