It has been roughly 11 days since my last confession, and these are my triumphs (God wants us to do well).
On May 3rd, I officially became John Paul Spencer for all the world to see. It became easy to explain to the judge why I wanted to change my name when his clerk mispronounced my old name. The paperwork for these changes never stops. I'm rather amazed at the different levels of proof all of the financial and governmental forces at work would like from me. The only thing I have to update are my 4 CD club memberships and I believe that I am finished.
I wrote one song on a whim and finished another by force. One started out grandiose and ended up light-hearted, the other started grim, became morose and descended slowly into utter despair. As you may have guessed, I'd rather play the first one.
I have a busy weekend ahead of me, all of it involving some sort of athletic pursuit. On Saturday, I join Lovely Lady Leslie on the NAMI walk (according to the brochure, that stands for the National Alliance for the Mentally Ill). Lovely Lady Leslie devotes her professional life to the treatment of the mentally ill, then comes home to me. As you might have guessed, she never gets a break. I'm beginning to understand her constant need for sleep. On Sunday, I play street hockey with friends. I wonder how I'll look out there.
This evening, we dined with friends expecting their first child. The man in all this, Dylan, is also my band mate in the two-man-plus-effects-box collective known as The Jumping Frenchmen Of Maine. Very soon, we shall set about cutting a record with the help of all of our musical bric-a-brac and Dylan's computer. More on that next week.
And so, as the sun rises on Central Europe, I bid all in the dark and light and peaceful, a quiet, a humble goodnight.