Jeez, it's late (for me, in this new 'member of the working public' manifestation). But such a lovely day schlepping around. Played Handel sonatas with Karen and Sheera first thing this morning, was going to have brunch with SLB at the Middle East, but instead -- SLB, are you reading this, you cold-hearted trollop? got stood up and was forced to treat myself to a late lunch at Pho Pasteur.
Personal economy collapsing -- what with overspending in the computer department this month, Mr. Taxes, and taking two weeks off work because of the broken arm, I'm in more of a fiscal hole than I'd like. On the other hand (good thing, since the one hand is broken!), if I can manage my way out of this, I might actually consider myself a functional grown-up.
Oh, sweet love: I want to spend this spring with somebody. The mud, truth be told, makes me randy, and the smell of hyacinths and narcissi. Of course they do: they take after their masters, as I do after my far-shooting patron. Could I please have a god more lucky in love? Saw the attractive and equally-shy G again tonight, at Harvard, watching X-files with SW, and could barely choke out, "how are you?"; and all my hard-learned suaveness leaches straight through the soles of my shoes.
In other news, buy Andreas Scholl's new recital of songs from John Dowland's Musicall Banquet of 1610. If you're at all interested in early monody, that is. If you're not, buy Ladytron. And find me a nice gay (jewish?) boy who won't treat me bad but who's still exciting to be with.