I don't want to grow up to be a stupid white guy.

I'm sitting at a coffee shop. It's 8PM on a Thursday night. I'm outside at a cafe table. The dusk is falling slowly on Denver. Lights are coming on. People are settling into their evening. The weekend is so close you can taste it. Dogs are walking their owners. It is spring. Everyone is looking at everyone else. Apes and bears... Claws turning to wings... We've officially come out of our caves. The evening air is palpable. It's carbonated. It has a voice... it's whispering irreverent things into our ears. We're listening this time... It feels like the kind of night that a stranger could walk up to a stranger and say, "The tank is full... wanna drive to Montana? I know this little bar in Butte..."

An oblivious middle aged white guy just walked past on the sidewalk. He had the mild swagger that mild success mixed with uncertainty breeds. He'd been waiting for his middle aged white female friend, evidently. When she walked up, he said something vaguely condescending to her as he adjusted his belt on his paunch. I don't like him. He's not evil. He's just boring.

I've got a lot of things on my mind lately... top of the list is these records... these musical projects that are in my head. I kind of want to take off some time from playing shows, turn my house back into a recording studio and go figure out a new music for myself... more about all that soon... it's still cooking.