I have no

excuse, Sarah, for not posting earlier. Last week I told Ismael that I'm not about to become a heavy poster only to comment on daily trivial things such as the guy that walks in a bar and starts yelling because he has no cigarettes and anyways there is no public smoking in New York so this story is going nowhere but you get my point. Life here is good, and simple. Hence, if at any point in this post you yawn, please go here.

See? It's been a minute and still searching keyboard for inspiration. I will say that every morning I wake up and laugh of joy. My bedroom window overlooks the backyard. There's lots of trees, but since the yard slopes down to the river, sometimes it feels like the leaves are at my eyesight level. The morning sun doesn't come in through the east-facing window, but tries to penetrate the yellow foliage of the trees. The rays bounce off the river and make it silver. Combine that with a gentle breeze that sways the trees, and squirrels searching for breakfast, and I tell you, it is like a postcard. But true! And sorry if I ventured into kitsch with my description, but it was accurate. You'll have to come and visit.

Every day I get to work at around 9-9:30pm, but usually stay here until 7. I've been trying to figure out why I can't get home earlier. It always happens that when I go to bed I wish I'd come home before, so as to get more stuff done. But in the evenings, even when all my daily programming is done, I find myself browsing the web, or walking around Saratoga. I think it's the presence of other people. As a matter of fact even during the weekends I try to be out a lot. In the end this is nothing more than cowardly covering up the truth: I'm alone (not lonely, there is a difference). And by this I do not mean, Sarah and Scott, girl-less, but simply friend-less. It would be nice to have someone with whom to hang out, someone who already knows me. But wait a moment, this is also venturing into oh-I'm-so-sad-because-college-is-over-and-life-is-lonely-oh-poor-me territory, so no more.

Had my second jazz lesson this Monday. I've a feeling after Christmas I'll be with someone else. Sure, Joe is a very nice, patient, kind, etc. man, but he's not terribly qualified to teach jazz... or so I get the impression. Feels like he picked up all these things along the way, during the past 63 years. Besides, my methodical mind needs a firm hand, and he isn't giving me weekly exercises. I kind of feel lost, aimless.

Good grief this is tedious and boring. But you asked, folks.

NO I'm not a stalker. It's simply that she is beautiful, a rare face, makes me look down when she takes my order. And no, I don't go to Borders every day. I'm not obsessed (yet), merely observing the fact that God made some women rather pretty, for us mere mortals to sigh at.

And no, I will not let this go to the extent that my previous, ahem, obsession with, oh, ahm, a person that I saw often in a musical ensemble, maybe a, uhmm, keyboard player of sorts. None of that will happen again.

Or so I hope.

Onto other things: did you read about WurldMedia and Culligan Ball? It seems we're famous. Today at Chotchkie's (the affectionately named Uncommon Grounds cafe a minute from work), during lunch, one of the hippy (they're all hippies, probably pretend-hippies) girls taking our bagel-and-soup orders, upon seeing some of us wearing the t-shirt (yes we have one) runs to her fellow employee, drags him back, and says with a slight nod of the head, "do you see it? culligan ball, I told you!". Turns out some of them go to watch us play on Wednesdays. Very neat, I must say. My shirt should be here next week. Which nicely segues to the following:

I have been nicknamed "pantalones!" and everyone says it when I get here in the morning. Also been called "G-Money Pants", "G-Funk", "Gabe Pantalones", etc. Guess what will go on my Culligan t-shirt?

Jazz trivia: the Lee Shaw trio plays at One Caroline Bistro (the place next door) every week, and the pianist is an old lady that used to be John Medeski's (Medeski Martin & Wood) teacher.

Scott posted something about finding passion. I was, curiously enough, thinking about that on Monday. An italian chef being interviewed on NPR mentioned that for him, food was his passion (along with rock'n'roll and fast italian cars). I don't think I'm passionate about programming, I mean it certainly brings me satisfaction... but if I say I'm passionate about music, well how cliche and meaningless, such a standard answer. It's still true though, and the funny thing is it takes on different "persons" depending on the circumstances. Right now music seems to be a constant companion - oh gag this is trite and makes me cringe.

See, people, nothing I have to say is very interesting. Or in other words, I'm no writer. But I will continue posting bleh as long as possible.

But it is late, almost 9pm, and I've to go home and make dinner. On the menu for tonight: bread and sausage and beer, so it can be over quick and make room for jazz guitar.

In no time you will hear my lovely tunes while you enjoy the Weather Channel.

Or even better,

Scott V- "Uh, I don't like this place, Maria."
Maria (italian supermodel) - "Oh Scottie my darling, it doesn't matter, JC Penneys is my favorite place to be!"
(kisses Scott very affectionately)
Scott V- "Uh, Sarah, anything interesting to be bought?"
Sarah DB- "Uh no, this place makes me sick! Good Night!!!"
Roberto (italian supermodel)- "Oh Sarah but it is best place in de world, I sure to find bella clothes for you my apple pie!"
(grabs Sarah, twirls and kisses her)
Sarah DB- "Oh this must be heaven!"
Scott V - "It sure must be. Oh wait a moment, do I hear Gabe's latest Jazz Platinum Record coming through the speakers carefully placed so we can be lured to buy buy buy? Yes! It's his "Smooth Jazz Vol. 76"! Unmistakeable sound. Gosh I love J.C.Penney's!"

(Maria and Scott drive away in a Ferrari Dino to the latest Wilco concert (touring in Tuscany), Sarah and Roberto take the tram to Ted Kooser's lecture at the Alberto Muscatini hall)

(end of scene)