Minding my own business and about to blog this moment away as Interpol blasts away at a volume I'm sure that has the next door neighbors enjoying it completely, I glanced up at a stack of books. Dreamweaver MX for Dummies caught my eye and a cold shudder of death waved through my body.
Met Kennedy at a jazz gig at the church last night and Bandmate Scott was there, across the way/aisle/GodPath. So we go out for post-show drink(s), me and the Bandmate, at that joint Prespa. Small, functional, former storefront that pulls off the ginmill vibe well. We were glancing up at a college basketball game when - suddenly - there was a player with a face mask on. He'd had his nose busted or some such thing (as has Yours Truly - twice) and it blended his basketball head with the shiny plastic to horrifying effect. Bandmate Scott turns to me and sez "KNIFE CALL SHOULD WEAR THOSE ONSTAGE." I like so completely agree. This is like that dj that JW,Esq. was going to see last night, an alleged daddy of the suburbs who does his gigs in a metal half-mask. Masks, all the rage, suddenly.
And Bandmate Scott joins list of pals who have informed me that I must grow my hair. Puh-leez. Is it time to walk to the green line after grabbing a tall strong French coffee, wander into Diesel store before walking to Parsons, take a lunch break at Marquet and meander the streets in a visualizing stupor yet.

Love Stupor.