Damn, but sometimes I just need some rock with horns

This evening on the drive home from work was one of those times.

The under-appreciated Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes hit me first and made me want to go out all night.



They're way better live.

From there it was a short jump to the left to Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats, because, damn, I really need never get old.



That's how it works, you know, the way they never tell you.  You're talking with someone, excited, juices flowing, the future an endless vista of possibility, and then you catch a glimpse of yourself in a glass door, and your hair and beard are white and, fuck, you are old.

Well, fuck that.

Fuck that sideways.

I'm aiming to blaze all the rest of my way, never slow down, wring all I can from this life, love all I can, fight all I can, burn with passion until I can barely stand it, dream big and dangerously, and go down beating the hell out of that not so good night.

And I'll be playing rock and roll, some of it with horns, the whole way--and maybe for another hour past the end.

Perfect moments

Life affords us many perfect moments, though we rarely notice most of them. At 11:30 tonight, I was driving home, the windows down, the air cool but not cold, few streetlights on my route, and the CD player spun to a track (The Calling's "Wherever You Will Go") that in that particular moment hit me as perfectly as a new lover's first kiss.

Rock and roll, the night, driving: many perfect moments in my life have shared these elements.