So, yesterday I had a great time at the National Folk Festival in Butte, and after arriving home at around 10:30 last night I found a message from my brother on the land line, which, in essence, said that he was sitting in the Montana Bar, surrounded by drunken alumni of the Class of 79 who were pitching him "poop", and he in turn was calling me on his cell to pitch me "poop". I suspect it had something to do about me deciding to go to a folk festival instead of the class reunion.
Although the National Folk Festival totally rocked, after listening to that message, I wished indeed, that I was in the Montana Bar, and was one of those drunken morons pitching my brother shi-it. Just because he deserves it.
I was happy to hear that all were having a good time. I will try not to be such a wet blanket, and make it in 2019. If I ain't dead, that is.