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They tanked my internet connection again early this evening, right in the middle of my formulating another whopper of a post on more of this travesty in Iran, and it was either snap, go screaming naked off a cliff, again, or go spend money I don't have to just get the hell away from it. I went to the Nautical. A really great restaurant, with the Pacific almost coming in through the windows, and had myself pork loin with cranberry glaze, garlic mashed potatoes and outright heavenly perfectly cooked vegetables... with TWO gin and tonics... lemon... really, lemon, not lime. That is more food and drink than I've had in one sitting in more than seven months.

I turn into a big melty blob of loving pulchritude when the booze starts in on me. I drink gin in honor of friends very, very far away.

They have a new bartender there, or new since last summer anyway, and he's got the brightest, happiest, warmest, bestest energy of anyone I've met in my four years of living here. It isn't a crush. He's thirteen years younger than me, but it would be a crush, a grand passion, if I had a time machine. He's been totally cool about making the exquisite chef hang with my diet thang the last few times I've been there. Tonight, just as I'd finished dinner and was slurping down the last of my first drink, wondering if I ought to really let my hair down and have that second, he slipped out from behind the bar and over behind the piano. He sang Elton John's "Sorry" so much better than Elton ever sang it that I just broke down crying, right there in the middle of everyone, with the sunset and the surf just a few inches from turning us into ghosts.

He came back behind the bar, and told me it really embarrasses him to sing for just a few people, that he's fine if it's a big crowd, but fucks it up when it's just a few. He looked at my soaking wet face, about, probably, to ask me what was wrong, when I told him, "Scott. You didn't fuck it up."

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Maybe you can't get YouTube... so you could try it here.

Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word

What have I got to do to make you love me
What have I got to do to make you care
What do I do when lightning strikes me
And I wake to find that you're not there

What do I do to make you want me
What have I got to do to be heard
What do I say when it's all over
And sorry seems to be the hardest word

It's sad, so sad
It's a sad, sad situation
And it's getting more and more absurd
It's sad, so sad
Why can't we talk it over
Oh it seems to me
That sorry seems to be the hardest word

It's sad, so sad
It's a sad, sad situation
And it's getting more and more absurd
It's sad, so sad
Why can't we talk it over
Oh it seems to me
That sorry seems to be the hardest word

What do I do to make you love me
What have I got to do to be heard
What do I do when lightning strikes me
What have I got to do
What have I got to do
When sorry seems to be the hardest word

So. Well. I'll go back to tilting windmills when I get up tomorrow... assuming, of course, my ISP deigns to provide service to the internet then, of course, of course....