Worktime

Going to work.

In the church of Al

Last night, a Swiss jazz trio followed by Dirty Bourbon River Show (the musical bastard child of Gogol Bordello, Man-Man, Tom Waits and a brass band) playing Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club. Not just the song. The whole damn album. Tonight, after warming up with the Hot Club of New Orleans, I felt the need.

Stretch

Freakishly tall people at the supercomputing conference, which just ended, which means the drinking lamp is lit for this dude in Nola!

Good old Flamehead

Oh the humanity, somebody get me a fire extinguisher, or a bucket of water, or a beer. Because I like a to drink a beer or two with my entertainment.

Dreamy

The stuff dreams are made of. Really disturbing dreams.

New Orleans snow flurries

Note to self, when eating beignets, the player's move is to wear the white shirt not the black. (Damn old gold and black color scheme.)

Pass the Louisiana hot sauce, please

Zydeco, followed by red beans and rice and a cold Abita Amber.

Lookin' good E-money

Brushing Ely's tux. I want him to look coiffed when I go to New Orleans in the morning. He doesn't get to go. But every burglar's crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man.

Mr. G went up the hill, and down, and up, and down, and...

-30-

Strange brew

On the road jamming to Lady Gaga's Artpop, followed by Beverly Sills singing Cleopatra in Handel's Julius Caesar, as I drive south to the Kentucky border, intent on running 30 hilly miles in the morning, and suddenly it hits me: I am one strange dude.