There's something so tremendously bittersweet about watching someone receive a lifetime achievement award.
On one hand, you're acknowledging a body of work and celebrating a person's often tremendous accomplishments, but on the other, you're punctuating their sentence before it�s over.
It's as if you're saying that all the important work is done. Everything is downhill from here.
You might as well just lie down and let them build the coffin around you.
That's what it felt like the first time I kissed Gretchen.
August, five AM, somewhere in Baltimore.
I guess you�d call them sparks.
I�d been deeply in love before, I�d experienced passion and I�d come to know raw physical joy. But between her lips I discovered something electrifying and new and simple.
Yeah, there were sparks.
I�d never felt them before, and I haven�t since.
And I know that as fantastic it felt at the time, somewhere in the back of my mind I was saying to my self: "this is it kid, you're never going to do better then her."
