june, 2012

Tue, 12 Jun 2012 17:45:23 -0700

After two hours of Ligeti last night and one of Beethoven, the first day of a Monday-to-Friday oncall shift and a session at the gym, my brain swimming by turn with micropolyphony and rapid-fire Götterfunken and feuertrunken, I headed up the hill to MacRae's. He opened the Yamazaki 18 we'd come across in Japantown over the weekend, I curled up in his lap on the floor, and we sat there eating gingerbread men and sipping the honey-like whiskey, my pager silent, he describing the events and announcements of this week's WWDC. I knew it was getting late, that I needed to go to bed soon to survive the upcoming week of oncall plus Symphony Chorus rehearsals. But his lap was so comfortable, the whiskey so pleasantly pungent in its stemless wine glasses, the cookies just the right balance of sugar and ginger, that we didn't move until the last drop had been drained and the Pepperidge Farm army decimated.

I could live like this.

all this Šnori heikkinen, June 2012

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