It’s Thanksgiving weekend, a day and a half after two and a half heaping plates of turkey dinner, festive air, old friends, a few days off, and I’m as drunk now as I was twenty four hours ago (at which time I was fast asleep). I used to party like it was 1999. But ever since 1999, I’ve begun to party like it’s 2012. Usual sobriety with occasional bouts of extreme drunkeness. Only occasionally to become the uncaged animal that I am capable of becoming. But that is not now. Now is the loving looks I glance towards the sweet embrace of my soft flannel sheets. Now is the utopian knowledge of not having to wake up until around three thirty tomorrow afternoon. Unfortunately, I will wake much sooner, just after the sun, and try to stay in bed, but opt for coffee and a day instead. Sometimes I think I should paint my windows black and put my clock outside on the window ledge. Sometimes I think I should rob a bank, and hire a butler to wake me up if there’s a good meal getting cold. I think I’d like to build a log cabin on the roof of this building in Queens. But I don’t think it would be quite as romantic as I imagine. Is satisfaction ever guaranteed?

I guess what I’m trying to say is, Diamond Jim, it was great to see you, and all the brothers, and all the Willis family and friends. Holidays are a wonderful excuse to live old traditions, and see all the people you rarely get to see in the middle of March.

Wasn’t it bed time twenty minutes ago?

Good night.

… nothing but love.