four nintey nine

The next post I write will be number 500.

So I have not been able to check myself into grading hell voluntarily. Instead, I intend to spend the weekend in grading hell with a gun at my back. Luckily it's another three day weekend.

For Dr. King's birthday, I went to my friends' wedding, D and R. They are both huge choir people, so there was a huge choir, huge. They asked me to sing the first prelude song. The piano player, who is brilliant, didn't have the chart, so 15 minutes before the Mass, I was showing him the song on the piano. He picked it up no problem, but right before I started singing, he started the song and then said, is this the right tempo? Yah, that's great I said. But then I started singing and I realized that although he had the right tempo, he was doing the changes at half speed. I might have stopped him, but for one, I was in the middle of a solo, and there was no graceful way to do it, and for two, it sounded interesting. Of course, he's brilliant, so he made it work.

Then I directed the choir to sing a song I wrote seven years ago. I'm sick of the song, but they all love it, so I smiled and directed it. It was fine. After the recession, we reprised the same song, and when I got tired I waved the choir into the social hall so they could go get in line. Meanwhile, the piano player and drummer kept on going.

I didn't ask for a fee, but the couple gave me a check. There was something in the wedding about accepting the blessings you're given, so I kept the check.

I hung out with another J at the reception. We waited for a long time in line, not cutting, and then when we sat down to eat, he asked me, 'where are you going to go to eat after this?' We laughed. There's rice at home, I said.

I went to my guitar lesson, and then to A's Golden Globes party. She served chili, which was delicious. I have asked her for the recipe, and when I make it, I will use less tomato sauce and call it my own. I left the party during the lifetime achievement award, and as soon as I got in the car to go home, the radio told me the results of the whole tape-delayed awards show.

The trick to Brokeback Mountain is that the storytelling makes you care about the couple, even though you know they're doomed. It was all there in the short story. In fact, the biggest difference in my mind between the short story and the movie is that the characters are slightly more likable on the screen.

At A's house I had a cup of black tea, which ensured that I had very active dreams.

So I dreamt that Y talked a few of us guys into working on a farm on Vashon. I understood it as a retreat, I had some light duties (splitting fire wood into kindling) and a lot of time to concentrate on writing music. Y, I noticed, was into the work, and was doing the hard chores, the ones that had to do with hauling and scrubbing and animals. He threw himself into the chores; it seemed like he was punishing himself.

One morning, I was worried about him, so I went to look for him. I guessed he was in the outhouse. I knocked, but he didn't answer. I looked around, but Y came out of the outhouse a few moments later, looking distraught. I asked him what was wrong, and he launched into a cinematic monologue. I think I could hear cello music.

He told me he had bought an expensive necklace for his wife. I didn't act surprised that he was married because I didn't want to interrupt him. But on his way home from the jewelry store, he had a torrid affair with another woman, who found the necklace when going through his stuff, and took it for herself. She turned out to be married. So now the other woman and the husband somehow blackmailed Y, ruined his marriage and his finances. He was working on the farm not as a retreat, but to support himself, and to hide out. All he wanted to do, he said, was to get the ring back, but you could tell he wanted his wife back. And that it was never going to happen.

It was all very little house on the prarie, except on the side of a hill on a farm on Vashon. And actually, Y had a lot of hair, like Michael Landon.

I woke up after this dream, and went to the bathroom. I went back to bed and dreamt another cool dream, but I don't remember it. However, I do remember regretting not being a Jedi. So I decided that in the future, I will carry a light saber and use the force in my dreams. I don't know why I never thought of that before.