There is a large glass menagerie on my kitchen counter. Dirty glasses. And a few plates. My dishwasher has been dead for months now, and I usually get to the dishes every couple of days. I rotate their positions so I don't keep using the same ones over and over. I mean, I have a ton of glasses and plates and bowls. If I don't rotate, it's like I don't appreciate everything I have.

Maybe I should bring this up at the next reunion.

Actually, I think I've said a few times this year of my intention and then execution of not going to my reunion.

But this month a few old friends came back into town (for a night--it's always a night at a bar). So it's been like a mini-reunion every week or so.

A high school and college friend (we were roomies for a year or so at UNM) came through town with his family and band. We met him at Misty's Hideaway, a bar in a strip mall in the heights. It was the first time I'd been in there. There was a time, after my last band broke up and before my new band started gigging, when downtown bands tried to play shows at Misty's. I haven't heard of anyone doing that in the last year.

My old friend's band was a country trio (with a local lead guitarist sitting in on many songs) with a female lead singer. They had a good crowd, but not a crazy Friday night type crowd. And, when the bands were finished playing around midnight and the canned music (classic rock, mostly) came over the speakers, that's when the place filled up.

But I hadn't seen my friend play drums in at least a decade, so it was cool. Fun. We talked about jobs, families and being in bands. And then, at the end of the night, I went back home. My band would play a couple of nights later.

We got a call a week after that about a Thursday night in Santa Fe. A relatively new club up there where my guitarist had worked for a week or two before landing the gig he's got now. A couple of days before that gig, I realized the yearly big Indian art festival (more of a clearing house sale for Native American art than an exhibition) was starting that day. I remembered that a friend of mine from Denver tries to make it to the City Different every year for this event.

My inquiries proved me correct, and she said she'd be at the club to see my band. Again, it was jobs, families and the band I was about to play with. The club was a good venue, sound system was great and there was even a green room behind the stage (a first for me) with a couple tubs of beers for the bands. The Thursday night Santa Fe crowd was not big, maybe fifteen at the apex. And once the bands stopped playing, the place filled up to drink, dance and smoke on the patio to house music.

Apparently the bands were too loud. Y'know, this month marks the 40th anniversary of Woodstock, a huge three day LIVE BAND festival where people didn't shower, got covered in mud, took a lot of acid and pot and most left before Jimi Hendrix played the Star Spangled Banner. But I'm pretty sure the crowd didn't surge to the stage if and when a tape of music was played. I'm waiting for a reunion of people who like to see local bands play their own music.

Last Thursday there was a mini-reunion of the drummers. Back in the 90s, there was a drum house. Where drummers in college would live and the best parties would occur. Many of my drummer friends lived there for a semester or two (or longer), and the circle of drummers is rather wide. A few of us met at our local Irish pub, where our returning friend (the reason for the reunion) used to spend a lot of time and money before moving to L.A. And for four hours or so, we talked of jobs, family and the music we play for other people.

And this next weekend, I'll get a day off from the job, have a barbecue with some family and my band'll play Santa Fe on Friday night.

Matt Worley quoth the Talking Heads man: same as it ever was.