Exhaustion is getting home after a ten hour day (and another one the day before, and a fourteener the day before that) and collapsing into a dead sleep on the couch without even bothering to take off your shoes or pet the cat who has come to nudge and lick your face with maternal worry. It's days like these, especially right after I wake up from one of these addling corpse naps, when I have to remind myself that I have the best job in the world, that I get to go to work every

Is there anything more heart-meltingly, gut-wrenchingly, makes-your-soul-churn-so-violently-it’s-like-you-have-soul-indigestion beautiful than the second movement of the Brahms D minor piano concerto? Sure, there are probably lots of things (or at least a few things, for example the third movement of the Brahms B-flat piano concerto) that rival it, and maybe others will be inclined to disagree (all you Brahms haters can check your hating at the door, thanks), and maybe in the