Neptune, Titan, stars can frighten.

And the seventh brings return...

At work today nothing happened. Or maybe it did, but I wouldn't know about it since I wasn't there. I was here, home at the Nunnery, doing stuff.

Why wasn't I at work? Because did you ever have one of those days where it hits you how little time we all have, and how precious and fleeting everything is, and how we all need to stop and smell stuff before it's allofasudden too late and we wake up in a bed in some room somewhere hooked up to a machine that goes "ping!" while trying to keep our bodies alive?

Yeah me neither, but I thought if I stayed home from work today I might've done. And I think I sorta got close at one point but I don't know, I guess I'll keep you posted.

So I had breakfast at the Carroll Street and began reading a novel lent to me by markandwanda, which I'm enjoying so far, The Road, by Cormac McCarthy. The post-apocalyptic setting and sober tone are affecting (though so far, not affected) and feel as though painted with a brush that lays comfortable in the hand.

Between the outstretched hand and the fruit.

The Nunnery
6:32 PM

Returned last night from a week in Brant Rock, Marshfield, a sandy hamlet nestled beachily between Boston and Cape Cod, spiritually similar and geographically proximate to the home of the home of my home.

While there, M. and I took a side-trip and spent two days on the Vineyard, marking the first time I've laid eye or planted foot on it in nigh eighteen years. Wednesday and Thursday were our birthdays (hers and mine, respectively) and we treated ourselves to a beautiful and memorable stay on the island. We inned at Edgartown and, while there, we had one of the best meals of my life at Atria. Sabitathica's official assesstimate: for location, presentation, and the most truly cared-about food, with the highest quality of both ingredients used and attention paid to preparation, highly recommended.

And we went into Boston proper for a day too, the Back Bay mostly. We had a fine bottle of wine at Ciao Bella, where we also stumbled into the beginning of a more or less day-long conversation which I'm unfortunately but decidedly not at liberty to reproduce here.

The week was spent fully, packed to overflowing with good times, good times. So much so that we unfortunately didn't have the time to see everyone I would have liked to have seen. Notably Marko and the family Prather.

Now playing: Life in a Northern Town by The Dream Academy.

Hilarity Does Not Ensue

Dr. Blogger's Folksy Tea House and Reading Room
11:24 AM

Made myself not wake up until like 09:30, which was more difficult than it probably sounds. Flossed, brushed, washed my face, engaged the rest of my morning routine, ate at the Gato, then came here.

I neglected to say yesterday that I had a good conversation with one of the baristas here, Leslie. She's a student at my University, though she's not a Music Schooligan. I don't know her all that well, but she's bright and very pleasant to talk to. And she's going to Iceland next semester for study abroad.

What's a little awkward is that back in February I made a bet with someone that Leslie (though I didn't know her name back then) would die in a terrible plane crash. Is this wrong of me? The bet arose as a natural conversational consequence of my tremendous and admittedly irrational fear of flying. To my memory the terms of the bet were never set, so I don't know what I would win (or lose) should Leslie ever die (or not) in a fiery, horrific plane wreck.

But still, I'm sure the stakes, should they ever be finally agreed upon, would be high. In fact I would have to insist that they be, given there's a human life hanging in the balance. So it's weird to be having a conversation with a very pleasant person while at the same time, in the back of my mind, I'm aware that it would be a sweet sweet windfall for me if she were to perish in an unspeakably tragic air-traffic accident. (I guess this Iceland trip could be my winning lottery ticket. Sweet!)

On the other hand, anyone who's worked at the Greatest Music School on the Whole of God's Green Earth for any amount of time knows what it's like to have a pleasant conversation with someone while at the same time secretly wishing them fiery death, so maybe it's really not so weird after all. But that's another story.

In other news, I've got a new roommate: a largish clan of moths. They don't pay rent, but they do fly around your face and alight on the monitor of your laptop, so I guess like any relationship it's a compromise. We have an understanding. We co-habitate. And they mostly hang out in the kitchen. I've had worse roommates.

That said, I'm probably going to kill them today. They're boring and don't hold up their end of our conversations, so.

And, should you find yourself in need of one, here's a simple argument in favor of eliminating a pesky or unwanted roommate:

1) They're stupid.
2) Therefore, they should die.
3) If they can't follow the airtight logical connection between 1) and 2) above, then they're stupid (repeat until problem goes away).

Fragment (consider revising)

9:23 AM
Dr. Brimstone's House of Hot Jazz and Dark Liquids

There's a smoky haze over the city this morning, from the fire that's been burning southeast of here for almost six weeks now. The fire started when a tree hit a power line back on April 16th, and the severe drought we're under has allowed things to devolve largely unabated. Between this one here and the fire in Florida (in the Okefenokee), I read that over 550,000 acres of land have been burned.

The haze carries with it the smell of burning trees which, if I could separate it in my mind from all the devastation it's necessarily connected to, is in itself not unpleasant to me, but it does affect my breathing. The pollen and the humidity here alone are sometimes hard to bear, but the smoke inhalation is worse. And so much destruction...

Someone said to me the other day that all this destruction is in the natural course of things. That, you know, fires have to happen, that the forest-as-system requires them, and that they serve a necessary purpose. But I don't know. While this is surely true in many cases, don't power lines exist outside the system of self-maintenance through periodic self-destruction?

~~~~~~~

Woke up early again today, maybe 06:45. Flossed, brushed, and abluted, then drove to Carroll Street, only to learn that the café wasn't open yet, so I drove back to my neighborhood, only to find that Dr. Brimstone's was also not open yet. And neither was Gato Bizco. Dag! So I ate at the Flying Biscuit, which I’m not a real big fan of, not these days anyway, not for the last year or so.

I saw a woman I used to know there, P, and we spoke for a few minutes. I had the sweet potato(e) pancakes, a half-order, and only managed to eat about half of that. My appetite is not itself these days, plus I sometimes tend to refer to fare at the Biscuit as ‘food for giants’, because of the ridiculously large portion sizes.


~~~~~~~

8:11 PM
The Nunnery

Talked to Rashid today on the phone for, God, almost two hours. About lots of things, so many things, not least of which was the sad sad event which occurred recently.

Oh, and I can't stop listening to Alison Krauss & Union Station's live version of Baby, Now That I've Found You. Sappy, maybe; but it's playing now and complementing my mood effortlessly, so, whatever.

Snakes, lots of them and dangerous

Dr. Bombay's Magickal Cafe & Emporium
9:17 AM

There's a guy here who's on a study-date with some girl. He clearly wants to be studying less and interacting with her more, but he's being pretty goofy about it, telegraphing his every intention. Homeboy's got no game.

Woke up early, about 05:45. Tried to sleep again and finally set my feet on the floor at 06:45. Did my thing, got some breakfast, and came here.

I had several dreams last night. One, a variation on an old recurring dream-theme involving a house with an uncountable number of rooms. In the past this dream house has always been the same house, and highly recognizable as such (a crucial part of its design is based on the beautiful, quiet and exciting house I spent my childhood in), but this time it was a brand new house.

In another dream there were snakes, lots of them and dangerous. One, at least, was likely a coral, and another I could hear was a rattler. There was someone with me, someone I loved, whom I was trying to protect from getting bitten. Looking back, now that I'm awake, I see that I was actually in quite a bit more danger than she was, though it didn't feel that way at the time.

Now playing on the in-house system: a pretty standard jazz band playing a pretty standard jazz tune. I don't recognize the song, nor any of the musicians playing it, at least not by ear.

Can i just take a minute to say that the practice in jazz music of 'trading fours' is a little silly? It's rare that I hear a musician say anything worthwhile in this contrived format. In complex instrumental music, ideas need to be given time to develop; what we recognize as meaning and authenticity in improvised music comes from responding well to what has come before, continually 'neutralizing' the ongoing repercussions of previous notes. Trading fours always feels so artificial to my ears. Show-offy and 'exciting' I guess, but ultimately dull.

And now playing: Use Me by the incomparable Bill Withers. My God, how I love this song. The first time I heard it was on the radio of my (parents') god-ugly orange Subaru hatchback, driving down Ralph Talbot Street in 1985. Good times.

Low

What's up. Everybody good? Things're going well here. Work is quiet for a fucking change, which is nice. All the shiny little music schooligans have flown away north for the season, navigating their majestic migratory arcs and leaving us here, alone together again, in the Twilight of our Idols, wondering where the time goes... or, you know, whateverthefuck.

Anyway, I'm here at the Nunnery at the moment and I'm listening to Low's Drums and Guns, which just so you know is rocking my feet right to the goddamn floor, in that quiet, urgent way that Low have about them. A dark aesthetic of restraint mixed with convincing husband-wife harmonies and sweet-bitter lyrics, all wrapped up in an attractive hard-rock coating! Fun for the whole family!

No lunch for the wicked.

For some reason, last night Madge said: 'If science were a dog, I think it should be a Saint Bernard, you know, with lots of booze around its neck. That'd be awesome.'

Then she suggested we get a dog and name it Science, which of course led to all sorts of silliness. Late-night nonsensical fun, like saying in a dog-calling voice: 'Sciiience . . . heeere science' or in a dog-reprimanding voice: 'Look what you've done now, science. Bad science.' Good times, good times.

~~~~~~~

Yesterday at Slice I was talking with two students.

Student A: I want to withdraw from a class.
Sabitathica: Don't be stupid. Which class?
Student A: The World Music class.
Sabitathica: But that class is so easy. Why would you want to withdraw from it?
Student B: But Sabitathica, you've never even taken that class. How can you say whether it's easy or not? You don't know. . .
Sabitathica (to student A): Okay, how's the class? Is it easy or not?
Student A: It's pretty easy.
Sabitathica (to student B): See? Just because I don't know what I'm talking about doesn't mean I'm not right.

~~~~~~~

Oh, and plus my car got broken into last night. Nothing was stolen, at least that I can see. But they rifled through my glove box and that little compartment, what's it called, between the driver's and passenger's seats that holds all your cds and loose change and tequila and stuff. They even rifled through my ashtray for some reason. They rifled through it all and left my cds and stuff all out on the passenger's seat. I don't know why they didn't take anything - my sweet sports coat was in the back seat, along with like three hoodies of various colours and this thing that a student gave me, a digital recorder/dictophone thingy that must be worth, at the very least, like three hits of meth.

It got broken into in Madge's parking garage. The managers of her apartment building sent out a memo last week to all the tenants saying that someone was breaking into cars in the garage, but I didn't pay it any mind because the memo also said that there were reports of unauthorized people trying to enter the building, and I thought they were just talking about me, because like a week and a half ago I was trying to get into the building, and I was standing outside knocking on the door, and this idiot who was inside the building looked at me like I was waiving a gun at him and he turned tail and ran and left me hanging outside. I tried to explain to the idiot that Madge lives inside, and I'm supposed to meet her, and she's expecting me, and that everything is going to be okay if only he'll let me in the building, but I could tell it wasn't really coming across because the door was between us, so I told him to just open the goddamn door so I could explain everything without having to shout, but he just sort of ran away anyway and left me hanging.

I keep looking for him now, every time I'm in her building, so I can say to him 'Hey - I remember you. You're the idiot who can't tell the difference between a criminal and a guy just trying to get into the building to see Madge. Nice to meet you... idiot." but I haven't seen him yet.

So I thought that the idiot had probably told the apartment managers to put out an APB on me because the managers notified all the residents that some guy was trying to enter the building, claiming that Madge was expecting him, but then I thought that the managers probably took some creative license and threw in the part about someone breaking into cars to sort of sex up the memo a bit, just to scare the residents and give them all something to rally around. So I didn't pay much attention to the memo but I guess I should have because now my car's been broken into and all my stuff's been put in the wrong places.

~~~~~~~

And just now:

Sabitathica's Assistant: Do you have any candy?
Sabitathica: Absolutely. If by 'candy' you mean 'files to copy'.

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.