“Would you fuck me? I’d fuck me. I’d fuck me hard.
Um, no. No I wouldn’t fuck you. Not even with your own penis. Because I don’t want to be turned into a woman suit.
And speaking of “women”– this was in my Scruff feed this morning:
WTF people?? Is this bizarro world?!?
Or like The great accelerando to Spring has started in earnest.
Yeah it’s only 47 outside, but that may as well be 70 here, given all our below zero weather this winter. And sure we still have feet is snow on the ground– but it’s melting.
In fact, it was so nice today that I went for a walk at lunch. Yes, a walk! Probably my first one in 4.5 months or so. Here’s the photographic evidence:
Gosh it sure was nice to get some fresh air and sun!
The concert on Sunday went well. Very well. Better than I was expecting actually, given out shitty dress rehearsal last Monday.
We had lots of “school holidays” and some school closures which dramatically cut our rehearsal time this concert period. We even had to cut a piece from the program because there wasn’t enough time to prepare it.
Yet somehow, true to form, we pulled a rose-smelling concert out of our collective assholes. Go figure.
Because we lost our normal bass bone player for this concert (he is a snow bird), I filled in on the low part. And it was FUN!
Scheherazade was the best piece because it rocks for brass and especially trombone. We get to basically “release the kraken” at the big melodic hits– and man it sounded good yesterday. Great intonation and power!
The next best piece was movement V “Hobbits” from Johann De Meij’s “LOTR symphony”. We get to go monkeyballz loud at the end of that one, and bass bone gets this glorious pedal b-flat to crank out.
I actually felt sorry for the French Horns sitting in front of me.
So– all in all– not a bad way to spend the first afternoon of DST. Plus it was in the 40′s here!
So I’m freaking out a wee bit.
As I’ve probably mentioned, I’m a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to music. I need to be perfect in my performance– which makes me work really really hard. But it can also paralyze me if I fuck up.
Anyway, part of the deal with being in the gay choir means you have to memorize all the music. This normally wouldn’t faze me much; I tend to memorize music quickly.
But this is like 2 hours of music. And all quite different. And not very repetitive. And some of it is quite hard. And quite… wordy.
And while I have most of the music fully memorized at this point, there are two pieces that I just don’t have yet from a text standpoint. And there is one mixed meter piece that is just a royal bitch to count and to find your entrances in.
Hence the nerves.
We do have an all day rehearsal this Saturday, which should help solidify some of the pieces a bit more.
I just hope we don’t suck in our big concert.
P.S. I was asked to sing in a small chamber choir preview/fundraiser concert in two weeks time. So I must be doing something right.
So there’s this guy at my gym.
(Yeah yeah, I know. There’s always some guy at my gym. But at least it’s good blog fodder.)
I’ve had a crush on him for like 3 years and lined away from afar. (That’s bad)
But he and I have finally started talking. (That’s good)
He is just now going through a tough break up (that’s… Bad?)
Yet he seems sorta-kinda interested (that’s… Good?)
He’s 28. (That’s very bad)
He seems 38 (That’s very good)
Between work, travel, and renovating a 4-plex thst he owns he is incredibly busy (that’s bad)
But he will be traveling less and at the gym more– and at my gym time (that’s good)
But he’s a big, beefy weight lifter (that’s bad)
But he’s a big, beefy, bearded, weight lifter! (That’s good)
He does not seem to be musically inclined at all (that’s bad)
But he has an engineering degree and a good job, is well travelled, well read, and smart (that’s good)
He can be a bit quiet and difficult to read (that’s bad)
He has a bawdy side and is sexy as hell (that’s good)
He has this blonde hair and these pale blue eyes and a reddish beard and thighs like a line backer and a rough, deep voice that makes my heart pound like a nail…..
(That’s bad. That’s very very very bad.)
I’m cursed.
This makes me wish I could
Twerk better.
Especially since it just makes me shake my ass like an etch-a-sketch.
Wow.
Y’all are (for the most part) much more caring and considerate people than I am. All this talk about going to the funeral to give my condolences to the family, that funerals are for the living, etc. Not to mention the chance to network and rub elbows with other management.
Clearly, y’all have much more experiences with funerals and find them to be of great significance and importance. All of which is pretty much what I figured.
Here are some additional tidbits though:
I don’t really know and have not met most of the family either. Not the spouses, kids, grandkids, etc. And the few family members with whom I have the pleasure of working are gun-toting, uber right wing, Christian, Palin-Bachmann supporting, homophobic, sexist bigots.
This goes for about 90% of the rest of the management team too, as they’re just as homophobic, sexist and bigoted.
And as much as it might be nice for me to express my condolences or network and be a company man, the thing is… I don’t want to. I have a hard enough time putting in a day’s work with these people, let alone spend time with them at something like a funeral.
There will be plenty of people paying their respects and plenty of management there all putting in “face time” to look good.
I am not planning to be one of them.
And yeah, this makes me a heartless asshole. Or a fool for not being a team player. Or probably both.
I’m not sure how I feel about this. I think I’m bothered that I don’t care more.
Or “dysfunction”.
The chairman/CEO/Owner of our company died recently. It was not unexpected as he was in failing health and pretty old. The wake is today and the funeral is tomorrow.
I am going to neither.
I find this is a bit of a tricky situation (as funerals often are) which I do not have the skills to properly navigate. I was not invited to the wake or funeral (are their invitations to such things?), but a couple people at work have asked me if I was going.
Since this is a privately held, family owned company in which I am newly minted “management”, there seems to be this underlying expectation that maybe I should go and pay my respects.
It’s kind of like “Are you going? You don’t have to go… But you are welcome to go. Other people are going….”. Classic Minnesota passive-aggressive.
The thing is– I have never met the man.
Yes, he was still the chairman of our company, but he wasn’t ever here. He was basically retired, but liked to keep a hand in the operations to some extent. Six or eight months out of the year he lived in Florida. The rest of the time he was “around”. Maybe.
At least he had an office and a parking space (that other family members always parked in).
I think I had seen him a couple times leaving the parking lot from afar. And maybe exchanged a hallway nod once or twice. But I had never been introduced to him– not even when I started work here.
My rule with funerals is: if I’ve never come to your home, why would I come to your funeral?
I think this is a pretty good rule. If I’ve been to your home, that means we are more than just casual acquaintances in my book. It still may not mean I think attending your funeral is appropriate, but at least we have some sort of connection.
Funerals, to me, are a time for friends and family of the deceased to gather. I was neither. I am just one of the semi-anonymous worker bees at a company he owned. And welcome or not, I would feel completely out of place at the funeral of some guy I didn’t know, never spoken with or even formally met.
Just because he signed my paycheck does this make be obligated to attend his funeral?
What say you all?
Normally I am against deception, lying, and thievery of any sort. It is such a personal violation– wallet rape if you will.
But on occasion I will find theft to be fascinating. Even sexy. But only when it is a con so well crafted and so layered and so detailed as to be nearly perfect. It’s the elegance that draws me like a moth to a flame.
Like the one Wolfgang Beltracchi perpetrated.
You probably haven’t heard of him, but he’s probably the greatest art forger of all time. He can paint in virtually any artist’s style, and he has fooled countless art historians.
And made millions doing it.
And he got away with it for 40 years!
What he did was absolutely brilliant. He wouldn’t create copies of famous works. Oh no. He created brand new works in the styles of famous artists. Works that could have been lost in wars or looted or unearthed in someone’s hidden collection.
He would use pigments and paints that were specially vetted to be available at the time the artist painted. He would find old canvases in flea markets and clean them and reuse them. He (and his accomplice wife) created fake labels and back stories and created fake old photos on old paper showing the works.
No detail was overlooked. It was only by an oversight in labeling from a pigment company that tripped him up.
He was so successful that his forgeries hang in museums and are in art books and have been bought by collectors. Each and every one of his paintings is a masterpiece worthy of collecting. The only hiccup being he lied with his signatures.
It’s an utterly fantastic and fascinating story. You can read more here.
I guess I’m okay with his crimes because of the creative aspect. Not only was the con creative, but he created brilliant works of art.
And the victims were basically the uber rich. People who can afford multi million dollar paintings. Sure museums and galleries and historians were involved– which then trickles down eventually to the general populace. And of course there’s the deception over four decades which needs to be undone.
But I guess I don’t care.
He was so perfect and so precise that he fooled countless authenticators. For years. And anyone that good deserves kudos.
Besides, there are all sorts of tales in the art world about masterpieces that may or may not have actually been painted by students of the masters. Or unsigned works that may be masterpieces.
And again I say, “Who cares?” If the art is brilliant, and is beautiful then what does it matter who really painted it?
When you look at the Sistine Chapel, are you standing in awe or are you hunting for a signature??
