I don't write here about my job, except in the most oblique ways. Suffice to say, due to recent developments it looks like I'm going to be in the weeds for some time.

So I'm telling this story to reassure myself that it's going to be fine. That everything is going to be all right. It's about the summer of 1994, when E. and I went to Olympia, Washington, for the first "yo-yo-a-go-go" festival for five days of indie-rock madness (see this remarkably well-written review). About how we spent the week seeing bands in the Capitol Theater, a beautiful old theater in downtown Olympia. About how the upper levels of seating were not very well lit. About how I was climbing up the steep old stairs of the theater in one particularly dark spot, trying to remember where I had been sitting. About how I lost my balance and started to fall backwards and flung my arms out desperately to try to recover my footing. About how a stranger's hand came out of the darkness and grabbed mine just in time. (About how this sounds cheesy beyond believability, but I swear it happened.)

I never did see the friendly person who saved me. I'm just glad they were there. I'm proceeding again into the dark, hoping there will be a hand to grab me if I need it, just in time.

B&W is on the road this weekend. Back next week with pictures of the Butter Cow.