Some Musings

Got off the phone with AT&T who called me wanting to know why my bill payment was late. I informed them they haven't sent me a bill in months (actually I'd been waiting for their call, and have been making payments via my bank's electronic bill-pay feature, but this month's must have slipped my mind due to being on the road a lot). As it turned out, they had been sending my bill to an address I lived at six years ago.

At this point, the prey became the tiger. I gave them the business. After all, aren't phone numbers and addresses their profession? You see, the guy who works with me is like having Snoop Dog as a rep. Every time I've spoken with him it's as if he'd just experienced some killer weed. I was at their office--which, by the way, the guy gave me wrong directions and even the wrong street when he told me how to get there. Yes, he told me 3rd street when the office is on 2nd street. This is hilarious; I mean, in an office stacked floor to ceiling with telephone books, they can't even get their own address right, much less that of a customer of six year's standing. It would be hilarious except you would have to really try hard to get my address wrong; I filled out a form with the wording of my advertisement, plus my name address and telephone number and checked it on the contract proof. So somewhere along the line, someone had to look at this information and decide it was incorrect, and reboot me to my old address.

Sheesh, Bloomington, Indiana--the Children of the Corn. I decided I don't receive all that much return on Yellow Page advertising anymore, so 'm discontinuing it next year.

On a lighter note, my friend Robin (Kardor the Magnificent)deWitt, who amazingly follows the perambulations of this blog, sent me the following anecdote:
Just read your latest narrative adventure in mastering the piano.

The reference to "Over The Rainbow" brought to mind story regarding a concert pianist who was just concluding his farewell tour.

He had just ended his concert and was reveling in the sustained applause. Somewhat humbled by the ovation he decided to do what he rarely did, but because it was his last night as a traveling concert pianist he decided to do an encore. Not just any encore, but in deference to his late revered mother he would play her favorite song which happened to be "Over The Rainbow."

He started out...Dah, DAH, dah diddy dah dah ...dah, dah, dah...Dah, DAH, dah diddy dah dah...dah dah dah...and he couldn't remember the bridge! He started again...Dah DAH dah diddy dah dah...dah, dah, dah....But he couldn't remember the bridge! Again he tried but as before, when he came to the bridge It just wasn't there!

Still again he tried...and again, but the goddamned bridge continued to elude him. His face was bathed in perspiration. He was, as they say 'wound rather tight' and in his fevered desperation he reached into the storage area in the piano bench, withdrew a chrome plated S&W .38 Detective Special and fired one shot into his temple.

As he lay there on the concert stage, with his life force oozing out of him, in the distance...he heard the ambulance coming.