Egg Day

Easter morning: when just looking at the contents of your fridge is enough to give you cholesterol poisoning.

Last night a friend of mine took me to the symphony - such a treat! My friend had second-row orchestra pit seats plus an invite to the reception afterwards at F8.

Hilary Hahn is amazing, and reminded me a bit of my sister Jessie: tiny, cute, musically brilliant, and prone to flashy dressing on stage. They ought to be pals. I wonder if they've ever met?

The oh-so-dishy Peter Bay knows my friend, who's the ultimate renaissance woman. She's a civil engineer with a couple of extra master's degrees and a side job as a gigging Celtic fiddler, and is currently being considered for an ASO seat. So we got a chance to chat with him a bit at the reception. I've met him a couple of times before - when I used to sing in the Austin Civic Chorus we did Beethoven's Ninth with the ASO under his direction; and I attended one of these meet-and-greets with my friend a few years ago. He recognized me and welcomed me heartily back to town, but alas! apparently has gone and got married in the interim.

Damn you, Corpus Christi!

Oh, well. It's Easter; the kids are scarfing down pagan fertility symbols (breakfast of champions!), my sister Margie's coming over for dinner, and I need to clean the apartment in the worst way. I'm gonna go eat some eggs.