I have a terrible, terrible thing to confess:

I kind of like the new John Mayer song.

Part of the purpose of such confessions is to see just how much I can get away with before Dino kicks me out of the band.

Jason and I have been selected to participate in an Arbitron� survey measuring our proclivities in radio listenership. We received our "radio diaries" and our "small cash gift" (a crisp $1 bill) last week, and now I guess we're supposed to be keeping track of our radio listening habits. Which would be a lot easier if I hadn't promptly lost my radio diary. To make matters worse, every couple of days someone from Arbitron� calls to make sure we received our diaries and will be keeping fastidious notes on our listening patterns. I could just tell them that, ever since the mid-90s when commercial radio started sucking, I haven't listened to anything besides NPR until I moved to Chicago and started listening to WXRT at my job. Quantify that, bitches.

Last night we got drunk at Tuman's. Because we were in a corner booth in a tastefully appointed tavern with ornate wood and brass fixtures, and because we were drinking Maker's on the rocks, we felt like we were getting drunk in a somewhat classier fashion.

Then we went back to Aden's, where I had two very satisfying drunken phone conversations, first with Margaret, then Neil. Neil was grilling out on his back porch. As if I needed reminding that he lives in the Bay Area, land of perpetual springtime.

Also, we played Aden's Atari emulator. The game of choice for the evening seemed to be Gravitar�, which Aden played expertly while shouting "I must engage you!" every time he fired at enemies.

All in all, a satisfying Friday night. Now it's off to Iowa City for birthday parties (just one, really) and more drunken cavorting with old friends.

"Tim, are you going to put that joint in a museum, or are you going to set it aflame?" �Aden

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