Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

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Thick Skinned

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The point isn’t really that I have to wear in some new callouses by Saturday so that I can make it through the four sets I’m playing on, but that my callouses grew. Thickened.

I’ve been playing guitar for eight years at the end of this month. I remember when I had been playing for two and a half years, and I would watch Anthony, who has two years of playing over me, and think “Wow, look what I’ll be able to do in two years.”

And, well, maybe I can do some of the things Anthony’s done now. Who knows? I realized that the path is not linear, and it’s not parallel to anyone else’s. Early on I learned how to churn out chunky, thumping chords, Ani-fying any song in an attempt to make it my own. Just now I am learning the strength of learning something note for note, rhythm for rhythm. Isn’t that backwards? Don’t most people play along to the disc first and then figure out their own way to do it? That’s what I’ve been told, anyhow.

On the scale of great I’m sure I hardly rank – plenty of practice left on that front, no disputing that. But, not only can I get better, but even with as much playing as I’ve done, there are new callouses to be made.

Bleed Like Me

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I am always more the rock star when I draw blood, and last night was excruciating. After a week of practice had thickened my skin to new levels of callousness i spent the day nervously picking at these foreign fingertips, leaving them as naked and vulnerable as a tiny baby’s for my rehearsal with Dante. Our first time through “Volcano Girls” I winced and dropped the tempo, eventually giving in and playing the chords as a sevenths to rest my battered pinky.

“Bucket Seat” solved the problem, though, so fun to play, and with drums! Real, live drums, doing what I’d imagine they’d do – propelling me into choruses and matching my crescendos. And, after, inevitably after my spirited performance, I found that I had drawn blood.

I think it was the turning point in the rehearsal, really. Everything rocked more after that. Saturday at the party I’ll have nearly half an hour of rehearsed(!) set, with drumming(!) throughout. For most of the guests it will just be background noise; for me, a little victory.

Not My Idea

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Having now a house that i adore, i am more interested than ever in filling it with things i desire. Yes, in the past i’ve wanted that shiny piece of electronics, or that solid piece of furniture, but the space that i existed in never really invited them. Now, though… now i am dangerous in every store, because where there was once just a speculative glance at any item, wondering how it would fit into my household there is now a lustful fingering of my credit card, knowing that i can fit it under the limit.

Not good for my line of available credit, but seems to be setting us up for some wonderful entertaining and music-making opportunities this summer.

In related news, i know that i can’t carry the sectional couch on my back all the way from Snyder Ave (and probably can’t even lift the corner of the box two inches off of the ground), but i’ve almost convinced myself that i can haul the flatpacked desk from Ikea up Front Street as if i was a pack mule. This is, however, not a good idea.

Not a good idea, Peter. Not a good idea.

Sudden Death Overtime

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Somehow moving just isn’t moving without some kind of impossible hurdle. Having come up short on hurricanes & delinquent roommates, here’s what we’ve cobbled together:

There is no possible way for the moving truck to get onto our new street. The laws of physics seem to explicitly preclude it. Furthermore, the plausibility of any turn the truck has to make once we’re in South Philly is completely dependent on who is parked closest to the corner, and how bad they are at parking.

And, the more exciting part:

We are not done packing. I’d say i’m about 80% done with my own things, but i keep forgetting that i live with this other person, and that some things i typically think as of hers are really only thought of that way because she largely cleans them, but that i am actually responsible for packing them.

Usually going down to the packing wire isn’t a problem, but professional movers are due here in about 6.5 hours, and they aren’t going to be nearly as helpful as Erika and her “Look, it’s a [random unpacked thing], where should it go?” routine, which pretty much was singly responsible for getting me packed the last time.

6.5 hours. I think as long as we keep picking CDs we both like we’ll probably make it. Unfortunately, all of my CDs are packed.

Wish us luck.