it'll be like frankenstein's monster playing the sousaphone
The new hard drive is in place, which really is a bit of a nonevent. It's a titch bigger than the original, and putting it in took me all of ten minutes. Most of that was either dusting or unplugging and replugging all the peripheral bits into the back of the box. It took two screws to open the case, four to set the old drive free, and two wires to swap. I've had more problems daisy-chaining stereo components.
Yesterday I had lovely fun at the strawberry festival with Bleu, which I will write about later in detail; the highlights are that I ran into some folks I hadn't seen in years and I won a cow. Commentary & cellphone snaps are, as always, available on Twitter. I'll turn the whole shebang into clever text later. I'm all zombie-groggy today. So much so that a cup of my Jet Fuel Café (as in Spanish, not Starbucks) has only boosted me from Fall Down Now to A Nap Would Be Lovely, Thank You. And I have to go get the sodding groceries. But first I'll tell you about the other thing we did yesterday.
We took my pretty pretty violin in for a cleaning and a tuneup. She's got new strings, new rosin, and a freshly-cleaned bow.
I walked in, plunked the case down on the counter, and recited a monologue similar to this: "Hi. I played in high school about ten years ago* - I got my violin from here actually - and I'd like to get back into it. I need the bow to be cleaned up, and new strings, and, uh, please don't ask me about the case, I knew some interesting potheads when I was fifteen. So, um. I called, and the guy I talked to said you can do that. And. So."
*Bite me, ten is close enough for government work.
The kid behind the counter - who, I tell you, I'm feeling older and older every freakin' day and I am not sure I am okay with that - opened the case with some trepidation. I'm pretty sure he was expecting a pile of kindling with a few shredded wires that used to be strings. He examined it, strummed the strings, took the bow out from the little slot in the case, said "Cleaned? Cos it looks pretty good, you know," and then called someone else over. They were all very helpful. They seemed a little surprised that my violin had been sitting around uselessly for ten years, as it Looked Very Nice and is In Good Condition. It is, if you ignore all the wear to the case, especially the part where one of my high-school buddies graffiti'd it with purple nail polish, which never did completely come off.
"Oh, and I need some new rosin," I said. "My old one, um. Melted."
"Yeah," said the first guy, "they do that in the heat."
"I kept it indoors," I explained. "It melted anyway." I shrugged, because: Florida. What can you do?
My violin was taken into the back and I said I'd wait, which -- "That's fine, this won't take long." Again with the surprise, and really, do I look like I'd intentionally mishandle a violin? While my violin got its oil changed, Bleu and I poked around the shop, looking at the guitars and drums and things. I told the story of the time I broke my tailgut, which is never not a fun story to tell. CRACK! Bleu decided she wants to get back into piano. I am wholly in favor of this, because then we can bumble together in a musical fashion. "I want to be like House, with the piano!" she declared, and I think it's a smashing idea. I'll be like Holmes, with the violin. And we're both on various drugs, so it works out. While we poked at the keyboards, I asked which one was middle C. She showed it to me (how she can zero in on it I have no idea, it looks just like all the others) and I counted up to the A above it. "Remember that A," I told her. "When we play together I will need that one A LOT." For tuning, you know.
The bow is squeaky clean (really, the thing squeaks when I drag it across the strings) and I need to clean it up with the nail clippers -- a few hairs must have come off, as it's slightly bristly at the ends. The new strings all have fancy red thread on the fine-tuner ends and all but the G string have little plastic sleeves where they go over the bridge. (G string jokes are never not funny. Have at it.)
When they were done I got to see everything, and I was given a new piece of rosin, knife-scored all down the center and darker than my old one. I forgot to ask if they'd doped the pegs -- I'll order a bottle online when I get the new book and the string mute. I was warned that the strings will stretch, since they're new. I'd forgotten they do that.
Today I am OMG SO TIRED and I don't know why. Time change, probably. These things always mess me up. Since you're all lovely folks that like to prove me wrong whenever I ask if it's just me -- is it just me, or are you utterly useless on Time Change Day too?
Ghaaaaa. Zombie me gotta go be useful. Do they sell brains at the grocery store? I've a craving for them today.
Yesterday I had lovely fun at the strawberry festival with Bleu, which I will write about later in detail; the highlights are that I ran into some folks I hadn't seen in years and I won a cow. Commentary & cellphone snaps are, as always, available on Twitter. I'll turn the whole shebang into clever text later. I'm all zombie-groggy today. So much so that a cup of my Jet Fuel Café (as in Spanish, not Starbucks) has only boosted me from Fall Down Now to A Nap Would Be Lovely, Thank You. And I have to go get the sodding groceries. But first I'll tell you about the other thing we did yesterday.
We took my pretty pretty violin in for a cleaning and a tuneup. She's got new strings, new rosin, and a freshly-cleaned bow.
I walked in, plunked the case down on the counter, and recited a monologue similar to this: "Hi. I played in high school about ten years ago* - I got my violin from here actually - and I'd like to get back into it. I need the bow to be cleaned up, and new strings, and, uh, please don't ask me about the case, I knew some interesting potheads when I was fifteen. So, um. I called, and the guy I talked to said you can do that. And. So."
*Bite me, ten is close enough for government work.
The kid behind the counter - who, I tell you, I'm feeling older and older every freakin' day and I am not sure I am okay with that - opened the case with some trepidation. I'm pretty sure he was expecting a pile of kindling with a few shredded wires that used to be strings. He examined it, strummed the strings, took the bow out from the little slot in the case, said "Cleaned? Cos it looks pretty good, you know," and then called someone else over. They were all very helpful. They seemed a little surprised that my violin had been sitting around uselessly for ten years, as it Looked Very Nice and is In Good Condition. It is, if you ignore all the wear to the case, especially the part where one of my high-school buddies graffiti'd it with purple nail polish, which never did completely come off.
"Oh, and I need some new rosin," I said. "My old one, um. Melted."
"Yeah," said the first guy, "they do that in the heat."
"I kept it indoors," I explained. "It melted anyway." I shrugged, because: Florida. What can you do?
My violin was taken into the back and I said I'd wait, which -- "That's fine, this won't take long." Again with the surprise, and really, do I look like I'd intentionally mishandle a violin? While my violin got its oil changed, Bleu and I poked around the shop, looking at the guitars and drums and things. I told the story of the time I broke my tailgut, which is never not a fun story to tell. CRACK! Bleu decided she wants to get back into piano. I am wholly in favor of this, because then we can bumble together in a musical fashion. "I want to be like House, with the piano!" she declared, and I think it's a smashing idea. I'll be like Holmes, with the violin. And we're both on various drugs, so it works out. While we poked at the keyboards, I asked which one was middle C. She showed it to me (how she can zero in on it I have no idea, it looks just like all the others) and I counted up to the A above it. "Remember that A," I told her. "When we play together I will need that one A LOT." For tuning, you know.
The bow is squeaky clean (really, the thing squeaks when I drag it across the strings) and I need to clean it up with the nail clippers -- a few hairs must have come off, as it's slightly bristly at the ends. The new strings all have fancy red thread on the fine-tuner ends and all but the G string have little plastic sleeves where they go over the bridge. (G string jokes are never not funny. Have at it.)
When they were done I got to see everything, and I was given a new piece of rosin, knife-scored all down the center and darker than my old one. I forgot to ask if they'd doped the pegs -- I'll order a bottle online when I get the new book and the string mute. I was warned that the strings will stretch, since they're new. I'd forgotten they do that.
Today I am OMG SO TIRED and I don't know why. Time change, probably. These things always mess me up. Since you're all lovely folks that like to prove me wrong whenever I ask if it's just me -- is it just me, or are you utterly useless on Time Change Day too?
Ghaaaaa. Zombie me gotta go be useful. Do they sell brains at the grocery store? I've a craving for them today.