ceciliatan

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

That night I asked Ziggy super-casually if we could hit Limelight. I had no idea if Jordan would be there but he had been at least half the times I’d gone over the past couple of years, even when he wasn’t deejaying, and in the far back of my head I had this inkling that I wanted to talk to him. But I was too busy trying to play everything casual until I could sort out how I felt about the album. Or until I could warm up to it.

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

My suspicions that New Year’s Eve could turn into a drug-fest were borne out in spectacular fashion, by which I mean absolutely everyone I knew there except Christian, who appointed himself our babysitter, and Tony, who was already Ziggy’s designated watchdog, ended up on ecstasy or acid or both. Jordan, Sarah, Courtney, Carynne, Ziggy, everyone. Martin, even Martin was there. It’s hard to remember everyone, honestly.

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

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Since I’d last visited Sarah her career had taken a couple of leaps and turns. (I forgot to say: we did go out to dinner once or twice when she came to LA but nothing of consequence to report there.) She’d moved into a new apartment: this one on Central Park East, and not a sublet, so it had a lot less stuff in it and felt a lot less homey, but she hadn’t been there very long. She assured me she’d fill it up with things soon enough. She was going out on tour that coming summer, North America and Western Europe, and she had this plan she was going to come back with souvenirs from everywhere she’d been.

“You seem skeptical of the idea,” she had said.

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

So I learned a very important lesson about tequila.

The lesson was this: I remembered way more about what happened when I was on LSD than after two drinks of tequila. At least, I think it was two. Like I said: I don’t remember.

Let me back up to what I do remember.