Bored on a Saturday with hours to kill, if this town doesn't get you, then mabye I will.

Friday night was loud guitars, expensive beer, and me slowly coming alive. I stared at Kevin Kerby's beat up yellow telecaster and dreamed of ways to make it mine. A five year anniversary show for Max Recordings. The American Princes were inspiring as always. David has got to be one of my favorite writers, and Collins a favorite guitar player. Matt pounds the fuck out of his drums and Luke holds it all together. Great guys. Great band. Period.



Kent got warmed up for the show by listening to Triple Six Mafia and downing a beer. It was good to see Gilbert, my old best buddy, and at one time, my closest confidant. Yesterday I thought about us as teenagers with fucked up haircuts and a crazy punk rock band. His wild bass lines always played with style and instinct. All of the different rooms we used to practice in. Fun nights drinking in the Dodge 440 and hanging out on Josh's parent's porch. The insane brilliance and joy of owning a van with several of your best friends in high school. Trips to Chicago, St. Louis, Austin. The jokes. My god, the jokes..



Drove back to Conway with Nick and Thomas. A party on college avenue with Seth, Michael, and Mark being wasted and hilarious. A first hand account of Bruce Springsteen at the Jazz festival in New Orleans. Saturday was working all day on an exhausted hang over with no breakfast. Pretty bad. It stole my Saturday night. But that's alright, because there is a party tonight at the Faulkner House. I am going to see if I can conjure up any ghosts...See ya there, I hope.