Today’s five and one-half hours of singing at the local church went well. We had breakfast – pastry, bagels, oranges, coffee, and tea – at nine o’clock. We broke for lunch – sandwiches, extra condiments, FOUR soups of bean and ham, beef and barley, butternut squash, tomato butternut, and chicken noodles and rice – at twelve thirty o’clock. In between the half hours, we would separate into sections – sopranos, altos, tenors, baritones – and come back as one group. The repeated attempts to hammer the crap into our elderly brains is good. But I learn faster by hearing the noise via my purchased .mp3 audio files.
Honestly, Clem (and I know you are reading my crap), I kinda, sorta don’t care because everything is a drag. This is due to ‘knowing’ how ‘reality’ operates. There are no surprises, no coincidences, but subtle reminders of killing the old stuff, dying through the suffering of endless crap loads from crazy and stupid humanz, and resurrecting into another dimension – a vitual prison. Kathy and I believe your professor at SJSU is none other than the great Herr Maestro. How?
During the mid-morning warm-up of scales, he had us turn to our right for the neighbor to receive a shoulder rub. Then we would turn to our left for the neighbor and do the same. I heard and felt Kathy’s cartilage snap. WTF am I here? The organization made the newbies stand up in front of the congregation and introduce ourselves. They were attentive. I managed to repeat myself. Idiot. I’m finished. I don’t care. Like I said, I’ll stay one semester and then stay another five years at our local parish.
Anyway, Herr Maestro mentioned a ‘scientific study’ in which a woman underwent an MRI and her brainwaves were measured. There were three kinds of tests done while she was singing, thinking and resting. Most said that singing activated the gray matter. But Herr Maestro said the study showed that thinking lit up the brain moreso than noise. He then emphasized that is why we are thinking and praying. I believe Herr Maestro is reading this weblog, too. Good. Because he mentioned the omnipotent god, which is the male atribute to this hellish planet. Otherwise, he is worshipping Semiramis and pals. (He made us sing that Navajo poem in choral format during the warmup as a prelude to using the facilites. Nice. And opening prayer.)
Yeah, the skies were filled with sylphs, the breeze was biting cold, and then we went home. Wait! One of your humanz, a Filipino boy, made the cut as tenor last week. He was from Fremont but lives in San Jose. The lad is skinny as heck and probably would be a good fit for Jasmine. He came into our general direction and I wouldn’t stop yakking, which is how I found out. Kathy sat to our right. Jay or Jake sat to my left. I bet he is Ilocano. I can tell. Brouhaha!
Oh yeah, I helped an Ilocano last night. She had dropped off our Cellular triple facial product around 1945. But she couldn’t leave because her truck failed to start. WTF. So I helped by revving my engine while her jumper cables were attached to my DAD’s Mazda. The crazy and stupid Respondent living directly adjacent to us opened her garage and then closed it. WTF is SCC doing? But the husband over her smartphone said that she might be outta gasoline because the hazard blinkers worked but the fuel gauge is down. WTF?
So I had to drive her and she purchased a plastic red gasoline container, good for one gallon of gasoline. She paid $16.05 for the container, plus $2.71 gasoline (or 0.741 gallons). I grabbed the plastic red container and filled it up with gasoline. And then I drove her back to my home. Then I helped her fill up the tank but had difficulty dispensing the stuff via the black nozzle and green collar sleeve. The truck started! But the hood wasn’t locked. She checked under the hood if the oil stick had enough oil. WTF! So she went home and then texted me before midnight that she made it home at 2100 pm.
See? Though I rebuke the Ilocanos, I’m NOT merciless. Mom said it’s my destiny. I know. That’s why certain GOOD-LOOKING boys have my mercy, and they probably won’t be the last ones. I don’t like being stranded. And likewise, I’m more than willing to help those who are stranded. It’s just a relief to have someone to help. It was either me or wait for her stupid whitish husband. I wanted her to go home right away. WTF? I wanted to give her more gasoline money. But that wasn’t my place. I’ll let my elderly parents decide on that one. They are the ones being taken advantaged of, not me. I’m just a vehicle to help them spend the money. So y’all just count your blessings.
With that said, allelujah! Resurrections happen in the mind and in the imagination, some can go to hell for leading souls astray and away from God. So I’m just saying that while y’all can worship Gaia and the feminine aspect of reality, don’t forget the big guy. He’s real as heck. By the way, most of the vendors to my parent’s anniversary celebration are Ilocanos. Brouhaha! We don’t mind. It’s just that how we take care of our fellow ‘bayans’. Okey? Gut! Gut! Amen. Heil!
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