far too much writing, far too many photos

I’ve been addicted to music since the age of four. I’ve played instruments, sung (admitting that some might wish to quibble with that), had musicians as friends and sweethearts. I’ve heard scads of jokes about musicians and musical instruments, but have never seen a collection of those jokes as extensive and far-reaching as the one an individual at MIT has put together. (An individual with way too much time on their hands.)

Some examples:

Q: What’s the difference between a soprano and a terrorist?
A: You can negotiate with a terrorist.

Q: What’s the difference between an alto and a tenor?
A: Tenors don’t have hair on their backs.

Q: What’s the definiton of “perfect pitch?”
A: Throwing a viola into a dumpster without hitting the rim.

Q: Why was the piano invented?
A: So the musician would have a place to put his beer.

Q: How many drummers does it take to change a lightbulb?
a. Why? Oh, wow! Is it, like, dark, man?
b. Only one, but he’ll break ten bulbs before figuring out that they can’t just be pushed in.
c. Two: one to hold the bulb, and one to turn his throne (but only after they figure out that you have to turn the bulb).
d. Twenty. One to hold the bulb, and nineteen to drink until the room spins.
e. None. They have a machine to do that.


Sunday night in Madrid, a cool, damp November evening. Early tomorrow — way, way, way too early tomorrow — I catch a flight back to the States. Will be gone for a month, spending it in New England.

I have deeply mixed feelings about this trip — in part ’cause this is my first time back since June, in part ’cause this will be my first time in the States in its current atmosphere of, well, whatever it turns out to be. And other things. I’m letting go of an apartment I’ve had for 5-1/2 years, and a city — Cambridge — I’ve lived in (not counting the coming and going of the last 2, 2-1/2 years) since Feb. of ‘82. A long time, passing through several lifetimes in that nearly 20 years.

People ask me whether I’ll be staying on in Spain permanently, people ask what exactly it is I’m doing. Good questions, both of them. Wish I had good answers. I’m winging it. I’ll find out what happens pretty much when you do. (Maybe a few hours earlier.)

Right. Off to finish packing, then cop a few hours sleep.

Entries here may be sporadic and shorter than normal during the next month. Count your blessings.

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