Patches is psyched about Labor Day weekend.

Energy crisis be damned!

My step son gave me a gift this morning. It has been added to the swag on my desk.

We need to do something special this weekend. Nits the ceremonial end of summer and we have to go down swinging.

San Diego is out of the question, isn’t it?

What should we do?

Maybe I can sit in with the organist and we can play Voodoo Chile or maybe some Deep Purple.

That’s the spot.

I’ll spend my days working in a t-shirt shop or something, and then spend my evenings and weekends sitting on that wall with my 12-string guitar playing poor renditions of old blues songs with my case open at my feet so tourists can drop quarters into it.

My whole life is now planned out. Let’s go today!

Is it really September 1st? Are the summer months really over? I totally refuse to accept this.

It’s still summery in San Diego, I bet.

Sometimes I seriously hate the damn passage of time.

I’ve got me the songwriting bug again. For reals. For the first time in ages.

I also have zero motivation to do anything with said bug. I think the well might be temporarily dry. I have two or three things going in GarageBand, but I don’t see any of them turning into anything.

When we move to San Diego (any minute now) my 12-string and I will busk the beaches. I can do that for a living, can’t I?

I’m just messing with the Slow Shutter app.

I’m watching the Red Sox play the Yankees. It’s Jimmy Fund Telethon day so the Sox are bring all sorts of guests into the broadcast booth. Right now they have John Valentin and Mo Vaughn on.

Remember when they were the source of the hope? Remember when we looked at them and thought that they were the guys who were going to break that everlasting championship drought? Remember when they had to listen to opposing fans chanting “1918” and how it royally sucked?

Neither do I.

2004 actually happened. It really did.

Go Red Sox!