NP: David Bowie, Heathen

When I got to Vaughan's last night, I think there were six people there aside from those of us who had to be there. It just so happened that three of them were watching the Orange Bowl. From somewhere on high, it was apparently decided that we wouldn't start until the game ended, thus guaranteeing eighteen missed field goals and a triple overtime thriller, in accordance to the White Sox World Series rule of 2005. The byproduct of this was that much more time was spent bellied up to the bar, and when in Rome, drink beer. Or something like that.

By the time we got rolling -- and by this point only one of the original three game-watchers was still there, and we had over half a dozen musicians waiting to play -- it was getting closer to both Anto's and Andrew's birthdays. When in Rome, do shots. Or something.

The point here being, man, do I love coffee! And the restorative powers of the sausage mcmuffin. I managed to hang on to that resolution about late night food, but only because the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru was largely non-responsive.