We'll know for the first time if we're evil or divine, we're the last in line

Sunday. It's late morning and I'm not fully awake. With that in mind, please forgive any transgressions I may commit in this state. We'll forge ahead, you and I, and see where this post takes us. It will be fine. Take my hand...

Yawn.

Last night was Spira and Melanie's opening for their art exhibit. I had a lot of fun. Pretty women, great conversations, laughs, music, tasty food and drink. And let's not forget the most essential aspect of the evening: the art (and Missy, the dog, too, but let's stay on point). Spira, with her latest batch of paintings, has evolved substantially, which is not to suggest her previous work was mediocre. Not at all. I'm proud of her. And fortunate to witness her growth first hand. I remember when she first started painting years ago. She's come a long way. And Melanie, too, produced some fine work that was on display last night. Always nice attending an exhibit with art you actually enjoying looking at. Not always the case. I've been to enough Open Studios to be able to say that with a certainty.

Yawn.

Melanie's husband, Jim, DJ'd the event and Pam provided the catering. I focused on the beer and didn't each much, mostly because I had eaten dinner prior to coming, and also because I was afraid if I got started, got the taste of blood, so to speak, I would have foregone being social altogether. What I'm trying to convey is that there was a lot of tasty food on hand. (This paragraph was tougher than is should have been. A product of my fatigue? Maybe, but for us there is no sleep 'til Brooklyn. We forge ahead.)

Conversations. Had some fine ones with Allie, Pat, Evan (a comedian who talks to himself via TV monitors), Cup Head (a moniker I anointed this guy with because, well, he wore a cup on his bald head all night and because I never learned his proper name. Interesting cat, no one really knew much about him beyond the fact that he shows up at all the openings around the city), Jim, Sean, Spira,......you get the idea. Many conversations, good times.

I stayed to the end and helped clean up. Pat and I discussed playing music together, a discussion we always have when we see each other, but never follow through with. Maybe we will this time. At night's end, those of us remaining parted ways and headed home. I gave Pat and Allie a ride home and afterward I cried rivers of tears into my pillow. Tears of rage, tears of regret, tears of joy, tears of terror - the whole shebang. I'm still crying now. Maybe I should take an Advil, or something.

Made a quick playlist before beginning this post that, despite the small amount of thought that went into its creation, has thus proved to be a seamless one. Let's see, I've got some Deer Hunter, Queen, Humble Pie, Jay Reatard, Grizzly Bear, Rage Against The Machine, Dio (Last In Line, baby!), Swell Maps, Joy Division, and Mother Love Bone (Chloe Dancer, maybe their only good song). So far, so good.

Here's an idea I'd like to pursue. It goes like this: Assemble a group of people together and read passages from your favorite books. From any genre, as long as it works as a stand alone. I got the idea while reading from a Chuck Klosterman book. Some writing begs to be read aloud. Anyway, if this idea pans out, all involved will become even more superior to the Jersey Shore watching minions we live amongst (Of course, if someone elects to read from Snookie's book, "A Shore Thing", I'll have to reassess that claim).

Chloe Dancer is playing. Beautiful song, conjures up the past in bittersweet tones. We must not dwell there, we must not. Now, there is only now. Still, those were some times, they were.

I think my breakfast has digested enough for me to get ready for some yoga. You know what that means; I'm out this piece, son!