Feeling: flippant
Listening to: Dispatch - Bridges
Reading/Watching: Test of the Twins

Today, sitting in a booth at a restaurant where Bri and I were enjoying all the best things about cheap Mexican food, the huge boisterous table of men next to us suddenly burst into song.

At first I shot her the "this is so corny" smile, but then they broke into four-part harmony, and I realized they were barbershoppers.

It was quite neat, because I haven't heard a true Barbershop Quartet since I watched The Music Man in eighth grade. My mom tells me my grandfather (the one that died when I was two) used to be a barbershop singer. He sang tenor. She thinks I got my sense of harmony from him, and there are times that I wish he was still around to talk about music with me. I think he would've liked the idea of talking shop with his granddaughter.

So I sat there in the restaurant, listening to them and their impromptu song, enjoying the looks on their faces more than the song itself, if that's possible, since my inner music-geek was analyzing the chords (it's become an inescapable habit, and sometimes it makes me crazy when I can't stop doing it long enough to enjoy the song). They looked so thrilled to be singing, so happy and silly, in tune with each other's slightest twitch, so that I doubt the rest of the restaurant existed to them. It's entrancing, watching it happen when I'm usually inside the storm of notes, and I really miss my fellow choir-geeks from highschool, like Chris, who would walk with me down the commons, headed for our next class, and suddenly just ring out the chorus of a Jars of Clay song, which I would instantly supplement with the harmony. It was so fun and stupid and I actually enjoyed it when people looked at us like we were freaks.

I think it would be cool to have a little unit of friends I could sing with all the time. I think that's why Miller invited me to go to church with him on Sunday, because he knew I'd sing the hymns alongside him.

On a completely unrelated note, at work today a woman asked for a non-existent listing, and when I told her (for the fifth time) that it wasn't there, she called me a "stupid fucking bitch."

It's very hard not to reply, "If you knew how to read a phone book, we wouldn't be having this problem." It's even harder not to pretend to hear a sudden rush of static and hang up on her.

Perhaps, as I've said facetiously to my friends, she was just having a very bad day.

Me, I'm having a good day. I made some money, spent time with friends, and got to hear a pretty song while eating really good, really cheap nachos. So I win.

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