sunlight.

Pray for Seattle as we suffer through a 70+ degree spring day. We don't know what to do with ourselves, you see. Do we party party party all day long, or do we simply let the garrulous sky's blue-eyed beauty remind us that no loveliness is permanent and that according to the weather forecast everything will turn to shit definitely no later than tomorrow night?

Just as surely as my beer will run dry, my fauxhawk will grow overly tall and begin drooping regardless of intensity of hair product, and I will consume the very last of the chocolate-caramel truffle cookies I've been hoarding in that tin with the little dogs on it, every stunning Seattle spring afternoon gives way sooner or later to the wet gray dryer-lint sky of a dreary, deadening Seattle spring morning.

Yes indeed, readers, nothing gold can stay.

RECALL, though, that: I am gainfully, even joyfully, employed, and can therefore buy more beer, yes, more beer, ever more and more beer; that haircuts exist (I have heard, though anyone laying eyes upon me these days can tell that I have yet to see conclusive proof of this rumor); that I am a pimp at baking and can make more cookies any fucking time I please; and that even here, in the Rainy City, motto: "Don't Get Mad: Get SAD(Seasonal Affective Disorder)!", city of losers, nerds and madmen, winter and even spring have been known at times to give way to summer.