Cantankerous

I'm sorry, athiest self.  I went to church today.  Although, if I may speak a word in my own defense.  I actually went because supposedly a world-class pianist was performing.  Apparently, the lure of music is just too great for even me to resist going into the deplorable house of religion. I was actually glad I went, though.  The music was beautiful and the pianist was from Bolivia and told a wonderful little story in Spanish, which of course I didn't understand, but was then promptly translated.  The myth that piano players have long, slender graceful fingers is just that.  Because this guy had the littlest sausage fingers I have ever seen.  But the way his hands fell like waves on the keys was mesmerizing. I LOVE piano music! It is my downfall, I'm afraid.  Damn, I'm glad that my arch-nemesis doesn't read this blog.  Oh wait, he does.  FUCK.

I thought that it might be pertinent to point out that I am currently writing this from the stagnant land of hippy: Eugene.  I've been in this tepid place for the past three weekends, and surprisingly enough, I've enjoyed each visit most immensely.  This time, I'm afraid, isn't filled with raucous parties and 8 foot tall bonfires though.  Instead I have my great tome of a medical physiology book for my companion, and a limited amount of brain space to stuff trivia into.  In all of my long years on this earth, I have never read a drier text.  Don't get me wrong, physiology is fascinating.  But when you break it down to the barest technical details and don't even give any gory clinical examples, what's left? GODDAMMIT! I want to read about genital tumors and horrific blood diseases. 

Uh-oh. Cat fight. Gotta go.