Now, if you’ll excuse me while I take care of other important business now so that I may better serve you later. For now, please know that later I will be partaking of Erica’s chocolate rugelach and Dr. Brown’s diet creme soda, both purchased at Fairway this morning after I rocked the vote (I cannot get that stupid phrase out of my head, and I fear that it’s going to pop out of my mouth, aloud, sometime today, and I will never be able to forgive myself), after waiting in a line that was longer than any I’ve ever seen at Fairway, which in itself is an accomplishment.
At least Jeremy didn’t underscore the conversation with too many double entendres
You know, if Jeremy is really hard up, I have a friend with an old Korg T-3 synthesizer who, you know, leans in that direction. I can’t even tell you how many times T-3 tried to put the moves on me.
Okay, yes I can tell you. It was seven times.
Hey, baby, let’s get our Moog on.
About the Moog synthesizer (very clever, D’s), OH the background of THAT instrument: The true pioneer of the Moog Synthesizer was Wendy Carlos (born WALTER Carlos). I don’t mean to make this about prurient gossip, but it was by far the most interesting (and yes, admittedly gossipy) tidbit I learned at University in “Writing in the Style of J.S. Bach” class.
Her first albums, pre-sex-change, were released under the name Walter Carlos (this includes Switched-On Bach and Switched-On Bach II).
Using the Moog synthesizer, incidentally, was NOTHING like using a “synthesizer” now. Evidently it was a bitch – a time-consuming, complicated process. But that’s neither here nor there when it comes to sex changes.
By the time she released Switched-On Brandenburgs, she was Wendy Carlos. So there you go. Synthesizers, in general, must be innately sexual. Or something.