Huffing the Dreaded Fumes

Current Music: Archer Prewitt : Wilderness "Way of the Sun" by Archer Prewitt is one of those songs that you cannot get out of your head after one listen; I've had it on repeat for a while and will have to give it up eventually and move on. It's one of those gentle, acoustic guitar with Hammond organ and heavenly vocals sorts of songs. About a third way through the song, a chorus of "Ave Maria" appears, a sort of vocalic sample, which sends the listener to the moon. The whole album is much along the same lines, and (along with the latest Low album), the perfect way to set a sweet mood (or, apparently, to help put one to bed).

I'm taking the time this morning to write about the events of the past week, since I may want to remember some of this stuff in the future. I find that as the semester speeds toward a climax, I'm trying process as much of Baton Rouge culture through my experience organ as I can stand. I've only been home one night of the week (last night, a Friday, but a much deserved reprieve from people).

CLANDESTINY

Yesterday I was invited to join the Baton Rouge High Twelve Club for lunch by a colleague who works in my building. It is a nation-wide organization open to Master Masons, which basically meet to eat and hear "papers." I've been invited to give a paper in April, and I look forward to sharing some of my academic work to a wider audience.

I was also invited to join a number of brothers for the monthly meeting of the Lodge of Nine Muses, who recently received a dispensation (or prelude to charter) by the Grand Lodge of Louisiana. This lodge is modeled after the famed Neuf Soeurs Masonic lodge in pre-Revolutionary Paris (with heavy hitters like Voltaire and Benjy Franklin), who sought to revive the Cult of the Muses in displays of reasoned discourse. The lodge will be capped at 33 members (something which I have a little problem with), and is what my boy Rog would call "old school": the ritual is conducted in candle light by folks wearing tuxedos; a research paper is given; and then the members retire to the Camelot Club for a banquet at the top of the Bank One tower with lovely views of downtown Baton Rouge. My colleague Darius Spieth gave a talk on the Sophesians, a clandestine Masonic spin-off obsessed with the culture of Egypt after Napoleon's crazy campaign. It was a lovely evening with good conversation and company ("fellowship"), and I was especially impressed with the intellectual rigor of the discussion. If I were not moving, I'd probably petition the group (with the hope that they really wouldn't turn away a worthy brother if membership started to bulge at 33).

SOCIAL CRUISE DIRECTING AND MATRIMONIAL DOOM

Caught dinner with my boy Julius and his fiancé Amy, then went to see a musical at Baton Rouge's Little Theater. I really enjoy their company, and am feeling increasingly more comfortable officiating at their nuptials next weekend--though I have a feeling their respective families don't quite know what they're in for (he he he; I will probably take a swipe at Walt Disney in my remarks on the solemnity of hitching). Anyhoo, the tickets to the musical were a kind gift; regrettably, the musical was pretty bad (think Waiting for Guffman). Although the play was intended for a righteously (if good-natured) heterosexist audience, with all sorts of jokes about "boy meets girl" and the like, at least two of the four were irrepressible queens. I was amused at the audience reaction, who didn't quite realize they were watching a drag show without the dresses.

Speaking of drag, in exchange for my services, the happy couple bought me some time with Mary Jo McCabe , a renowned medium who's latest book, Cracking the Coconut Code, has given me every assurance that she's no mere cold-reader, but the real shit. I cannot wait to see her intuition at work, and I'll have to play it straight.

I'm DJ-ing my first Bat Mitzvah this evening: the soon-to-be-young man sent a list of favorite bands. I regret most of the songs of his favorite bands would give grandma a heart attack, so, along with Rog (who will assist this evening) I've been in search of the clean, radio friendly versions of tunes. I'm afraid there is no Bat Mitzvah-safe version of Three Six Mafia's "Ass and Titties," or Lil Boosie's "I Smoke, I Drink."

After the gig, plans are afoot to see Lindsay's band Liquid Sole (not to be confused with the Chicago-based Liquid Soul) at the North Gate Tavern. I hope I don't have to drive.

REAR-VIEW MIRROR

Tomorrow I shall be forced to face the fact I am starting to leave the fumes of entry into the third decade: when you turn thirty-two, thirty-five is "closer than it may appear." I'll try to keep driving without running people over on the way to you know what.