Too bad it’s not quite Sunday yet, but I think we all know that feeling Ian Anderson speaks of. That feeling when you don’t remember where you laid your head last night. You smoke your cigarette (if you swing that way) and drink your hair-o-the-dog and try to clear your head and find some way to crawl home, hopefully with no regrets. You should be feeling the warm fuzzy glow of a night well-spent. Yeah, we’ve all been there.