Solonor's Inkwell

The Mrs just asked me to record a sappy love song for her anniversary present.

Then she added, “And it can’t be about THAT!”

I’m sorry, blog, but I’ve found someone else. I hope you’ll forgive me someday.

Life, the Universe and Everything is right! This weekend, and especially yesterday, was so full of crap (not unlike this author) that I didn’t have time to do an update.

To start with, let me fill you in on the continuing story of Rasreth Studios. Apparently, the Fostex machine that I bought Saturday was meant to be broken and the last one in stock. Because when I took it back yesterday afternoon, they had a used Boss BR-864 sitting there for the same price as the Fostex!

“Hey! That wasn’t there, yesterday,” I said.

“Nope,” the friendly sales clerk said. “Some kid bought it and turned right around and returned it. It’s basically brand new. He came in right after you left.”

Holy hell, this thing is twice the machine for the same fricking price! Me be happy music monkey.

AND Pepperkat got the letter she’s been dying to receive. She got accepted and will be going to the same technology magnet high school as her brother! Yay!

His reaction: “Cool. That gives me a reason to raise my GPA, so I don’t get sent back to regular high school.” (I still can’t picture an older brother wanting his kid sister to go to the same school. They’re plotting something, I just know it.)

On top of that, we went and saw Big Fish. Yes, it was kinda syrupy in places, but there’s nothing wrong with having your eyes go misty every once in awhile. Keeps the tear ducts ready for action in case your foot gets stepped on by an elephant or something. It was a very good film. (“NINE thumbs up?! What the hell is that?!”)

And I still had time to play a couple of rounds of MOHAA with the geek patrol and finish up the final round SGCBL free agent bidding.

Das Leben ist gut.

Well, that was fun.

Whiny and I schlepped my ’71 Telecaster down to a guitar shop in Edgewood. They poked and prodded it. Took the neck off and checked under the hood. In the end, they were only going to give me about $700 for it ($400 and a $300 Fender P-bass). I decided to see what I could get for it at another shop, but it outclassed their stock of Washburn crap, so they wouldn’t touch it. So, I said screw it and went into Guitar Center and charged a Fostex MR-8.

It looks like a nifty little digital 8-track. Too bad I can’t find out exactly how nifty. I got it home and it wouldn’t work! Ratsafrastindagnabbit! So, now I have to decide whether to give up on this silly idea completely, or just patiently trade it in for a new one. Unfortunately, this was the last one they had at that price. The only way to get one now would be to wait for a replacement shipment or “upgrade” to the kit that includes a cheap mic, headphones, and gig bag–for an extra $100.

I think I’ll just hum loudly for you, ok?

Akin to my wild promise to finish my novel come-hell-or-high-water last November, I’m making a new vain promise today. I’m off to sell one of my babies, so I can buy a multitrack recorder. Expect my caterwauling to be violating your PC speakers any day now. You have been warned.