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Now, why do I drink coffee in the afternoon when I know perfectly well it will keep me up all night? It's not like I'll be awake enough to work... just enough to be tired and cranky tomorrow. Grrrr.
V got back yesterday, which is nice. Still, I miss the privacy a little. Spent today in delightfully lazy mode - looked at mostly awful art in the center of town at the annual art festival. Mostly big paintings of flowers or landscapes produced by local ladies with a lot of time on their hands. You get a lot of that around here -- local gents as well. We saw a big young stag outside of my office in the morning. Still had velvet on his antlers. It took him a while to figure out how to get away from us. Cute, but not too bright, I guess. Went home, ate some lamb ribs, and drank half a bottle of cachaca between the two of us. Oddly, we didn't get at all drunk. Or, rather, we got just drunk enough to engage in a bout of irresponsible late afternoon coffee drinking, for which I am now paying the price. Pobre de mi.
I did manage to carve out an hour or so to practice guitar. I'm working my way through a book on fretboard theory and also working my way, very slowly, through Adios Nonino, a rather fancy little Astor Piazzola tango. You will also be pleased to hear that my mandolin rendition of tants tants yidelach is improving as well. Each day I inch closer to my dream of joining a klezmer band so I can play weddings. Okay, probably not as glamorous as it sounds, but it's gotta beat hanging out in graveyards in the rain.
Now it's raining. The cicadas have stopped doing whatever it is that cicadas do. If they're really cicadas - my old next door neighbor, the entymologist, once told me that they weren't cicadas, but bush crickets. I'm not sure I believe him.
V got back yesterday, which is nice. Still, I miss the privacy a little. Spent today in delightfully lazy mode - looked at mostly awful art in the center of town at the annual art festival. Mostly big paintings of flowers or landscapes produced by local ladies with a lot of time on their hands. You get a lot of that around here -- local gents as well. We saw a big young stag outside of my office in the morning. Still had velvet on his antlers. It took him a while to figure out how to get away from us. Cute, but not too bright, I guess. Went home, ate some lamb ribs, and drank half a bottle of cachaca between the two of us. Oddly, we didn't get at all drunk. Or, rather, we got just drunk enough to engage in a bout of irresponsible late afternoon coffee drinking, for which I am now paying the price. Pobre de mi.
I did manage to carve out an hour or so to practice guitar. I'm working my way through a book on fretboard theory and also working my way, very slowly, through Adios Nonino, a rather fancy little Astor Piazzola tango. You will also be pleased to hear that my mandolin rendition of tants tants yidelach is improving as well. Each day I inch closer to my dream of joining a klezmer band so I can play weddings. Okay, probably not as glamorous as it sounds, but it's gotta beat hanging out in graveyards in the rain.
Now it's raining. The cicadas have stopped doing whatever it is that cicadas do. If they're really cicadas - my old next door neighbor, the entymologist, once told me that they weren't cicadas, but bush crickets. I'm not sure I believe him.
