Quick hits

There’s a gentle snow falling outside under a light, cold wind.  Very tranquil.

It was also 60.4 degrees in my office when I walked in this morning, according to the little thermometer on my nifty digital photo frame.  Holy frijoles.  My office manager called the building super and the answer was, “Oh, yeah, looks like we’ve had the heat to your floor turned off since last week.  Oops.”  Yep, thanks, buddy.

We have two walking temperature gauges in the office.  Me, who’s normally hot and only wears long sleeves when it’s fricking freezing, and my little 5’5″ 100-pound coworker, who wears sweaters indoors in August unless the AC is somehow on the fritz.  This morning I’m wearing a sweatshirt and I have my space heater on (and it’s up to a balmy 65.8 right now).  When last I passed her office, she still had her parka on.  And she’s from Michigan, fergawdsake.

Now this is a bad day:  British fraternal twins, separated at birth, unknowingly got married.  A court annulled their marriage when their blood relationship was discovered.  And, uh, that’s about all that AP article had to say.  An understatement, wouldn’t you say?  I mean, how in the HELL do you react when you find that out?  They didn’t say how long they’d been married.  There was no mention of any kids, of course, but still, figuring that little tidbit out after the fact has got to fucking suck. Yikes.

I haven’t changed the strings on my acoustic in probably 2-3 years (I suck).  So on Saturday I took my son to the guitar store with me to pick up some new strings.

Ever since Christmas and playing with my brother’s band, combined with my wife’s gift of a new instruction book that’s inspired me not only technically but philosophically in terms of my playing, I’ve been thinking about investing in a very nice acoustic guitar.  I mean,  properly taken care of, a good guitar will still be played by my grandkids.  That to me is a cool thought.

So, I spent a half-hour or so farting around with several guitars from the $300 range to the, oh, $2500 range (cough, cough) and I think I’ve settled on a Holy Grail:  the Taylor 414CE.    Anyway, after coming home and snooping around online, I even found out that the shop here locally has a very competitive price on it.  So that’s reassuring to me.  All things considered I’d prefer to buy locally than online anyway.  For things like this I’d much rather see it and touch it in person than order it sight-unseen as well.  I just generally have found that local music stores charge 10%-15% more than I can get comparable items online.  Apparently not this time.  Very reassuring.  That is, for now.  I mean it’ll probably be 2-3 years before I can actually get my grubbly little hands on one.

Of course, I bought my strings and came home to install them to find that the guitar I’ve been playing for ten years, a ’74 Alvarez electric-acoustic (very similar to this one) is starting to develop a split across the bridge.  And this 6 months after I took “my” acoustic, an old Washburn, to Virginia to leave at my parents’ place so I don’t have to lug one back and forth to be able to play when I’m home.  Now I just hope the bridge holds out until I can afford to buy a new guitar…

You’d think picking out a ceiling fan would be easy, right?  Not so much.

I don’t know why, but while shopping yesterday I heard Billy Idol’s “Eyes Without a Face” and I was thinking, “Damn, this song is cool.”

My wife and I still can’t beat those fucking Ewoks.  It’s starting to piss us off.

Hope ya had a good weekend!


2 Responses

  1. First, I would be just like your frozen co-worker. LOL!

    Second, how awful on the twin story. I see a case for unsealing adoption records coming.

    Ceiling fans are most definitely not easy to pick out. I’m currently trying to pick out an entire house full of lighting. I want them all to match and it’s hard. What I like in the ceiling fan of a certain line, I hate in the standard ceiling fixture. Ugh.

  2. We found a fantastic fan for our “old” bedroom, now our soon-to-be-family room. It fit what we wanted to do perfectly. Now, of course, they don’t make it anymore. Bastards.

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