Enjoyed the greatest of times at the Library of Congress yesterday witnessing two legends of comedy performing an act which jeopardized their Executive Washroom privileges. The protein—I meant, protean stage-&-mic talents Philip Proctor and David Ossman (What’s Left, that is, of The Firesign Theatre) regaled us with the History of Radio, from Wireless, to Wired, to Wireless again, with many pertinent diversions into the classic Firesign grab bag, from Ralph Spoilsport and Police State, to the never-satisfactorily-explained nose injury at a great sandstone building. The hall was packed. We all wondered where Ruth was. We held our breath upon learning the origin of the Porridge Bird conundrum. We learnt anew that all we had to fear, was he.
If you get a chance to see them, shift on your sanitary pedestals and run, do not walk, nor hesitate to sit on those antique cheese logs.
My spirit celebrated this morning by composing the clavichord bagatelle I had half-promised David Bohn, the no-more-than-100-notes-thank-you-very-much call for scores. My brand-new piece is titled, The last man to come to the vineyard to work. Partly because the name Zappa somehow emerged when Eric and I were catching up yesterday, I wrote the piece with the thought of what kind of keyboard piece might be a hidden bonus track on the Uncle Meat album. I do not say it is in the style of Zappa, but in a style compatible with that of the Bard of Cucumonga.
(Photo by Doug Krentzlin.)
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