His screeds are less fun than eating a broken-glass sandwich and for some reason I am unable to skip them. Wendy was the bomb, Sourbob and Alicia were some sort of illegal Indiana firework, and I was at least a cap gun. Or maybe the next chapter in the story is that I will be at a party and OH SHIT, the opera is over there in the corner, and I will pull the symphony aside and hiss you didn't tell me the opera would be here and the symphony will say look, the opera has been my friend for a long time, what was I supposed to do?

I just like getting there early, so I can sit in solitude and read. Lately, everything around me looks different, and its getting harder and harder to remember what is staying the same.