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I have just this instant finished the (insert expletive adjective here) parts for the (insert another expletive here) viola concerto. The composer and the copyist came to verbal blows today in a rather loud and emotional manner because they unfortunately do not treat each other like professionals. No, they treat each other like spouses! I wonder if Anna Magdalena had as much trouble when she worked for good old J.S. We shall never know. Too bad Diaryland wasn�t around in 1742 so that the poor, beleaguered wife of the greatest composer who ever lived could have laid down her innermost thoughts on what it was like to be copying music for her husband whose sight was deteriorating, raising all those children, some of them not even hers, and doing all those chores without the modern conveniences we take for granted: refrigeration, hot and cold running water, and flush toilets.

While waiting for the printer to do it�s thing, I searched through Google images for eye candy, and I came up with this before and after picture of �rlando Bl�om and Leg�las.

Girls, if makeup can make a good-looking but flawed face into that vision of elvish perfection, get out the grease paint! Wow! (My maternal grandmother was a Bloom. I wonder if we�re related?)

Hubby and I have yet to cast our ballots. We were hoping to get this mess of music off to the print shop by 1 p.m., but alas it was not to be. The polls are open until 9:30 tonight, so I suppose we have time yet. He�s gone to play tennis with Lloyd (how he can just pick up and go off to play games with his friends is beyond me!) and I don�t know when he�ll be back. Sigh. Buddy Boy and I will have leftover salmon pie for supper, and Little Princess has gone to her first evening of gainful employment as a telemarketer-in-training. Oy!

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