Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords

I found a dinner on my porch tonight when I got in, which is strange because... where did it come from? Roast turkey with gravy, turnip greens and beets, fried chicken salad, a fourth of cornbread, a banana and one cookie. In a styrofoam cooler, all on ice, at the foot of my front door, with no note.

Auditions went well. You know how I say there's always a crisis when it comes to audition days? Well there is, a different one each time. I think I could distill each crisis into a one-sentence summary and write them all down for you in a list, chronologically. Or better yet, lay them next to each other, sentence after sentence, head-to-toe, and watch them form a thirty-something sentence story - a record of the evolving sense of humor of St. Ella, Our Lady of the Rialto, and patron saint of Audition Day. This time the crisis was: Two flaky singers I'd asked to perform tried (and failed) to de-commit themselves at the last minute.

Today's work here at the Nunnery is brought to you by the letter F, which is the first letter of many useful phrases and sentences, as for instance: Flaky people will flake.

A lesson in tightropes

I slept badly last night. Auditions are in two days and I'm wrangling cats to stand still. And I'm not going to write anymore about how I don't sleep these days either much or regularly. Shirley, there are more important things for us to talk about.

Like: I've got moths again. Or moth, since I see only one. I've got moth. But there's never just one, is there? Where there's one there's like millions, right? So if I wait a few days I figure I'll start seeing them all over the place. My plan: wait. Wait and kill them en masse. I don't think they - or it - suspects.

The LBC on Monday, wine with L last night.

Neutral Spectator's Inertia Syndrome

Went to see There Will Be Blood, the longest movie in history tonight with Laurel and Tim. Good times, good times. And then back here for drinks and conversation. DD-L is a good leading man, but the story arc was a little too soap-operatic for me. Like, just when things can't possibly get worse, the long lost twin brother shows up ...or is he? The storytelling style is narrative-heavy and does not truck with the "beauty-through-simplicity-of-form" school.

Drinks with Cassandra Thursday, time with Lily Friday. Exile on Main St. rocks.

Remember back last year at this time? An information-dense time. Lots of things going on, weren't there? One of which, and maybe the first that springs to your mind, was the world premiere of that film Josh made: The Now Today Society: The End. Remember that? It was the first world premiere to feature footage of people viewing video of themselves watching the world premiere, I'm guessing. And it sort of happened again.

This year there was lots of video from the northern holidays. Of The Narrow Way, of dinner New Year's Eve, of absinthe toasts, and of lighting fireworks down the jetty. On multiple cameras, hours and hours of it, all cleverly and creatively edited together by Josh. And viewed at a distance. It may even be better than last year's.

In other news, I don't sleep anymore, which is something that I guess is just the way things are now. My body crashed last weekend while successfully fighting off a nasty bug. In some ways I feel as good as I've ever felt, healthy and robust, but this sleeplessness is strange. My body's tempos are changing.

I'm listening now to Fox Confessor Brings the Flood.

ollie ollie oxen free

Thursday I was after work with Stuart and Esteban to play at the Rialto. Little Jen, turntablist extraordinaire couldn't make it. This music is completely improvised and we don't play together outside this context, so things are unpredictable and situation-specific. Thursday night in my opinion was our best yet.

I met up after for drinks with Lily, who's been living out of state for a few years. It was good to see her again. A fine time was had by all.

Friday at work was quiet, which my autistic nature experiences as relief, and plus I was operating on about one, maybe two hours of sleep. Yeah, I don't get much sleep anymore.

~~~~~~~

We could not follow but bliss and peace poured down on us...

Today was beautiful, everybody outside and walking around wearing short-sleeves. I however, spent most of my day editing The Marshfield Tapes. The Marshfield Tapes are several hours of Vlindinhauer Haverhast, Sabitathica, Mr O, and Josh playing music the eve of New Years Eve, 2038. The material draws heavily from The Narrow Way, with post-production flourishes by Adrian Marcato, all now edited down to 70 minutes of bliss.

Some bartenders have the gift of pardon.

Imported absinthe and domestic good times with Mark on Saturday till 00:30.

Met up with JB and Spank at Onyx at 01:30 for the tail end of Spank's day-long birthday celebration. This was more good times. Returned home around 03:30, but couldn't sleep until past 06:00. Up again at 08:30 to begin my day. Have I mentioned I don't get much sleep lately?

A former music student died on Wednesday. I was unable to make it to Athens Sunday morning for the service.

The Superbowl came and went; life somehow manages to go on much as before.

Today at work I was assisted by trusty apprentice Katie Sue. But I've been like a slepherd who's lost his sleep lately, so I left the office early to try and wrangle me up some.

I didn't sleep for long, since I had to join my boyz for a meeting of the La Fonda Business Consortium (LBC), replete with margaritas and arroz con pollo. This week's meeting met quorum with R, JB, and your humble blogist. Among the many topics up for discussion: women (including R's most recent date and my correspondence with the dishy 40ish blond I met at Logan last Tuesday), business (what else would you expect from the LBC?), and the Superbowl. And yes it's true, the good times did roll.

They put weights down in your coattails to burn you out...

Auditions yesterday went well. Awake before the squirrels and birds, I was organizing things at the Rialto long before sunup.

My afterwork began at Sidebar with Laurel. We were joined by Rashid, JB, and Spank. And J stopped by for a minute too. They all fell away, alone or in twos and it was me and L until past midnight. We bounced to Slice for a late dinner, tennish. A good night.

Seated on my right at Sidebar was Pastor Pierce from Vermont, in town for a convention of pastors. We talked a bit, he and I. A highlight, from him: They can't do anything about Abu Ghraib, so they're trying to get something on Belichick.

Oh, and L managed to lock my keys in my office, don't ask how. Who was it said it's women's jobs to cause problems, so men have something to do? Or did I just make that up? Anyway, tons of fun.