They can speak as breezily as they please about "the unmistakable thrill"; I know some who have mistaken the unmistakable thrill, and they’ll never be the same.
Porridger’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)
I would learn later that radio and television people often have two voices. They have one for when the red light is on and another for when it’s off. Drive-time disc jockeys and local television sportscasters come to mind first. When they're speaking into a microphone, their voices drop a couple of octaves, and what comes out is something between Edward R. Murrow and Pat Summerall. In normal conversations, however, they often sound like a cross between Gomer Pyle and Phil Rizzuto talking about the Money Store.
— Lewis Grizzard, If I Ever Get Back to Georgia, I’m Gonna Nail My Feet to the Ground
Mei Mei Luo & Paul Cienniwa’s performance seven years ago today of Plotting (y is the new x) Op.116 down Florida-way was an especially rich pleasure. It was a delight that there was a second performance of the piece at all. It was a not unexpected grace that the second performance was yet better than the (entirely satisfactory) première. And it was especially gratifying both that the very fact of the performance betokened the power of Paul’s faith in the music, and that the piece drew such commitment from Mei Mei.
A friend reported of the event:
Plotting was quite good, and robust enough to stand in company with Bach. Hopefully it will have a multitude of performances. The Hohvaness was less welcome, a beautiful last movement betrayed by opening movements that might have been edited out of a shlocky horror film score.
Today: more work on the Lamentatio. I’ll plan to finish perhaps tomorrow, perhaps Thursday. I’ve also reminded myself of how I have neglected the glancing inspirations for Aaron’s Uneasy Sleep and Simple Music.
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