This was the last sane moment I can recall: Sean's birthday party at Twist on Saturday. From that point on I will plead The Fifth on everything and lay blame on the momentous visit of Miss Conway (of the Conways of Old Lawrence). It seems that Miss Conway and I have been waiting 20 years to finally meet each other; we had a mutual friend in the form of one of the biggest party animals of all time, Laurie Ketcham, but we never met. I met Laurie at Studio 54 (the second version owned my Mark Fleischman); she was sitting on the bar and wrapped her legs around my friend, Bob. She never really let go, although Bob had to go on to school, leaving me in the hands of Laurie; we rampaged through NYC for ten years. Nothing or no one was safe.

So, my finally meeting Miss Conway put us in the Ketcham mood. We talked about Lucinda's taxi in which she ferried us back and forth between NYC and Old Lawrence, about the rambling Ketcham mansion (falling apart like the town itself), all-night parties where the lawn would have more bodies that a WWI battlefield in the morning, and just how we survived it all. Not many did. The reason the last three days are a blur is that we paid tribute of the Goddess of Excess, Laurie Ketcham. Everyone had a good time.

It is finally March and "season" is almost over. I don't think we could live through another month of visitors from The North.