Even in the slough of despond, it’s possible to find a little cheer. The weather has been unrelentingly cold. My nose always feels frostbitten. At the moment it’s sunny and clear outside, but you know what that means in the dead of winter — it’ll be in the single digits tonight, although the full moon will be pretty for the minute or two you can tolerate being outside looking at it.

Then you’re reminded that you have a ticket for this past Saturday’s “Symphonic PFunk: Celebrating the Music of Parliament Funkadelic” at the Detroit Opera, with the full opera orchestra backing up the current iteration of players. It was a birthday present from my friend Dustin, who was my escort. And a few hours later, you’re sipping a Negroni at the London Chop House bar, having ended Dry January six hours early, and while it’s still cold outside, there is the warmth of George Clinton and Co. just a few People Mover stops away, and friends, it was a barnburner of a show. For the “Atomic Dog” finale, a whole bunch of Omega Psi Phi brothers came dancing down the aisles and up onto the stage. (It’s their anthem and they have a particular dance they do, the Atomic Dog Stomp.)

I love this town so much. It just tickles my fancy in so many ways.

The rest of the weekend I spent working and taking breaks to scan the latest Epstein-file news. Sigh. Some of the conclusions one can draw from them are undoubtedly true, others – like the ones from the FBI tip line – give Rolling-Stone-rape-on-campus/Satanic panic vibes. No one with a functioning brain can deny the close, close ties between Epstein and his bestie over at Mar-a-lago.

I’m still waiting for the RogerEbert.com review of “Melania.” You know, our First Lady? The “hot piece of ass?”

There was other good news this weekend. A Democrat won a state senate seat in Texas by a 14-percent margin, which would be interesting, but the fact it was considered safely Republican, and Trump won it by 17 points? Slam dunk. Let’s hope the momentum can be sustained through November.

One bit of bloggage today: Greg Bovino, Mr. Sensitivity.

Stay warm, comrades.