as many as the lives of men...

In a staff meeting today, after talking about George Zinkhan, the University of Georgia marketing professor who allegedly murdered his wife and two men, the conversation turned to our guitar instructor, who while riding his bike was hit by a car and even though he crushed the windshield somehow walked away unharmed:

D: It just goes to show, this is not a bicycle friendly city.
J: Or pedestrian friendly for that matter.
H: Or car friendly.
D: Or friendly.

Yes, sometimes.

On the topic of time management, Richard Anderson, chief executive of Delta Air Lines, said in an interview for the Times on 25 April: only touch paper once.

On the phone with L and talking about the burgeoning swinefluenza epidemic, she said the virus causes "death-like symptoms". Oh no!

Listening now to Gustav Leonhardt play Scarlatti harpsichord sonatas. Current sonata is in D minor, the saddest of all keys.

Hell yes.

Hell yes.

Day trip to Lake Lanier by the Buford Dam, which you'll remember from last year. We swam (briefly) in the lake before dinner at Ceviche.

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Earlier in the day we brunched at Manuel's Tavern, which was eh. The food was generous and well-prepared but our waitress was incapable of human connection. And our fellow patrons were loud, as if to say, Hey! it's a bar! We're allowed to be loud! even though it was Sunday morning at 11:00 AM and the place was almost entirely empty.


We went to a proper cafe afterward because Manuel's doesn't have espresso. Or iced coffee. What they do have is hot coffee, which our zombie - I mean our "waitress" - said she could pour over ice. Lame.

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Listening to Guero by Beck a lot recently. The song Hell Yes is rocking my world and is a new anthem of sorts. Or as Beck himself says, my beat is correct.

For the first time today ...

It was warmer today outside than in, so L & I went for a walk


to the Robert L. Staton memorial rose garden:


The RLSMRG is a ten minute walk from the Nunnery. Along the way we saw swings in trees


delivery trucks


and littermuck.


The RLSMRG is beautiful.














For some reason many of the benches were lacking some of their parts, viz:






Tiny placards spoke of roses not currently in bloom and named apparently to honor the memory of solo records of former members of the Pink Floyd:


Others portended the creation of horticultural Frankensteins:


And some were named after my birthsign:


Which was fitting, as L had already noted that there was a sense that my extended 40th birthday had begun this weekend.

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We ate later at R. Thomas where the food is excellent and where frogs of concrete and tile sit atop moistened leaf sculptures.


L said several times today that this was the best day of her life. Good times.

My love won't wait.

Setting foot to porch this morning, I discovered early summer had arrived:

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Tonight we went to Los Bravos which, I don't speak much Mexican but I think the name means something like "good times" or "we will forget to bring your queso".



They have a mariachi band there, which you can see through the window on the right. Part of the reason we sat on the patio tonight is because the last time we were here on a Friday we sat inside and the band came over to our table and started serenading us, which is very stressful for me and which I dislike.

The bandleader asked us "what would you like to hear?" and before I could answer he helpfully suggested "maybe some Elvis Presley?", which to me seems like some sort of insult, right? Like as if I'm not Mexican enough to have requested something like Herb Alpert. But before I could protest they went ahead and started playing the Elvis song anyway - It's Now or Never - which was actually pretty awesome for a restaurant-level mariachi band, so we (or, rather, I) sang along with them, which I blame on the margaritas, until the band finally moved on to another table, leaving us alone, quesoless but happy.

So tonight we sat outside, where they have neon trees ...


and then it got dark.

Readying

Rehearsal tonight with markandwanda in their music room. Some photographs:


Mark was triggering beats in Ableton and playing the occasaional guitar. The paintings behind him are by Bob Dylan. Yes, that Bob Dylan. They were a gift from W -> M.


Wanda, singer of songs/drinker of water:


L, triggering Ableton samples with my sweet new midi controller:


I was triggering samples in Ableton, playing (alternately) the Moog and one of my iPhone applications, and mixing the room live as we felt our way through some new material. Here's a partial view of the Moog's awesome console:


Listening to Strange Geometry by the Clientele.

We begin where we are.

The Candler Park Sweetwater 420 festival happened this weekend. L & I celebrated appropriately and walked the three or four minutes from the Nunnery to the park proper.


The festival was sponsored by Sweetwater, one of my favorite local beers.




There were lots of people there:


Some of whom waited in line to sign up for circus camp


and some of whom pitted their mettle against the cruel cruel fates. O fortuna!


A band played. As it happens, I knew one of the people onstage - Mike, the bassist, stage-left.


A small but enthusiastic coterie of groupie-fans gathered in front of the stage to let their hair hang down and dance the afternoon away:


And then this happened: A horrifying flying minotaur was at the festival, apparently looking for little girls to abscond away with so he could drink their blood. I considered going all Theseus on him, but then he gave me the thumbs up and everything was good.


Back to the Nunnery:


Listening to All Things Must Pass.

Castles made of Spain

This on display in a building near the music school:

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There is some sort of cosmetic adjustment being made to the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals, directly across the street from the 148th greatest place to visit in Bedlam.

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The very windy day we had recently knocked a tree down across my neighbor-across-the-street's driveway.

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This time of year I spend a lot of time advising new students into music school. The other day I was advising a girl, while her parents sat outside my office waiting for her. In the middle of the meeting I left my office and introduced myself to her parents and asked them if they had any questions for me.

Father: Yes. (halting, uncertain) Is our daughter ... is she going to be studying ... music?

I told him yes, we talked for another minute, and I re-entered my office.

Sabitathica: So ... your parents don't know you're a music major?
Girl: No, not really.
Sabitathica: But ... how do they not know that? They're sitting outside my office, in the waiting room of the music department. And they must hear you practicing your instrument every day. And plus they drove you to your audition, didn't they?
Girl: I've been living a lie. They think I'm pre-med.
Sabitathica: Well, I just told them you're studying music. Sorry, but your dad asked me directly.
Girl: That's okay. They were bound to find out sooner or later.

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Listening to Little Wing by Hendrix.