More of same

5:41 P.M.
The prosecution rests. We're off tomorrow and Friday, and the defense starts its call of witnesses on Monday. As we left for lunch today, we saw none other than Vic Lee of Channel 7 News in the audience -- that means no KGO news for me tonight. Off to Mendelssohn. Tonight's proposed schedule: practice until 7:30 or 8, then walk briskly down to Safeway for food and soap, return and watch either Danny Boyle's Sunshine or bits of American Idol.

6:45 P.M.
Little break. Talked to S. for a while on the phone. We went to the Castro Theatre last night to see Hangover Square as part of noir week. It took me several minutes to notice that something was weird in the Castro. There were old cars along the street, different signs over the stores, and lots of people milling about. Turns out Gus van Sant was around filming a scene for Milk. We joined the crowd in waiting for something to happen. I expected it was simply the arrival of a star or van Sant himself. But before long filmhands were yelling, "Cue cars. We're rolling, we rolling!" Ye olde cars started driving up and down Castro, and a Milk-looking man came out of a bar across the street. The police seemed to harass him, and he fought back. This drew a few others. There was pushing, then some shoving, and before long it was a wild mob scene.

7:23 P.M.
The ants are not at all ashamed of their nudity. They're just prancing all about.

Walking down to Safeway. Ears, prepare for bitter wind!

8:26 P.M.
Back from Safeway. Right after I left, I got a phone call from my upstairs neighbor -- poor woman waited until I was done practicing the fourth movement again and again at incrementally increasing tempos. She wanted to let me know that she's going in Monday to have a knee replacement. No fun, for sure, but the surgery is at the hospital where she works, so she was able to handpick the whole team that will be working on her.

The pizza's cooking, AmIdol's on, and tonight's tragedy is that the Netflix movie in the mail today was Sunshine. Oops. Bad planning. Should I watch the copy I just rented from my local video store, or the one that came in the mail? Both?

This is it

3:50 P.M.
We finished with a witness early, so the judge sent us home. We started at 11 this morning, so I went in to work and got a few good hours in. I'll work a bit more later this evening. I'll also check in with you from time to time to let you know how I'm doing. (And to see how you're doing.) I'm a little starving, even though I just had a slice of zucchini fritatta and Mediterranean salad from the cafe across from the court house. Soon, chips and salsa (cheapies from the corner mart). But first, let's work on that fourth movement of the Mendelssohn second trio. I think G. and D. and I were accepted as a preformed group for the Chamber Musicians of Northern California's next workshop, so we'll have an all-day coaching on this trio on February 17, two days before I turn . . . 32 or 33. What's 2008 minus 1976? Looks even. Must be 32.

4:30 P.M.
Went through the second and fourth movements. I might indulge in some salsa and reflect on my day.

Tsk, tsk. I've attempted and deleted several paragraphs in these thirty minutes I've been Mendelssohning, eating, IMing, and boiling water. The very same problem I've had the last many many weeks. Back to the piano . . .

6:09 P.M.
And now I'm compelled to watch the damn president speak. What a buffoon. Hmm. I'm biting the insides of my lips just like Pelosi is, only I'm not on TV.

I expected jury duty to be a painful exercise in Americanism. It has not been. I expected to see traces of Bush and Rumsfeld in the court room. I have not. I have seen something called the Law, which is at times ridiculous and at times mysteriously respectable.

The Law, like ballet, is a wonderful example of how a small number of creatures can create something complex and beautiful in a very short amount of time. Both are nonsense against their wider backgrounds.

7:27 P.M.
Well, that's enough Mendelssohn for today.

9:24 P.M.
Got in a little work and a little videogaming. Not much left to accomplish today. Got to finish watching Tom Tykwer's Perfume. I watched the first half last night but wanted to stretch it out to relish it. Speaking of the magical powers of Ben Whishaw, I saw the most amazing nose the other night.

I had gone to see Ian Bostridge sing Schubert at Herbst Hall. I sat in my seat (within a person's length of the singer, as I like to be) and began looking at the translations. A soft middle-aged gentleman sidled down the row toward me. I decided to be friendly and smiled and said Hi. He looked at me like I was a pesky ghost he was intent to ignore. An older gentleman in the row in front of me remarked to a companion that his regular friend wasn't coming. My neighbor said, "He's not coming today, George? Oh, do you mind if I move up?" And he took his diaper-looking khaki ass up a row.

And then: the nose. It was below dark curls. In a small face. The largest triangle you ever saw attached to a human. I couldn't stop watching as it made its way down the row. It was beautiful. I looked away, sentences thundering in my head: "You have the most beautiful nose I've ever seen. I could look at your nose forever."