The San Francisco Chronicle critic who covered the concert said that my surround-sound update of Machaut's Mass was "about as entertaining as discovering 'Guillaume Was a Head' scratched on Rheims Cathedral".
My surrounding streets are close together, with plenty of corners to bump into someone for a chat.
As the water in my stove splattered and glugged, I warmed a meal with it first, then poured the remainder into a bottle, wrapped it in fleece for use as a hot-water bottle, and surveyed my surrounds.
In fact, to envision my surrounds, you might call to mind New Hampshire, or the Rocky Mountains.
I did a complete scan of my surrounding area, and didn't see anyone.
"Didn't you wear that yesterday?" he said with a smirk, cluing in my surrounding peers to my secret.
Despite the tackiness of my surrounds, despite the age of some of the people surrounding me, each waste of money begins to seem weirdly freeing.
"And if I'm not gonna get it from my surrounding environment, I'm gonna find a way to create it.
I would rather be in my office surrounded by my things with my big stinky dog at my feet, my fingers flying across a keyboard.
