Impressive. Most Impressive. |3:55 PM|
The violin is repaired, I'm about to leave and go get it back from the shop. With any luck, I'll find someone to teach me here in town for a reasonable amount of money. Oh, and that fits my schedule. Oh, and who's really forgiving. I'm pretty much doomed.
While at the store, I was making small talk with the clerk, as he was filling out the paperwork. I opened the case in front of him, and commented that "Now the bridge isn't held together with super glue" and the strings "Aren't out of order". The clerk commented from across the room, with maybe a 2 second glance at the instrument "And those strings are no longer made in the people's republic of china."
Cecil: "You were able to identify it that quickly, from over there?" (This was said while I was looking into the instrument, at the label place there.
Clerk: "Yes, that's a [exact manufacturer], model 72. It's sold online, and we see them occasionally."
Cecil: "I'm really impressed"
Clerk: "Well, it's what we do here."
Later, I realized it was the equivelant of me looking across a room, and spotting a Lexmark 2455, and IDing it as such, knowing from the placement of the label and the blue access panel buttons that it wasn't a T. But his knowledge of violins is bad ass, while my knowledge of printers is dorky.
I know your name. Now, you're mine. |1:53 PM|
Back at road runner, one of the minor annoyances I had was with people who used my name more often during the phone call than necessary. The caller would usually have me repeat my name, then keep saying it over and over, once, sometimes twice each sentence. I began to really hate the sound of my own name. It was a tiny issue, that over the course of months, built up in my head to the point that when people use my name too much, I want to reach out and snap their neck.
It's my name, not yours, stop saying it. Their intent could be to put the conversation on more familiar terms, or to make me note the exchange more or maybe they think they have power over me because they know my name. This is just a tip to anyone who uses this "tactic" in day to day life, especially in requests: Look out for me. I don't know how, I don't know when, but one day I'm going to find a way to make saying my name cause fear and pain in one of these people. If I have to chain them in a basement and stab them in the groin with a tazer while screaming my name for weeks on end, then I guess that's what I'll do.
I've been listening to requiems. |1:32 AM|
Continuing my habit of posting images of myself, I will now post a pair of images that I think compliment each other very well. Both were taken by PortalStar, outside of "Rowdy Town" during a car smash party.
The song of the moment is this version of Dies Irae. This is an edited clip, from the first minute and a half of a much longer version. The name of it is "Dies Irae (Requiem)". Trillian asked me if I listened to many requiems, and at that point I realized that I did. I responded that my selection of classical music has to be "Sweeping, emotional, angry, powerful. I'm listening to the music to be moved to action, rarely anything else. "
My wheelchair weighs 2 tons. |11:50 AM|
I'm off the crutches, already. So much faster this time, than the last. I was back onto the foot as soon as possible, ignoring most of the pain, taking advil and icing it as need, and I healed more quickly. In injury situations, you might want to ask yourself "What would a hunter-gatherer do?". This is not an acceptable course of action for most other day-to-day events, such as interacting with the bank ("Stab with flint") or most doors in buildings ("Stab with bigger flint").
I still carry a crutch around, just in case the pain gets to be intolerable, but that's happening less and less now. PortalStar's cousins were still in town last night, along with one of their girlfriends. I used them to model pictoz.com shirts, so I finally have advertising material. With a price sheet, adverts, and almost some kind of plan, I'm ready to relaunch that goddamn site.
Last night, before we tried going to lasertag (Closed) then bowling (closed) then the arcade (Dorky, but succesful), Portal had us all try out some odd hair dyes and gels. It was amusing, and the hair styles we end up with were imaginative, if nothing else.
I look pretty swell with blue hair, but you can't tell from these image: Blue Hair
The world was my wheelchair |1:46 PM|
I went windsurfing with PortalStar this past saturday. It was quite amusing, and far harder than it looks. The speedboats throwing up chop did not help things, either. I was given the basic rundown on what to do, and I proceeded to get thrown from the board repeatedly. At one point, I was catapulted over the board, and the sail, by a sudden gust of wind. PortalStar and her father agreed that they had never seen anything quite like it before. I kept falling into the water, and hitting rocks, and at one point I went around the wrong side of the sail, only to have it stike my face quite hard. Reeling from the hit, I couldn't balance anymore and was pushed into the water immediately. Floating upside down, I realized I had to get back up to the surface or Portal's dad was going to think I was dead.
One thing about a windsurfing board, is that if the sail falls on you, it can be easy to panic if you try to come up underneath it. When I was much younger, I had been trapped under a raft while swimming, unable to surface. Because I had already felt that kind of panic at a young age, I'm much more comfortable when stuck like that. Sure, it's not fun, but you've got every other direction to go to free yourself.
My windsurfing came to an end, suddenly, when the board tipped up and I slid straight down into the water, hitting a rock with one foot, but not the other. All of my weight twisted my ankle violently, and I was thrown into the location know by its scientific name "Hurt Locker". Dragging myself back to the board (Once my brain had stopped vacationing in "White hot pain land" I gripped the board and relaxed for a bit. Signalling to Portal and her father, I let them know I was out of commision. I spent as much time in the water as possible, as it support my leg. I floated back around to the area of the beach where we were sitting, and told Portal to continue surfing without me. The whole lake was supporting me, and my leg. The world was my wheelchair, and it was comforting, despite the pain.
After the beach, we went to Walgreens and rented crutches. Once again, I'm riding gimp sticks. Luckily, my legs were not needed for eating Sushi:
