In the meantime, I suppose I should write of my own life in my journal. Sunday night's party at Conor Byrne Pub was a smashing success, with great music, wall-to-wall people, and only three incidents of minor drama (one literal) to my knowledge. lifeofbrian should know that Paul Mumaw was a complete rock star, in the requisite leather jacket with a beer and mostly-smoked cigarette sitting on the stool next to him. allysonkalea may also be interested to know that this was Shannon Stephens' first live show in some time; she also thinks it may have been her best. I hope she starts playing more.
I was a workhorse on Monday, with a few frustrations but no crisis territory. Yesterday evening was yet another Staff Meeting, punctuated by a Seana-the-Drink-Slinger-initiated discussion of Abercrombie and Fitch's recent offenses against Asians and Asian-Americans with the table next to us (A&F, controversial? Couldn't possibly be part of their marketing plan to frat rats and wannabes across the country...). Adding to the flavor, two gentlemen at the next table spoke with English accents. Truly a crystalline snapshot of the tavern as a community gathering place.
Which brings me to today, the day off. Yet again I was tempted to work (and actually did complete one errand), but instead slept much of the day. Taking the day off is a healthier precedent by far. Besides which, Seattle is absolutely gorgeous today. If anyone thinks that's hyperbole, they clearly aren't here in Seattle.
In the interest of journalistic integrity, my inner life isn't ideal right now. But I'm feeling relaxed and am too desperate for that simple feeling to allow it to be disrupted in the rare moments of its emergence. Faith and peace are going to have to be bigger than my world, and thankfully, they are.
P.S. The purple lady's party has arrived, and they're all engaged in a dramatic read-through of a screenplay. All hail the oddity of artists.
P.P.S. Happy birthday, wing!