Anyway, I questioned myself this fair late afternoon as I boarded a public transit bus with my gram. She realized yesterday that she had two tickets to go see "Tchaikovsky spectacular" at the Hollywood Bowl. For those in America recently exumed from under large rocks, it's a famous outdoor concert hall.

The details of the trip are trivial, possibly dangerous in the hands of a deranged Russian author who believes 60 pages describing snow and how it reminds him of childhood depression is relevant. Much like that paragraph, I might add.

We sat in what I call the pews, though arguably they could be benches. We were indirectly referred to as rabble-rousing peasants during a brief point in the concert by a bemused conductor in mid-shtick. Not the two of us, the whole section. I found this immensely amusing for some reason.

The selections were all incredibly good: his 5th symphony, the 2nd act of his ballet, The Nutcracker, and finally (of course) the 1812 overture complete with an incredible fireworks show.

But soon I slip into a land with no fireworks, where tipped cows lurch precariously like the transit bus carrying us home. There is a sense of foreboding, fear, and dare I say it...plain suckiness (or derision, either way).

At least I'll be back to living by myself. Why does that seem empty now..

The quotes section shall not be performing regularly anymore. I figure having a good one to offer about a particular moment is better than throwing out random quotes by dead people.

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