At risk of sounding like a hypochondriac, I have had a migraine for six days running now. There are a thousand million invisible needles behind my eyes doing a Richard Simmons workout in my sinus cavities. It doesn't feel good. I have discovered that sitting in a dark room with a pillow over my head makes everything seem alright, but I don't want to become some sort of long-suffering quasimodo day in and day out. I'm waging war with my own worst enemy. Hello Excedrin, Goodbye pain.

I usually carpool with my father to work, because his office is about 5 blocks from mine, to save on gas. But this morning I got to drive his souped-to-the-hilt truck by myself, which was fun aside from spilling a cup of scalding coffee in my lap before I even left the driveway and being stuck for a good 20 miles behind a porsche from Montreal. (damn frenchies - stay out of Texas if you can't drive correctly - leave the real roads to people who can actually drive grumble grumble). I cranked Guerrilla at top volume and had a little rave on wheels listening to "Wherever I Lay My Phone (That's My Home)" so loud that it made my stomach hurt. Rule!! Compound that by me repeatedly listening to it so many times I could have had some sort of vomiting orgy by the time I got to work. But no - I was feeling nice and obnoxious and was immune to any potential disaster.

Friday night I ventured out into the night to see A Quick One - a Who cover band - and Dedicated Followers of Fashion - a Kinks cover band. Cover was free, so it wasn't a night to be lost. After an invigorating dinner discussion with Hawkins over tater tots and frosties at Sonic, we made our way down to the Cavern Club on Lower Greenville. Where did some of these people come from? There were *mods* in there! In Dallas! Mind you, there weren't that many, but there was enough to make you stop and realize that not everyone in Dallas is as void of taste as you'd tend to think.

One of my best memories of the night was looking to my left and seeing Cullen and Crowder by the mixing table, both with an ale in their hand, standing proud and bobbing their heads to old Who songs. The lead singer from Tripping Daisy was wigging out in front of me, dancing in his orange shirt and brown plaid vest, high fiving everyone. Steve Nutt was beside me air guitarring and singing in his best white man soul voice. When they played "The Kids Are Alright" I got tears in my eyes (I'm serious!) and really appreciated the fact that I have gotten to know some really remarkable people in my lifetime. They may not be famous, or rich, or drop dead gorgeous, but these guys really can make a night go from zilch to perfection in no time. I miss last summer at the Liquid Lounge where we could talk about Paul Weller and drink illegally and dance to Small Faces. And sit around the booth singing "Hometown Unicorn" at the tops of our lungs. Those were the days.

So yeah. It was a real heartwarming sort of occasion. A very good night for someone who's been feeling kind of lonely lately.