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Always a special occasion when Art Dudley visits the New York City office, this time, we chose Chez Laurence&#151directly across the street from us&#151for lunch.

John had: the salad nicoise; Elizabeth: a tuna fish sandwich; Art: the chef’s salad; me: spinach and mushroom quiche. It was either that or the panini.

One might think that lunch with John Atkinson, Art Dudley, and managing editor Elizabeth Donovan would be filled with talk of only high-end audio.

However&#151while we did mention audio…

I am a lucky, lucky man
I spend my days in the company
of many beautiful women.

However,
for balance, I suppose,
or something similarly intangible and weightless,

the universe has made it so
I should spend my nights
alone.

And,
somewhat sadly, somehow sweetly,
there are many of those lonesome nights

in which I want nothing more
than someone to hold.
Someone to hold.

Oh well.
I go to bed, instead,
with music.

"I did something stupid," she said.

Exactly what she did is not important now, but I must disagree: it was out of love and, therefore, not stupid, but honest, brave, and necessary.

Sam Beam sings:

These are not the words to this song.

I mean to say: this is not the entry I planned to post. But things don't always go as planned, and—if you haven't already noticed—I tend to let things twist and turn and skip and jump in whatever fashion they please. Something always comes of it.

And I felt this should be mentioned.

This morning, upon entering Manhattan and climbing into the loud and blurry concrete war, I was surprised to…

And that about says it all.

My personal favorite concerns The Fiery Furnaces. If you read it, I think you’ll see why it’s my favorite.

***

In his blog, You Can Go To Jersey Or You Can Go To Hell, Jim Teacher is afraid he's forgotten how to communicate, and, so, decides to sing to the trees and animals.

***

I really love this, but of course I do: Sean Langon has created a slide-show documenting past Multi-…

I clench my eyes as though they were fists, and rub small circles into my temple with my knuckles. I wonder if Elizabeth notices. Our mutual workspace is cut in half by a short, beige wall, which stands almost exactly a foot higher than our white desk. If I roll my chair six inches to the right, we will be staring at one another. I hear her while she eats. She eats all day long: salads, sandwiches, carrots, apples, candies&#151Mike & Ikes, usually. She, on the other hand, is forced to listen to whatever music I have in the office.…

I was at the Virgin Megastore in Union Square again, having just left my heart on the L train, and was now looking for something to come home with me. They have a small "Indie" section now, you know, and that's where I was, peering ever-so-intently at the pretty albums before me. When I felt a presence to my left.

Turning, I was…

And, in case you were wondering, Elizabeth is wearing red. And orange. (Some people call it "salmon.") She gets kind of wild like that, sometimes. With her colors, that is. Wild with her colors.

Often, when Pete and I talk about music&#151when we try to put into words the ideas we’d like to convey in our own music, or when we hope to communicate those feelings stirred in us by the music of others&#151we refer to…

I had just clicked play on Paul Duncan’s "Oil in the Fields," a delicate song for this delicate day. Elizabeth seemed to respond immediately to it. If I were searching for a gift to offer Elizabeth, I’d keep this song in mind.

"That’s not a question I can answer, E. I haven't figured it out yet."
"I mean, it’s weird, isn’t it?"
"Hmm-mmm."
"Well, not exactly weird, but it does make you wonder."
"Yup."

I don’t know the whole answer. But I have…

So, at times throughout the day, I relieved my eyes by searching for new music.

In addition to that Paul Duncan song I mentioned earlier, I also discovered this new Belle & Sebastian song over at You Ain't No Picasso.

Appropriate, no?

If it sounds live, that's because it is.…