Got beat with the drunk stick. Weddings; they'll do that to ya. It was a great one. Champaigne and scotch and dancing with maids. It all gets out of hand so quickly, and then you have to make a questionable bike run to catch the last BART. The real downside was that I didn't go right home, and -- in addition to making the executive decision to stop in at the Albatross and stare mutely at the attractive bartender (weddings; they'll do that to ya) while imbibing even more demon liquor, loosing track of my bike helmet and black suit jacket and some of my dignity in the process -- somewhere along the way I crashed into something and broke my laptop screen.

That scene is missing from my memory-reel, but the forensic evidence is conclusive. Stay classy, KoneZone.

On the upside, a bike ride to Emeryville for an on-demand replacement at the Apple store is a good hangover cure. The weather cooperated with brilliance, there was a cool Sikh parade on the way, and I'll have a new headless computer to muck about with for however long it stays alive.

Still, the whole thing feels childish. Especially the bartender part. That's just un-called-for behavior.

Now is probably as good a time as any to get healthy(er) again. I mean, maybe in advance of the next wedding (a western-themed hodown in Portland, guaranteed bacchanalia) I can abandon my five or six pounds of latent beer-weight. On the other hand, who knows what kind of awful trouble I'd get into if I showed up all lithe and sexy. Still, it's always a good idea to revive Operation Get Real Hot. Decisions, decisions.

Anyway, I spent the better part of the day dealing with the computer situation, and now there's work to be done. I'm starting to feel slightly overwhelmed by things, which I think is more attitudinal than a reflection of real changes in my workload. My high-flying mood that started w/Coachella is coming back down to earth.

New inspirations must be found, but at the moment all I'm feeling is wistful nostalgia for my early days in New York City, before 9/11 and the war, when the world was full of newness and excitement and art seemed a reasonable way to go about practicing the revolution. Times like this I miss the fuck out of that old city, that old life. The future was wiiiiiide open.

Of course, the lyrical rejoinder obtains: "There were never any good old days...it is today...it is tomorrow...it is a stupid thing we say cursing tomorrow with sorrow."

Things are changing. They're always changing, but right now is one of those acute times for me.

At the wedding, there was one particular moment that hit for me. The Episcopalian father performing the ceremony talked about how making a commitment to a mate is something some of us are called to, and some of us are not. I've more or less assumed all my life that I would settle down and get married, the odd moment of heartsick lonesome paranoia notwithstanding. Family life is something I want, but I don't believe I've ever critically examined that desire or really entertained the alternative.

The sermon made me want to think about that, because beliefs that are just there without ever really being arrived at or affirmed by contemplation of (sometimes scary) alternatives are soft, and hard to act on. So I'm thinking about it.

But there's work to be done. That's the thing for now.