In which Mr. Crowley rides my white horse...

Today was Sabitathica's annual performance review at the Greatest Music School on the Whole of God's Green Earth. This is a thoroughly charming event, much anticipated, and affectionately known as: First, I'm Going To Pretend To Have The Slightest Idea What Exactly It Is You Do Around Here, And Then I'll Fumble My Way Through Pretending I Can Accurately Assess Your Ability To Execute Those Functions Which, Again, I Really Am Ill-Equipped To Comprehend. Needless to say perhaps, but a rocking good time was had by all.

~~~~~~~

Something I found amusing, this past Saturday night I was hanging out with Madge watching various late-night televangelicals rock the mic on my (five-channel-receiving, rabbit-eared) tv. This was lots of fun - more fun than you probably think it was. Plus, there might have been alcohol involved. At the point where this one particularly sad, rather podgy woman was testimonializing about how wonderful it is to be one of the chosen few who get to know God personally, the following exchange transpired:

Sabitathica: She's never had a religious experience. She just oscillates between hyper-emotionalism and despondency.
Madge: And the Dunkin' Donuts.

In which Science is employed to reveal Connexions between Disparate Entities, falsely so called . . .

The Sabitathiblog Science and Wildlife Department presents:

Things you, my dear reader, have in common with my fish:

1. You're not very bright.
2. You're plotting your escape.
3. You remain unaggressive, even when one of your tankmates has nibbled off your tail entire.

Join us next time, and remember! A generous tax deductible donation to the Sabitathiblog Science and Wildlife Department is a great way to say 'Thank you Science, for all you do!'.

The sunshine bores the daylights out of me.

The Nunnery
8:14 PM

More quality time with Rashid last night, which was of course Saint Patrick's Day. Food and margaritas, then back to the Nunnery for some water (him), pale ale (me) and conversation (us).

The original plan was to 'get silly drunk' with M, but she's still in New York, her flight having been delayed due to weather. I'll see if I can talk her into getting silly drunk with me some other time.

Wake up and smell the coffin.

Got up late today. I'm not telling you what time, so don't let's start with the twenty questions, shall we? What is it anyway, with you and all the time with the questions? It was pretty late though, that much I'll tell you.

But whatever, because yesterday were auditions, the last auditions before Fall semester, apart from a few stragglers - the occasional above-it-all bassoonist or a few deadline-blissfully-unaware double basses or whatever other riffraff the goddamn cat drags in. It was the largest scale audition day the Greatest Music School on the Whole of God's Green Earth has ever seen. . . and now it's over. It's no longer in my future or in my present which, thank god, e-nough already. So I'm not gonna be too hard on myself about getting up so late.

Spent quality time last night, Saint Patrick's Day Eve, with Rashid, whom you know, and Spengler and Redmond whom I'm sure you'll remember from earlier.

We met up at Sidebar and, four shots of Patron later, I was safely behind the wheel, on the move to some place in the highlands* where a friend of ours works, Hand in Hand I think it's called, which is a stupid name for a bar, or for anything else for that matter. The name should have been enough to tip us off that the bar itself was, in fact, also stupid. Too crowded, too loud, not really an atmosphere of people who're having fun, just people pretending to like places like this. Or maybe I'm just being autistic. So one quick shot of patron later and, like my boy Willie, we were on the road again, heading back to the Nunnery, where a fine time was had by all and there was much rejoicing.

*Kids, don't drink and drive.

And now for something completely diffident ...

Lunch today with Rashid at Slice on Poplar. What follows is a sliver of a conversation we had with our waitress, I think her name was Cara:

Cara: Do you know what you're going to have?
Sabitathica: Yeah, let me get my usual. . .
Cara: Whoa. You've got evil eyes.
Sabitathica: Oh god. . . No I don't. I just didn't get much sleep last night. I was up at fucking four-thirty this morning.
Rashid: Plus, he's sort of always sinister-looking.
Sabitathica: Oh yeah. Well, there's that too.

Just another undiscovered, down-on-her-luck opthademonologist waiting (tables) until her (intern)ship comes through. . .

Looks like I chose the wrong week to quit clubbing baby seals.

And now, for your theater-going pleasure, a playlette:

Sabitathica: Work is busy right now, real fucking busy. Maybe I'll tell you about it, but later, okay?, not right now. Right now let's just relax and enjoy each other's company, what do you say? What? What was that? Did you just snicker? Oh, what, is just hanging out and unwinding and enjoying each other's company too much to ask or something? Whatever, listen, don't be difficult. If you're going to give me a hassle here . . . don't make me pull this car over.
You: Sabitathica, hey are you okay? What are you talking about?
Sabitathica: I'm fine. Shut up.
You: What? What's the matter with you? You're acting weird. Is your job making you act weird? Are you cracking under the pressure of auditions? Honestly, I wouldn't blame you if you were. I don't know how you do it. I remember this one time when I saw some particularly villainous auditions bring down a fully-grown fucking Zen lumberjack before. Reduced him to fucking marmalade, they did. Ghastly to witness. And he wasn't even autistic ...
Sabitathica: Stop talking please, you're being prattish. Go away. And I'll let you know when you're allowed to read my blog again, which is probably never. I've decided I'm cleaning house. All my old readers need to go ahead and fuck off. I want new readers, better readers. From here on out, I only want good-looking, self-aware, fiscally conservative readers. Everybody else has to go away. Beginning now. Thank you.

Exeunt.

The preceding has been a public service vignette, made possible through the continuing generosity of Sabitathiblog and the Foundation for Concerned Citizens Against Auditions.

The power of Hahnemann compels you!

Sick, slightly. Took the day off from work for the first time in several months. Woke up with M to the alarm and NPR, but put off beginning my day when I swallowed and found my throat had fallen host to evil spirits in the night. Being the good, observant catholic boy I was raised to be, I took some homeopathy and put in a call to my local parish's exorcist, who really ought to be here any minute, so I can't talk long.

Slept 'til noon-thirty, woke up, sat, brushed my teeth and washed my face. Then to the one and only Carroll St. Cafe to order a yogurt-based late breakfast, body unbathed, hair unwashed, looking like a (slightly) sick rock star. Or a slightly sick music school admissions officer, the line is so blurry there.

There's a bustle in my hedgerow!

Ah, spring break! The time of year set aside by mother nature for non-terminating twitterpation and frolicking festivities! Or, alternatively, for working in an office so un-busy it'll make your ears bleed and so quiet you can hear your own pulse. You know, six of one, whatever...

The Narrow Way: Part Three

or
following the path as it leads toward the darkness in the north

My shoulder has become errant, somewhat dislocated, fallen slightly from the Grace of its rightful place at my side. My left side, for those at home playing along. And yes I saw my chiropractor, who again said something that made me think he didn't recognize me (this time it was, You've been here before, right?). Ah, the personal touch that invites my perspicacious, possibly-autistic nature to thrive!

Dopey memory lapses aside, he was in good form. Banterish, convivial, and present enough to adjust me well. Except. While it is true that, to his credit, he adjusted my spine well, especially C3 and C2 which, goddamn did I need that, I remain unconvinced that he addressed the true heart of the matter with my shoulder.

For one thing, he was banterish and convivial while he was adjusting my shoulder. Not banterish with me, mind you, but with the other two Chatty Cathys in the room. Who in fairness, I want you to know, were likable guys both.

And three guesses why I wasn't bantering with my chiropractor while he was adjusting my shoulder. That's right: it's Sabitathica's New Golden Rule ~ Part the Second:

It's impolite to distract someone while they're doing something they're good at.

And lest we be made to face accusations of partisanship, or suffer charges that we've let my good-natured chiropractor off the hook too goddamn easy, let us acknowledge that Sabitathica's New Golden Rule ~ Part the First applies in this situation as well, to wit:

It's impolite to allow someone to distract you while you're doing what you're good at, though the distracter probably won't see it that way.

Either the Chatty Cathys should have shut the fuck up, or my chiropractor should have told the Chatty Cathys to shut the fuck up. Neither happened, and we all lose. Especially my shoulder. Attention is to an individual what cash flow is to a business. A scarce enough resource without allowing it to slip through our fingers or be onanistically dissipated.

But the real reason I remain unconvinced is that my shoulder still aches, which I guess pretty much settles the question, and not all the Golden Rules in the world are gonna help me there.

Now playing: Rehearsals for Retirement, the Phil Ochs song, but sung now-today by Mark Eitzel, the formerly-miserable singer/songwriter for the American Music Club.