Tuesday, March 30, 2004

A part of me really wishes to share with you lengthy exposition on today’s hot-button issues, gentle reader, but another part of me–the part that hasn’t hooked up my computer yet–raises its metaphorical fist and shouts, “No! I will not, I cannot teach my gentle readers until my e-lectern is whole again.” In two days’ time, I shall have escaped the throes of relocating to a new apartment, and normalcy will return like the gout.

For now, though, consider this curious musical spectacle: one of my co-workers brought in a guitar to sell, but unfortunately the instrument has languished in the office, receiving short bursts of attention and experimental strumming from time to time. Someone noticed a swishing sound in the guitar today, and one enterprising co-worker peered into the body, pen in hand, and extracted a pair of used black panties. This is utterly fascinating, don’t you think? The musicologist within me stipulates that this is the true joy of music, but don’t take my word for it. Mozart, a musical genius so firmly entrenched in the public mind, had access to a piano. A big one. With lots of room. I’ve given you enough to make your own conclusions.