I’m sitting in Panera, enjoying a very tasty orange cranberry muffin and a very bad latte. (Can’t have everything, yes?) It’s not a quiet little place, but they have free internet, and I’m stubbornly attempting to not pay the Doubletree and extra $10 per day for an internet connection. (They do have free, somewhat intermittent wireless in the lobby, so I’m using that as well.) I’m already paying them an extra $14.95 for parking each day, which just bugs me. I want all fees to be included in room fees, thank you very much.

But I ramble …

Panera has music playing. It’s so soft that you can occasionally hear nothing, and occasionally hear snippets, but when a double oboe concerto (or something like that … I’m guessing, as I don’t know the piece, but the first composer that comes to mind is Albinoni) came on I could hear the oboes for the most part, but nothing else.

I prefer silence. If they are going to play music I’d prefer to be able to hear it. This “not quite there” music is annoying. It tells me they don’t really care about it, and that it has no value. (But also tells me that they probably think “classical” music makes them “classy”.) My ears keep stretching … trying so hard to grab the pieces … and they are getting very weary. Now there’s a piano work on … I can hear the piano, but I can’t tell if it’s a concerto or a sonata, as the volume is so low. I’m guessing sonata; I think I’d hear the orchestra at some point!

Side Notes:
There are lots of blonde women in SoCal.
One of the big headlines on the news station today was something about women getting a “permanent” for their eyelashes so they stay curled. Really.
I have brown hair, and rarely wear makeup. I have a bit of fat with my skin and bones. I don’t look like I belong here. :-)

Debussy existed before the composer Claude Debussy. Debussy is an architecture which moves upside down in water, clouds which form and disperse, branches which slumber, rain on the leaves, plums which in falling kill themselves and bleed gold — everything that only murmured or stammered before a human voice came to give it expression. A thousand vague marvels in nature have at last found their interpreter.

-Jean Cocteau

(I forgot to post this last week, when I was playing Debussy. Oh well.)