(owwie, my ears hurt--why does the music have to be so loud in clubs? oh, that's right, hearing yourself think would be a spanner in the psychosexual works)
MG is becoming quite a sportif little roadster. When I picked him up at work he was wearing a vintage blue pinstripe suit and a camel scarf, but decided it wasn't really club wear. He pounded on the door of T*sc*n*n*'s *c* Cr**m, just as they were putting the chairs up on the tables, in order to purchase a tee-shirt, which they quite pleasantly sold him. He changed in the middle of Mass. Ave. I swear to gods he had pectoral muscles the size of giant clams and I didn't know what to think, or where to look. The same songs DJ Chris always plays were played (and also a new Cher song which I would give my firstborn and those of my two closest friends never to hear again: it doesn't matter how god-damned gay-liberated I am, I fart on Cher and all her grysie minions forever and ever, amen and amen and maledictus sit qui contraloquatur.)
It's been such a busy few days. I got up at noon today and made myself coffee, did yesterday's crossword--since today's was ganz FUBAR, and in pen no less [Strewth, hath ShW no shame?]--tuned my plucky little spinet, and played a couple more English Suites.
Yesterday was a inordinately productive music day--I met DV, who's a really splendid violinist and also a professor of early modern studies, so you can imagine how we got on. She was a little shy at first, of course, but by the third or fourth sonata she was toasting some serious baroque ass and fit in spectacularly with KK, SS, and me (no small feat; the lovely lesbian lawyers and I have been playing together for three years and communicate by sniffs or, at most, two gruntish syllables. DV's violin is also the flyest thing since dulce de leche ice cream: it's this anonymous early-XVIIIe Dutch instrument with a human face where the scroll usually is, like viols often have (guarda qui for a similar head atop a modern viola da gamba--grazie al illustrissimo factore di strumenti Sergio Gistri). A weensy bit un-nerving, like having an extra person in the room. Looking forward to playing more with her--it'll expand our repertoire an hundredfold, and amateur baroque violinists are scarce as hen's teeth, believe you me.
I also paid my rent today, because there was a prim little note from the landlord requesting that I do so left on my bathroom mirror this morning. Considering the amount of booze, groceries, cleaning supplies and (mark my words:) toilet paper towards which I have poored my little means in my idyllic little m�nage, you'd think there might be mercy shown me vis-�-vis rent, but no. Centuries hence my biographers will lament their household ατασθαλια, and mounds of pasta, olive oil, and toilet paper will be left by my cenotaph to placate my hungry ghost.
Also, if my spiritual followers have any design sense whatsoever, scads and scads of cut flowers, specifically, ponderous, oily-scented Asiatic lilies in colors away with which only the oldest of French whores can get. I do not care what they do with my body, of course, since it's never done me much good, but I hope I shall have an inspiring monument. Black marble, I fancy. Corinthian order, perhaps, definitely tholos-shaped [Dude... you know what's a funny word? tholos! heh, heh, heh]. Are eternal flames over-done these days? I might hope they have a certain timeless quality. No. Done properly, I shouldn't think they'd go out of style. Inside, a simple porphyry slab with only the most modest of inscriptions, "REGARD ME AS YOUR GOD". Said monument to be paid for by the reigning consuls and a tax put on the starving Roman people, &c. &c., by my hand and seal hereto affix�d.
You see, that's one of the worst things about being a very important person whose edict is law: one has to carry this seal around with one and feed it fish.
Listening to: Nothing. My ears are too singed to play anything quietly.
Eating: Alas, nothing, and I am sore vexed thereat; my stomach lining is conspiring against me, like in that Coriolanus play, except, if I don't get something in there soon, it's going to lead my body into its first successful Marxist revolution.
Thinking about: Nice, low, animal lusts, to wit, sleep, food, sex. Very refreshing. I vacation there as often as possible.
Thinking about listening to: Echo et les hommes-lapins.
Thinking about eating: don't even get me started, pancake.