Returning from Damian’s house. It’s 2am, and there are emails in my inbox reminding me that I’ve neglected the Journal.
I’ve been busy with the homecoming.
A couple of years ago, that was a nighmarish dance-opportunity for embarassment and humiliation. Now it’s the culmination of return. Dancing with friends and playing for and playing with and Loving the Life that I’m leading.
Oh, and forgetting my bloody camera, but at least not being lost.
It’s 1:49am, I-66 runs away from the rubber of our tires, and we’ve been good Cranium players. I’m thinking of the people who’ve been busy making me feel Loved over the past couple of days.
One of the first nights back, there was a party in Baltimore – board games and cooking and cooling our heels and heating our backs. I’ve decided that the single best thing in the world is a fireplace.
Even if you’re limited to nothing more than a store-bought Party Colour E-Z Log, the warmth of a real fireplace is like sitting in the sunshine in the middle of the night. Like a hot shower, except you can lie your head in the lap of a woman you don’t know that well, and still play Monopoly.
Jason is our local chef-experimenteur, and he made a fantastic chicken and lemon and garlic concoction that made me wish I never worried about getting fat.
Sigh.
And then Saturday, we played the Thai Gour.
You know you’re dealing with a good owner when the man comes up to you and informs you that, yes, here is an envelope full of cash that he owes you from the last time you’d played there, some seven months earlier.
Yet another night of being fed fantastic food. My grandfather even came out, and we got to make up a song for Heather’s parents’ 28th anniversary. It had a wah pedal in it.
So, we’re enveloped by darkness, and my nightvision is completely impaired by the light of my laptop. I’m only dimly aware of signs flashing by and the occasional noisy car flashing past, or creeping by.
A couple of dinners later, and we found 0urselves at Jammin Java’s open mic, advertising ourselves like cheap whores (c’mon! $10 tricks and you get to watch for free?!).
Crossing the American Legion Bridge – remembering when I was stuck in Virginia after work for some four hours while some poor sod contemplated commiting suicide off this here bridge. He held up traffic well into the night, and eventually jumped, injuring his leg. I think he’s now in jail, and STILL receives hate mail.
Anywho – Jammin Java. It seems a little less the hoppin businessy networking spot that it was, and under it’s new host, Kris Oleth – it seems to have become a bit more relaxed, more casual, and a bit more fun.
(scary huge construction lights at first look like on-coming cars)
We advertised our show, got off the stage, sold some stuff – and watched our friends Might Could play guitar like I wish I could play. Sigh. Drooling, we go back to Damian’s house for a night of chili, wine and baklava. Oh, and Cranium. Damn cool game.
We made baklava. We’re going to have group baklava making, methinks, at New Year’s Eve. And Cranium. Hell, we might get little dolphin bottle openers and British accents to complete the imagery.
That really won’t make sense to most of you, but I think now, that I’m mostly typing just to type, and should just give it a rest.
