I laughed when I chose today’s Seinfeld quote. Mostly because I love referring to my (figurative) penis when going postal on a misogynist. There are few groups I consider fair game for an all-out verbal attack. Misogynists top the list. I barely consider them human. They’re contaminating the gene pool. They cling to ignorance, and a false sense of superiority like their life depends on it. It’s sad. I’m happy to report they’re dying off. In twenty years the word misogynist will only show up in novels and word games. Glory days. In the meantime, they usually insist on identifying themselves within minutes of contact, so at least they’re easy to avoid.
I’ve been enjoying the hell out of my electronic drum kit. Unfortunately, I damaged the snare drum pad. Now, It only plays softly no matter how hard I hit it. Disclaimer: I void warranties religiously. I took it apart. I could fix it for a few bucks, or I could build a better one. I wasn’t about to fix a cheap rubber snare drum pad. Clearly, they’re too easy to break. Although, for a cheap entry kit, I’m astonished by what I got in a good way. The rack and module alone are worth what I paid for the whole kit. The drum pads and cymbals are temporary, and I’m in the process of replacing them.
I love the rack because it’s matte black everywhere, it’s compact and sturdy, and I can use standard hardware on it. I ordered a 10″ rim, some 35mm piezo discs, foam tabs, a 1/4″ instrument input, cables, and a mesh head to make a better snare drum. It’s now a dual trigger, shiny, mesh pad and is a joy to beat with sticks. I can do rolls, and the velocity triggers beautifully, too.
I’m debating on how I want to address my hi-hat replacement, which is next. Part of me thinks I’ll never want an acoustic kit, and shouldn’t limit my choices in that respect going forward. I much prefer having the sounds from multiple super expensive kits recorded in high-end studios than whatever I could reproduce. In that instance, I’d prefer using a mesh head pad for my hi-hat and cymbals, too. It’s a quiet enough trigger that I can practice anytime I want, day or night. How very attractive to this insomniac. If I decide against the mesh cymbals, I’m just going to get acoustic cymbals because the rubber and plastic cymbal pads currently being sold are unbelievably shitty substitutes.
I have a tendency to read all night. I’ve been doing it often since I learned how to read. I was raised to believe laying still in bed while wearing pajamas counts as sleeping. The laying still part really means being silent enough not to awaken others. Laughing out loud at a book while reading is something I’ll admit to often doing. In my head, I’m in another world where something funny just happened. Not laughing would be weird. Immediately after, I feel guilty for making noise.
The guilt part is just a habit at this point. When Heather died, her diaries were given to me. (All my siblings kept a journal growing up but only the girls continued in adulthood.) She wrote about my late night giggles with fondness as an adult. She wasn’t so fond of them at the time, I recall. We shared a bedroom until I started 7th grade. My Mom decorated it, but it looked like Holly Hobby threw up in there to me. Yellow gingham fabric with lots of ruffles everywhere.
Starting in Junior High, I got to decorate my own room. Heather was so worried about me having my own room. She didn’t think I could handle it (Queen of Nightmares is my original title). Thinking back now it makes me laugh. She was really the big sister at times. She was my self-appointed voice for much of my childhood. At first, it was because I didn’t speak, but later because it amused me so much. (Heather was always a bit of a loud talker who didn’t hesitate to demand being heard.) We were opposites in so many ways, but we always had the same sense of humor. On that nostalgic note, I’m off to continue reading Last Night in Twisted River by John Irving again. It’s so fucking good. (That’s my review.)