Greg and I used to hang out in the 70s. Smoked a lot of dope together in my Mom’s garage, after the divorce. He’d talk a lot of shit about how the plainchant repertories of the Christian West just sucked ass. He said he knew some guys and how he was gonna one day real soon get his own band together and rock their ossified souls.
And for some reason he had a wild hare up his ass about how all the calendars sucked too.
Just ran his mouth like that all the damned time -- chants and calendar, chants and calendar -- until finally one day I just had enough and I said to Greg, I said, “Hey, Dude, how about you finally STFU, put this super-group together you’re always talking about, take on those Gallican Rite, Beneventan and Mozarabic bastards at the big Battle of the Chants contest next weekend, win it, and get us both laid?
“Oh and fix the damned calendar already!”
You know the rest.
