I thought about those "perfect weekends" a while ago.

The one that surfaces from your subconcious every now and then. A
memory so fond you don't want to think of it too often.
Afraid you might wear it out, that it will loose it's precioussness.
At the same time you need to think of it often enough to remember the
details, the nuances, the smells.
That perfect weekend.
The one when everybody was there. Nothing clouded either sky or mind.
You ate, drank, danced and fell in love. (with the right girl for once).
You awake by the sunbeams warming your body, underneath a flannel
blanket that smells like "countryhouse".
You yawn, curl up under the blanket and just smile, in spite of the
hangover.
It's a smile bigger than life itself and it suddenly hits you:
It doesn't get any better than this. This very moment, this very
place, this is as good as it gets.

Almost had one of those moments during middle of the week going
through Spring 2010 pictures with MD70 in NYC last week.
Good stuff dudes, good stuff.