Friday, March 17, 2006
and by the way
2:30 or so in the a.m.
Officially, St. Patrick's Day! So have a Guinness (or possibly 4 or 5) and a good one!
I just stepped back in from steppin' out for a smoke before I go to bed. Nah, don't worry, my dear reader, not picking the habit back up, just indulging in a little Spring Break decadence and enjoying the adolescent feeling of illicit thrill that sneaking out into the driveway to have a smoke still elicits.
"Come Monday, it'll be all right," is how I believe Mr. Buffet sings it.
The evening breeze carried a band, rocking way to hard to be rocking legally at this time of night. Ah, 'tis the middle of SXSW. There's music o' plenty in the cafes at night, but the chattering din of the slithering hordes of drunken music industry weasels drowns and squelches the revolution in the air.
Ah. . . but the sound of some cat rippin' a solo over some grungy blues Sabbath meets Skynyrd groove. . . blocks, if not miles away. . . at 2:30 in the morning. . .
21 years and counting. . . over half my life thus far. . .
I do still so love this town.
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Officially, St. Patrick's Day! So have a Guinness (or possibly 4 or 5) and a good one!
I just stepped back in from steppin' out for a smoke before I go to bed. Nah, don't worry, my dear reader, not picking the habit back up, just indulging in a little Spring Break decadence and enjoying the adolescent feeling of illicit thrill that sneaking out into the driveway to have a smoke still elicits.
"Come Monday, it'll be all right," is how I believe Mr. Buffet sings it.
The evening breeze carried a band, rocking way to hard to be rocking legally at this time of night. Ah, 'tis the middle of SXSW. There's music o' plenty in the cafes at night, but the chattering din of the slithering hordes of drunken music industry weasels drowns and squelches the revolution in the air.
Ah. . . but the sound of some cat rippin' a solo over some grungy blues Sabbath meets Skynyrd groove. . . blocks, if not miles away. . . at 2:30 in the morning. . .
21 years and counting. . . over half my life thus far. . .
I do still so love this town.
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