/ Accompanists

If by keeping an online journal I might refer to myself as a journalist, then let it therefore be heard far and why but that I am also an accompanist, all the A+ company I keep; the music that I have swimming in the mystic, opal pools of culled memories only serves to reinforce my natural talent for identifying and befriending talent, if not synonyms. Either you have it, or you do not. I sort of have it, except when I don’t. I totally just divided by zero.

We dressed up in our finest silk, donned our ties and posed for and to each other (except for her, whom I negged from the beginning. All so that we could reach committee consensus on how there will come a day when all of us will gather in the city of brotherly love for tequila related festivities, and pinball. We all met up at the Rocket, very politely complimented each other’s choice of neck apparel although secretly I could tell how envious everyone was of the best tie, hands down and I don’t think I have to tell you who the owner of that garment was and still is. “What’s with the ties?” the bartender asked, and I never really figured out why wearing ties elicited such a profound depth of confusion, but perhaps it was gender role misunderstanding.



Anatomy/physiology clearly plays a not-so-private part in all of these affairs, and at one point maybe it was Vahid who said that we were reaching a sort of event horizon where the planning meetings for TequilaCON were becoming so entertaining as to threaten the viability of the real event, because how can you compete when PBR and cheeseless pizza and unfortunate photographic evidence of goatse combine with people who now know each other well enough to forgive an indiscretion here and there?



In those old Kipling tales, the author would frame a new lesson within the scenery of an exotic locale and inject a tenuous situation with uncertain thrill, and this is a technique Jenny and Asia have mastered over the past year, teaching me about the whys and wheretofores of menstruation while kicking the ever loving christ out of me in pinball, though the telling moment would have to be when I anted up my own 7 million score and said, ‘I BET YOU DIDN’T KNOW THAT MENSTRUATION STOPS WHEN YOU LIVE UNDERGROUND IN A CAVE, HMMM?’ And a local searched it on the internet and what I said was proven to be true, and yet still remained bizarre, because why on earth would I carry around that kind of information?



Wait, don’t answer that, because every business meeting (SERIOUSLY, said the waitress at Ken’s Pizza, WHAT’S WITH THE TIES??!?) needs to have its monogamy shattered by the occasional taboo topic, like how many times can one group of pinball players throw hip thrusts into full out tilts? And how much of a saint is Sibyl for constantly listening to me pine away for her friends (WHO COINCIDENTALLY NEVER COME OUT WITH HER TWICE WHEN I AM THERE, HMM?), and how much more can I fake that look of disapprobation when sweet, sweet Djustin starts throwing profanity like copper? Full out biblical swears and the occasional compound unmentionable. How many times can one meeting be interrupted with reminiscences over people who should be here if the world were kinder? An incomplete list, to be certain.Really, really certain. FILLER
(I work for the internet).

Dave is going to have his work cut out for him in terms of swag, Sarah will surely embrace her hostess duties in Philly, and MG! I am totally going to expect some killer venue recommendations, and I don’t say that just because Philadelphia is the murder capital of the 21st Century.



And I suppose I’m going to have to work harder, too, because I hear that Tequilacon may not last forever, and I want this next go around to be metafantastic, so I may occasionally not be so anti-social. Please don’t think because I have a barebones site with nary a blogroll or archives or even accessible content that I am not down for passing around a shared glass of the adult beverage of your choice. I won’t even wipe off the lip gloss. And if you want to be blood brother and sister, I will happily pull out my knife and CUT MY OWN PALM.



I don’t remember the name of the last bar we hit and shut down for last call but as the lights came on that old familiar question escorted us out the door. What’s with the ties? he asked.

Just wrapping up a little business.