My Jerry Rockwell books arrived and I am really happy about that. I ordered "Music Theory and Chord Reference For The Mountain Dulcimer", and a couple of song books of tablature, but it also came with a CD of some whacked-out electro-dulcimer experiments that are as boundary-pushing as anything out there in Dulcimerica. And that's right, I've coined the term "Dulcimerica", because it doesn't exist anywhere on the internet, and in about a week, the first times it pops up, my name will be associated with it.
God, I love the web.
And then I'm reminded of the naked pictures of me anchored somewhere in the blizzard of ones and zeros and then I rethink that whole "love" issue.
We don't live in a very bright house, in fact our cable connection is actually pretty stupid. Jae and I would very much like for the little green light second from the bottom of the modem to stop blinking slo-w-ly and stay the hell on so we can get some work done online. Right now, we're doing a bunch of work offline and then shooting it over when service is back up, which is every five minutes with breaks of twenty. Yeah. It's like that.
And I'm typing with a handicapped pinky, crushed by another cruel piece of electrician's hardware. In the past three weeks, I've fractured my right big toe, sprained my left wrist and then jammed my right pinky earlier today; both digits are swollen but the wrist is making a comeback. So, playing dulcimer right now has been an exercise in sheer passion. It's like, "what would you do for the revolution?"
"I'd practice injured!"