Modern Love

Having allowed my mind to wonder during another meaningless commute to work this morning I thought to myself, "David Bowie was pretty good." Naturally my curiosity latched on to this fleeting thought like a dead carcass in the talons of a rabid vulture. I couldn't effectively weigh in on just how good, or bad, David Bowie really was in his prime. Sure, he did a lot blow, wore make-up, was the poster child for the glam-rock movement, and probably sucked down yards of cock. While these aren't what I would consider prudent lifestyle choices (well, maybe doing a lot of coke is on there) I couldn't help but wonder if I hadn't had a good nights sleep in a few moons and that, perhaps, this is why David Bowie's struck me in such a manner. Thus, I look to your insight.

On a completely unrelated note, Mr. Serazio will be officially wrapping up his long and distinguished tenure with that icon of New Journalism, the Houston Press. In order to facilitate an effective celebration I urge all of you (the three or four of us who will probably read this) to have a drink for Mike tomorrow night; and if you happen to wander into IHOP, The Waffle House, or an all-night Mexican eatery, don't hesitate to give Mike a call and leave a detailed message centering not only what you're having for a late night snack, but also what volume of drink has led you to where you are at three or four o'clock in the morning.
Cheers,
Aden