OFFICE REPORT: Two birthdays have yielded some loosely formed rice krispy treats with peanut butter, some kind of hearty, wet granola stuff with applesauce, and....a whole mess o' chicken wings in a ziplock bag!

Barnyard Serenade

How many sopranos does it take to screw in a light bulb?

None at all, because the soprano doesn't need the light bulb; she is the light bulb, powered by breath, high pitches, white teeth, creamy skin and bright bright energy!

Today, I went to rehearse with some opera types I used to know in school. They are nice people and my enjoyment in just seeing them was compounded by the greater understanding it gave me of why I felt like such a weirdo around them before. Please don't take this the wrong way- I think it's important to spend time in the company of one's own flock, but singers tend to be obtuse and overpowering in groups, and I have not spent much time with my own species for quite a few years now. So the loud laughing and general clamor was a sweet and amusing reminder of the way things used to be. I could almost see myself of ten years ago, shrinking in the fringes and thinking there was something odd about me.

In other news: the mountains! How did I ever get used to them before? They are wildly beautiful, so exotic and near. I had an audition last Thursday after work, and I rewarded myself with some chocolate soft serve, even though it was cold outside. The sky was this aching peach bruise, blooming across the whole sky, bursting the capillaries of the clouds and eliciting voluptuous agreement from the snow-covered mountains. My ice cream somehow made the coldness of the air itself delicious, and I relished breathing.

The soup of sadness

There is a small cafeteria downstairs, where people in suits go to buy sandwiches from a girl with pierced cheeks. It is she who chooses the music. Today, we sat with our soup and listened to the strains of some young woman whining sparsely over a piano, and it made the soup and the businesspeople seem so sad and pointless! The soup and the suits of sadness. Such is the power of music.

Week four temping at Company X. Last Friday, I discovered a horn player in the office. We were almost the last ones here, and even though we don't have heaps in common, discovering a fellow musician in the business-casual wasteland is kind of like finding a long-lost tribe member, always. As she told me about her situation and her hopes of one day returning to London to play full time again, her hands kept taking apart the panelling of her cubicle and pressing the pieces back together. I thought this was wonderful. I mean, don't we all want to disassemble the cubicles and see what else could happen here? I know that all furniture is temporary, but when I look at all these modal panels, I can't help but imagine their destruction. Someday maybe the plants will take over this building, mulching the upholstery and bursting the particle board in the slow, obstinate way of plants. I wonder if weeds could find something nutritious on which to feed, and how long it would take for them to find purchase in the carpet; how much sediment they would require.