Fairlywell called just after I�d left the driveway. Equipment failure, running late. No problem. I had already been liberated from the evening�s responsibilities. I did what any number of women would have done in my place: I went shopping. I�m such a clich�. I�m also the proud new owner of a cozy green sweater that makes me feel a little bit like Robin Hood and may quite possibly make me look like I forgot to take off my bathrobe. I will pretend not to care.

Afterwards I met fairlywell at the restaurant where we drank a pitcher of sangria that was promised to be two glasses each but was easily three at least. Sangria�s dangerous for fidgety people like me, because I�m apt to absent-mindedly spear the fruit with my straw instead of eating my food, particularly when wrapped up in interesting conversation. I don�t think that the fruit stabbing had anything to do with the fact that I knocked over the vase � that�s just my usual klutziness at work. Although the third glass of sangria may have been a contributing factor.

In any case, it was a lovely evening. And the food, which I did eventually and most enthusiastically eat, was delicious, particularly a banana/date/bacon concoction. This is the second time Fairlywell and I have met in person and I have to say that if everyone I met via blogging were this interesting and fun, I�d stop trying to make friends anywhere else.

The drive home was an adventure (although, from the sounds of it, not as adventurous as fairlywell�s). The jeep in front of me lurched from one side of the road to another, defying anyone�s attempts at passing. Suddenly I wasn�t feeling so bad about the third glass of sangria. Clearly some people had bigger problems. But eventually he careened down a sidestreet and I was left to crank up a program called American Backroads, produced on my favorite local station. I�ve never heard this show before, but they played some great music for driving, including one of my favorite Lyle Lovett Tunes (�I�ve been to Memphis� off of Joshua Judges Ruth) and arresting songs by a couple of artists with whom I was not familiar. The first was Chris Smither, a folkie blues guitarist from New Orleans. The second was Tim Buckley, whose song �Blue Melody� nearly made me pull off the road. He was an experimental singer-songwriter who died in 1975 of a heroin overdose at the age of 28. His voice reminds me a bit of Chris Isaak (at least in this particular song) but with more depth and a masterful ability to hold notes just under pitch and reeling them in at the last minute. The song was mesmerizing and I�ll definitely be exploring more of his music, particularly after reading of his interest in Cathy Berberian, Luciano Berio and Iannis Xenakis. Frank Zappa, Johnny Cash, Miles Davis, etc. It�s a collection of musicians after my own heart. Buckley also, apparently, wrote and was the original performer of one of my favorite This Mortal Coil Tracks (This Mortal Coil being a sort of collective band made up of artists recording for 4AD), �The Song of the Siren.� Another elliptical artist for your list, fairlywell.

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