I’m at the old job, and I have a technical question regarding the DNS status of a particular website, not sure if the MX records are configured correctly, et cetera, and the nice fellow Chet puts me on hold, which I’m thankful for since I was stammering quite a bit. Now the music begins … and I’m afraid to put it on speaker phone because it’ll surely clash with the Stankonia we got coming out of the office system right now. You can’t freestyle to this shit (hold music). This music (?) would even embarrass the modern George Benson (yes, there’s a difference, people). Who comes up with this shit? Is it really processed in a factory just outside Seattle, somewhere near the Rainer Brewery on I-5? Did Zappa really drop protesting leaflets upon said factory from a purple helicopter? Two musics vying for my ears: Wes Mongomery without thumbs, using a pic and a lot of chorus, backed up by 2 Casios and a midi-sax, coming in one ear through the little speaker of a 3-way phone, and the careening tha-wump of Atlanta hiphop in the other.
Chet came back, but I’m still here because, as I suspected, the problem was bigger than he anticpated. Something’s corrupted over there, I just know it. I’m gonna start taunting him like Mifune razzed the farmers in Seven Samurai … wilding up from tattered rags, hammering away at the bandit alarm.
Anyway, there’s music all over the fucking place. I’ve gotta get home and hash out the “piano” and cello tracks I procured this weekend from some fine musicians … Amanda Gustafson and Polly Vanderputten, respectively (I say “piano” because, well, because the instrument was purchased at Radio Shack and you can carry it under one arm).