2003-07-28 - 11:44 p.m.

Sionara to another glorious summery weekend filled with good food, good music, good company, goodness for all.

Clem Snide was great on Friday, although I missed the first song or two because I�m slow like that. Your Favorite Music is one of my favorite songs written within the last dog year. When that album came out, I was at a really high point in my life. I�d just met some incredibly positive, fun, loving friends and had just re-remembered that having quality relationships is the most important thing in life. And hearing sweet Eef Barzelay sing the words Your favorite music, Well it just makes you sad, But you like it 'cause you feel special that way�you feel special that you�re like no one else reminded me of Branderslice�s 28th birthday party and what a rich, happy time that season was. And how I�ve learned so much about being a happy person, being a joyful person who looks for the best in other people, being strong, being content and living in the moment. I bit my lip to keep myself from crying, since I was standing next to Branderslice�s husband�s sister - a total stranger who I�d just met and would hate to frighten so soon.

Yesterday, we dusted off the beach cruisers and pedaled all over the LBC seashore. My poor Schwinn is a shadow of her former self. During her winter storage (in a dank shed in our crap-filled backyard; the crazy hippie landlords have five dogs and do not clean), the seat was eaten by some sort of animal. Mice? But it didn�t impede my pedaling progress. And now I can purchase a fancy new bike seat.

Speaking of the crazy hippie landlords, they�re hooting around their bonfire on the sidewalk in our front yard right now. They recently obtained a little battery-operated Casio keyboard. In my experience, hippies are delusional about their musical abilities. But my landlords are remarkably delusional. For example, the female hippie (Janet) bought a violin during a road trip. They were camping in the woods one night, and Janet (high as a kite) suddenly realized that, despite having no violin training, she was able to play Flight of the Bumble Bee. She told me this story with great seriousness, saying, "It was so amazing. All of a sudden I was just jamming this intense classical shit, you know?" I think they think the same sort of "amazing" experience is taking place 'round the bonfire right now. They�re banging on that Casio and flooding the July evening with sounds of totally amusical three-year-old-at-a-piano sounds. And the five dogs are adding a yelping/howling accompaniment. Thank the lord for hippie landlords who never raise the rent. I think I'll go roast a marshmallow for a S'more, as has been my recent practice when the hippies build their sidewalk bonfires.

I refuse to go to bed. Going to bed would mean the weekend was over. I�m listening to July by The Innocence Mission, another song with beautiful lyrics that move me to tears: You never know, You never really know. And you can't have people figured out. One friend came in out of nowhere, with lit sparklers in both her hands for me, and saved the day when I had run away to envy and black feelings. And the world at night has see the greatest light. Too much light to deny.

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