As I ponder the waxing moon in contemplative solemnity, free of any obligations either vocational or especially social on this Friday evening with nothing to attend and certainly nothing to attend with anyone, my record player excitedly hums my third go around of Forty Six & 2. Though the masterful musical gambits and ceaselessly complex polyrhythmic, ethereal, incantatory bardic gems that Tool (and no one else, save for perhaps Mozart) consistently lets loose from their unrivaled canon are company enough for a connoisseur of all things fine such as myself, I cannot help but be left befuddled as to the state of my communal isolation. I know that some corn-fed rubes and untold numbers of the uneducated rabble of simpletons that dictate our national dialectic would contend that there are ple

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