Holiday Weekend.

Certain musics for certain weathers, and coming summertime means Lyle Lovett in small doses, no matter what that says of me. Might ANYLF recommend for this evening's cooling dry dark the second disc of LL's "Step Inside This House," a two-disc set of Texas songwriter covers. Townes Van Zandt, Guy Clark, Walter Hyatt, et al. A low Collins, heavy on the fresh lemon juice, might not hurt you, either. It is the long Sunday of a holiday weekend. Find that chair you've left out on the porch for the birds to shit in, knock as much of the guano out of it as you can, and wait for the coals to gray over enough for you to cook on them.

Not for nothing, and not to sing sad songs for the sake of singing them, but it does cross my mind that our forecast is not for sandstorms. My grandfather and my father went to war. I went to writing camp.

Our forecast is for mid-eighties and sun and cookouts. Gin. Lemons. Kebabs. It was cool today, beautiful, breezy, clouds passing over the top of us, tomorrow's heat underneath it all. Tomatoes knee-high. La Vieja's lilies waist-high. There's a lot out there to be measured.