By the number of pictures of the I-80 / 680 corridor, one might be led to believe that I love my commute, which I pretty much do.
But there are limits.
After Theory dictation from The Wind God (specifically the 12-bar My Little Finger Blues) plus intriguing compositions from Cecilia and Joel, head back home, print up some Music History: Volume III copies, head back out, teach evening course (works by Alban Berg through Dmitri Shostakovich, not quite making it through all the rep... so we'll continue next week), extended chat with Lamar Johston and Brian Perry over the vagaries of life,
head out to Left Bank with Owen. It is at this point that the mind grows foggy: upon arriving home, no laptop. Strong recollection of having taken it into restaurant, fuzzy notion of thereafter. Try calling -- no answer. Go back, on the off chance that someone's cleaning the place on the graveyard. Dark establishment locked tight, peering in... perhaps that's a computer case on the floor where we sat. Case the joint, finding the service entrance, still no luck.
Home, orchestrating first couple of pages of Variations on Americana, figuring I may as well be productive, as slumber is not forthcoming.
