Today, Gentle Readers, I did something that I haven't done in months, possibly a year -- and maybe even longer than that.
I took a whole day for myself. I watched two full episodes of a television show that I knew I would like the first time I heard about it (but hadn't gotten around to until now), I messed around online for no other reason than to mess around online, I slept for a full 12 hours (went to bed at 3am, woke at 3pm), I did two loads of laundry (clean underwear!) and I did NOT think about anybody else, their needs, their wants, their whatevers. I just took a break from it all.
I didn't think about what I had to do, the many projects I have on the go, the deadlines coming up, work, play, friends (and the dire straits that some of them are in), my health or lack thereof, or anything else. In fact, I don't think I really thought at all, save to figure out what I wanted to do next.
It was heavenly. I felt as though, shortly after Fish came home and I realized that my me time was over, I was doing something incredibly sinful. Then I realized that while it wasn't a sin, it was definitely decadent. Indulgent. Like buying silk sheets or cheese that's $20/pound, just because you can, and for no other reason than because you want whatever it is you're buying. And I realized something else too. For the last however long, I have even been giving myself rewards not because I deserve them, but because it's merely one more duty. Even finding the time and money to reward myself has felt like a chore, one more thing checked off the To Do list.And then I'd go right on to the next thing on the list.
I don't know when I stopped feeling pleasure in doing things just because I want to, and not because I have to. I also don't know when I started doing things because they were part of my Duty and not merely because I enjoyed them. Somewhere along the line I got the idea that doing something for a noble purpose was better than doing something merely because you wanted to do it. If you were going to do a thing, it had better have a solid reason behind it, or else it wasn't worth doing. Which is ok up to a point, but . . . I think I may have taken it to excess.
I had a lot of fun today doing virtually nothing. What little I did I did solely because I wanted to do it. It wasn't a duty. It wasn't an obligation. It wasn't for a deadline. Or to save somebody else's ass, or to take up somebody's slack. It was just because I found it fun to do. For the last . . . year, maybe longer? I've been doing things that have a reason behind them. They're part of something else, or it's a Very Important Part Of My Life and I *must* do them, or else. Duty, obligation, fulfilling a need, taking care of a problem, something.
But today, I was free of all of that. And I've decided that I am going to have to do this again more often. And in token of this new resolve, I am hereby stating for the public record that I like Republic of Doyle, quite a lot really, and for no other reason than because its snarky, sarcastic humor makes me laugh. There is no other noble purpose. No socially acceptable reason. That television show is fun for me to watch. And I like to laugh, I haven't been doing a lot of that recently.
We Three
Three good reasons to get out of bed on a cold, rainy night!
Monday, January 17, 2011
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Waiting Patiently
Sorry, Gentle Readers, the update that I've promised is a bit behind schedule, due entirely to the vagaries of community theatre. When one deals entirely with volunteers, one must put up with people not making decisions until the last possible moment, sigh. This means, of course, that the 'trickle down effect' (thank you, Chief Fool, for the phrase) is resounding upon me with a mighty crash and I am still in limbo, and so, Gentle Readers, are you.
The volunteer coordinator assures me that by the middle of this week he'll have some news for me. So stay tuned, Gentle Readers, part 2 is indeed on the way!
The volunteer coordinator assures me that by the middle of this week he'll have some news for me. So stay tuned, Gentle Readers, part 2 is indeed on the way!
Sunday, January 2, 2011
A Little Something I've Learned (Part 1 LONG)
Gentle Readers --
Most of you know that I am a stage manager, that I work in the live entertainment world as a non-touring freelance community (mostly) theatre stage manager, but there are two things you don't know:
A) I have been involved in live theatre in some way or other (with an alarming digression, courtesy of my mother, into child modeling -- for Sears -- when I was 9 or 10 years old) for 30 of my 36 years. True. My first show in front of paying audiences was my first (and last, and only!) ballet recital when I was 6. At 9 years old I was in summer stock in Chicago, by the time I was 12 I'd discovered technical theatre (in our summer community in Michigan) and by the time I was 16 I was working backstage doing props and backstage managing in San Diego, CA, for a well-regarded community theatre organization there. When I was 18 I managed my first backstage as a production assistant for my college, and from there I've never looked back.
The reason I'm telling you this, Gentle Readers, is so that you will get a feel for why the other thing you probably don't know (and what I'm about to tell you) is such a big deal. In short, theatre was my life for a very long time. So much so that everything else went down before it. Friends. Romance. Alan Doyle isn't the only one who's missed funerals (it was my grandmother too, and my favorite, but what could I do? I was in a show . . . ). If I had a choice, and I was in a show, there was no choice. The show came first. In my way, I've been as dedicated and ruthless in my chosen field as any of the core members of Great Big Sea, except that it's a thousand percent harder to make it in my field than in theirs, believe it or not, merely because the 'pond' (as in, big fish, small pond) is SO much smaller. There aren't nearly as many chances to make it big or to claw your way up by your own bootstraps with what I do, so it's that much smaller, that much harder, that much narrower to succeed.
But I was *focused*. I was like a narrow beam of light. I was sure I was equal to the task. I knew what I wanted and wouldn't let anything stand in my way. I fought for every step up the ladder I could get. My life was nothing but theatre. My wardrobe was nothing but black. The only time I was aware of the outside world was if one of my actors happened to mention the whatever-it-was, or if my director needed me to know it. I spent 6 years in a totally unsuitable university, chasing a degree, because I thought it would help. I understand Dear Home Town better than many because I have been there and walked in their moccasins and I have made the same decisions. I sold my soul also. That song, for me, is intensely personal and I can't listen to it without wincing. Great Big Sea is not telling me anything new. But . . . there is more to the story.
And all of that which I just told you, Gentle Readers, is why, B) in 2008, after a disastrous first time out with one of the big companies here in town (and it really was an epic fail, I took the job of stage manager against my own better judgment and paid dearly for it) it was such a big thing, for me to take a leave of absence. A sabbatical. A break. Whatever you want to call it.
Many things happened to make the very easy decision to walk away from everything. I turned my back on my world and cut every single tie. I left entirely. I had to. There was no, partial separation. It was like a divorce. It had to be complete.
I was in my mid-30's and still not making a living. Making money, despite being in the arts, was a higher priority the older I got. I'd met a very good man -- and THAT tends to change your priorities!! And during my last show the 35W bridge collapsed. People died. In a way, it was worse, to me, than the 9/11 attacks, because though I'd known people who were all supposed, for one reason or another, to be in the towers or on the planes, and who weren't, thank God, when the bridge collapsed it was intensely personal. And intensely horrible. I couldn't find all my actors, some of them weren't answering their phones and I knew -- as did the rest of the cast -- that they all would have driven on that bridge, as I'd done, not an hour before, to get to rehearsal. They finally showed up, late, eventually, having not heard the news or checked their cell phones, but those moments of carefully hidden panic and terror and despair were enough to make me rethink things. A LOT of things. A stage manager is not supposed to show any feeling beyond a cheerful competence. We are supposed to be a badge of reassurance to our actors that nothing is wrong. And as I kept that rehearsal going that night, being a rock, taking care of everything, calling people to make sure they were safe, gently but inexorably forcing the people who were already there to work (because the director knew that action was better than inaction) while waiting for our missing people, when what I really wanted to do was teleport home to put my head under the covers and shake, I knew right then that I would not be able to do this again. A disaster of that magnitude changes things. And all of a sudden, I started thinking about my priorities and what I *really* wanted out of life that I wasn't getting. And then I knew that to get what I wanted something else would have to give.
So, I quit. I had thought, and planned, that quitting was going to be a permanent thing. I wanted to actually experience LIFE. I wanted to not be at somebody else's beck and call, constantly, I wanted to say YES when my friends invited me somewhere, instead of always saying "I can't, I have rehearsal", I wanted to do the simple pleasures -- go to a movie on Friday night with my boyfriend. Walk the dog on Saturday morning. The little things that people who AREN'T in the live entertainment business take for granted. Grocery shopping during daylight hours. You know. To do laundry without having to do it all on one day -- Monday. Have an actual birthday party instead of bringing a cake to the green room. To wake up without a schedule regimented down to the second. Remember, I hadn't really had any of this as an adult. There was a lot I'd missed out on, that I wanted to experience, that everybody else in the world just does and doesn't think about.
And then, when Fish and I started getting serious and we moved in with each other and then he put a ring on my finger and then we bought a house together, I was happier than I'd ever been. And I was amazed to discover that other things had taken precedence naturally. There was no angst. No sorrow. I was actually happy to not be working. Of course, I was also planning a wedding virtually singlehandedly and then I had my first bout of iritis, but life was good.
And I got married and got the sight back in my left eye and had a garden and dogs and I was even more happy. Then . . . about 3 weeks after I got married I got called by a desperate director of a MN Fringe Festival show. Would I . . . could I . . . did I mind . . . it was in the summertime. It was only for two weeks. It didn't pay anything, but it was the FRINGE (do you know how hard it is to get in there? HARD.). I couldn't resist adding it to my resume. I was a last-minute substitution because their original had a sudden conflict (a death, I think) that made them have to leave.
So in the 8 weeks or so between my marriage and my honeymoon, I was being the stage manager and board operator for a live theatre production for about 4 of those weeks including rehearsal time.
Which should have told me something right there, I suppose. After we got back from a glorious week in Disneyworld in Florida, I decided that I wasn't ready to go back to the theatre world, indeed, I didn't know if I would EVER be ready. I told myself that the Fringe thing was just an oddball little deal, that it didn't matter.
And I stayed strong, happy and secure in my new life, for another year and a bit. But then . . . well . . . you can read about that, Dear Readers, in Part 2, which will happen later this week once I get some news that I've been waiting on, one way or another. The news forthcoming will dictate what I write, so I have to wait, and so, perforce, will you. But it will be worth it, one way or another. I promise.
Most of you know that I am a stage manager, that I work in the live entertainment world as a non-touring freelance community (mostly) theatre stage manager, but there are two things you don't know:
A) I have been involved in live theatre in some way or other (with an alarming digression, courtesy of my mother, into child modeling -- for Sears -- when I was 9 or 10 years old) for 30 of my 36 years. True. My first show in front of paying audiences was my first (and last, and only!) ballet recital when I was 6. At 9 years old I was in summer stock in Chicago, by the time I was 12 I'd discovered technical theatre (in our summer community in Michigan) and by the time I was 16 I was working backstage doing props and backstage managing in San Diego, CA, for a well-regarded community theatre organization there. When I was 18 I managed my first backstage as a production assistant for my college, and from there I've never looked back.
The reason I'm telling you this, Gentle Readers, is so that you will get a feel for why the other thing you probably don't know (and what I'm about to tell you) is such a big deal. In short, theatre was my life for a very long time. So much so that everything else went down before it. Friends. Romance. Alan Doyle isn't the only one who's missed funerals (it was my grandmother too, and my favorite, but what could I do? I was in a show . . . ). If I had a choice, and I was in a show, there was no choice. The show came first. In my way, I've been as dedicated and ruthless in my chosen field as any of the core members of Great Big Sea, except that it's a thousand percent harder to make it in my field than in theirs, believe it or not, merely because the 'pond' (as in, big fish, small pond) is SO much smaller. There aren't nearly as many chances to make it big or to claw your way up by your own bootstraps with what I do, so it's that much smaller, that much harder, that much narrower to succeed.
But I was *focused*. I was like a narrow beam of light. I was sure I was equal to the task. I knew what I wanted and wouldn't let anything stand in my way. I fought for every step up the ladder I could get. My life was nothing but theatre. My wardrobe was nothing but black. The only time I was aware of the outside world was if one of my actors happened to mention the whatever-it-was, or if my director needed me to know it. I spent 6 years in a totally unsuitable university, chasing a degree, because I thought it would help. I understand Dear Home Town better than many because I have been there and walked in their moccasins and I have made the same decisions. I sold my soul also. That song, for me, is intensely personal and I can't listen to it without wincing. Great Big Sea is not telling me anything new. But . . . there is more to the story.
And all of that which I just told you, Gentle Readers, is why, B) in 2008, after a disastrous first time out with one of the big companies here in town (and it really was an epic fail, I took the job of stage manager against my own better judgment and paid dearly for it) it was such a big thing, for me to take a leave of absence. A sabbatical. A break. Whatever you want to call it.
Many things happened to make the very easy decision to walk away from everything. I turned my back on my world and cut every single tie. I left entirely. I had to. There was no, partial separation. It was like a divorce. It had to be complete.
I was in my mid-30's and still not making a living. Making money, despite being in the arts, was a higher priority the older I got. I'd met a very good man -- and THAT tends to change your priorities!! And during my last show the 35W bridge collapsed. People died. In a way, it was worse, to me, than the 9/11 attacks, because though I'd known people who were all supposed, for one reason or another, to be in the towers or on the planes, and who weren't, thank God, when the bridge collapsed it was intensely personal. And intensely horrible. I couldn't find all my actors, some of them weren't answering their phones and I knew -- as did the rest of the cast -- that they all would have driven on that bridge, as I'd done, not an hour before, to get to rehearsal. They finally showed up, late, eventually, having not heard the news or checked their cell phones, but those moments of carefully hidden panic and terror and despair were enough to make me rethink things. A LOT of things. A stage manager is not supposed to show any feeling beyond a cheerful competence. We are supposed to be a badge of reassurance to our actors that nothing is wrong. And as I kept that rehearsal going that night, being a rock, taking care of everything, calling people to make sure they were safe, gently but inexorably forcing the people who were already there to work (because the director knew that action was better than inaction) while waiting for our missing people, when what I really wanted to do was teleport home to put my head under the covers and shake, I knew right then that I would not be able to do this again. A disaster of that magnitude changes things. And all of a sudden, I started thinking about my priorities and what I *really* wanted out of life that I wasn't getting. And then I knew that to get what I wanted something else would have to give.
So, I quit. I had thought, and planned, that quitting was going to be a permanent thing. I wanted to actually experience LIFE. I wanted to not be at somebody else's beck and call, constantly, I wanted to say YES when my friends invited me somewhere, instead of always saying "I can't, I have rehearsal", I wanted to do the simple pleasures -- go to a movie on Friday night with my boyfriend. Walk the dog on Saturday morning. The little things that people who AREN'T in the live entertainment business take for granted. Grocery shopping during daylight hours. You know. To do laundry without having to do it all on one day -- Monday. Have an actual birthday party instead of bringing a cake to the green room. To wake up without a schedule regimented down to the second. Remember, I hadn't really had any of this as an adult. There was a lot I'd missed out on, that I wanted to experience, that everybody else in the world just does and doesn't think about.
And then, when Fish and I started getting serious and we moved in with each other and then he put a ring on my finger and then we bought a house together, I was happier than I'd ever been. And I was amazed to discover that other things had taken precedence naturally. There was no angst. No sorrow. I was actually happy to not be working. Of course, I was also planning a wedding virtually singlehandedly and then I had my first bout of iritis, but life was good.
And I got married and got the sight back in my left eye and had a garden and dogs and I was even more happy. Then . . . about 3 weeks after I got married I got called by a desperate director of a MN Fringe Festival show. Would I . . . could I . . . did I mind . . . it was in the summertime. It was only for two weeks. It didn't pay anything, but it was the FRINGE (do you know how hard it is to get in there? HARD.). I couldn't resist adding it to my resume. I was a last-minute substitution because their original had a sudden conflict (a death, I think) that made them have to leave.
So in the 8 weeks or so between my marriage and my honeymoon, I was being the stage manager and board operator for a live theatre production for about 4 of those weeks including rehearsal time.
Which should have told me something right there, I suppose. After we got back from a glorious week in Disneyworld in Florida, I decided that I wasn't ready to go back to the theatre world, indeed, I didn't know if I would EVER be ready. I told myself that the Fringe thing was just an oddball little deal, that it didn't matter.
And I stayed strong, happy and secure in my new life, for another year and a bit. But then . . . well . . . you can read about that, Dear Readers, in Part 2, which will happen later this week once I get some news that I've been waiting on, one way or another. The news forthcoming will dictate what I write, so I have to wait, and so, perforce, will you. But it will be worth it, one way or another. I promise.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Dreams and My Subconscious
This past sleep, Gentle Readers (and yes, I know it's almost 2:30am, I am planning on going to bed soon!) I had a very interesting dream.
Apparently my subconscious has decided that for now, anyway, Success is going to show up in my dreams disguised as Alan Doyle from Great Big Sea. Makes sense, I guess, given his story, but I just thought that was a little odd. Out of everything I've experienced in my own life, wouldn't my own subconscious choose something from ME as a symbol of Success? What's with this folk singer instead?
And in this dream that I just had I, for the first time EVER, as long as I can remember, was in a wheelchair in the beginning of it. Research about wheelchairs in dreams suggests that this is a symbol for me feeling helpless in some way, either I feel unable to express some sort of feeling, or I feel as though I'm handicapped in some way. Well. We all know that I am in fact significantly disabled because of my two neurological condititions -- Non-Verbal Learning Disorder and Asperger's, but somehow I don't think my dream was referring to those.
'Cause, you see, as soon as I met Alan in my dream (along an ocean walk that drew from various ocean walks I've encountered in my life, but for some reason also incorporated a tunnel, wierd) he looked at me with an expression of great distaste, looked down at me, and commanded me, in that way he has, to "stop pretending."
I am now left with trying to figure out just what my subconscious thinks I am pretending about, and what I am hiding from success. Because, of course, when I refused (I remember watching myself saying quite piteously, 'but I can't' and Alan getting thoroughly disgusted at my refusal -- I was disgusted with myself too, to be honest, that weepy, 'I can't' handicapped little person didn't jive with how I see myself . . . I often dream in 3rd person, watching myself do whatever it is) Alan turned his back on me, stalking away, and ignoring me until I did indeed get up from the wheelchair, leaving it behind, and ran back along the beach cliffs until I caught up with him.
What am I not successful at that I should be? What is the meaning of my getting up out of the wheelchair? What is holding me back and shouldn't be? I hate to use the word 'should' (I agree with Hugh Jackman's Views on that word) but in this case I think it's the correct word for the circumstances.
I am going to have to think on this for a while, perhaps use prayer and meditation. It seems obvious to me that something in me is crying out to move forward -- but I have no idea what. Hmmm.
Apparently my subconscious has decided that for now, anyway, Success is going to show up in my dreams disguised as Alan Doyle from Great Big Sea. Makes sense, I guess, given his story, but I just thought that was a little odd. Out of everything I've experienced in my own life, wouldn't my own subconscious choose something from ME as a symbol of Success? What's with this folk singer instead?
And in this dream that I just had I, for the first time EVER, as long as I can remember, was in a wheelchair in the beginning of it. Research about wheelchairs in dreams suggests that this is a symbol for me feeling helpless in some way, either I feel unable to express some sort of feeling, or I feel as though I'm handicapped in some way. Well. We all know that I am in fact significantly disabled because of my two neurological condititions -- Non-Verbal Learning Disorder and Asperger's, but somehow I don't think my dream was referring to those.
'Cause, you see, as soon as I met Alan in my dream (along an ocean walk that drew from various ocean walks I've encountered in my life, but for some reason also incorporated a tunnel, wierd) he looked at me with an expression of great distaste, looked down at me, and commanded me, in that way he has, to "stop pretending."
I am now left with trying to figure out just what my subconscious thinks I am pretending about, and what I am hiding from success. Because, of course, when I refused (I remember watching myself saying quite piteously, 'but I can't' and Alan getting thoroughly disgusted at my refusal -- I was disgusted with myself too, to be honest, that weepy, 'I can't' handicapped little person didn't jive with how I see myself . . . I often dream in 3rd person, watching myself do whatever it is) Alan turned his back on me, stalking away, and ignoring me until I did indeed get up from the wheelchair, leaving it behind, and ran back along the beach cliffs until I caught up with him.
What am I not successful at that I should be? What is the meaning of my getting up out of the wheelchair? What is holding me back and shouldn't be? I hate to use the word 'should' (I agree with Hugh Jackman's Views on that word) but in this case I think it's the correct word for the circumstances.
I am going to have to think on this for a while, perhaps use prayer and meditation. It seems obvious to me that something in me is crying out to move forward -- but I have no idea what. Hmmm.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
An Update On Rosalie
Gentle Readers, I promised you an update on my new mandolin as soon as I've had her for a while and since it's been almost 30 days exactly since she arrived (and I've played her for about half of those days, I'd guess, somewhere between 15-20 days of practice), I have decided it's time to give you an update.
Dear folk, Rosalie is turning out to be a better instrument than anybody could have guessed. While she's not in the same class as a mandolin in the 4 digits for price, she's really pretty damn good, all things considered. So far, everybody who's heard her has been both surprised and impressed, and apparently (having never seen any other mandolins live and in person, at least, not close up enough to examine) Rosalie looks better than she 'ought' to for a $100 instrument, everybody who has seen her has asked me how much she was and when I say, they give me a look that says clearly that they don't believe me, so she must look pretty good.
I did some very basic set-up on her myself but there really wasn't much to do, she hasn't got a truss rod or any of the other internal components of a higher-priced mandolin. Her tuners are holding remarkably well and though they could perhaps get switched out for a higher-quality set, right now they're doing everything I ask them to. I'm not tuning any more than normal, which is nice.
I adjusted her bridge and, as I thought, her intonation problems have largely ceased. Intonation, for those of you -- like myself, before I figured it out -- who don't know what that means, is simply how the instrument sounds along the fingerboard, from the first fret to the last playable fret. If a string instrument's intonation is off, the strings will sound different at various points along the fingerboard, and occasionally play differently too. This is bad for a number of reasons! The 'action' of a stringed instrument is simply how high the strings rest off of the frets when a player's fingers aren't pushing them down. An action that's too high or too low can result in an unplayable instrument, and also affects the sound quality, among other things.
Many mandolins -- including mine, thank goodness -- have adjustable bridges. Unlike guitars, a mandolin's bridge (that piece of vertical wood where the strings pass over, usually over or near the hole in the body where the sound goes out) is often not attached to the body of the instrument by anything other than the tension inherent in the strings. Mandolin bridges can be adjusted up or down through two independent little gears, one on either side.
Whoever put Rosalie together in China obviously didn't give a damn about making the instrument actually SOUND good. When she got to me, she had cheap strings that had no life, no bounce, and didn't resonate at ALL, they were just lying there. Her bridge was lopsided and it was clear she'd never ever been touched.
The first time I played her, like I said in my earlier post, Rosalie was bright, tinny, and not very complex. When I adjusted her bridge so that it was straight *and* when I lowered the action of the strings (I like my strings a bit lower than normal), her intonation issues went away completely (which surprised the hell out of me) and suddenly she began to get some depth and richness to her sound. Huh. Whoda thunk?
Then I spent 2 days taking off the old crap strings and putting some new ones on. Now, with a mandolin, strings really are super ultra important. It's not like a guitar where you could probably get a decent sound out of any set of strings, old or new. With a mandolin, different sorts of strings can and will totally change the sound of the instrument. Knowing this, and knowing that Rosalie would need help to offset her tinny, sharp sound, I chose the gold standard for a rich, mellow tone when it comes to mandolin strings -- D'Addario J74's. These strings are phosphor bronze and have provided great sound for decades. I was already familiar with phosphor bronze strings and what they can do to an instrument because of the Ernie Ball Slinkies I use on my guitar, and I had high hopes for putting bronze strings on the mandolin too.
I was not disappointed. Though it took me just over two days (and I went through THREE sets of strings because I kept breaking the E string) I got the old, crappy strings off and the new D'Addario J74's on and within seconds of having them correctly tunes, I heard a HUGE difference.
With the new strings, Rosalie's voice has mellowed out considerably (she's still a little tinny and quite bright, but at least now dogs won't howl if I hit a high note!), her strings have considerable response, sustain and ring to them, the sound is clear (as opposed to very muddy before) and loud, she actually has a bit of bass to her now, and the characteristic, classic mandolin 'sweetness' -- as much as she'll ever have-- is starting to show.
Now that I have been playing her for a month and she's beginning to settle in (it's the same sort of thing as a brand new car, you know how you're not supposed to do any hard work or sudden maneuvering with a new car for the first 500 miles or so, in order to let the parts start moving together without stress), things are really improving. I wouldn't be ashamed to take her to play in public now, for one thing, and I will be able to perform with her at least during my historic re-enactment events, something I wasn't sure I could do when I got her because of her sound. I wouldn't take her to a really, truly professional session or concert or anything, but for my level of playing, she'll perform quite nicely -- much better than I'd ever hoped.
As I keep playing her, I hope that she'll mellow even further and get sweeter as time goes on. The wood will age, get affected by environmental factors, etc etc, and I hope this is all to the good.
The only thing is that Rosalie does NOT like the cold. Really, really. She detuned herself all the way down to a guitar's octave the last time I brought her out in December, LOL! Truly a southern gal :) She's going to have to learn to cope with it though, we do after all live in Minnesota, the Frozen North.
And now, Gentle Readers, back to practice!
Dear folk, Rosalie is turning out to be a better instrument than anybody could have guessed. While she's not in the same class as a mandolin in the 4 digits for price, she's really pretty damn good, all things considered. So far, everybody who's heard her has been both surprised and impressed, and apparently (having never seen any other mandolins live and in person, at least, not close up enough to examine) Rosalie looks better than she 'ought' to for a $100 instrument, everybody who has seen her has asked me how much she was and when I say, they give me a look that says clearly that they don't believe me, so she must look pretty good.
I did some very basic set-up on her myself but there really wasn't much to do, she hasn't got a truss rod or any of the other internal components of a higher-priced mandolin. Her tuners are holding remarkably well and though they could perhaps get switched out for a higher-quality set, right now they're doing everything I ask them to. I'm not tuning any more than normal, which is nice.
I adjusted her bridge and, as I thought, her intonation problems have largely ceased. Intonation, for those of you -- like myself, before I figured it out -- who don't know what that means, is simply how the instrument sounds along the fingerboard, from the first fret to the last playable fret. If a string instrument's intonation is off, the strings will sound different at various points along the fingerboard, and occasionally play differently too. This is bad for a number of reasons! The 'action' of a stringed instrument is simply how high the strings rest off of the frets when a player's fingers aren't pushing them down. An action that's too high or too low can result in an unplayable instrument, and also affects the sound quality, among other things.
Many mandolins -- including mine, thank goodness -- have adjustable bridges. Unlike guitars, a mandolin's bridge (that piece of vertical wood where the strings pass over, usually over or near the hole in the body where the sound goes out) is often not attached to the body of the instrument by anything other than the tension inherent in the strings. Mandolin bridges can be adjusted up or down through two independent little gears, one on either side.
Whoever put Rosalie together in China obviously didn't give a damn about making the instrument actually SOUND good. When she got to me, she had cheap strings that had no life, no bounce, and didn't resonate at ALL, they were just lying there. Her bridge was lopsided and it was clear she'd never ever been touched.
The first time I played her, like I said in my earlier post, Rosalie was bright, tinny, and not very complex. When I adjusted her bridge so that it was straight *and* when I lowered the action of the strings (I like my strings a bit lower than normal), her intonation issues went away completely (which surprised the hell out of me) and suddenly she began to get some depth and richness to her sound. Huh. Whoda thunk?
Then I spent 2 days taking off the old crap strings and putting some new ones on. Now, with a mandolin, strings really are super ultra important. It's not like a guitar where you could probably get a decent sound out of any set of strings, old or new. With a mandolin, different sorts of strings can and will totally change the sound of the instrument. Knowing this, and knowing that Rosalie would need help to offset her tinny, sharp sound, I chose the gold standard for a rich, mellow tone when it comes to mandolin strings -- D'Addario J74's. These strings are phosphor bronze and have provided great sound for decades. I was already familiar with phosphor bronze strings and what they can do to an instrument because of the Ernie Ball Slinkies I use on my guitar, and I had high hopes for putting bronze strings on the mandolin too.
I was not disappointed. Though it took me just over two days (and I went through THREE sets of strings because I kept breaking the E string) I got the old, crappy strings off and the new D'Addario J74's on and within seconds of having them correctly tunes, I heard a HUGE difference.
With the new strings, Rosalie's voice has mellowed out considerably (she's still a little tinny and quite bright, but at least now dogs won't howl if I hit a high note!), her strings have considerable response, sustain and ring to them, the sound is clear (as opposed to very muddy before) and loud, she actually has a bit of bass to her now, and the characteristic, classic mandolin 'sweetness' -- as much as she'll ever have-- is starting to show.
Now that I have been playing her for a month and she's beginning to settle in (it's the same sort of thing as a brand new car, you know how you're not supposed to do any hard work or sudden maneuvering with a new car for the first 500 miles or so, in order to let the parts start moving together without stress), things are really improving. I wouldn't be ashamed to take her to play in public now, for one thing, and I will be able to perform with her at least during my historic re-enactment events, something I wasn't sure I could do when I got her because of her sound. I wouldn't take her to a really, truly professional session or concert or anything, but for my level of playing, she'll perform quite nicely -- much better than I'd ever hoped.
As I keep playing her, I hope that she'll mellow even further and get sweeter as time goes on. The wood will age, get affected by environmental factors, etc etc, and I hope this is all to the good.
The only thing is that Rosalie does NOT like the cold. Really, really. She detuned herself all the way down to a guitar's octave the last time I brought her out in December, LOL! Truly a southern gal :) She's going to have to learn to cope with it though, we do after all live in Minnesota, the Frozen North.
And now, Gentle Readers, back to practice!
Saturday, December 25, 2010
The Family Christmas
Dateline: Dec 25 2010
I am not sure how to report the evening's happenings to you, Gentle Readers. Things were simultaneously MUCH better than I expected and a bit worse than I'd imagined. Which was odd, the two things happening at the same time.
Incidentally, some of the Company are now getting drunk and showing their feelings by visiting the bars and so on, and at least I'm not sinking that low, although I did seriously consider a good shot of Drambuie on the way home.
There were tears, but not from me. My mother has finally figured out that saying "I know how you feel" is quite possibly the worst thing you can tell somebody who's had a trauma (or a death). Unfortunately, she had this epiphany in the middle of opening presents when she mentioned that she's finally beginning to get arthritis in her fingers and she was having some pain. Bro mentioned, as a joke, "Well, now you know how I feel!" and she started to agree with him, and then she started to cry. "No, I don't know how you feel . . . " etc etc. Got quite maudlin, really, I found myself thanking God that she hadn't had anything to drink, alcoholically, anyway, because if she had, 'tis certain we would have had a bigger scene. As it was everybody was looking a little uncomfortable while she sobbed gently about how she could never know what it felt like. I dunno. Do epiphanies really always have to be so dramatic?
The night started out with my dear father holding forth on "those damn Somalis" and things sort of went downhill from there. Usually we manage to get him to quit talking about politics but tonight he was determined and no matter who started talking about other stuff, he always dragged it round back to his political views, which, needless to say, were extremely unpalatable. Now, he's not nearly as right-wing as my mother, he's basically an old-style Republican conservative, and at least (if there must be a silver lining) he tends to be intolerant due to financial and statistical reasons. He's scientifically bigoted, as opposed to my mother, who quite simply is a religious right-wing nut job and tends to follow the leader without thinking.
You may notice that I don't talk about politics in this blog. That's because I don't like them. And since it's my blog, we will stay far away from them. I think talking about politics is like deliberately whacking a hornet's nest and then being surprised when you get stung.
So much for that. Food was great, Bro had brought some brined and dried salmon for starters (along with the cheese and nuts and crackers that my parents always provide -- 7 year old Vermont cheddar and smoked provolone, to be sure), and it was FANTASTIC. Not sure where the fish was caught, but the guy who treated it lives in White Bear Lake and he was a friend of Bro, so that's how we got it. Mom cooked a turkey and I did the gravy and my parents are always surprised when I do the gravy, how great it tastes. That's because I actually use the drippings and so on that are in the bottom of the pan, and Mom, if it's left to her, tends to throw all that out with a shudder -- "it's fattening". Well, so it is if you have cups of the gravy, but if you only have an ounce or two, it's not that bad! Because I don't use a lot of the true *fat*, just the drippings. Because she never sees a layer of fat in the gravy itself, she never objects. *sigh* Mom also made her version of mashed potatoes (bearable with gravy) and mashed yams, but alas, for the first time in years, she ALSO made that green beans thing with the onions-in-a-can on top and cream of mushroom soup all in the beans. Ugh. I took the required two bites and let it alone! Too mushy. Now, I've nothing against beans with mushrooms and onions, but this . . . Dessert was almost exactly like an apple crisp but with pumpkin pie filling instead of apples. I liked it, but I think it would have been better served with a nice cream cheese layer underneath it.
Mom made us our traditional Eastern European coffee cake and some ham to go with it, but by the time I was more than ready to go, I forgot to take it with us, so Fish will go over there tomorrow on his way to work to pick it up. Luckily, both things freeze well!
Presents . . . .I got a $100 Lane Bryant gift card (I desperately need new underwear that fits, now I've lost 40 pounds!), a $15 gift card to Itunes, some new slippers which I love (they've got sheepie fleece on the inside!), a $25 best Buy gift cert (also a cute card, from my Bro), a couple pairs of warm new gloves, including a nice pair for dressy occasions, and . . . actually, I think that's it. Oh, and Mom decided for reasons best known to herself to give us a copy of the Christmas card as part of a present . . . Mom and Dad really enjoyed my baking present and Bro liked the food too, wish I'd known, I would have made him a bigger basket. Ah well.
And speaking of Bro, he'd done a 180' turn about from the sullen, depressed guy he was at Thanksgiving. I knew the second he came bolting up the steps with a grin on his face to hug me that I would have to seriously revise my expectations! I was so happy to see that from him that I almost horribly embarrassed himself and myself by bursting into relieved and joyous tears right then and there in the front doorway. I didn't, though. And he continued happy the entire night, making jokes, smiling, and not being anywhere near as contrary and spiteful as he's been. I couldn't quite keep from staring at him. What a difference! This is the charming, handsome, funny, gracious brother I remember from when we were both young. I haven't seen him in a very long time, years, possibly decades. He told us all that he was working on his attitude -- I guess even he got sick of himself. Really, it's not very PC to say this but I have a permanent injury so I know whereof I speak, and seriously, there's only so much self-pity you can stomach. Eventually you have to look at yourself in the mirror and say "This is shit, and I'm tired of it -- things need to change." It's sort of a natural progression.
He said his fingers were getting better too, though still painful (I haven't even tried to tell him that with that kind of injury he might have twinges for the rest of his life . . . he doesn't need to hear that right now), and he didn't notice -- but I did -- that unlike at Thanksgiving when he couldn't move them at all, his fingers were actually bending. He was using his fingers. That's the best Christmas present ever! I told him at Thanksgiving that things would get better if he could just live long enough, and I am relieved and humbled to be proven correct. Granted, they weren't bending *much* and he still can't hold a beer or soda can in his right hand, but he was able to grip Mom's hand, a definite improvement. He carved the Christmas Turkey, which he couldn't do at Thanksgiving. I am so pleased. I confidently expect even more use out of them, for him, as time goes on, particularly when Spring comes and the weather warms up, which will be easier on everybody's joints -- including mine too! And of course, now that he's got his head right (even if that doesn't last, it's been enough improvement that I think his brain will continue to move forward), we can all expect good things. I don't know how much function he'll get back, but anything will be better than what he's got now.
My brother is healing -- really healing, and The Chief Fool is home. It's been a great Christmas. Those are the two best gifts I could have gotten, and neither of them were expected or something that anybody could have planned for until it happened. Funny how that happens, really. It's not about the physical stuff. Christmas is about everything else. The unexpected gifts . . . oohhh . . . I feel some lyrics coming on! Excuse me for a moment, won't you?
I am not sure how to report the evening's happenings to you, Gentle Readers. Things were simultaneously MUCH better than I expected and a bit worse than I'd imagined. Which was odd, the two things happening at the same time.
Incidentally, some of the Company are now getting drunk and showing their feelings by visiting the bars and so on, and at least I'm not sinking that low, although I did seriously consider a good shot of Drambuie on the way home.
There were tears, but not from me. My mother has finally figured out that saying "I know how you feel" is quite possibly the worst thing you can tell somebody who's had a trauma (or a death). Unfortunately, she had this epiphany in the middle of opening presents when she mentioned that she's finally beginning to get arthritis in her fingers and she was having some pain. Bro mentioned, as a joke, "Well, now you know how I feel!" and she started to agree with him, and then she started to cry. "No, I don't know how you feel . . . " etc etc. Got quite maudlin, really, I found myself thanking God that she hadn't had anything to drink, alcoholically, anyway, because if she had, 'tis certain we would have had a bigger scene. As it was everybody was looking a little uncomfortable while she sobbed gently about how she could never know what it felt like. I dunno. Do epiphanies really always have to be so dramatic?
The night started out with my dear father holding forth on "those damn Somalis" and things sort of went downhill from there. Usually we manage to get him to quit talking about politics but tonight he was determined and no matter who started talking about other stuff, he always dragged it round back to his political views, which, needless to say, were extremely unpalatable. Now, he's not nearly as right-wing as my mother, he's basically an old-style Republican conservative, and at least (if there must be a silver lining) he tends to be intolerant due to financial and statistical reasons. He's scientifically bigoted, as opposed to my mother, who quite simply is a religious right-wing nut job and tends to follow the leader without thinking.
You may notice that I don't talk about politics in this blog. That's because I don't like them. And since it's my blog, we will stay far away from them. I think talking about politics is like deliberately whacking a hornet's nest and then being surprised when you get stung.
So much for that. Food was great, Bro had brought some brined and dried salmon for starters (along with the cheese and nuts and crackers that my parents always provide -- 7 year old Vermont cheddar and smoked provolone, to be sure), and it was FANTASTIC. Not sure where the fish was caught, but the guy who treated it lives in White Bear Lake and he was a friend of Bro, so that's how we got it. Mom cooked a turkey and I did the gravy and my parents are always surprised when I do the gravy, how great it tastes. That's because I actually use the drippings and so on that are in the bottom of the pan, and Mom, if it's left to her, tends to throw all that out with a shudder -- "it's fattening". Well, so it is if you have cups of the gravy, but if you only have an ounce or two, it's not that bad! Because I don't use a lot of the true *fat*, just the drippings. Because she never sees a layer of fat in the gravy itself, she never objects. *sigh* Mom also made her version of mashed potatoes (bearable with gravy) and mashed yams, but alas, for the first time in years, she ALSO made that green beans thing with the onions-in-a-can on top and cream of mushroom soup all in the beans. Ugh. I took the required two bites and let it alone! Too mushy. Now, I've nothing against beans with mushrooms and onions, but this . . . Dessert was almost exactly like an apple crisp but with pumpkin pie filling instead of apples. I liked it, but I think it would have been better served with a nice cream cheese layer underneath it.
Mom made us our traditional Eastern European coffee cake and some ham to go with it, but by the time I was more than ready to go, I forgot to take it with us, so Fish will go over there tomorrow on his way to work to pick it up. Luckily, both things freeze well!
Presents . . . .I got a $100 Lane Bryant gift card (I desperately need new underwear that fits, now I've lost 40 pounds!), a $15 gift card to Itunes, some new slippers which I love (they've got sheepie fleece on the inside!), a $25 best Buy gift cert (also a cute card, from my Bro), a couple pairs of warm new gloves, including a nice pair for dressy occasions, and . . . actually, I think that's it. Oh, and Mom decided for reasons best known to herself to give us a copy of the Christmas card as part of a present . . . Mom and Dad really enjoyed my baking present and Bro liked the food too, wish I'd known, I would have made him a bigger basket. Ah well.
And speaking of Bro, he'd done a 180' turn about from the sullen, depressed guy he was at Thanksgiving. I knew the second he came bolting up the steps with a grin on his face to hug me that I would have to seriously revise my expectations! I was so happy to see that from him that I almost horribly embarrassed himself and myself by bursting into relieved and joyous tears right then and there in the front doorway. I didn't, though. And he continued happy the entire night, making jokes, smiling, and not being anywhere near as contrary and spiteful as he's been. I couldn't quite keep from staring at him. What a difference! This is the charming, handsome, funny, gracious brother I remember from when we were both young. I haven't seen him in a very long time, years, possibly decades. He told us all that he was working on his attitude -- I guess even he got sick of himself. Really, it's not very PC to say this but I have a permanent injury so I know whereof I speak, and seriously, there's only so much self-pity you can stomach. Eventually you have to look at yourself in the mirror and say "This is shit, and I'm tired of it -- things need to change." It's sort of a natural progression.
He said his fingers were getting better too, though still painful (I haven't even tried to tell him that with that kind of injury he might have twinges for the rest of his life . . . he doesn't need to hear that right now), and he didn't notice -- but I did -- that unlike at Thanksgiving when he couldn't move them at all, his fingers were actually bending. He was using his fingers. That's the best Christmas present ever! I told him at Thanksgiving that things would get better if he could just live long enough, and I am relieved and humbled to be proven correct. Granted, they weren't bending *much* and he still can't hold a beer or soda can in his right hand, but he was able to grip Mom's hand, a definite improvement. He carved the Christmas Turkey, which he couldn't do at Thanksgiving. I am so pleased. I confidently expect even more use out of them, for him, as time goes on, particularly when Spring comes and the weather warms up, which will be easier on everybody's joints -- including mine too! And of course, now that he's got his head right (even if that doesn't last, it's been enough improvement that I think his brain will continue to move forward), we can all expect good things. I don't know how much function he'll get back, but anything will be better than what he's got now.
My brother is healing -- really healing, and The Chief Fool is home. It's been a great Christmas. Those are the two best gifts I could have gotten, and neither of them were expected or something that anybody could have planned for until it happened. Funny how that happens, really. It's not about the physical stuff. Christmas is about everything else. The unexpected gifts . . . oohhh . . . I feel some lyrics coming on! Excuse me for a moment, won't you?
Friday, December 24, 2010
One Christmas Down, One To Go
Dateline: 24 December, 2010
Just got back from Christmas at my in-law's and a pleasant time was had by all. My young nephews (Thing 1 and Thing 2) were engaging all evening, polite and friendly, and at the end of the night they looked adorable in their Christmas pj's -- we took pictures, and I will post them when I get them emailed to me, as their mother promised she would. The Things are 2 and 5 this holiday season, a blond and a redhead, and were so busy with Grandma's presents of Thomas the Tank Engine that they never even noticed our boring ol' books and a DVD about airplanes. But I suspect that long after Thomas and his friends get sent to a rummage sale, Dr. Seuss, Mother Goose, and the Wizard of Oz will hang around. I baked up a storm for the adults (strawberry jam, pumpkin and zucchini bread and blueberry muffins, and 4 kinds of cookies) and Fish contributed some clothes for his brother (which bro changed right into, always a good sign!) and some of the little figurines that MIL and now sis collect. All the presents were well received and bro-in-law took the chance when everybody else was in the kitchen to thank me for baking all their stuff from scratch and ensuring that it was nut free -- Thing 1 has a big nut allergy --. Kind of made me wonder about the other people they know, hell, I suffer from allergies, I know what it's like. And it's no skin off my nose, some of the Company have environmental allergies, still others are allergic to citrus and most antibiotics, it's a way of life for me to accommodate. Not to mention me and all my allergies. Do unto others, remember?
Speaking of presents, we had all agreed to only give one present each per adult this year, but Mom-in-law cheated! In addition to giving Fish and I a $500 check (which we will use partly on new glasses for both of us but mostly on a 10'x12' canvas wall tent from these guys, Fall Creek Sutlery: http://fcsutler.com/fccanvas.asp -- the wall tents are about halfway down the page --), MIL also gave Fish his baby book, which I found fascinating (right up until I saw the piece of umbilical cord taped in there, yikes! What a thing to come upon!), and a pair of memorial poly ornaments with his father's birth and death dates and my father-in-law elect's birth and death dates inscribed. They're nicer than that, I just don't know how to describe them, having never seen anything like them before. Fish is more sentimental than most guys so we will hang these right on our tree. MIL is also growing an evergreen in a pot for us as a memorial to Ron, my FIL-elect (he died about 6 months before Fish and I actually had our wedding), and wants us to put this in our yard somewhere this spring. I do not know how I feel about this. For one, there's really no room. Pine trees get HUGE. For secondly, I don't know if I want *that* kind of a memorial in my yard. Ron's memory, at least, as far as I am concerned, does not need to be refreshed, if anything, it's still too painful to really fully embrace right now and the last thing I want is to have to look at it every day. Besides, he would have told her himself to choose something else. Well, maybe by this spring things will have changed, who knows.
I got a lovely bracelet with Connemara marble beads from my sis and bro in law, also a lovely, very classic pearl necklace from Fish. The pearls are fake, but they're damn good fakes, they have the heft and gleam etc of the real deal. The rope is also knotted between each pearl, a nice touch, I thought. It's very Jackie O, and I wholeheartedly agree with his choice. And MIL, in addition to everything else, gave us a KINDLE. She said it was for both of us, but I suspect that Fish will be the one who uses it most. I just have never been interested, having been a Luddite when it comes to new book technology. The old ways are perfectly fine with me, thank you very much! I admit to being suspicious about this new way to read books. But then again, I was suspicious of books on tape and still don't own a single audiobook. That's also because I am really not auditory and don't process auditory information at all, hardly, but still. Books are meant to be printed. On paper.
MIL also cooked dinner entirely on her own, deaf to any offers of help. She always does lobster tails and steak, but her inexperience with steak is obvious -- she's always let her husband do the meat -- and since I grew up with a father who believed (and still believes!) that it's a sin to cook dead cow any harder than 'medium' -- and who passed on his techniques to his daughter as well as his son -- well, I don't mean to be but I am a bit of a steak snob. Had there been steak sauce I would have eaten more of it. Next year I may offer, politely but firmly, to bring a Cesar salad. There wasn't a single blessed green thing on that table. The closest we got to a veggie was baked beans. And coleslaw. Not that I am complaining, necessarily, but after 72 straight hours of cookie baking, I was kind of sick of starchy carbs and some green beans or lettuce or peapods or carrots (or all of the above!) would not have gone amiss. Speaking of which, once I'm through writing this blog, I think I may rummage for some steamed green stuff in the freezer. Because it's 11:30pm, we ate at 6pm, and I frankly, am hungry.
I managed to be social most of the night although once dinner was over I was content to sit in the kitchen by myself and listen to Christmas music, but my MIL insisted that I join them in the living room, so, I did. After tomorrow, I am going to *bury* myself at home and not do a single thing that requires human interaction. I desperately need some alone time. Real alone time. Not alone-but-having-computer-conversations time. Not alone but with hubby in the same room time. Real, honest, *alone* time. It was very hard on my head having to make conversations with strangers for all those excruciating hours on the train. Then having to deal with the Chief Fool's friends, who may in time become my friends too, but for right now, are virtual strangers. Then going back across 3 states for 12 hours with the Fool in her car, with a cat. And then, having less than 36 hours at home before I had to go back and deal with the Fool's sister and mom . . . and the movers . . . oh, my, god . . . . and then 3 days of frantic Christmas prep, and then MORE socialization.
If I don't get some good, thorough alone time soon, I'm not sure what's going to happen. Tonight was good, better than I expected it to go.
Tomorrow, though . . . tomorrow will suck. And I think I will be glad of the chance to curl up in bed with my reassuring blankie (it helps when I feel stressed and vulnerable) by my side and just be me. Without anybody to perform for.
Oh, don't misunderstand. If the Fool needed me again, I'd do it all again without even thinking about which way to jump. That's the kind of relationship we have. But the aftermath -- let's just say it was bad timing. Which we knew, really, but there wasn't any other way.
Anyway, I am glad I had such a good Christmas with my in-laws, because I sure as hell won't have one tomorrow with my parents and brother. Even if I do assign my base criteria -- "If I don't leave crying, it was a good night", I dunno. There are so many mines just waiting to be stepped on, I can't see how to get through an entire night without making at least one mis-step, somewhere along the line.
There's a reason, I think, that the Christmas song "The St. Stephen's Day Murders' resonates with me so much.
Just got back from Christmas at my in-law's and a pleasant time was had by all. My young nephews (Thing 1 and Thing 2) were engaging all evening, polite and friendly, and at the end of the night they looked adorable in their Christmas pj's -- we took pictures, and I will post them when I get them emailed to me, as their mother promised she would. The Things are 2 and 5 this holiday season, a blond and a redhead, and were so busy with Grandma's presents of Thomas the Tank Engine that they never even noticed our boring ol' books and a DVD about airplanes. But I suspect that long after Thomas and his friends get sent to a rummage sale, Dr. Seuss, Mother Goose, and the Wizard of Oz will hang around. I baked up a storm for the adults (strawberry jam, pumpkin and zucchini bread and blueberry muffins, and 4 kinds of cookies) and Fish contributed some clothes for his brother (which bro changed right into, always a good sign!) and some of the little figurines that MIL and now sis collect. All the presents were well received and bro-in-law took the chance when everybody else was in the kitchen to thank me for baking all their stuff from scratch and ensuring that it was nut free -- Thing 1 has a big nut allergy --. Kind of made me wonder about the other people they know, hell, I suffer from allergies, I know what it's like. And it's no skin off my nose, some of the Company have environmental allergies, still others are allergic to citrus and most antibiotics, it's a way of life for me to accommodate. Not to mention me and all my allergies. Do unto others, remember?
Speaking of presents, we had all agreed to only give one present each per adult this year, but Mom-in-law cheated! In addition to giving Fish and I a $500 check (which we will use partly on new glasses for both of us but mostly on a 10'x12' canvas wall tent from these guys, Fall Creek Sutlery: http://fcsutler.com/fccanvas.asp -- the wall tents are about halfway down the page --), MIL also gave Fish his baby book, which I found fascinating (right up until I saw the piece of umbilical cord taped in there, yikes! What a thing to come upon!), and a pair of memorial poly ornaments with his father's birth and death dates and my father-in-law elect's birth and death dates inscribed. They're nicer than that, I just don't know how to describe them, having never seen anything like them before. Fish is more sentimental than most guys so we will hang these right on our tree. MIL is also growing an evergreen in a pot for us as a memorial to Ron, my FIL-elect (he died about 6 months before Fish and I actually had our wedding), and wants us to put this in our yard somewhere this spring. I do not know how I feel about this. For one, there's really no room. Pine trees get HUGE. For secondly, I don't know if I want *that* kind of a memorial in my yard. Ron's memory, at least, as far as I am concerned, does not need to be refreshed, if anything, it's still too painful to really fully embrace right now and the last thing I want is to have to look at it every day. Besides, he would have told her himself to choose something else. Well, maybe by this spring things will have changed, who knows.
I got a lovely bracelet with Connemara marble beads from my sis and bro in law, also a lovely, very classic pearl necklace from Fish. The pearls are fake, but they're damn good fakes, they have the heft and gleam etc of the real deal. The rope is also knotted between each pearl, a nice touch, I thought. It's very Jackie O, and I wholeheartedly agree with his choice. And MIL, in addition to everything else, gave us a KINDLE. She said it was for both of us, but I suspect that Fish will be the one who uses it most. I just have never been interested, having been a Luddite when it comes to new book technology. The old ways are perfectly fine with me, thank you very much! I admit to being suspicious about this new way to read books. But then again, I was suspicious of books on tape and still don't own a single audiobook. That's also because I am really not auditory and don't process auditory information at all, hardly, but still. Books are meant to be printed. On paper.
MIL also cooked dinner entirely on her own, deaf to any offers of help. She always does lobster tails and steak, but her inexperience with steak is obvious -- she's always let her husband do the meat -- and since I grew up with a father who believed (and still believes!) that it's a sin to cook dead cow any harder than 'medium' -- and who passed on his techniques to his daughter as well as his son -- well, I don't mean to be but I am a bit of a steak snob. Had there been steak sauce I would have eaten more of it. Next year I may offer, politely but firmly, to bring a Cesar salad. There wasn't a single blessed green thing on that table. The closest we got to a veggie was baked beans. And coleslaw. Not that I am complaining, necessarily, but after 72 straight hours of cookie baking, I was kind of sick of starchy carbs and some green beans or lettuce or peapods or carrots (or all of the above!) would not have gone amiss. Speaking of which, once I'm through writing this blog, I think I may rummage for some steamed green stuff in the freezer. Because it's 11:30pm, we ate at 6pm, and I frankly, am hungry.
I managed to be social most of the night although once dinner was over I was content to sit in the kitchen by myself and listen to Christmas music, but my MIL insisted that I join them in the living room, so, I did. After tomorrow, I am going to *bury* myself at home and not do a single thing that requires human interaction. I desperately need some alone time. Real alone time. Not alone-but-having-computer-conversations time. Not alone but with hubby in the same room time. Real, honest, *alone* time. It was very hard on my head having to make conversations with strangers for all those excruciating hours on the train. Then having to deal with the Chief Fool's friends, who may in time become my friends too, but for right now, are virtual strangers. Then going back across 3 states for 12 hours with the Fool in her car, with a cat. And then, having less than 36 hours at home before I had to go back and deal with the Fool's sister and mom . . . and the movers . . . oh, my, god . . . . and then 3 days of frantic Christmas prep, and then MORE socialization.
If I don't get some good, thorough alone time soon, I'm not sure what's going to happen. Tonight was good, better than I expected it to go.
Tomorrow, though . . . tomorrow will suck. And I think I will be glad of the chance to curl up in bed with my reassuring blankie (it helps when I feel stressed and vulnerable) by my side and just be me. Without anybody to perform for.
Oh, don't misunderstand. If the Fool needed me again, I'd do it all again without even thinking about which way to jump. That's the kind of relationship we have. But the aftermath -- let's just say it was bad timing. Which we knew, really, but there wasn't any other way.
Anyway, I am glad I had such a good Christmas with my in-laws, because I sure as hell won't have one tomorrow with my parents and brother. Even if I do assign my base criteria -- "If I don't leave crying, it was a good night", I dunno. There are so many mines just waiting to be stepped on, I can't see how to get through an entire night without making at least one mis-step, somewhere along the line.
There's a reason, I think, that the Christmas song "The St. Stephen's Day Murders' resonates with me so much.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
TFPCONT
Gentle Readers, bear with me. I am about to get philosophical.
Have any of you ever had a job somewhere in your murky pasts where in order to get through it you have to turn your brain off entirely otherwise you might wind up strangling the next person to come to you for help?
Or where what you do is the same thing for 8 hours, day after day? Luckily, my current money-earning endeavor allows me to deal with stupidity AND the same thing all at once. So, I've gotten into the habit of not thinking, of just turning my brain off and going with it.
I call this The Fluffy Pink Cloud of Non-Thought. You don't have to think on the cloud, you don't get bugged by somebody's random use of apostrophe's (see what I did there?) or the same damn question asked a bajillion times in a row, it's really kind of a happy protective non-space, where nothing much goes on in the brain and you can just get on with it.
But yesterday, Bob Hallett of Great Big Sea posted something on his Twitter -- a YouTube video -- and that video knocked me right off of my pink cloud and suddenly made my brain start working again. I found myself deep in the shadowy mists of geographical-social-cultural philosophy and also thinking about bullying, national self-esteem, and what's so wrong with being who you are that others would lampoon you on national television -- even when who you are is not bad at all.
A friend from Newfoundland (not Bob) tried to explain it to me. Apparently it's perfectly ok for Newfoundlanders (and all Canadians?) to make fun of themselves. It's even a whole separate genre over there. To me, I just cannot wrap my mind around this. I understand satire, but aside from Terry Pratchett, who is poignant, accurate, and occasionally brutal -- but never cruel -- satire really has never been my thing. I think this is mostly because it comes much too close to bullying and making fun to me, teasing somebody until they cry.
And call me a pollyanna, but I don't like humor that makes people laugh at somebody else's expense. That's not 'fun'.
I got really upset watching that video. There was very little about it that I found humorous, once I realized what it was making fun of.
And that's what dragged me off of my pretty pink cloud. I realized that I suddenly had to think and figure out why I was upset. And that led into a whole discussion about culture and humor and geography and even politics. I hadn't realized just how much time I was spending on my pink cloud until the video pushed me off, which, I suppose, was a good thing. Opting out of thinking is never good.
Have any of you ever had a job somewhere in your murky pasts where in order to get through it you have to turn your brain off entirely otherwise you might wind up strangling the next person to come to you for help?
Or where what you do is the same thing for 8 hours, day after day? Luckily, my current money-earning endeavor allows me to deal with stupidity AND the same thing all at once. So, I've gotten into the habit of not thinking, of just turning my brain off and going with it.
I call this The Fluffy Pink Cloud of Non-Thought. You don't have to think on the cloud, you don't get bugged by somebody's random use of apostrophe's (see what I did there?) or the same damn question asked a bajillion times in a row, it's really kind of a happy protective non-space, where nothing much goes on in the brain and you can just get on with it.
But yesterday, Bob Hallett of Great Big Sea posted something on his Twitter -- a YouTube video -- and that video knocked me right off of my pink cloud and suddenly made my brain start working again. I found myself deep in the shadowy mists of geographical-social-cultural philosophy and also thinking about bullying, national self-esteem, and what's so wrong with being who you are that others would lampoon you on national television -- even when who you are is not bad at all.
A friend from Newfoundland (not Bob) tried to explain it to me. Apparently it's perfectly ok for Newfoundlanders (and all Canadians?) to make fun of themselves. It's even a whole separate genre over there. To me, I just cannot wrap my mind around this. I understand satire, but aside from Terry Pratchett, who is poignant, accurate, and occasionally brutal -- but never cruel -- satire really has never been my thing. I think this is mostly because it comes much too close to bullying and making fun to me, teasing somebody until they cry.
And call me a pollyanna, but I don't like humor that makes people laugh at somebody else's expense. That's not 'fun'.
I got really upset watching that video. There was very little about it that I found humorous, once I realized what it was making fun of.
And that's what dragged me off of my pretty pink cloud. I realized that I suddenly had to think and figure out why I was upset. And that led into a whole discussion about culture and humor and geography and even politics. I hadn't realized just how much time I was spending on my pink cloud until the video pushed me off, which, I suppose, was a good thing. Opting out of thinking is never good.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Doing Dorky Things
Have you ever had a day, Gentle Readers, in which you can't seem to do anything right and you don't really do anything hideously wrong but you constantly make dumb, dorky mistakes?
That would be me. Today, yesterday, and the day before. I don't know whether it's my autism coming in to play, or my really screwed up sleep schedule or the fact that it's winter and our office, where I do my of my work and communication, is a balmy 40'F, but I have been doing some very stupid shit, pretty much continuously for a while.
It's getting to the point where I don't even want to risk stepping outside, lest I do something dumb and wind up getting an 3" diameter icicle in my brain. And I can't give you examples, Gentle Readers, because the dumbness is just too small to remember. But the effect is cumulative. Although I can tell you, Gentle Readers, that I have been losing things, knocking stuff over (like forks and knives), tripping over the dogs, not being able to get ANYWHERE on time -- and usually that's a problem but not a big problem. Well, lately, I've been getting to things an hour late. oops. I'm completely unfocused and my self-discipline has left the building.
I don't know what's going on, Gentle Readers, but I do not like this! I think it has something to do with my utter lack of a routine. My autistic brain needs a routine. And I haven't had one for a while, which always makes me uneasy.
In other news, one of my own Company of Fools has stretched her wings and done something on Saturday Dec 4th that she thought she could never do. And while she didn't have a 1000% roaring memorable, will-live-in-history success, she did pretty damn good for how new she is at doing it. Tessa Rack, #888, of the North Star Kilmore Girls, I salute you :) This was her first time doing it for real when it counted, instead of in practice where it doesn't count at all, and she acquitted herself nicely. It's been a real pleasure for me to see her grow as a person while participating in professional roller derby. If anybody took a picture of her doing great things, I will post it here, but it's still a bit too soon to expect photos.
And, I am finally beginning to understand how people have thousands of Facebook friends. I have recently found myself wanting to friend people whom I have met perhaps once or twice, people that I know well but whom I didn't think would be interested in my life (I am slowly starting to realize that FB isn't about real, *true* connections, so, it's probably ok if they don't want to know about the minutae, 'cause they can skim right over it) or people whom I have never met but admire for some reason, and people who I never thought in a million years would friend *me*, including some of those self-same people whom I have hardly exchanged more than social pleasantries with. Is this a sign of developing self-confidence? Or a new level of social awareness? Who knows? All I know is that it has taken 36 years to learn how to successfully cast the social fishing line, make the first move, and without Facebook and its ilk, I probably would still be socially functionally illiterate.
On the other hand, I would still greatly prefer to friend people on Facebook with whom I have at least breathed the same *air*. I know, my standard for personal contact is kind of low, haha, but I just can't see myself friending total strangers. There are two people of that sort in my FB friend's list right now: Vickie Lynn (who is part of Paranormal Radio, and we paranormal investigators are all sort of connected in a peer-to-peer way) and Con O'Brian, lead singer and heart and soul of the Newfoundland Irish Celtic music group The Irish Descendants, whose music I adore, purely and simply. Never met the guy. Have yet to exchange words, electronically or otherwise, with him! Though that could be because he's on a tour right now and barely has time to sleep or pee, let alone waste time chatting on FB.)
I am also FB friends with Bob Hallett of Great Big Sea and I *have* shared air with him, at quite close range, in fact. He and I have also exchanged electronic words, however brief and unhappy, and I hope one day to be able to exchange real live happy type words without me passing out through sheer nerves or opening my mouth and getting struck with OMG syndrome, ie: What You Think: "Hey, Mr. Hallett, it's nice to meet you, thanks for taking the time to meet me, I really admire your musicianship and I love your book, you've really inspired me over the past few years" but What You Say is: "Dur."
Right now I put Mr. Hallett firmly in the category of Internet Acquaintance And Possible Friend, Given Time.
There are other people, some of whom read this blog, whom I haven't met in person yet but we're friends, for all that. :) It's just a matter of time before we meet. But we already know we're friends, not just FB friends or Internet friends, but friends.
And there are some other people out there whom I have met and would like to be FB friends with, but I don't know their real names, so can't look them up on FB! I don't have their emails either.
My FB warm fuzzies counteract, a little, the whole Doing Dumb Stuff Days thing. In some ways I'm quite sensitive and getting defriended makes me panic. I get very unhappy. It's a total downward spiral. On the other hand, I have the same but opposite reaction when somebody accepts a friend request. And I have noticed that I react in the same over the top gleeful matter no matter who it is. I am democratic like that!
The Dumb Stuff is, I am afraid, frustrating my Dear Husband, who when I get like this can't understand where his smart, competent, manager went to, the one that takes care of the social calendar and reminds him of various things that has to happen and takes care of what he can't. That woman hasn't been around for a while and I think the strain is starting to show. Unfortunately, I don't know how to fix this, otherwise I would.
Any ideas?
That would be me. Today, yesterday, and the day before. I don't know whether it's my autism coming in to play, or my really screwed up sleep schedule or the fact that it's winter and our office, where I do my of my work and communication, is a balmy 40'F, but I have been doing some very stupid shit, pretty much continuously for a while.
It's getting to the point where I don't even want to risk stepping outside, lest I do something dumb and wind up getting an 3" diameter icicle in my brain. And I can't give you examples, Gentle Readers, because the dumbness is just too small to remember. But the effect is cumulative. Although I can tell you, Gentle Readers, that I have been losing things, knocking stuff over (like forks and knives), tripping over the dogs, not being able to get ANYWHERE on time -- and usually that's a problem but not a big problem. Well, lately, I've been getting to things an hour late. oops. I'm completely unfocused and my self-discipline has left the building.
I don't know what's going on, Gentle Readers, but I do not like this! I think it has something to do with my utter lack of a routine. My autistic brain needs a routine. And I haven't had one for a while, which always makes me uneasy.
In other news, one of my own Company of Fools has stretched her wings and done something on Saturday Dec 4th that she thought she could never do. And while she didn't have a 1000% roaring memorable, will-live-in-history success, she did pretty damn good for how new she is at doing it. Tessa Rack, #888, of the North Star Kilmore Girls, I salute you :) This was her first time doing it for real when it counted, instead of in practice where it doesn't count at all, and she acquitted herself nicely. It's been a real pleasure for me to see her grow as a person while participating in professional roller derby. If anybody took a picture of her doing great things, I will post it here, but it's still a bit too soon to expect photos.
And, I am finally beginning to understand how people have thousands of Facebook friends. I have recently found myself wanting to friend people whom I have met perhaps once or twice, people that I know well but whom I didn't think would be interested in my life (I am slowly starting to realize that FB isn't about real, *true* connections, so, it's probably ok if they don't want to know about the minutae, 'cause they can skim right over it) or people whom I have never met but admire for some reason, and people who I never thought in a million years would friend *me*, including some of those self-same people whom I have hardly exchanged more than social pleasantries with. Is this a sign of developing self-confidence? Or a new level of social awareness? Who knows? All I know is that it has taken 36 years to learn how to successfully cast the social fishing line, make the first move, and without Facebook and its ilk, I probably would still be socially functionally illiterate.
On the other hand, I would still greatly prefer to friend people on Facebook with whom I have at least breathed the same *air*. I know, my standard for personal contact is kind of low, haha, but I just can't see myself friending total strangers. There are two people of that sort in my FB friend's list right now: Vickie Lynn (who is part of Paranormal Radio, and we paranormal investigators are all sort of connected in a peer-to-peer way) and Con O'Brian, lead singer and heart and soul of the Newfoundland Irish Celtic music group The Irish Descendants, whose music I adore, purely and simply. Never met the guy. Have yet to exchange words, electronically or otherwise, with him! Though that could be because he's on a tour right now and barely has time to sleep or pee, let alone waste time chatting on FB.)
I am also FB friends with Bob Hallett of Great Big Sea and I *have* shared air with him, at quite close range, in fact. He and I have also exchanged electronic words, however brief and unhappy, and I hope one day to be able to exchange real live happy type words without me passing out through sheer nerves or opening my mouth and getting struck with OMG syndrome, ie: What You Think: "Hey, Mr. Hallett, it's nice to meet you, thanks for taking the time to meet me, I really admire your musicianship and I love your book, you've really inspired me over the past few years" but What You Say is: "Dur."
Right now I put Mr. Hallett firmly in the category of Internet Acquaintance And Possible Friend, Given Time.
There are other people, some of whom read this blog, whom I haven't met in person yet but we're friends, for all that. :) It's just a matter of time before we meet. But we already know we're friends, not just FB friends or Internet friends, but friends.
And there are some other people out there whom I have met and would like to be FB friends with, but I don't know their real names, so can't look them up on FB! I don't have their emails either.
My FB warm fuzzies counteract, a little, the whole Doing Dumb Stuff Days thing. In some ways I'm quite sensitive and getting defriended makes me panic. I get very unhappy. It's a total downward spiral. On the other hand, I have the same but opposite reaction when somebody accepts a friend request. And I have noticed that I react in the same over the top gleeful matter no matter who it is. I am democratic like that!
The Dumb Stuff is, I am afraid, frustrating my Dear Husband, who when I get like this can't understand where his smart, competent, manager went to, the one that takes care of the social calendar and reminds him of various things that has to happen and takes care of what he can't. That woman hasn't been around for a while and I think the strain is starting to show. Unfortunately, I don't know how to fix this, otherwise I would.
Any ideas?
Monday, November 29, 2010
Rosalie Has Arrived!
Calloo, callay, Gentle Readers, I chortle, for today is a frabjous day! I picked up my mandolin at the post office this morning, not being able to sleep the night before out of sheer excitement, and I thought, why wait for them to deliver it when the post office is a ten minute drive? So I called as soon as they were open, and sure enough, they had it and would keep it back for me to pick it up, which I did. And I am very glad I did, oh Readers, because if I hadn't, she would have had to stay outside in weather just above freezing, getting rained on and chilled. What a way to treat an instrument! By picking her up she never had to brave the elements, always a nice bonus.
I took my mandolin home and unwrapped her, and here she is! Let me introduce you to Rosalie (whose name, of course, I explained in a previous blog post. To give you a short recap, she is NOT named after the recent Great Big Sea song in which Rosalie features prominently. No. She is named after the red-headed cartoon hillbilly girl that was in a Bugs Bunny lo, these many years ago.)
That box she is in is her original Stagg box -- but the people I bought her from, who are in Missouri, had wrapped her in ANOTHER box, plus more shipping materials. It was totally a mandolin coffin. There was quite a lot of bubble wrap involved too, lol. I stripped all of that off, and snapped this pic. You can kind of see some of the packing material behind her headstock and the lid of the box. Don't worry, she's not really that red in real life, more of a nice chestnut color. I am already calling her 'my little redhead' -- more on that later!
This next snap is her sitting more or less upright (at a big angle, lol). Don't worry, those orange blotches are not actually on the finish, that is a reflection of the overhead light in the room! My camera's flash occasionally does some weird things. Now, those of you who have seen mandolins before may notice that Rosalie looks a little different. Your eyes are not deceiving you. She is in fact a left-handed instrument and unlike many if not most other current mandolins (or, for that matter, most stringed instruments, like my guitar!) she was specifically designed and built from the ground up as a left handed machine. And I can tell you already, being a specific instrument for a lefty has made all the difference. I have only learned 4 chords (in ten minutes!!!) but I assure you, she's not fighting me nor is she trying to be something she's not.
Here are some closeup shots, the first one is of her soundboard:
You can kind of see the scratches here and there, particularly on the pick guard, which I am not too happy about. Yes, she is a cheap mandolin and yes she was built in China (sigh) but there's no need for such sloppy work. She is brand new and I am the first person to play her. More on that later, too!
This is a closeup of her headstock. Yep, she's a Stagg, an M20 L to be precise. Rosalie came to me totally detuned (and then some!) so if you're wondering why all the tuners are flat, that's why. I did finally manage to get her in tune, but it took me a full 70 minutes. Yep, you read that right. SEVENTY continuous minutes.
And yes, those are cheap ass nasty strings. They sound like shit and they have no play whatsoever, they are dead, dead, dead. I'm going to get those changed asap, probably when I get her setup, which with luck will happen in the next week or so. She came to me completely innocent -- absolutely nothing had been done to her. I doubt she'd even been taken out of her Stagg box from the Chinese factory where she was made, ever. I have tuned the strings as best as can, all things considered, but I'm going to go get her properly set up soon. Right now, her action is a little high and as you go up and down the fretboard, her intonation is a tad wobbly. I believe a bridge adjustment will fix both issues.
She is laminate, unfortunately, even if her body is basswood entirely. Her neck is nato/mahogany and her bridge is maple. Her bridge is adjustable, thank God. She is completely acoustic and hasn't got anywhere for anything electric to get plugged in or installed . . .but somehow I don't think volume is going to be an issue, see below.
Sound wise Rosalie is not nearly as bad as I was led to believe that any mando under $1000 sounds. Hell, I only paid $99 for her (list was $150). That said, she is NOT the sort of mando a professional would want for a gig. She's not even the kind of mandolin a serious amateur or semi-pro would want or need. She is a student class mandolin. BUT. She's a whole lot better than she was described online. Yes, she's tinny, but not too badly. And she's a redhead, all right, there's not a drop of mellowness in her. She's bright, loud, and very out there -- I will never have to worry about not being heard in a session. On the other hand as she's being brought to life (out of the box, tuned, first chords played, etc) she is developing some decent undertones as well as a bit of bass and the classic sweet mandolin tone *is* there, even if you have to listen hard to hear it. Her sound is acceptable to me now, and after she's set up with some better strings, I'm sure she'll get better. I am also hoping that as she ages (as my guitar did, 8 years later) she'll start to chill out and grow into an adult voice. My guitar sounds fabulous now, having lost all of the "OMG I'm a rock star and I'm LOUD and BRIGHT LOOKIT ME" it had when I bought it, haha. I suspect that Rosalie was built in the last 12 months. She's really young sounding :)
Rosalie's a keeper, that's for sure. As I get better and start moving from 'totally new and learning to play' into 'playing for others and learning songs, not notes' I will definitely want to move up to a mando that is just, well . . . *better*. Solid body, for one thing. Higher quality materials -- and better craftmanship. A more mellow, sweeter, richer sound. And, because I am a girl and do, rarely, have girly moments, here's hoping I can find one that's a little bit, well, *pretty*. Rosalie is functional but she's sparsely decorated.
All in all, I am very pleased with my purchase and am now going to learn some beginner things about how to play this mandolin that I've bought. Practice makes perfect!
I took my mandolin home and unwrapped her, and here she is! Let me introduce you to Rosalie (whose name, of course, I explained in a previous blog post. To give you a short recap, she is NOT named after the recent Great Big Sea song in which Rosalie features prominently. No. She is named after the red-headed cartoon hillbilly girl that was in a Bugs Bunny lo, these many years ago.)
That box she is in is her original Stagg box -- but the people I bought her from, who are in Missouri, had wrapped her in ANOTHER box, plus more shipping materials. It was totally a mandolin coffin. There was quite a lot of bubble wrap involved too, lol. I stripped all of that off, and snapped this pic. You can kind of see some of the packing material behind her headstock and the lid of the box. Don't worry, she's not really that red in real life, more of a nice chestnut color. I am already calling her 'my little redhead' -- more on that later!
This next snap is her sitting more or less upright (at a big angle, lol). Don't worry, those orange blotches are not actually on the finish, that is a reflection of the overhead light in the room! My camera's flash occasionally does some weird things. Now, those of you who have seen mandolins before may notice that Rosalie looks a little different. Your eyes are not deceiving you. She is in fact a left-handed instrument and unlike many if not most other current mandolins (or, for that matter, most stringed instruments, like my guitar!) she was specifically designed and built from the ground up as a left handed machine. And I can tell you already, being a specific instrument for a lefty has made all the difference. I have only learned 4 chords (in ten minutes!!!) but I assure you, she's not fighting me nor is she trying to be something she's not.
Here are some closeup shots, the first one is of her soundboard:
You can kind of see the scratches here and there, particularly on the pick guard, which I am not too happy about. Yes, she is a cheap mandolin and yes she was built in China (sigh) but there's no need for such sloppy work. She is brand new and I am the first person to play her. More on that later, too!
This is a closeup of her headstock. Yep, she's a Stagg, an M20 L to be precise. Rosalie came to me totally detuned (and then some!) so if you're wondering why all the tuners are flat, that's why. I did finally manage to get her in tune, but it took me a full 70 minutes. Yep, you read that right. SEVENTY continuous minutes.
And yes, those are cheap ass nasty strings. They sound like shit and they have no play whatsoever, they are dead, dead, dead. I'm going to get those changed asap, probably when I get her setup, which with luck will happen in the next week or so. She came to me completely innocent -- absolutely nothing had been done to her. I doubt she'd even been taken out of her Stagg box from the Chinese factory where she was made, ever. I have tuned the strings as best as can, all things considered, but I'm going to go get her properly set up soon. Right now, her action is a little high and as you go up and down the fretboard, her intonation is a tad wobbly. I believe a bridge adjustment will fix both issues.
She is laminate, unfortunately, even if her body is basswood entirely. Her neck is nato/mahogany and her bridge is maple. Her bridge is adjustable, thank God. She is completely acoustic and hasn't got anywhere for anything electric to get plugged in or installed . . .but somehow I don't think volume is going to be an issue, see below.
Sound wise Rosalie is not nearly as bad as I was led to believe that any mando under $1000 sounds. Hell, I only paid $99 for her (list was $150). That said, she is NOT the sort of mando a professional would want for a gig. She's not even the kind of mandolin a serious amateur or semi-pro would want or need. She is a student class mandolin. BUT. She's a whole lot better than she was described online. Yes, she's tinny, but not too badly. And she's a redhead, all right, there's not a drop of mellowness in her. She's bright, loud, and very out there -- I will never have to worry about not being heard in a session. On the other hand as she's being brought to life (out of the box, tuned, first chords played, etc) she is developing some decent undertones as well as a bit of bass and the classic sweet mandolin tone *is* there, even if you have to listen hard to hear it. Her sound is acceptable to me now, and after she's set up with some better strings, I'm sure she'll get better. I am also hoping that as she ages (as my guitar did, 8 years later) she'll start to chill out and grow into an adult voice. My guitar sounds fabulous now, having lost all of the "OMG I'm a rock star and I'm LOUD and BRIGHT LOOKIT ME" it had when I bought it, haha. I suspect that Rosalie was built in the last 12 months. She's really young sounding :)
Rosalie's a keeper, that's for sure. As I get better and start moving from 'totally new and learning to play' into 'playing for others and learning songs, not notes' I will definitely want to move up to a mando that is just, well . . . *better*. Solid body, for one thing. Higher quality materials -- and better craftmanship. A more mellow, sweeter, richer sound. And, because I am a girl and do, rarely, have girly moments, here's hoping I can find one that's a little bit, well, *pretty*. Rosalie is functional but she's sparsely decorated.
All in all, I am very pleased with my purchase and am now going to learn some beginner things about how to play this mandolin that I've bought. Practice makes perfect!
Friday, November 26, 2010
This'n'That
My apologies, Gentle Readers, this is going to be a very stream-of-consciousness thing.
First up, YAY my mandolin has FINALLY shipped, they sent me the notice on We the 24th, which means that due to the holiday, and the weekend and so on, I will hopefully get it late next week, ie, Dec 1st-3rd, ideally. Since it's coming from Ebay, I am actually not sure where my mandolin is shipping from. The Ebay actual seller is a real musician, and their musician's shop says that they're based in Missouri. Well, all righty then. The only actual *store*, ie, retail supplier, I have ever found for this particular mandolin, however, is located in New York State, near the Hudson Valley (Adirondack Guitar, I believe their name is). So it could be coming from anywhere. All I know is that thankfully they are not using the United States Post Office to ship my instrument, thank goodness, although I haven't yet received a tracking # either like they said they would give me. I will wait until Monday, it being a holiday weekend, and then humbly ask my seller for one, since they said they would give me one. I believe they use Fedex and I hope that they package the mandolin well, I did NOT buy a case on Ebay for many reasons and Adirondack Guitar, well, let's just say that I can get the same case for about $20 less with FREE SHIPPING from the Music Center (dot com), which is even better than Amazon's pricing.
I am very excited about this. The chords etc for a mandolin are *much* easier than on my dreadnought guitar, the neck is smaller, and I believe that I will be able to more easily play specifically the 17th century dance music that I love, and that it will sound more historically correct too, which is always good. Yes, I am that dedicated to my hobby. Historic re-enacting gets inside of you in a way that is unlike many other (though not all) hobbies and eventually you become willing to spend inordinate amounts of money on your presentation, because you have fallen in love with living in a different time in history. Put it this way. I would never have thought about buying a mandolin, largely because I didn't think I could play it, until I picked up the guitar again and that happened not just because of Great Big Sea but also because at the same time, my living history group had a sudden deflux (outflux?) of very necessary musicians. I had to fill the gap, and so, the guitar, because it was what I had available. Then, I did my 17th century homework and realized a mandolin would much better suit, and my long-buried desire to learn some bluegrass also suddenly came to the fore, rather like some sort of emotional or physical breakthrough, in another context!
I already have a name for my mandolin too :) Those of you who are Great Big Sea fans reading this might think that I took the name from their recent song Have a Cuppa Tea, but I didn't. The name was inspired by a very vivid memory I have of a pretty red-headed hillbilly girl in a Warner Bros cartoon -- Rosalie. Speaking of which, if anybody knows the cartoon girl I am talking about and can find a picture of her or know which cartoon she's in, I would be eternally grateful. I could have sworn she was in Hill-Billy Hare, but apparently not.
I've recently been writing a fan fic with a friend and I have never tag-teamed my writing before, it's kind of fun. Although, given that she lives in another country we have to do it via a chat program and since the POV is currently in 1st person (for both characters, which makes it interesting) it's really more like a role play than writing a story. But I'm having fun with it.
I am still trying to figure out how to get to the gym and do the hours of ChaCha I need to do every day AND have time for music AND do this writing with my friend, and it's really not going very well. I haven't practiced my guitar for weeks and I've pretty much lost my calluses. I just can't figure out how to do everything. Since I work from home you 'd think it would be easier to do all of this (I mean, it's not like it's any more to do than a regular person has to do) but it's not.
and recently my sleep phase disorder has really been taking over and I have been sleeping from about 8am to about 4pm, which absolutely does NOT work for getting all the stuff that I mentioned in the prior paragraph accomplished.
I came home from Thanskgiving yesterday absolutely exhausted. I forced myself to do an hour of ChaCha and made another $4 (well under my daily necessary minimum but well . . . at least I'm $4 closer to my goal, right?) but I really needed to get some sleep, because I was falling asleep at the keyboard. What do you do when two priorities collide like that? The compromise of at least making SOME money seemed like the best solution. Thanksgiving with my family didn't go very well, hence the exhaustion, but I've detailed that in a Facebook note so perhaps you will hear my thoughts about it later, Gentle Readers, but not right now. I want some time to process it all.
At this point in time I would like to say that I find the concept of 'Black Friday' almost physically repulsive, and definitely emotionally vile. More on that later too.
This weekend is a time to party! Had Thanksgiving on the proper Thursday with my family, then a much happier celebration of two of my dear friend's birthdays on Black Friday evening (the only money this household spends on that date, by deliberate choice), on Saturday Hubby and I get to put up our Christmas decor both inside and out, and have our own Thanksgiving dinner, and then on Sunday of this weekend, we're all going over to my mother -in-laws -- self and Hubby, bro and sis in law and their two kids, and at least one more family friend -- for *their* Thanksgiving.
My holiday heartburn has started, precipitated by the massive doses of Aleve I had to take to deal with my back *last* weekend. Which went out because like a fool, I went back to the gym after being sick and promptly worked out WAY too hard. Which meant that I lost yet another week of workout time because I had to recover from that, sigh. I think I am finally back now, though, and I will just have to take it easier, knowing that a good low-key workout every day is still helping my body achieve our goals, as opposed to trying to jump right back in where I was 6 weeks ago.
Anyway, Rolaids no longer produces the lovely all-in-one that I usually use for these 6 weeks (from Thanksgiving to New Year's -- all that forced family togetherness plus trying to get extra $$ for Christmas presents plus being forced to be extra social on top of all the usual stuff . . . In a very specific way relating to family and social requirements, I HATE the holidays) so I suspect I will be spending a bit of extra moolah this year to buy all the separate components that used to be in the Rolaids. Oh well. I'd rather do that than stay up at nights (and mornings, and noonings) with heartburn, gas, and other associated stress-induced gastric upset.
Is this getting long? I should go back to bed. I have more to talk about, but I will do that this afternoon, I think.
First up, YAY my mandolin has FINALLY shipped, they sent me the notice on We the 24th, which means that due to the holiday, and the weekend and so on, I will hopefully get it late next week, ie, Dec 1st-3rd, ideally. Since it's coming from Ebay, I am actually not sure where my mandolin is shipping from. The Ebay actual seller is a real musician, and their musician's shop says that they're based in Missouri. Well, all righty then. The only actual *store*, ie, retail supplier, I have ever found for this particular mandolin, however, is located in New York State, near the Hudson Valley (Adirondack Guitar, I believe their name is). So it could be coming from anywhere. All I know is that thankfully they are not using the United States Post Office to ship my instrument, thank goodness, although I haven't yet received a tracking # either like they said they would give me. I will wait until Monday, it being a holiday weekend, and then humbly ask my seller for one, since they said they would give me one. I believe they use Fedex and I hope that they package the mandolin well, I did NOT buy a case on Ebay for many reasons and Adirondack Guitar, well, let's just say that I can get the same case for about $20 less with FREE SHIPPING from the Music Center (dot com), which is even better than Amazon's pricing.
I am very excited about this. The chords etc for a mandolin are *much* easier than on my dreadnought guitar, the neck is smaller, and I believe that I will be able to more easily play specifically the 17th century dance music that I love, and that it will sound more historically correct too, which is always good. Yes, I am that dedicated to my hobby. Historic re-enacting gets inside of you in a way that is unlike many other (though not all) hobbies and eventually you become willing to spend inordinate amounts of money on your presentation, because you have fallen in love with living in a different time in history. Put it this way. I would never have thought about buying a mandolin, largely because I didn't think I could play it, until I picked up the guitar again and that happened not just because of Great Big Sea but also because at the same time, my living history group had a sudden deflux (outflux?) of very necessary musicians. I had to fill the gap, and so, the guitar, because it was what I had available. Then, I did my 17th century homework and realized a mandolin would much better suit, and my long-buried desire to learn some bluegrass also suddenly came to the fore, rather like some sort of emotional or physical breakthrough, in another context!
I already have a name for my mandolin too :) Those of you who are Great Big Sea fans reading this might think that I took the name from their recent song Have a Cuppa Tea, but I didn't. The name was inspired by a very vivid memory I have of a pretty red-headed hillbilly girl in a Warner Bros cartoon -- Rosalie. Speaking of which, if anybody knows the cartoon girl I am talking about and can find a picture of her or know which cartoon she's in, I would be eternally grateful. I could have sworn she was in Hill-Billy Hare, but apparently not.
I've recently been writing a fan fic with a friend and I have never tag-teamed my writing before, it's kind of fun. Although, given that she lives in another country we have to do it via a chat program and since the POV is currently in 1st person (for both characters, which makes it interesting) it's really more like a role play than writing a story. But I'm having fun with it.
I am still trying to figure out how to get to the gym and do the hours of ChaCha I need to do every day AND have time for music AND do this writing with my friend, and it's really not going very well. I haven't practiced my guitar for weeks and I've pretty much lost my calluses. I just can't figure out how to do everything. Since I work from home you 'd think it would be easier to do all of this (I mean, it's not like it's any more to do than a regular person has to do) but it's not.
and recently my sleep phase disorder has really been taking over and I have been sleeping from about 8am to about 4pm, which absolutely does NOT work for getting all the stuff that I mentioned in the prior paragraph accomplished.
I came home from Thanskgiving yesterday absolutely exhausted. I forced myself to do an hour of ChaCha and made another $4 (well under my daily necessary minimum but well . . . at least I'm $4 closer to my goal, right?) but I really needed to get some sleep, because I was falling asleep at the keyboard. What do you do when two priorities collide like that? The compromise of at least making SOME money seemed like the best solution. Thanksgiving with my family didn't go very well, hence the exhaustion, but I've detailed that in a Facebook note so perhaps you will hear my thoughts about it later, Gentle Readers, but not right now. I want some time to process it all.
At this point in time I would like to say that I find the concept of 'Black Friday' almost physically repulsive, and definitely emotionally vile. More on that later too.
This weekend is a time to party! Had Thanksgiving on the proper Thursday with my family, then a much happier celebration of two of my dear friend's birthdays on Black Friday evening (the only money this household spends on that date, by deliberate choice), on Saturday Hubby and I get to put up our Christmas decor both inside and out, and have our own Thanksgiving dinner, and then on Sunday of this weekend, we're all going over to my mother -in-laws -- self and Hubby, bro and sis in law and their two kids, and at least one more family friend -- for *their* Thanksgiving.
My holiday heartburn has started, precipitated by the massive doses of Aleve I had to take to deal with my back *last* weekend. Which went out because like a fool, I went back to the gym after being sick and promptly worked out WAY too hard. Which meant that I lost yet another week of workout time because I had to recover from that, sigh. I think I am finally back now, though, and I will just have to take it easier, knowing that a good low-key workout every day is still helping my body achieve our goals, as opposed to trying to jump right back in where I was 6 weeks ago.
Anyway, Rolaids no longer produces the lovely all-in-one that I usually use for these 6 weeks (from Thanksgiving to New Year's -- all that forced family togetherness plus trying to get extra $$ for Christmas presents plus being forced to be extra social on top of all the usual stuff . . . In a very specific way relating to family and social requirements, I HATE the holidays) so I suspect I will be spending a bit of extra moolah this year to buy all the separate components that used to be in the Rolaids. Oh well. I'd rather do that than stay up at nights (and mornings, and noonings) with heartburn, gas, and other associated stress-induced gastric upset.
Is this getting long? I should go back to bed. I have more to talk about, but I will do that this afternoon, I think.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
My Rules For My Actors, or, The Shit I Put Up With.
(Gentle Readers, today I wanted to write a post about how our freedoms are being eroded by the TSA, in particular, the freedom to NOT get molested before every air flight, but it's not coming together and anyway, I am not in a rant-and-roar sort of mood. Instead, you're going to get a hopefully more fun post.)
Since I've been a stage manager for 20 years now, or thereabouts anyway, I decided that I would compile a list of the Stuff I Want To See Happen when I am stage managing. Without further ado (and very little editing), here it is.
1) Pick up your own shit. What are you, 3 years old? In particular, throw away your nasty used Kleenex and makeup sponges, do you know how many germs *I* can get when I have to touch your manky crap? Throw it away, please, in the receptacles provided.
2) Don't lose your shit. Because when you lose your shit, you freak out, which makes everybody else freak out, which means that my job suddenly becomes less about getting the show on its legs and more about keeping everybody from suddenly having emotional issues. Not only that, but when I have to spend an extra hour in the theatre after everybody else has gone home, looking for your shit, I miss the party and get less sleep for tomorrow's show, which will not endear me to you.
3) Don't talk shit. I believe in open, painfully honest communication. If you try to go all passive-aggressive on me, I will sling it right back at you, except that I'll lose the 'passive' part first. Just tell me what you frickin' want, I don't have all day to stand around trying to translate your needs, particularly when there are 40 other people standing in line behind you.
4) Don't make shit up. If you're late for your call because you have the world's biggest hangover since 1923, let me know so that I can prepare you a raw egg, coffee, tabasco and Worchestershire sauce smoothie. If you can't make your call because you just got into a car accident, let me know so I can send somebody to go get you and bring you to the show. Or, alternatively, so that I can inform your understudy. DO NOT SAY 'Oh, I'll be there in 10 minutes'. That doesn't help. The only exception is if you really are going to show up in ten minutes. And I have a stopwatch, so I will know.
5) Tell me about your shit. If you're having a bad day, if you've got the mother of all colds, if your grandmother just died, please, let me know. It's my job to make sure your life during this show is as easy as possible so that you can do your job to the best of your ability without interruption. If you need a bit of a shoulder to cry on or somebody to listen while you have a cathartic rage moment, or a neddy pot and sea salt standing by every time you come off stage, that's what I'm there for.But you know what? I can't do all of that if you don't clue me in. So talk to me. Open your yap and tell me what's going on. I might not be your Facebook friend.
6) Don't leave shit backstage that's not supposed to be there. Other people besides you live back there. This is their world too, respect it. This includes ALL of your props (they have a home at the props table, make sure they get back there!!) cigarettes (lit, previously smoked, and unused), used and new cough drops, chewing gum (again, used or not) and condoms (yes, in any condition). This also includes purses, articles of clothing, books, car keys, cell phones, and other technological items. And speaking of technology . . .
7) Turn your shit off. This wasn't a problem back in the early 90's and previous decades but it is now. If you've got a laptop, put it in sleep mode. If you've got an Ipod, turn it off or mute the volume. If you've got a cell phone, put it on vibrate or leave it off all together, and if you're a doctor or lawyer or are otherwise on call, give the blasted thing to me so that *I* can keep a watch on it, because I guarantee you I will be better at that than you will tonight. I can run messages, and you can't, for example.
8) If you insist on wearing expensive shit to the theatre, like jewelry, give it to me while you are onstage. The stage manager's booth is locked, and I'm the only person that goes in there. There are thieves out there that specialize in getting backstage during a show in order to rob people blind of wallets and jewelry (wedding rings in particular tend to walk away). If you don't feel comfortable leaving your stuff backstage, I can take it. I have a box in the booth for this purpose. I will give your shit back to you at the end of the night.
9) Leave your shit at home. This rule is meant mostly for your emotional crap, although I'm pretty sure that I don't want to see your actual luggage either, particularly not if the dressing room is tiny and you have to share it. If you've done your best, and you just can't leave it outside of the theatre, see Rule #5. Please don't try to do your job when your shit has got you in its grip. At best, it's a distraction, and at worst, its an actual physical liability.
10) If I tell you to do shit, do it. Please don't bug me about it, whine, or snarl about what a bitch I am behind my back. Your director is counting on me to turn whatever vision he has that will make you look great into your reality. So please, when I give you a note, don't argue with me. When I ask you to do something, just do it. And don't do the classic little kid ploy of dividing and conquering. I am the director's mouthpiece, I say nothing that hasn't previously gotten approved by him or her. I do nothing without prior approval. I can't even think thoughts that deviate from the plan, for the duration of the show. It's not my opinion coming out of my mouth, it's the director's. Really. If you go to your director, complaining about what I told you, the chances are good that the reply you'll get is 'No, she's right, do what she says'. So save us all the time, because it is a precious commodity, and accept what I'm telling you as the truth. Ok?
Since I've been a stage manager for 20 years now, or thereabouts anyway, I decided that I would compile a list of the Stuff I Want To See Happen when I am stage managing. Without further ado (and very little editing), here it is.
1) Pick up your own shit. What are you, 3 years old? In particular, throw away your nasty used Kleenex and makeup sponges, do you know how many germs *I* can get when I have to touch your manky crap? Throw it away, please, in the receptacles provided.
2) Don't lose your shit. Because when you lose your shit, you freak out, which makes everybody else freak out, which means that my job suddenly becomes less about getting the show on its legs and more about keeping everybody from suddenly having emotional issues. Not only that, but when I have to spend an extra hour in the theatre after everybody else has gone home, looking for your shit, I miss the party and get less sleep for tomorrow's show, which will not endear me to you.
3) Don't talk shit. I believe in open, painfully honest communication. If you try to go all passive-aggressive on me, I will sling it right back at you, except that I'll lose the 'passive' part first. Just tell me what you frickin' want, I don't have all day to stand around trying to translate your needs, particularly when there are 40 other people standing in line behind you.
4) Don't make shit up. If you're late for your call because you have the world's biggest hangover since 1923, let me know so that I can prepare you a raw egg, coffee, tabasco and Worchestershire sauce smoothie. If you can't make your call because you just got into a car accident, let me know so I can send somebody to go get you and bring you to the show. Or, alternatively, so that I can inform your understudy. DO NOT SAY 'Oh, I'll be there in 10 minutes'. That doesn't help. The only exception is if you really are going to show up in ten minutes. And I have a stopwatch, so I will know.
5) Tell me about your shit. If you're having a bad day, if you've got the mother of all colds, if your grandmother just died, please, let me know. It's my job to make sure your life during this show is as easy as possible so that you can do your job to the best of your ability without interruption. If you need a bit of a shoulder to cry on or somebody to listen while you have a cathartic rage moment, or a neddy pot and sea salt standing by every time you come off stage, that's what I'm there for.But you know what? I can't do all of that if you don't clue me in. So talk to me. Open your yap and tell me what's going on. I might not be your Facebook friend.
6) Don't leave shit backstage that's not supposed to be there. Other people besides you live back there. This is their world too, respect it. This includes ALL of your props (they have a home at the props table, make sure they get back there!!) cigarettes (lit, previously smoked, and unused), used and new cough drops, chewing gum (again, used or not) and condoms (yes, in any condition). This also includes purses, articles of clothing, books, car keys, cell phones, and other technological items. And speaking of technology . . .
7) Turn your shit off. This wasn't a problem back in the early 90's and previous decades but it is now. If you've got a laptop, put it in sleep mode. If you've got an Ipod, turn it off or mute the volume. If you've got a cell phone, put it on vibrate or leave it off all together, and if you're a doctor or lawyer or are otherwise on call, give the blasted thing to me so that *I* can keep a watch on it, because I guarantee you I will be better at that than you will tonight. I can run messages, and you can't, for example.
8) If you insist on wearing expensive shit to the theatre, like jewelry, give it to me while you are onstage. The stage manager's booth is locked, and I'm the only person that goes in there. There are thieves out there that specialize in getting backstage during a show in order to rob people blind of wallets and jewelry (wedding rings in particular tend to walk away). If you don't feel comfortable leaving your stuff backstage, I can take it. I have a box in the booth for this purpose. I will give your shit back to you at the end of the night.
9) Leave your shit at home. This rule is meant mostly for your emotional crap, although I'm pretty sure that I don't want to see your actual luggage either, particularly not if the dressing room is tiny and you have to share it. If you've done your best, and you just can't leave it outside of the theatre, see Rule #5. Please don't try to do your job when your shit has got you in its grip. At best, it's a distraction, and at worst, its an actual physical liability.
10) If I tell you to do shit, do it. Please don't bug me about it, whine, or snarl about what a bitch I am behind my back. Your director is counting on me to turn whatever vision he has that will make you look great into your reality. So please, when I give you a note, don't argue with me. When I ask you to do something, just do it. And don't do the classic little kid ploy of dividing and conquering. I am the director's mouthpiece, I say nothing that hasn't previously gotten approved by him or her. I do nothing without prior approval. I can't even think thoughts that deviate from the plan, for the duration of the show. It's not my opinion coming out of my mouth, it's the director's. Really. If you go to your director, complaining about what I told you, the chances are good that the reply you'll get is 'No, she's right, do what she says'. So save us all the time, because it is a precious commodity, and accept what I'm telling you as the truth. Ok?
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Spending Money
Yes, Gentle Readers, I am procrastinating going to bed. But I have news!
I bought my mandolin today! Go me. I also bought a hard drive for my laptop, which means no more cold noses and feet and fingers when I try to work in our office. Fish doesn't seem to mind the cold, but me? FREEZING.
This also means that I will be able to practice my instruments in the warm living room instead of here in the office, because I will be able to find my websites and so on with the laptop. No more cold winters. I am thrilled :)
I am so sorry you haven't heard from me in a while, Gentle Readers, it has taken me this long to recover from the Newfoundland Special cold.
I promise to keep writing as soon as something interesting happens in my life!
I bought my mandolin today! Go me. I also bought a hard drive for my laptop, which means no more cold noses and feet and fingers when I try to work in our office. Fish doesn't seem to mind the cold, but me? FREEZING.
This also means that I will be able to practice my instruments in the warm living room instead of here in the office, because I will be able to find my websites and so on with the laptop. No more cold winters. I am thrilled :)
I am so sorry you haven't heard from me in a while, Gentle Readers, it has taken me this long to recover from the Newfoundland Special cold.
I promise to keep writing as soon as something interesting happens in my life!
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
And, Suddenly . . .
Gentle Readers, one of my friends from the RenFest, Dave, a lovely person, used to have this as his email signature line: "Living with God's timing -- 'and, suddenly . . . ' and that's really how I feel right now.
24 hours ago life was good. Boring, predictable, but good. Nobody was hurt. Nobody was getting stoned. I wasn't required to spend emergency money.
That has all changed. Friend got hit by a car (but luckily, since the idiot car driver wasn't going fast, only bruises) as he was on his bicycle coming home from work, another friend is deliberately getting very drunk because she has tried her best for 2 years to help an anorexic and bulimic manic depressive teenager with cerebral palsy (yes, really) and was making no progress, now, finally, the teenager is in "professional hands", whatever that means, and my friend is getting drunk on the strength of it . . . I have no idea if this is a celebratory drunk or a trying-to-forget drunk, and I get to spend a lot of money tomorrow, but not really in a good way.
Remember my post about the hard drive and the laptop? Yeah, I get to do that tomorrow. I am letting the professionals deal with it. I only hope they don't take one look at me and try to gouge me to death.
Then I get to go to Target and spend lots of money on the meds that are keeping me alive, namely, my asthma meds and birth control. The BCP I take continuously due to the need for emotional regulation of my hormones, and the asthma meds, well . . . I like to breathe. Breathing is good, even if it is almost $100 a month in co-pays alone.
And finally, I get to spend hours at the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles, for you non Minnesotans) to get a duplicate driver's license, because as we all remember mine got snatched -- on a weekend -- 24 hours before I was billed to leave on an Amtrak for Michigan. Why am I just getting to it now? 'Cause I have been too sick to leave the house since the Great Big Sea concerts and the Shantyman's germs.
This is not how I wanted to spend the first day out of the house in almost 3 weeks. It's going to be a very long day, made longer by the fact that the people in my re-enactment group are now looking at me expectantly at every dance practice. I am not good enough yet. And yet, their expectations are insanely high. This is not Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. This is dance music from the 1600's, with wierd time signatures and odd keys and chords that switch every second, literally ('cause it's bouncy, fast paced dance music, not slow courtly pavanes), and it's just plain difficult. I have only been playing the guitar since mid August and people are starting to look at me like 'Oh, come ON, don't you know it YET?" NO, I haven't got it yet, it's only been 12 weeks, give me a break! If I'd been taking lessons we *might* have been up to Jingle Bells by now! Not fiendishly difficult dance music that I have never seen before, even if I have heard it for years. I don't even know what some of the chords are yet, much less am able to play them.
Sheesh. And dance practice is the end cap to my delightful sleep deprived, standing-in-line, fighting rush hour traffic day. Did I mention I have to go grocery shopping too? Yeah. And all of this has dropped in my lap in the last 12 hours. I can feel a headache starting above my bad eye. :(
24 hours ago life was good. Boring, predictable, but good. Nobody was hurt. Nobody was getting stoned. I wasn't required to spend emergency money.
That has all changed. Friend got hit by a car (but luckily, since the idiot car driver wasn't going fast, only bruises) as he was on his bicycle coming home from work, another friend is deliberately getting very drunk because she has tried her best for 2 years to help an anorexic and bulimic manic depressive teenager with cerebral palsy (yes, really) and was making no progress, now, finally, the teenager is in "professional hands", whatever that means, and my friend is getting drunk on the strength of it . . . I have no idea if this is a celebratory drunk or a trying-to-forget drunk, and I get to spend a lot of money tomorrow, but not really in a good way.
Remember my post about the hard drive and the laptop? Yeah, I get to do that tomorrow. I am letting the professionals deal with it. I only hope they don't take one look at me and try to gouge me to death.
Then I get to go to Target and spend lots of money on the meds that are keeping me alive, namely, my asthma meds and birth control. The BCP I take continuously due to the need for emotional regulation of my hormones, and the asthma meds, well . . . I like to breathe. Breathing is good, even if it is almost $100 a month in co-pays alone.
And finally, I get to spend hours at the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles, for you non Minnesotans) to get a duplicate driver's license, because as we all remember mine got snatched -- on a weekend -- 24 hours before I was billed to leave on an Amtrak for Michigan. Why am I just getting to it now? 'Cause I have been too sick to leave the house since the Great Big Sea concerts and the Shantyman's germs.
This is not how I wanted to spend the first day out of the house in almost 3 weeks. It's going to be a very long day, made longer by the fact that the people in my re-enactment group are now looking at me expectantly at every dance practice. I am not good enough yet. And yet, their expectations are insanely high. This is not Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. This is dance music from the 1600's, with wierd time signatures and odd keys and chords that switch every second, literally ('cause it's bouncy, fast paced dance music, not slow courtly pavanes), and it's just plain difficult. I have only been playing the guitar since mid August and people are starting to look at me like 'Oh, come ON, don't you know it YET?" NO, I haven't got it yet, it's only been 12 weeks, give me a break! If I'd been taking lessons we *might* have been up to Jingle Bells by now! Not fiendishly difficult dance music that I have never seen before, even if I have heard it for years. I don't even know what some of the chords are yet, much less am able to play them.
Sheesh. And dance practice is the end cap to my delightful sleep deprived, standing-in-line, fighting rush hour traffic day. Did I mention I have to go grocery shopping too? Yeah. And all of this has dropped in my lap in the last 12 hours. I can feel a headache starting above my bad eye. :(
Technology is Making Me Stupid
Yes, Gentle Readers, it's so. When it comes to technology, I am functionally illiterate. And this was illustrated to me as recently as this evening when my husband, Fish, and I tried to put the new hard drive (that I bought from Ebay, which I am still SURE is the right sort) into the new-to-me laptop.
It didn't work. I am still laptop-less. There is a picture on the top of the drive that suggests that this particular drive needs connection cables. Information recived via the 'Net says that we were trying to put it in the wrong space, as there ought to be a little metal sort of exoskeleton that the drive fits into, and that I haven't got. And didn't see.
*sigh*
Am I missing parts? Did we really try to put the hard drive somewhere where it doesn't belong? Do I really need connector cables? I don't have the answers to any of these questions.
This is why I am going to the Computer God store tomorrow (NOT Best Buy, for those of you who are wondering, there's a lovely independent computer parts and repair shop nearby that will help) and will willingly pay somebody else to get this blasted hard drive installed properly in the laptop.
Because I am a technological idiot.
It didn't work. I am still laptop-less. There is a picture on the top of the drive that suggests that this particular drive needs connection cables. Information recived via the 'Net says that we were trying to put it in the wrong space, as there ought to be a little metal sort of exoskeleton that the drive fits into, and that I haven't got. And didn't see.
*sigh*
Am I missing parts? Did we really try to put the hard drive somewhere where it doesn't belong? Do I really need connector cables? I don't have the answers to any of these questions.
This is why I am going to the Computer God store tomorrow (NOT Best Buy, for those of you who are wondering, there's a lovely independent computer parts and repair shop nearby that will help) and will willingly pay somebody else to get this blasted hard drive installed properly in the laptop.
Because I am a technological idiot.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
F is Dead
Well, Gentle Readers, I have just confirmed it. Despite what I wrote on Sean McCann's blog, where I am known as Whitewater, about the power of Yes and moving from can't to can, I am afraid I have found something I cannot do. And not for lack of trying, by the way!
But it is impossible, at least, I'm pretty sure it is. I have tried a number of different methods and I run into the same problem.
I cannot play an open F major chord on my acoustic dreadnought guitar. Please note how specific I am, when I say this. For all I know, maybe a 3/4 classical guitar or an electric guitar would work just fine. I am hoping that a mandolin's chords will be different enough for me to do it on that.
But on Babe? Forget it.
The trouble I'm having is that my hand and fingers simply aren't big/long enough to barre the 1st fret, as required, while *also* pressing the individual strings. I can barre the frets. I can do the individual strings. But I can't do that all at the same time. My right hand just isn't big enough.
Every time I barre *and* go for the other strings, I lose the barre. The more strings I try to get to, the more I have to stretch. And the more I stretch, the more my first finger slips. It's an ergonomic thing, based on the way fingers just naturally work.
If anybody out there has had this problem and knows how to solve it, feel free to comment. There's a lot of music that I won't be able to play on the guitar if I can't get this straightened out.
But it is impossible, at least, I'm pretty sure it is. I have tried a number of different methods and I run into the same problem.
I cannot play an open F major chord on my acoustic dreadnought guitar. Please note how specific I am, when I say this. For all I know, maybe a 3/4 classical guitar or an electric guitar would work just fine. I am hoping that a mandolin's chords will be different enough for me to do it on that.
But on Babe? Forget it.
The trouble I'm having is that my hand and fingers simply aren't big/long enough to barre the 1st fret, as required, while *also* pressing the individual strings. I can barre the frets. I can do the individual strings. But I can't do that all at the same time. My right hand just isn't big enough.
Every time I barre *and* go for the other strings, I lose the barre. The more strings I try to get to, the more I have to stretch. And the more I stretch, the more my first finger slips. It's an ergonomic thing, based on the way fingers just naturally work.
If anybody out there has had this problem and knows how to solve it, feel free to comment. There's a lot of music that I won't be able to play on the guitar if I can't get this straightened out.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Musings on Mandolins
So, Gentle Readers, I have decided. The time is now. I'm not getting any younger. It is time to pick up an instrument that I have always loved and always wanted to learn how to play -- the mandolin.
Yes, I'm going to buy a mandolin. This mandolin, to be precise: http://adirondackguitar.com/lefty/stagg/m20.htm -- now, please no comments on how terrible this thing is. I know it sucks. And I'm buying it anyway! That's what a $150 mandolin is for. It's a student instrument, designed specifically to get your feet wet. Nevertheless, I have read review after review in which people say they are stunned and surprised at how good this Stagg sounds, despite the cost and the cheap materials. And if it is as good as all that, I can use it as a cheap beater that can handle going to historic outdoor, all weather re-enactment camps . . . and I will also need something to play and learn on while I save up for this one, the mandolin that I have fallen in love with: http://adirondackguitar.com/lefty/morgan_monroe/mmr_1.htm
Please note the price differential. $1100 vs. $150. And the exceeding long list of materials and Stuff To Note with the Morgan Monroe mando, lol! (also the fact that this Morgan Monroe is also more money than a single one of my mortgage payments . . .)
Now, of course, the question on everybody's mind is, I'm sure, why a mandolin? Why two mandolins? And aren't you happy with your whistles and your guitar? Well . . . here are the answers that I've come up with.
A) I have loved the mandolin ever since I first heard it when I was a kid. But people have told me, also since I was a kid, that I would never be able to play stringed instruments. Obviously they were wrong, since I am learning the guitar just fine. What else were they wrong about? I admit it, I'm curious now! I love mandolin tunes, and bluegrass music, and Celtic music with a mandolin in the arrangements. Why not make a relatively cheap investment and see if I can play it? If I can, great, time to move up. If it turns out that I can't, well, at least I tried.
The other consideration is that a mandolin is more likely to be found in my historic re-enactor camp than a guitar. Back in the 17th century, guitars were for nobles, and not just any nobles, but wealthy ones. The Top of the Heap. They were rare, wildly expensive instruments. And they ALL looked like 3/4 parlor or classical guitars, not the modern full sized rock-and-roll dreadnought -- which is what I have.
My re-enactor group strives to be as historically accurate as possible, from what we wear to how we look, and I agree with that entirely. There is no point, so far as I'm concerned, to re-enacting history (real, actual, in the past history, not RenFaire type history) if you can't find the truth of it, whatever that truth happens to be. And the truth of the matter is that my regiment is made up mostly of dirt poor Scottish Highlanders, with the occasional middle or lower class Lowlander, Irishman, German, Swede, or Englishman in the mix. And nobody, but nobody, is wealthy enough to own a guitar. Not even the officers, who typically come from better backgrounds. Certainly neither of my characters! I've been getting away with it this past season because one of my characters owns a pawn shop, and she's been able to have a lot of stuff that the rest of the regiment wouldn't, everything from ready cash to pocket watches, to glasses, from pewter plates to silk skirts. And a guitar. All out of the pawn shop inventory! Her character helps bring balance to the Force, as it were, 'cause it helps our patrons see a well-rounded camp, not just the poor side of life. But I'd like to have something to play that doesn't look quite as modern as my blue acoustic dreadnought 6-string.
B) Yes, I love my guitar. The only way you're getting Babe away from me is to pry him out of my cold dead hands. I fully intend to keep learning, and keep practicing, and even, perhaps, join sessions at pubs and so on, to play modern music, and to do and learn everything that I can't do in the 17th century. I am female. And I rock. Well, I am going to rock, in the future :) I'm not going to give that up. And hey, I even rock left-handed, nothing like getting the whole 'wierd' trifecta :)
But since I started to learn to play, the question that's been rolling around in my head is, why limit myself to one instrument? Sure, I play the tin whistle, but I don't care enough about it to ever really be a great whistle player. Anyway, simply because of my asthma, woodwinds are never going to be my best instrument. But I love the mandolin. I love the sound of chop chords. I love all those strings, and I want to learn *why* they're all crammed on there. I love the look of a mandolin. I love its beautiful, sweet sound. And I want to expand my musical repertoire. Why limit myself? Why not play ALL the instruments that I love? I mean, The Chief Fool plays guitar and piano, and she's recently begun to show some interest in the mandolin too . . . another friend of mine plays the guitar and the mandolin. One of my musical heroes plays literally a dozen different instruments, or more. I know whole bands who have 4 or 5 people and 20 instruments! Why stick with one? Other people do it, so, why not?
C) why two? Because apparently, or so I have learned in my mandolin theory studies, what a mandolin is made of and how it is made really DOES make that big of a difference. Mandolins are apparently significantly less forgiving than other wooden instruments, like guitars, when it comes to how they're put together. Craftsmanship and the right materials really do determine the playability and the sound. Since I (eventually, given that I can actually play the cheapie) want the best mandolin I can get, that means paying for it. It's not like my guitar, which was only $500 and yet sounds just as good, almost, as some of the $2500 + guitars out there. (And can I just go off on a tangent here and say that I am continually, truly amazed at just HOW good my guitar's sound is? It matches perfectly with a custom $3200 guitar, for example, and holds its own in any folk recording. Any. And I only paid $500!!!)
Adirondack Guitar, the independent music shop where I found these lefty instruments, has a layaway program, which I am seriously considering. 20% down, then weekly or monthly payments. No interest. Gotta save for a canvas wall tent first, though, gotta have someplace to stay when re-enacting! However, the wall tent and all its accoutrements is a grand total of $375, so that shouldn't take too long. Given what I can put towards it every month, the timing should work out quite nicely.
As of this moment, the plan is to save this winter and summer for the tent, to have it by mid August of 2011. Then, put the deposit down for the Morgan Monroe in Sept of 2011, and finish paying for it over the next 12 months, and finally have it shipped to me in Sept. of 2012. That's about right, anyway, in terms of being a beginner at the mandolin, and not knowing enough etc to even make it necessary to have a good one for a while. I think a year to pay down the layaway is a reasonable time frame. And certainly, spending a year with my Stagg will give me the time I need to establish whether or not I will even need a good mando in the future.
In theory, I will have the basic beginner's Stagg instrument itself by (or around) Christmas of 2010, yes, this Christmas, in a few weeks. Straps and tuners and so on will come later. And I can find basic left-hand instructions on line, I've already looked. I am also in the process of finding a good luthier to 'set up' my Stagg, apparently this one really needs it in order to sound at all decent.I suppose I could do it myself, learn a bit of basic luthier skills, and save myself some money. There are instructions for that too, online! And I'd rather learn how to do it on a cheap instrument, rather than one that's more than a house payment.
I am excited about this. It just goes to show, one of the benefits of choosing 'can' over 'can't'.
Yes, I'm going to buy a mandolin. This mandolin, to be precise: http://adirondackguitar.com/lefty/stagg/m20.htm -- now, please no comments on how terrible this thing is. I know it sucks. And I'm buying it anyway! That's what a $150 mandolin is for. It's a student instrument, designed specifically to get your feet wet. Nevertheless, I have read review after review in which people say they are stunned and surprised at how good this Stagg sounds, despite the cost and the cheap materials. And if it is as good as all that, I can use it as a cheap beater that can handle going to historic outdoor, all weather re-enactment camps . . . and I will also need something to play and learn on while I save up for this one, the mandolin that I have fallen in love with: http://adirondackguitar.com/lefty/morgan_monroe/mmr_1.htm
Please note the price differential. $1100 vs. $150. And the exceeding long list of materials and Stuff To Note with the Morgan Monroe mando, lol! (also the fact that this Morgan Monroe is also more money than a single one of my mortgage payments . . .)
Now, of course, the question on everybody's mind is, I'm sure, why a mandolin? Why two mandolins? And aren't you happy with your whistles and your guitar? Well . . . here are the answers that I've come up with.
A) I have loved the mandolin ever since I first heard it when I was a kid. But people have told me, also since I was a kid, that I would never be able to play stringed instruments. Obviously they were wrong, since I am learning the guitar just fine. What else were they wrong about? I admit it, I'm curious now! I love mandolin tunes, and bluegrass music, and Celtic music with a mandolin in the arrangements. Why not make a relatively cheap investment and see if I can play it? If I can, great, time to move up. If it turns out that I can't, well, at least I tried.
The other consideration is that a mandolin is more likely to be found in my historic re-enactor camp than a guitar. Back in the 17th century, guitars were for nobles, and not just any nobles, but wealthy ones. The Top of the Heap. They were rare, wildly expensive instruments. And they ALL looked like 3/4 parlor or classical guitars, not the modern full sized rock-and-roll dreadnought -- which is what I have.
My re-enactor group strives to be as historically accurate as possible, from what we wear to how we look, and I agree with that entirely. There is no point, so far as I'm concerned, to re-enacting history (real, actual, in the past history, not RenFaire type history) if you can't find the truth of it, whatever that truth happens to be. And the truth of the matter is that my regiment is made up mostly of dirt poor Scottish Highlanders, with the occasional middle or lower class Lowlander, Irishman, German, Swede, or Englishman in the mix. And nobody, but nobody, is wealthy enough to own a guitar. Not even the officers, who typically come from better backgrounds. Certainly neither of my characters! I've been getting away with it this past season because one of my characters owns a pawn shop, and she's been able to have a lot of stuff that the rest of the regiment wouldn't, everything from ready cash to pocket watches, to glasses, from pewter plates to silk skirts. And a guitar. All out of the pawn shop inventory! Her character helps bring balance to the Force, as it were, 'cause it helps our patrons see a well-rounded camp, not just the poor side of life. But I'd like to have something to play that doesn't look quite as modern as my blue acoustic dreadnought 6-string.
B) Yes, I love my guitar. The only way you're getting Babe away from me is to pry him out of my cold dead hands. I fully intend to keep learning, and keep practicing, and even, perhaps, join sessions at pubs and so on, to play modern music, and to do and learn everything that I can't do in the 17th century. I am female. And I rock. Well, I am going to rock, in the future :) I'm not going to give that up. And hey, I even rock left-handed, nothing like getting the whole 'wierd' trifecta :)
But since I started to learn to play, the question that's been rolling around in my head is, why limit myself to one instrument? Sure, I play the tin whistle, but I don't care enough about it to ever really be a great whistle player. Anyway, simply because of my asthma, woodwinds are never going to be my best instrument. But I love the mandolin. I love the sound of chop chords. I love all those strings, and I want to learn *why* they're all crammed on there. I love the look of a mandolin. I love its beautiful, sweet sound. And I want to expand my musical repertoire. Why limit myself? Why not play ALL the instruments that I love? I mean, The Chief Fool plays guitar and piano, and she's recently begun to show some interest in the mandolin too . . . another friend of mine plays the guitar and the mandolin. One of my musical heroes plays literally a dozen different instruments, or more. I know whole bands who have 4 or 5 people and 20 instruments! Why stick with one? Other people do it, so, why not?
C) why two? Because apparently, or so I have learned in my mandolin theory studies, what a mandolin is made of and how it is made really DOES make that big of a difference. Mandolins are apparently significantly less forgiving than other wooden instruments, like guitars, when it comes to how they're put together. Craftsmanship and the right materials really do determine the playability and the sound. Since I (eventually, given that I can actually play the cheapie) want the best mandolin I can get, that means paying for it. It's not like my guitar, which was only $500 and yet sounds just as good, almost, as some of the $2500 + guitars out there. (And can I just go off on a tangent here and say that I am continually, truly amazed at just HOW good my guitar's sound is? It matches perfectly with a custom $3200 guitar, for example, and holds its own in any folk recording. Any. And I only paid $500!!!)
Adirondack Guitar, the independent music shop where I found these lefty instruments, has a layaway program, which I am seriously considering. 20% down, then weekly or monthly payments. No interest. Gotta save for a canvas wall tent first, though, gotta have someplace to stay when re-enacting! However, the wall tent and all its accoutrements is a grand total of $375, so that shouldn't take too long. Given what I can put towards it every month, the timing should work out quite nicely.
As of this moment, the plan is to save this winter and summer for the tent, to have it by mid August of 2011. Then, put the deposit down for the Morgan Monroe in Sept of 2011, and finish paying for it over the next 12 months, and finally have it shipped to me in Sept. of 2012. That's about right, anyway, in terms of being a beginner at the mandolin, and not knowing enough etc to even make it necessary to have a good one for a while. I think a year to pay down the layaway is a reasonable time frame. And certainly, spending a year with my Stagg will give me the time I need to establish whether or not I will even need a good mando in the future.
In theory, I will have the basic beginner's Stagg instrument itself by (or around) Christmas of 2010, yes, this Christmas, in a few weeks. Straps and tuners and so on will come later. And I can find basic left-hand instructions on line, I've already looked. I am also in the process of finding a good luthier to 'set up' my Stagg, apparently this one really needs it in order to sound at all decent.I suppose I could do it myself, learn a bit of basic luthier skills, and save myself some money. There are instructions for that too, online! And I'd rather learn how to do it on a cheap instrument, rather than one that's more than a house payment.
I am excited about this. It just goes to show, one of the benefits of choosing 'can' over 'can't'.
More About Music
First of all, apologies, Gentle Readers, for not getting back here in the last few days, The Shantyman's cold has really been kicking my arse and I haven't felt like doing much at all. But, happily, I am getting better and I have been practicing on my guitar again (and have some big news, which most of you probably already know, but it's still big to me!) and have been thinking about something that is apparently a foundational skill in folk music, and one that my neurological difficulties, combined with my left-handedness, sort of changes. Quite a bit, actually.
That skill is being able to tell just by looking at somebody's fingers while they play where they are in the music, specifically, which chord they're in and when to change to a different chord. In theory, you're supposed to recognize which chord they're in, go 'Oh, yeah, that one' and adjust your playing accordingly, all in the space of a blink of an eye, or faster, depending on the tempo of the song in question.
Unfortunately, I have major difficulty with this. My executive processing disorder means that it takes me too long to recognize a chord on the fly, my left-handedness means that I have to take extra time to translate it in my head, and my poor motor skills mean that it takes me a bit longer to change into a chord than it needs to, particularly, as I said, during a fast song. All together, these things combined mean that it typically takes me about 4x longer than it should. And if I am ever going to successfully play with others, in a jam session or a traditional or old time music session, or anywhere where there isn't a pre-made set list, I am going to have to figure out how to do this in a way that makes sense to my brain.
So far, the only thing I can think of that will help solve the ID question -- chord flash cards. Just take a picture of a right-handed person's chording hand, for each chord that could possibly come up, and memorize what each chord looks like. That will take care of both the ID and the translation issues, which are really half the battle. I suspect that flat-out memorization will be key for lots of things, too, like learning and memorizing as many songs as I can, period, so that I can recognize them when they come up.
I mean, I'm not going to sit back and whine 'I can't do this' 'cause I will HAVE to figure out how, if I want to play at all in other places besides my office, alone. It's just a matter of figuring out what will work with my head.
One of the things I know I will have to do is learn the chords MUCH better than I do right now. So much better that I can play them literally blindfolded, and be confident going from one to another without looking, etc. When I really *know* where they are on the fingerboard, that will help. Right now, I still have to think about it, which fingers to use, which string they go on, which fret, etc. I don't *know* where they are, at the moment. I think I know, which is a vast difference.
Granted, I've only been playing for 3 months. Which, in music time is like . . . nothing. Not even a drop in the bucket. Like, not even a beginner yet. Still a student. Nobody expects you to know anything at all. But time is movin' on, and I keep feeling this pressure, this need, to get ahead of the curve, to get good enough as fast as I can, because unlike a lot of total beginners, I have a deadline looming. I need to be able to successfully play difficult 17th century (and earlier) music in another 3 months, for my re-enactment group's 1st gig of the 2011 season. And then, I will have another 2 months before the outdoor re-enactment season starts in earnest. I have to be ready. At least, with a few of the easier songs/tunes. Something. Something I can contribute.
So far, the plan is to learn the chords well enough and the fretboard notes well enough on my own to then be able to go to our music practice sessions and start working on getting over my phobia about playing with other people. My phobia about playing in public will have to wait, I'm afraid. I'd really like to go to our woodwind group and sit in with them and play some rhythm with them, but I don't know how to ask. Anyway, that's all in the future, I haven't even begun to look at the chords the Chief Fool and I worked out while I was in Michigan. First there was the concert, and then within 24 hours I got sick. I haven't even unpacked yet . . .
It's difficult, Gentle Readers, to be different in a world, like music, which is so set on doing things the 'right', ie, traditional way. Merely because I play left-handed, I am therefore 'wrong' to many people. Add in everything else, and I might as well be from another planet. And because I am the only one in my geographical area -- at least, that I know of -- that plays folk etc music left-handed, it is incumbent on me to adapt. Nobody is going to adapt to me. I will have to learn how to get along in the standard, righty world.
I just have to figure out how to accommodate everything else too . . .
That skill is being able to tell just by looking at somebody's fingers while they play where they are in the music, specifically, which chord they're in and when to change to a different chord. In theory, you're supposed to recognize which chord they're in, go 'Oh, yeah, that one' and adjust your playing accordingly, all in the space of a blink of an eye, or faster, depending on the tempo of the song in question.
Unfortunately, I have major difficulty with this. My executive processing disorder means that it takes me too long to recognize a chord on the fly, my left-handedness means that I have to take extra time to translate it in my head, and my poor motor skills mean that it takes me a bit longer to change into a chord than it needs to, particularly, as I said, during a fast song. All together, these things combined mean that it typically takes me about 4x longer than it should. And if I am ever going to successfully play with others, in a jam session or a traditional or old time music session, or anywhere where there isn't a pre-made set list, I am going to have to figure out how to do this in a way that makes sense to my brain.
So far, the only thing I can think of that will help solve the ID question -- chord flash cards. Just take a picture of a right-handed person's chording hand, for each chord that could possibly come up, and memorize what each chord looks like. That will take care of both the ID and the translation issues, which are really half the battle. I suspect that flat-out memorization will be key for lots of things, too, like learning and memorizing as many songs as I can, period, so that I can recognize them when they come up.
I mean, I'm not going to sit back and whine 'I can't do this' 'cause I will HAVE to figure out how, if I want to play at all in other places besides my office, alone. It's just a matter of figuring out what will work with my head.
One of the things I know I will have to do is learn the chords MUCH better than I do right now. So much better that I can play them literally blindfolded, and be confident going from one to another without looking, etc. When I really *know* where they are on the fingerboard, that will help. Right now, I still have to think about it, which fingers to use, which string they go on, which fret, etc. I don't *know* where they are, at the moment. I think I know, which is a vast difference.
Granted, I've only been playing for 3 months. Which, in music time is like . . . nothing. Not even a drop in the bucket. Like, not even a beginner yet. Still a student. Nobody expects you to know anything at all. But time is movin' on, and I keep feeling this pressure, this need, to get ahead of the curve, to get good enough as fast as I can, because unlike a lot of total beginners, I have a deadline looming. I need to be able to successfully play difficult 17th century (and earlier) music in another 3 months, for my re-enactment group's 1st gig of the 2011 season. And then, I will have another 2 months before the outdoor re-enactment season starts in earnest. I have to be ready. At least, with a few of the easier songs/tunes. Something. Something I can contribute.
So far, the plan is to learn the chords well enough and the fretboard notes well enough on my own to then be able to go to our music practice sessions and start working on getting over my phobia about playing with other people. My phobia about playing in public will have to wait, I'm afraid. I'd really like to go to our woodwind group and sit in with them and play some rhythm with them, but I don't know how to ask. Anyway, that's all in the future, I haven't even begun to look at the chords the Chief Fool and I worked out while I was in Michigan. First there was the concert, and then within 24 hours I got sick. I haven't even unpacked yet . . .
It's difficult, Gentle Readers, to be different in a world, like music, which is so set on doing things the 'right', ie, traditional way. Merely because I play left-handed, I am therefore 'wrong' to many people. Add in everything else, and I might as well be from another planet. And because I am the only one in my geographical area -- at least, that I know of -- that plays folk etc music left-handed, it is incumbent on me to adapt. Nobody is going to adapt to me. I will have to learn how to get along in the standard, righty world.
I just have to figure out how to accommodate everything else too . . .
Friday, October 29, 2010
The Flip Side of Music
Greetings, Gentle Readers!
I come to you now with two sore fingers. Why? Because I changed the strings on my guitar last night and he didn't take to it kindly. Then today, when I picked up the guitar to practice today, I broke one of the new strings I'd just put on and had to replace it . . . and that's when I got whacked the second time. This post is about the flip side of music, the non-fun stuff. The struggles and the chores and the mental side, too. All the foundational crap that you go through in order to get to the fun.
But, to make up for all the pensiveness, there will be pictures :) Now that I have a good camera, I am able to take better pictures, and I've got some of Babe. By the way, I've been using my new camera (a Kodak Easy Share C182 12 mp point-and-shoot) for about 5 months in all sorts of lighting and so far, the only thing it chokes on is being in the dark without a flash. With a flash, it's still fab. So if anybody's in the market for a relatively cheap yet quite nice camera, try this one.
End of advertisement :)
Guitar strings, for those of you who are new to the recreational sport of creating welts on your fingers, are made of various metals or nylon (mine are steel, bronze and brass) and are under significant tension when they're properly placed on a guitar neck. 180 pounds minimum, to be precise, all the way up to 220, depending on what kind of strings you use. And so, Gentle Readers, 200 pounds of pressure divided by 6 strings means that each string is carrying 33.3 pounds of pressure. And when it releases unexpectedly . . . hence why I have two sore fingers.
My guitar fights back. Now I don't know if anybody else's guitars hate to have their strings changed, but it appears that in addition to being, as far as I know, literally the only completely acoustic lefty *blue* sunburst pattern 6-string Fender in the universe, it's also the only guitar in the universe that actively resists getting new strings. I can tell we're going to have a long, complicated relationship.
Here are some pictures of the culprit, below.
I bought Babe (it's a pun, 'cause Babe is a big blue axe, as opposed to being a big blue ox, you know, from the Paul Bunyan stories? No? Well, ok, here's the short version. Minnesota is supposedly the land where Paul Bunyan played and worked, the 10,000 lakes we have are supposedly due to him and his blue ox, Babe, leaving their footprints on our state. And as a Minnesotan, naming my guitar Babe seemed like a good thing to do. Get the pun now? Ok, good.) from a music chain that is now defunct, although most of their music operations (and their luthiers, thank goodness) have merely moved to another chain (Minnesota has luthiers up the wazoo, which is good, keeps prices down!). I bought Babe 8 and a half years ago and since I play left handed (another long story involving my autism, arthritis, and strong natural if repressed -- thank you Catholic school -- tendencies towards left handedness) I had to have him modified so that I could play him. It's not enough, Gentle Readers, to merely switch the strings out. In order for a guitar to play properly, the strings need to fit their correct slots, among other things. You can see the modifications in this close up shot of his body:
I paid $50 to have a real bone (instead of plastic or resin) lefty bridge and saddle put on my guitar and had I thought of it I would have had them switch out the pick guard too (that big black thing on the body), although now that I can actually play my little blue bastard I'm glad I didn't. Instead, I will simply have them put another one on below. You can see in the closeup of my guitar's body where all my fingerprints and so on are. The pick guard that's on there now isn't useless -- when strumming, my left hand goes all the way up as well as all the way down -- but if I keep playing I'm eventually going to wear out the wood on the opposite side, so, time to get a pick guard that's properly placed.
But I digress. As I said, I bought this guitar 8 years ago and at the time my . . . well, I don't know what you'd call it, my soul, my self, my self-esteem, whatever it was, I was totally unable to feel safe expressing myself through music and I just couldn't allow myself to learn to play. Besides, I didn't have the self-confidence chops. You really need to believe that you have something to give to the world and that people want to hear what you have to say, in order to play a musical instrument well, and I didn't have it back then. It was frustration piled on top of inability plus a good helping of defeatist thought. So, I put it away, believing that I just couldn't play the guitar.
Fast forward 8 years. You all know,Gentle Readers, if you read this blog, what happened this past August to me, how the music in me got rekindled (and I will forever be grateful to Great Big Sea for that), and how, finally, now, I've actually had enough growth and change and so on to be able to play.
But I came across a new challenge recently because it was time to change the strings. Even though they'd only been actively played for 8 weeks, they'd been on Babe for a full 8.5 years. I'm guessing he got used to them. And since I don't play in public or perform nightly or any of that, changing strings really hasn't been a priority but now, it was time. The strings were dull, they'd lost all of their texture, and they played pretty flat too. Even though, originally, the luthier had originally lowered the action of the guitar for me (I have small hands, Babe is a full sized dreadnought, in other words, HUGE, and I wouldn't be able to play a typically high rock action), these strings were practically resting on the fretboard, little life left.
As an aside, what does one do with old guitar strings? Tis a puzzlement. I'm sure they're good for something, but what?
I put on new guitar strings and holy cats, it was like trying to learn the guitar all over again. The new strings are as slippery as goose . . . well, really slippery things, and the action is higher (which means I have to learn all over again how much pressure they need) and the low E rings like a bell . . . and resonates . . . I love the new sound . . . I would have loved it better if the bronze phosphor strings hadn't broken . . . now there's a blend on there of regular 80/20 bronze and bronze phosphor strings, until I have money enough to replace the strings, again (and won't that be fun!). Also I would like to point out that the new strings, though I stretched them multiple times and tuned them multiple times and did everything right, are still losing their tuning every ten seconds. Gaah. I can't even play a song 1 time through without having to stop and retune. I've done so much re-tuning that I had to put another set of batteries in my tuner! Below, there's a closeup of the head, you can still see the new high E string in toto, I hadn't cut it off yet in the pictures.
It sucks, Gentle Readers, it really does. It's part of why I'm writing this post --I just don't want to fight with my guitar anymore, at least, not for now. I needed a break. And I think there is something wonky about my A string, but I can't figure it out. Maybe that's the way lefthanded guitars wind up being strung, who knows. There aren't enough players out there that I know where I can check.
And hey, I said I was going to be honest in this blog . . . how many other musicians will tell you about the !(#&$#^!)!@&#*^$*(!!!!! that they go through with their instruments, huh? I mean, how many other people will actually admit that they want to go throw their instrument in the lake? I am, I do, I will. You don't get that kind of honesty other places on the Net, Gentle Readers, that's for sure.
Just for fun, here's a close up of the sticker on the inside of Babe's soundboard :)
Just for S&G's! It's got his model # and everything on there. And despite that the fact that he was born in Korea, apparently, Babe has got a truly lovely tone. When I bought him 8 years ago, he was more than a little bright, and quite loud, (really, truly, the kind of LOOK AT ME, LISTEN TO ME I'M A ROCK GUITAR and I am IN YOUR FACE that Fender is known for) but now he's mellowed nicely. Still loud, but with very little brightness and, thanks to the new strings, some lovely harmonic resonance. I can hardly wait to really get out there and play. But hours and hours and hours of study and practice and so on come first. I know that. Doesn't make it any easier, though, I am still impatient, even as I understand the need to do the work. Even as I actually *do* the work (and one of these days, I *will* remember where Bminor is, I promise . . . ). I still want to get out there and show off.
Now, if I could just get over my phobia about playing in front of other, real, people . . . .
I come to you now with two sore fingers. Why? Because I changed the strings on my guitar last night and he didn't take to it kindly. Then today, when I picked up the guitar to practice today, I broke one of the new strings I'd just put on and had to replace it . . . and that's when I got whacked the second time. This post is about the flip side of music, the non-fun stuff. The struggles and the chores and the mental side, too. All the foundational crap that you go through in order to get to the fun.
But, to make up for all the pensiveness, there will be pictures :) Now that I have a good camera, I am able to take better pictures, and I've got some of Babe. By the way, I've been using my new camera (a Kodak Easy Share C182 12 mp point-and-shoot) for about 5 months in all sorts of lighting and so far, the only thing it chokes on is being in the dark without a flash. With a flash, it's still fab. So if anybody's in the market for a relatively cheap yet quite nice camera, try this one.
End of advertisement :)
Guitar strings, for those of you who are new to the recreational sport of creating welts on your fingers, are made of various metals or nylon (mine are steel, bronze and brass) and are under significant tension when they're properly placed on a guitar neck. 180 pounds minimum, to be precise, all the way up to 220, depending on what kind of strings you use. And so, Gentle Readers, 200 pounds of pressure divided by 6 strings means that each string is carrying 33.3 pounds of pressure. And when it releases unexpectedly . . . hence why I have two sore fingers.
My guitar fights back. Now I don't know if anybody else's guitars hate to have their strings changed, but it appears that in addition to being, as far as I know, literally the only completely acoustic lefty *blue* sunburst pattern 6-string Fender in the universe, it's also the only guitar in the universe that actively resists getting new strings. I can tell we're going to have a long, complicated relationship.
Here are some pictures of the culprit, below.
I bought Babe (it's a pun, 'cause Babe is a big blue axe, as opposed to being a big blue ox, you know, from the Paul Bunyan stories? No? Well, ok, here's the short version. Minnesota is supposedly the land where Paul Bunyan played and worked, the 10,000 lakes we have are supposedly due to him and his blue ox, Babe, leaving their footprints on our state. And as a Minnesotan, naming my guitar Babe seemed like a good thing to do. Get the pun now? Ok, good.) from a music chain that is now defunct, although most of their music operations (and their luthiers, thank goodness) have merely moved to another chain (Minnesota has luthiers up the wazoo, which is good, keeps prices down!). I bought Babe 8 and a half years ago and since I play left handed (another long story involving my autism, arthritis, and strong natural if repressed -- thank you Catholic school -- tendencies towards left handedness) I had to have him modified so that I could play him. It's not enough, Gentle Readers, to merely switch the strings out. In order for a guitar to play properly, the strings need to fit their correct slots, among other things. You can see the modifications in this close up shot of his body:
I paid $50 to have a real bone (instead of plastic or resin) lefty bridge and saddle put on my guitar and had I thought of it I would have had them switch out the pick guard too (that big black thing on the body), although now that I can actually play my little blue bastard I'm glad I didn't. Instead, I will simply have them put another one on below. You can see in the closeup of my guitar's body where all my fingerprints and so on are. The pick guard that's on there now isn't useless -- when strumming, my left hand goes all the way up as well as all the way down -- but if I keep playing I'm eventually going to wear out the wood on the opposite side, so, time to get a pick guard that's properly placed.
But I digress. As I said, I bought this guitar 8 years ago and at the time my . . . well, I don't know what you'd call it, my soul, my self, my self-esteem, whatever it was, I was totally unable to feel safe expressing myself through music and I just couldn't allow myself to learn to play. Besides, I didn't have the self-confidence chops. You really need to believe that you have something to give to the world and that people want to hear what you have to say, in order to play a musical instrument well, and I didn't have it back then. It was frustration piled on top of inability plus a good helping of defeatist thought. So, I put it away, believing that I just couldn't play the guitar.
Fast forward 8 years. You all know,Gentle Readers, if you read this blog, what happened this past August to me, how the music in me got rekindled (and I will forever be grateful to Great Big Sea for that), and how, finally, now, I've actually had enough growth and change and so on to be able to play.
But I came across a new challenge recently because it was time to change the strings. Even though they'd only been actively played for 8 weeks, they'd been on Babe for a full 8.5 years. I'm guessing he got used to them. And since I don't play in public or perform nightly or any of that, changing strings really hasn't been a priority but now, it was time. The strings were dull, they'd lost all of their texture, and they played pretty flat too. Even though, originally, the luthier had originally lowered the action of the guitar for me (I have small hands, Babe is a full sized dreadnought, in other words, HUGE, and I wouldn't be able to play a typically high rock action), these strings were practically resting on the fretboard, little life left.
As an aside, what does one do with old guitar strings? Tis a puzzlement. I'm sure they're good for something, but what?
I put on new guitar strings and holy cats, it was like trying to learn the guitar all over again. The new strings are as slippery as goose . . . well, really slippery things, and the action is higher (which means I have to learn all over again how much pressure they need) and the low E rings like a bell . . . and resonates . . . I love the new sound . . . I would have loved it better if the bronze phosphor strings hadn't broken . . . now there's a blend on there of regular 80/20 bronze and bronze phosphor strings, until I have money enough to replace the strings, again (and won't that be fun!). Also I would like to point out that the new strings, though I stretched them multiple times and tuned them multiple times and did everything right, are still losing their tuning every ten seconds. Gaah. I can't even play a song 1 time through without having to stop and retune. I've done so much re-tuning that I had to put another set of batteries in my tuner! Below, there's a closeup of the head, you can still see the new high E string in toto, I hadn't cut it off yet in the pictures.
It sucks, Gentle Readers, it really does. It's part of why I'm writing this post --I just don't want to fight with my guitar anymore, at least, not for now. I needed a break. And I think there is something wonky about my A string, but I can't figure it out. Maybe that's the way lefthanded guitars wind up being strung, who knows. There aren't enough players out there that I know where I can check.
And hey, I said I was going to be honest in this blog . . . how many other musicians will tell you about the !(#&$#^!)!@&#*^$*(!!!!! that they go through with their instruments, huh? I mean, how many other people will actually admit that they want to go throw their instrument in the lake? I am, I do, I will. You don't get that kind of honesty other places on the Net, Gentle Readers, that's for sure.
Just for fun, here's a close up of the sticker on the inside of Babe's soundboard :)
Just for S&G's! It's got his model # and everything on there. And despite that the fact that he was born in Korea, apparently, Babe has got a truly lovely tone. When I bought him 8 years ago, he was more than a little bright, and quite loud, (really, truly, the kind of LOOK AT ME, LISTEN TO ME I'M A ROCK GUITAR and I am IN YOUR FACE that Fender is known for) but now he's mellowed nicely. Still loud, but with very little brightness and, thanks to the new strings, some lovely harmonic resonance. I can hardly wait to really get out there and play. But hours and hours and hours of study and practice and so on come first. I know that. Doesn't make it any easier, though, I am still impatient, even as I understand the need to do the work. Even as I actually *do* the work (and one of these days, I *will* remember where Bminor is, I promise . . . ). I still want to get out there and show off.
Now, if I could just get over my phobia about playing in front of other, real, people . . . .
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