Jim Beam is easier when it’s room temperature. That’s all there is to it. It’s like sipping lighter fluid when the shit is on the rocks. Tonight, as we were throwing money away on those tables, Rose ordered us a couple pick-me-ups. That shit goes right to the head.

Off the plane, a couple phone calls, a cab ride, and then, a cloudy head, with blinking lights and scantily-clad-trophy-latest-Californicated-fashion-hags and slick-collar-untucked-plucked-eyebrow-fucks and of course, Evan Rose. Goddammit. A good start to the annual tradeshow junket.

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Evan got the convertible. Of course.

Being a man responsible for a 40’ x 80’ tradeshow booth comes with its own set of perks. Having a rental car for the week is one of them. And of course, the sonofabitch got the convertible. And white. We cruised the desert night air tonight, locking up the brakes as much as possible, jumping curbs, peelin’ out, talking shit at onlookers with the roof stylistically at “half mast.”

One has to ask: Is the retractable roof half up, or half down? No time to waste on this existential bout.

We threw some money away, had a couple nips of Beam, a sandwich and caught up. A good night.

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You never leave a man behind. That’s rule #1 in this life. Seeing Gary pull away today broke my cold, dark heart in half. You never leave a man behind. I broke the rule.

He’s in good hands. Goo and Fran will lovingly watch over the little rascal, which sets me at gigantic ease. No amount of words can properly describe the overwhelming sense of appreciation I feel for the Phemisters at this point in my life.

About Gary: It’s just been really good to have him at my side the last couple months since getting back from the Fall Tour. Gonna miss him these next couple weeks, I am.

Be strong, little man, I’ll be back before you know it.

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For what it’s worth: This post was typed more or less drunk.