Equus

170 hours of 40/20 hindsight:

Wednesday last I played music with my violist friend, Tracie. We improvise song-suites together.

Thursday night I had a date with a woman I don't like.

Friday were auditions. I was up at 04:45. There was the usual heteroclitic chaos that auditions always bring, which maybe I'll tell you about some time, but not right now.

Friday night I had a date with another woman I didn't like. We had drinks and I bowed out earlier than I think, all other things being equal, she would have preferred.

Saturday was heavenly rest, well-deserved and much needed after three weeks of being constantly O.T.M. I finally got to catch up on some important PS2 work I've been criminally neglecting. And some reading too - Art by Yasmina Reza, highly recommended, and Relativity by Einstein, also recommended though maybe not quite so highly due to his unnecessarily mannered presentation.

Sunday morning was spent in almost-but-not-quite silence with the Quakers.

Sunday night was rehearsal with markandwanda. These days rehearsals are largely technical affairs. We spent several hours on software-acquisition. The future we're aiming at has me and Mark playing our macbooks while Wanda sings. There's a steep learning curve involved with this, which is good. I'm a big fan of steep learning curves.

A good night with Jason Monday night, beginning at Fellini's with guy-talk and ending at the Nunnery with guitars. Armagnac and Dusty in Memphis played a role in occupying the sweet, swollen middle.

Yesterday was one-of-a-kind super-secretary Charlene's last day on Earth . . . or, if not on Earth, at least in the School of Music. She's worked at GSU for 17 or 18 years. We have a long relationship, filled with humor and warmth. There was a going away party with (terrible) wine, and I even had a piece of cake in her honor, a rarity, given my aversion to all things sweet. We made our goodbyes in a quiet moment in my office and she invited me to visit her in her new home in the Outer Banks. She's a good woman.

Last night's rehearsal was canceled, so I got to read some more (yes!) and watch the Wicker Man - the original, with Christopher Lee, not the remake with Nick Cage.

Today, in the middle of a million other things, I was in a meeting with Carl Patton, the President of the University, my third meeting with him in two months. He speaks, while I and the other twelvish people in the room listen. He's cheerful, and almost but not quite affable. He's announced his retirement in June or July of 2008. Oh, and in case you're wondering it looks like GSU will indeed be getting a football team, probably in 2010, by Patton's estimate. This interests me not at all.

Earlier tonight, I visited with the Amnemonic Chiropractor, and now I'm sipping Calvados and listening to When Loud Weather Buffeted Naoshima.

~~~~~~~

Back off, man. I'm a scientist.

I haven't told you yet, but I got to see H.H. the Dalai Lama a few weeks ago. Rashid and I heard him speak in Centennial Olympic Park, the same night we went to the thrift store (me and Rashid, not me and the Dalai Lama - although H.H.'d probably rock some of the supersweet offerings to be found at Last Chance Thrift).

~~~~~~~

Take it away.

But today was difficult. My sense of time is slow even though my days are busy and tight. My horses aren't so much bucking as veering pessimistically and persistently to the left. I have to keep some of my attention with them constantly so I don't, you know, incurvate. Which isn't easy because they daydream constantly and don't follow instructions well.

Don't know much about history . . .

What kind of fuckery is this?

I saw my chiropractor tonight (if you've been following along, you probably know that he traditionally has bizarre memory lapses when it comes to me. But he seems to know me better now. He should - I wrote my name down for him the last time I saw him), and I bumped into Esteban in the waiting room. We talked for a good while, mostly about old guitarists - Django, McLaughlin, etc. Esteban and I have a regular gig, along with a percussionist and a turntablist, playing improvised music for first Thursday art openings at the Rialto. Good times.

I was invited - don't laugh - to a chanting last Friday night, at this yoga place down the street from the Nunnery that I've never seen the inside of in all the years I've lived here. But suddenly, about ten minutes before I was supposed to be there, I was struck by a thought I'd never had a reason to have before: just what does one wear to a chanting, exactly? For the curious, I settled on a burnt-orange long sleeve pullover over a black tee, my laine vierge sports coat, a flaxen scarf, and loose-fitted jeans. With saddle shoes. Funny thing, it turns out that's exactly what you wear to a chanting...

Saturday I went to the Chomp and Stomp in Cabbagetown with Rashid and Jason. Dozens of different varieties of chili, Sweetwater (a local beer), and live bluegrass are a decent way to begin a beautiful, sunny Saturday morning. Later, Mark came by the Nunnery and together we polished off the last of the tequila, listened to some records, and brainstormed about our joint musical process.

Sunday morning I went to a Quaker meeting, something I've done for the past four Sundays. This may initially surprise some who know Sabitathica well. Sabitathica is known to be constitutionally distrustful of organized religion. And while this (natural, healthy) attitude is not at all unusual in the sweet northeast, it is in some short supply down here in Bedlam. Which reminds me of a conversation I had last spring with a girl who was working for me around the office:

Girl: Sabitathica, have you accepted Jesus into your life?
Sabitathica: Um, I'm from Boston.

But Quakers are badasses. I went to one meeting in Amherst twelve years ago with good guy Chris Fitz from Hampshire and I've never forgotten it.

Sunday night I went to La Fonda with Jason for margaritas and general guy stuff before we brought the good times back here.

Lunch today with Rashid and JB at Slice, where the guy sitting next to me at the bar for some reason began talking to me about Ayn Rand of all things. He was just beginning the Fountainhead. Good times, good times.

~~~~~~~

Jackknife juggernaut

Things've been busy lately, as busy as they've been in several years. Life is rich and events are rife with meaning. Synchronicity is everywhere.

My dreams are generous, with emotions strong and mixed. People I've known, women mostly, appearing to me in my sleep, negotiating complicated amnesties.

And as an aside, I've got auditions again this week. I could organize auditions in my fucking sleep at this point of my life. One would hope this to be a transferable skill, but I'm not so sure.