“Do you know what happens to a butter-based frosting after six decades in a poorly ventilated English basement?”

drum kit

I had a busy weekend, spending most of it practicing with my band.  We played two songs I created, and I’m thrilled by how much they liked them.  I would have strutted around like I’m Stevie Nicks or something, but it was also my first time singing while drumming.  I was pretty anxious about it because I figured it would take months of practice before I could pull it off.

I’m surprised to report I pulled it off to some degree.  The fact that I regularly sing to myself has finally paid off.  Instead of getting odd looks from strangers, I managed to provide backup harmonies with a headset mic.  I’m sure it helps that I know the songs better than anyone else.  Heh.  I used a poem I wrote as a teenager for the lyrics, (but only until I rewrite it.)

The poem is horrible, so I’m not going to share it.  I was going through a descriptive phase, and my subject matter mainly consisted of things I thought were delightfully revolting.  I was like a stereotypical boy for most of my childhood.  Watching my big brother swallow worms or goldfish on a dare was probably my favorite hobby; as well as the subject of the poem to which I’m referring.

He had god-like status in my eyes, and I wish he were still alive, so I could tell him I’m in a band, and I miss him.  He’d think my playing the drums is lame, but would still be impressed.  I suspect my band leader reminds me of Steve, a bit.  He’s somewhat mean but funny about it, so I don’t mind.  I’m content doing anything if I’m laughing through it.  It’s what most appealed to me about serving in the Army.  It’s full of should-be comedians.

When we did the gross song initially, I was able to sing but not loudly enough.  Plus, I dropped a stick and had to get up to retrieve it.  It led to a lesson on always having extra sticks close at hand, and not losing them while playing.  Emphasis mainly on the last bit.  I need to adjust my kit at home to mimic the acoustic kit’s positioning.  My muscle memory finally kicked in so I need to be mindful.  While I was up, I turned up the volume on my mic because duh.  😂

pinball

I’m supposed to work on not grinning like I just won the lottery while I play.  My band leader demonstrated what I looked like, much to my amusement.  At least he didn’t tell me I should audition for Disney; which is the feedback I received when kicked out of my first band, years ago.  I didn’t understand what “sing edgy” meant.  Thank you, Adele, Stevie Nicks, and Amy Lee.  Now I know.  🙃

Incidentally, that band broke up a year later over an argument about whether or not Hootie and the Blowfish sucked.  Heh.  (I think Darius Rucker is talented.)  M. has been planning our trip for next month.  We’re going to visit as many pinball machines as we can find.  We’re both obsessed with the game and highly competitive when playing on PlayStation 4.  I prefer the old-fashioned version, though.  The digital version is wicked distracting with all the animations (that sometimes get in the way while playing.)

He hasn’t managed to beat my high score on the Family Guy version.  I must still have a part of me that’s amused by fart jokes because it’s my favorite table.  I also like Thor.  I doubt they have real versions, though.  M. is an excellent photographer, so we plan on documenting them as we go.  I can’t wait.  I’m off to beat my drums with sticks while not smiling.

“Sleep is separate from that.”

Sleepy kitty

I need to focus on my sleep issues.  I haven’t been able to sleep for more than a few hours in a row this week.  While it’s enough to function, it’s not enough to interact with other people.  I lost count of how many times I’ve completely misunderstood what others were saying in the last two days alone.

I feel like I’ve been speaking English and everyone else is speaking Mandarin.  Only it’s worse because I don’t realize they’re not using English (in real time.)  My balance is wonky, too.  I slipped on some ice during my run this morning, and now I’m sporting road rash on my chin.  I didn’t even get to do the precarious dance first; just face planted.

Fortunately, I have clear band-aids.  Fabulous invention.  Now people who aren’t the shade so rudely referred to as flesh tone don’t have to announce their injuries from across the room.  Yay.  I reread Animal Farm by George Orwell last night.  Now I’m reading The Descendents, by Kaui Hart Hemmings.  It’s fascinating so far.  Next, I’m going to look for my copy of Watership Down by Richard Adams.

I thought I was going to stick with women authors this year, but it didn’t work out.  Plus, John Scalzi has a book release soon.  I did read lots of novels by Octavia Spencer and Ursula LeGuin, but then I decided gender is irrelevant in authors.  Women authors don’t write more gently, as I anticipated.

I built a soundproof chamber for Amelia Bedelia.  She loves it.  I can get in up to my shoulders, and it’s fabulous.  I’m fascinated by my cat’s personality.  When she’s in her chamber, she wants to be alone.  If I acknowledge her in any way while she’s chilling in there, she bites me.  That’s a stern, “no.”  Heh.

I ordered DirecTV Now (because M. had a cow.)  I didn’t realize I was an asshole for canceling cable without discussing it with him first.  It seems to be superior to Playstation Vue, and I discovered I get free HBO for life (not sure whose) for being an AT&T wireless customer.  Yay.  Sony rearranged which channels go with which tier, and the options suck.  It’s tailored to Fox News watching sports lovers.  Hard pass.

We’re watching Gattaca tonight.  It’s one of my favorite films.  M. hasn’t seen it yet.  I think he’ll enjoy it, too.  I’m off to make the popcorn.

movie night popcorn