I had the pressing tendency to make amends repeatedly to everyone for denying them their Murphee K -- thanks to Officer K.J. and his "I-have-finals-tomorrow" crew.  Long story short, the Neumes played an awesome performance -- not the way you would describe a towering bonfire incident or a PDA/cell phone combo, but awesome in every sense of the word as it was their best performance to date -- but then a man clad in black and indignation brandished his light upon us and we knew that the party was over (at least live music-wise).  So, via not playing songs I was forced to bottle up my emotions the way a therapist would recommend not to when she says, "don't", and had to deal with the missed opportunity of rocking out in front of an enthusiastic crowd.

Speaking of which, you guys have been so nice to us for showing up.  Especially Mike (The Remedies) who finally got the chance to witness us only to be served the crap gift of silence.  Don't worry, dude, there's always January 6th (hint hint, everyone).  Also, Gary (Funeral of an Astronaut), if you guys finally get a website, I'll plug you guys in.  Maybe we can play House Party I-Lost-Count in the future.

Now, suppose I segue into my dream sequence...

I dreamt that I was back in Houston (woosh!) when I came home that night from our non-performance.  I was walking downtown by myself in a very self-conscious manner as one would when one is hanging out downtown and alone.  I was mildly aware that the cops were in stilts rather than horseback when I happened to stop at an outside venue to watch a local band play, and a lady who was coordinating the event checked her watch -- it was 9:28pm.  She then conspicuously pointed to an object towards the right which I followed to a sign that read, to my utter surprise and sheer delight, "9:30pm:  One Pump Chump".  This REALLY HAPPENED, DAMMIT!

Happy Holidays!

-George Ryan