I'm going to be one of those old men who can't remember anything. I just know it. I already have some trouble. It's bound to get worse. It's that some moments just don't find their foothold, they never tether to another - so they drift out, away from me. The first hummingbird of summer (and mom in grassy shorts, watching expectantly) is still here, slower than I've ever seen it, and each feather, each bounce of light and shadow, each small gesture large enough to see, they're still here.
(album out in September, on my birthday; thanks, Lindsey)
Summer is almost at an end, for most university students in and around New York City. For some of us, classes begin on the last day of August, an abrupt end to a summer that was, weather-wise, too short.
This is an invitation for YOU to come CELEBRATE the END OF SUMMER with US!
We will be on the roof of 100 S. 4th Street (The Rocket Factory) in Brooklyn, NY beginning at 4:00 PM.
So come and bring an instrument, your listening ears, some food or libations, and your friends!
If you'd like to perform, bring some songs/jokes/stories/&c with you, two at a time in a round-robin style hoot!
Improper post. Real write-ups later. I'm beat, it's been a whirlwind week. But before I sleep, before you do anything else, listen to some Saint Seneca. I was fortunate enough to see these folks two nights back-to-back last week, and they were heart-warming and foot-stomping, audible "Wow"z and all, smiles everywhere. And honestly, that's what I want to see all the time. (They're also very nice, funny people. We went out to a diner and they had me covering my mouth way too much.)