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Holy Hell Week
15 April 2003
4 13:09

The DJRainDog is falling down on the job.

No excuses, I've just been super-duper busy. Where to begin? The last entry I posted was last Thursday?! Yikes. I know I started fragments since then, and they just haven't made it in. Perhaps after editing...I'm such the little Poe with my morbid obsessions and my substance abuse habits and my constant self-editing and my ever-so-very-purple language. (It is not, entirely, a flattering comparison, you see.)

So Thursday, after work, there was rehearsal. In the middle of the afternoon, C had phoned me on his way back from a Yankees game and invited me down to hang out. He did this in the typical way he invites me to do anything. "Hey, dork, what're ya doin'? {beat} Well, get your ass down here, and wear your drinkin' shoes!" So after rehearsal, I got in the car and drove down, after stopping at my apartment to pick up clothes for the next day and certain other paraphernalia, of course. We drank bourbon and watched John Valby on video (since I'd stupidly made plans for the next evening and would not be able to go see Dr. Dirty at Toad's Place -- I know the man is unconscionably offensive and puerile, but he totally appeals to the sixth-grader who still hangs out somewhere in my head) and smoked ourselves up very high indeed. And then we went to bed and slept and cuddled. That's one of my favourite things about C; we can just lie around and cuddle, and it's completely comfortable, and it feels completely natural, and it doesn't have to mean anything at all. I think more people should have friends like that, 'cause it really is, as that bitch-freak Martha Stewart would say, "a good thing."

Friday morning, of course, it was all about getting out of bed and hitting the road as quickly as possible to get to work, which I actually did on time, nay even early, for a change. It was a half-day again, as I thought I was going to go home and get some stuff accomplished before my guest for the evening arrived, which I sort-of did, though not as effectively as I'd hoped. Lars (my other ex) showed up somewhere around 5.30, I think. We hadn't seen each other, apart from in passing, since last October, so since we're supposed to still be friends, I thought it'd be nice to hang out with him for a change. Truth to tell, he's cute as ever, and yes, it's pleasing that he has fewer hang-ups in the bedroom than he used to have, but frankly, I'm not interested anymore. He was all touchy-feely when he got to my place, which I guess was alright, so we went in my bedroom and made out and sixty-nined, and I fucked him for awhile, and while it started out nicely, in the end, it just wasn't all that interesting or good. I wonder if it's because I find his personality kind-of annoying or if it's because there are other people on my mind these days. It's probably a bit of both. After the sex, we cleaned ourselves up and went down to Tycoon's to have dinner, as it was to be their last day of business (very very sad day for me...more on that later), but the place was so packed we couldn't get a table, so we went back upstairs and had a bit of a smoke and a couple drinks and watched TV and talked a bit. During the hour and a half or so that we hung out at my place before going back down for dinner, I realised that all the aspects of his personality that made me break up with him are still painfully present and in full force. Ultimately, we just have very little in common, and in retrospect, I should have realised that much earlier than I did. I can remember on one of our first dates sitting at dinner and thinking, "This conversation is like pulling teeth. I don't know what to talk about with this guy. I don't think there's much that we can talk about." Later, friends would ask, "What are you doing with him? You guys are so completely unalike." Finally, I just had enough, as documented here, and after the breakup, as is so often the case, everyone felt free to say what they really thought about the situation. Anyway, at about 8.30 or so, we went back downstairs to try to get a table (Success!) and we ate the last meal I shall ever have at a lovely establishment called Tycoons, run by some of the more wonderful folks I know. Over-tipped the waitress (service was rather unfortunate, but I know it was because they were over-full and under-staffed, so it's forgiven), and went back upstairs to hang out and smoke a bit more. I opted to sit in my chair, with my feet propped up on the ottoman, because I find that most comfortable; Lars sat on the sofa and apparently felt rather neglected or unwelcome because I wasn't being all cuddly with him. Well, sometimes I don't feel particularly cuddly. I do, in fact, tend to run hot and cold in that department, and I didn't particularly feel like moving out of my comfy chair at the moment. This fact, combined with the fact that I passed out rather early, was taken as an offense and a sign that I didn't really want to be hanging out with him, which of course was not the case, though by the time we woke the next morning, having spent the night sleeping in the same bed, but not snuggling particularly much, when I wasn't particularly interested in having sex again, I think he felt pretty rejected. I feel bad about that, but truly, I'm not sure how much we'll hang out in the future; I enjoy chatting with him online, as he's funny sometimes, and I like to hear about what he's been up to with his band, etc., but apart from that, I just don't think there's much there worth examining. I was at a certain place in my life when we were together, and I'm not in that place anymore, but I don't think he's done too much traveling, himself, so it seems a bit pointless. Maybe I was just too conscious of the fact that I could have been hanging out with C and having hugely raging comical fun that night with someone whom I feel knows me as well as anyone has in a long time, and for what it's worth, certainly better than Lars ever did or tried to do, but perhaps Lars and I are just better off being friends at a distance.

Saturday afternoon, another rehearsal. Saturday night, I did nothing, 'cause I knew I had a hellish day of singing coming up Sunday, though I wish I'd been hanging out with C and his friends Tina and Dave being crazy. Sunday was, indeed, a day of high-maintenance singing. Very long (and impressive) Palm/Passion Sunday Mass in the morning...into the early afternoon. Excellent Passion Vespers service at five. Really rather amazing Compline at 10, especially considering the exhaustion factor which was plaguing the four of us who remained to sing it. Other members of the choir attended the service, though, and gave those of us who sang very high praise indeed, claiming it was (despite a couple of places where brains went out and minor errors occurred) one of the best Compline services they'd heard. If you find yourself in New Haven on a Sunday night during Yale's academic year at 10 p.m. looking for around a half-hour of peace and meditation, take a step into a space where linear time ceases to exist and wander into Christ Church (on the little pizza-slice of land where Elm St. and Broadway intersect, across from the Yale Bookstore) and sit and listen...The bells will lead you there, and maybe you'll get something out of it, though I'm not about to surmise just what it would be, as that's quite personal, and varies wildly between individuals.

Yesterday was work, of course, nothing exciting, apart from spending absurd amounts of time calibrating the colour settings on the new super-funky high-volume colour printer which has been procured, despite budget cuts, for the marketing department. I predict that within five years, this firm will be a marketing firm and will scarcely concern itself with architecture at all. What they'll market, of course, is anyone's guess. I shall be long gone by then, of course. Last night was the rehearsal which I thought was tonight; blissfully, I realised this and managed to attend. After rehearsal, a very few of us went for a refreshing beverage across the street at Cosi, as our usual hangout, El Amigo Felix, is (we always forget) closed on Mondays. The bartender was cool beyond the call of duty and fed us free food in addition to serving us our beer (those two Sierra Nevada Pale Ales tasted better than you can possibly imagine at the end of such a long day -- there are times when beer is one of the best tastes on the planet) in real pint glasses -- English pints, rather than the dumbed-down excuses for pints one gets in most American establishments. A fine time, I believe, was had by all. When I got home, I had a very nice chat on the phone with C, as we traded stories about the weekend (I didn't go into the sex with Lars, as he's still not comfortable hearing about my sexploits with other people since we've broken up; I certainly hope he does not read this diary); I mentioned I wished we'd gone out together on Friday, rather than doing what I did, and that required some explanation, but he was, as usual, a sympathetic and appreciative friend. He sounded a bit down last night, which made me sad; I hate to think that he's ever unhappy, but I suppose it does, in fact, happen to all of us, and then, very quickly and quietly before hanging up, probably hoping I might not notice, he said, "I love you," something we haven't been saying on the phone in quite some time. I love him too; he's one of the best friends I've got.

This week, as it leads up to Easter, is Holy Week. The amount of singing I have to do and the amount of time it takes cause me to refer to it somewhat blasphemously as "Holy Hell Week." Last night, at rehearsal, we sang and we sang and we sang and we sang and we sang, mostly Gregorian Chant for nearly two and a half hours. As easy as that stuff looks, it is wickedly hard to pull off and make sound good. Remember those monks who released the album called CHANT back in the 1990s and made it so trendy to listen to that stuff that Enigma then parlayed sampling bits of it against sexy danceable beats into a doubtless tremendously lucrative first album, followed by a career of sample-suffused mood-music? No disrespect intended, but we're far better at it than those monks. (Why no one is flogging us wrapped in cellophane in a larger market -- and we are available -- is beyond me.) Today is the one day of the week when I don't have to sing. Tomorrow night is the notoriously long and dark Tenebrae service, whereat we shall chant a truly absurd amount of psalmody. Blissfully, I believe we'll be seated for the experience. Thursday night, of course, is the rather dismal and foreboding Maundy Thursday Mass. Friday, from noon to three in the afternoon will transpire the three hours of darkness known as the Good Friday service. I'm not kidding; it takes three hours, and we kneel and sing for a large portion of that. Don't get me wrong; these are beautiful services, and I'm sure they and their attendant music will be absolutely transportive, but let's face the fact that the days leading up to the big Easter Explosion are decidedly not the happiest in the church year, and the services make the singers very tired creatures indeed. After Friday, though, it's far from over. Saturday night is the Great Vigil, another service which tends to run nearly three hours, which it should be noted is vastly cut from the way it used to be done, when the service literally lasted all night. (I've never done it that way, nor do I know anyone who has, but if you've ever heard Rachmaninoff's Vespers, and you should, 'cause like most of his music, they're luxurious, those are part of the all-night vigil.) After the Vigil, we used to have a "Champagne & Oreo" (though there were usually numerous other yummy munchy things, as well) reception in the choir room, though that's not happened in a few years, because at the last one, a handful or so of people stayed 'til about 3.30 a.m., and by the time we left, I'd say we'd consumed on average two bottles of champagne per person, and someone (not a chorister) got sick, and we didn't feel that was the best idea anymore, though after that reception, I went to a friend's house for a party he was having 'til about 4.30 before toddling home, and I must say I think the following morning was among the best singing I've done. Easter Morning is, of course, a mondo-huge deal. The Vigil starts quietly, with lots of chant in darkness, then explodes into light with bells and enormity; Easter Day just blasts and wails from the word "go". After the service at Christ Church, of course, I have to go sing at that Other Place, and hopefully, in the evening, there will be some sort of wonderful dinner party with lots of yummy things to eat and drink to celebrate our having survived the experience.

So tonight, I shall go to BAR and enjoy my last night of freedom to party for awhile. Actually, I shouldn't party too hard, considering everything I have to do this week. Actually, Thursday night, after the service, I'm supposed to see SoccerBoi again, and I'm looking forward to that with as much excitement as I'm capable of mustering. He really is charming and sweet, and I'd love for us to become good friends, if nothing else. Okay, I admit, I want to fuck him senseless for days on end, but for awhile, I think I shall content myself with friendship and snuggles 'til we can figure out what this thing is and where it's going. I think we'll hit 168 and have beer with my friends; that would be low-maintenance fun, which is what I'm all about these days.

Today is evil tax day, so I should print out and do the official versions of these nasty forms and write my cheques and mail them in to the evil government so that I won't owe them any more money than I already do. I'd buy myself a present for doing it, but considering the amount of money I'm paying, that might not be the wisest idea. It would be so nice to get money back one year, for a change; to net a profit out of this deal would be unbelievably cool, especially given I feel I'm paying taxes to support the operation of a government of which I do not approve. I will not repeat that rant here or now, however.

I think it's coming time I should throw a party.

r

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