Made Of

Made of leather, stretched on bone.
Made of meat, in between.
Fashioned out of better metal
Than earth they will not ever be.

Made of spirit, snatched from ether,
Made of soul, queerer stuff.
Trapped in cages, better metal
Forms the bars that keep it in.

Made of fibers, connecting each.
Made of language, connecting all.
Stupid in groups and smarter alone.
Better with others, lesser alone.

Made of light, shining through.
Made of spark which zaps and burns.
Ions animate their worlds,
And illuminate the blackness.

Beer for Breakfast….oh, and Lunch…oh, and Dinner…

So there’s something luxuriously naughty about guzzling down a cheap beer (in my case, Rolling Rock) before noon. Not to mention that fact that we were the young hotties in Daddy’s Bar at that time. My GOD, how long has it been since I was one of the youngest in a place like that? (eds: do the math, Skippy. 39 - 21 = 18). Zoinks! Remembering how young you used to be can make you feel old.

Go figger.

We didn’t end up crazy-sloppy-you’regoingtohavetoPOURusbackupthehill drunk; instead, we maintained a rather fashionable beer-buzz the entire afternoon, spilling into the evening. Lots of great conversation between ourselves and some with others, and eventually some seriously inconsistent pool playing by yours truly.

All in all, a terrific day; we’ll call the experiment a complete success—with no need to ever ever EVER do it again.