Same Old: Berlusconi Sworn In Yesterday

Why, this is hell, nor are we out of it.  So, using up my free Rhapsody downloads, I'm listening with at least half my mind to my alter ego, Jean-Philippe Rameau's Dardanus:

                                        Anon they move

In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood

Of flutes and soft recorders--such as rais'd

To highth of noblest temper heroes old

Arming to battle, and instead of rage

Delib'rate valour breath'd, firm and unmov'd    

With dread of death to flight or foul retreat;

Nor wanting pow'r to mitigate and swage

With solemn touches troubled thoughts. and chase

Anguish and doubt and fear and sorr'w and pain

From mortal or immortal minds.  Thus they,

Breathing united force with fixed thought, 

Mov'd on in silence to soft pipes that charm'd

Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil....

Or, to quote myself, "If some day when I die, I wake up and I'm not dead, and somewhere, someone is singing "Climb Every Mountain," then I'll know I'm in Hell."