George Shearing passed away this week, lowering the amount of blind badass musicians to a drastically low number that I don't actually know. If I were a musician I would just wear big black sunglasses and get someone to assist me everywhere and see if anyone assumed. First I'd have to develop the ambition to be a musician as opposed to a music appreciator. At any rate, go listen to him and enjoy some nice jazz for about three minutes.
The weather here is currently ridiculous. I was able to watch it go from zero to bullshit in about five minutes. I've been told that the idea of bad weather being inextricably linked to me vocalizing a desire for Vietnamese food is rubbish but the evidence has really come through today. I don't remember how to check my room(s) for wiretaps and other spy material but I'm considering learning, if I can read it quickly.
Naturally, once the idea of Vietnamese food was tossed and replaced with generic pizza from a closer grocery superstore the snow quietly abated. I toddled around the store and marveled at other people as I waited for my pizza to be fabricated by a man named 'Conor' who spoke as if he was pushing words out of a tube of toothpaste. I will include one example below. Don't raise your voice higher if you decide to say it yourself. Keep a low tone.
How're you doing? = Heeyrr doounn (Hee-yerrr Doo-un)
I assume he talks to people regularly like that, unless something about me looked primitive, which is possible because I have a beard and today was 'Indoors Day'. As I drove home I thought about other things which would be great to say in that kind of voice. I decided on 'Reading the Great Gatsby' but really anything wordy and intellectual would be funny. Apparently Conor descends from Conchobar, a far cooler name. Conor just looks misspelled. Conchobar sounds like it either comes with a claymore or maracas.
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