15 May 2010

In which the thoughts are random

Shall we?

  • First off, I'm not thrilled that bulleted and numbered lists are my only option in dumb ol' blogger.
  • I don't know about you, but after the recent rainy season (it's as if we've been living in a Jhumpa Lahiri short story), I feel like if I'm not outside all the time I'm somehow squandering my life. The path around Lake Harriet has become like a hamster cage: must. keep. moving. (Speaking of hamsters, I do have a little issue with this.
  • As I was eating dinner tonight—essentially undoing the day's two and a half hours of exercise—I contemplated just how much I loathe 50th and ShoppeShop. So much collagen, so many capri pants.
  • Let's talk about the couple across the aisle from me at moderately-expensive-for-what-it-is Italian convenience chain (yeah, d'Amico): he's in a mint green cotton sweater, and the kind of glasses that let you know he's a high-powered jerk but thinks the specs make him look hip to the secretaries he's banging. She's in black, and her lips are permanently pursed, and her lightweight lavender cashmere cardigan is neatly tied around her shoulders. They've been waiting for their food approximately three seconds. JerkMan: How long are we supposed to sit here and wait? Botoxia: What else do we have to do? JM: Not sit here. Such romance.
  • Another pair, starboard. He's mid-thirties, kind of bland, but kind of hot. She's pushing 70, and needs to schedule an appointment for her roots, pronto. I think about how nice it is that he's taking mom out on a Saturday night. Then they lean in and kiss, and there's tongue. Not really, but I thought that would have been a great story.
  • I have played for a lot of weddings. I have attended a lot of weddings. I'm 42. I can count on one hand the number of weddings I haven't found mostly heinous. Today it was fake white twigs with orchids glued to them, in giant silver urns, on plant stands covered in tulle. And this was an expensive wedding: the bride was in about seven thousand bucks' worth of of tight-fitting Monique Lhuillier. And yet she still wanted Canon in D. I made sure to do one round in d minor.
  • If I'm reading an entertaining memoir for the masses, I want a few pictures. I want to see Pablo Casals playing four-hand piano with Queen MarĂ®a Cristina (and I know that's the wrong mark on the i, but I don't remember all my key commands right now). Also, I don't want conjecture. I don't want to be told that "during the journey home, Bach's thoughts would have turned to his wife, Maria Barbara, and their four young children," just so the author can set up the tragedy of Bach showing up home after a month at the spa to find out that, oops, Maria died. 
  • You know where white boards look really nice? That's right, nowhere. Least of all as part of an upscale shop's window display with a really tortured rhyme advertising a sale. I simply have to stay away from that intersection.


  1. Someone sounds a tad cranky...just think how much MORE cranky you'd be if you'd played all those weddings -complete with Canon - as a cellist.

  2. Yippee skippee.

    The world will be much more civil and aesthetically pleasing once you are in charge. Can't wait.

    P.S. Please do mandate more tongue during kissing.

  3. oh, I am so endlessly glad you are back.
    and just how, Mister Wedding Accompanist, would you rate that somewhat windy outdoor wedding in Montana nearly three years ago this August? Hmm?

  4. The anchoring thumb of the one hand. Best wedding ever.


As always, civility reigns, but cleverness trumps.

They shall be called my disciples.