In every song that I sing
And the price of a memory
Is the memory of the sorrow it brings.

Counting Crows, "Mrs. Potter's Lullaby"
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I spent all of yesterday either in or en route to Pasadena, opting to build on my Hollywood mass transit experience. It took two and a half hours to go from Calabasas to Pasadena, and the subway dropped me off right in the middle of Matty J's old apartment complex on Holly. I filled my afternoon by meandering through familiar city streets and relaxing at the Norton Simon. The Picasso exhibit they've got there at the moment is pretty interesting, but the reason I'm a member of the museum is their collection of pastels by Degas.

I crashed in my second apartment (a conference room at work) after a night of drinking with coworkers on Friday. After being dropped off, it was like I was on autopilot: my head hung down, and I was staring intently at the floor as I walked, not looking in front of me at all, but I knew exactly where everything was. I've been at this job for five years now, so moving in and around the building is very familiar.

I've concluded, after two weekends in a row of going out to clubs, that I'm not really all that into the club scene anymore. Hell, I had more fun Friday night hanging out with one of our vendors, but that's probably because the music was very eclectic, even if the clientele was not. The band played Dave Matthews Band's "41" followed by John Mayer's "Why Georgia" and U2's "One." I give them props for even attempting such a lineup. It was also cool to see one my old furlough bunkmates also, as Mike now works at Sagebrush instead of P6.