beautiful, funny, sad & true

I only didn’t write about the cello until now because I’ve been too busy playing it lately to write about it.

I took it in most importantly to get one of the tuning pegs fixed, because every time I’d turn it to tune up, it would slip and go completely slack, which makes the cello useless. So I’d been unable to play for weeks.
(With the exception of the other day, of course, when my friend Sam loaned me his cello for rehearsal with Steph. Thank you, Sam!)
Since I was taking it in for that repair anyway, I had a new end pin (the ‘pin’ that the cello sits on) and tailpiece (where the strings attach) installed at the same time. Now it sits at the correct height, the strings stay in tune, and it’s much easier to adjust the fine tuning also. What a difference!

I picked it up on Thursday afternoon, and had rehearsal with Jaime & Becky that night. Ohmygosh, we had so much fun! They haven’t been playing any gigs for probably a year, because Becky was in Russia teaching and volunteering, but now she’s back, and they’re back. So look for us to start playing out a bit.

Last night, Alyssa and I sat out and talked for a while, then used a two-for-one coupon and went to get a slice of pizza. I had the first pepperoni I’ve had in six months. (Before that, it had been about a year and a half, on my birthday.) Kelly called while we were still at the pizza place, and I told her about the Pepperoni Factor. She said, “You know there’s pork in that.”
“That’s what I hear.”
“You know you’re gonna go to hell.”
“Tchyeah. I knew that, ’cause of all the taking-the-Lord’s-name-in-vain and the copious amounts of pre-marital sex.”

Anyway.

The pepperoni tasted good, but I don’t think it really agreed with me; I’m feeling it this morning. After that, I ended up with a couple of hours to myself, so I pulled out the cello and just sat and played my little heart out. I have to re-learn everything, because it feels like a completely different instrument now. I have to learn how to hold it between my knees, how to make my left arm go to just the right places on the neck, and how to make the bow go to just the right places on the strings.

Funny how I’ve learned to play on such an unconventional instrument. Cello’s a difficult instrument to learn anyway–and this is from someone who plays piano, accordion, guitar, bass, drums, organ, keyboards, AND cello–but throw in all the weird quirks and incorrect angles that mine has, and I’m sure I’ll have plenty of habits to un-learn.

The good news is that when I play on someone else’s instrument, suddenly everything feels right, and it makes playing incredibly easier, but their instruments aren’t usually of the same quality as mine. Mine may look all banged up, or not be as pretty as most, but it’s really a superb instrument. You can tell, even by the way it resonates when you pluck the strings. It’s an Ernst Heinrich Roth, from 1963. Loveitloveitloveitloveit.

And it won’t be much longer before it’s completely fixed and adjusted to standard specifications, which will make it sound even better and play even easier.

I can’t wait!

Since it was the last working day pre-Easter, we all chipped in and had a potluck. Which was fine, but the real fun came when one lady brought in Peep candles. We suddenly regressed to being a bunch of five-year-olds, and this was the result.

Oh, and today was my Yearly Performance Review. It consisted of my former supervisor, my new supervisor, the head honcho boss, and me. It went well. We all agreed that I’m intelligent, resourceful, resilient, open-minded, likeable, communicative, slightly unmotivated, and I could use my time more efficiently. And considering the changes I’ve been put through this year (three new positions in the last five months), everyone agreed that I’ve handled things surprisingly well, all things considered.

My favorite record store is Everyday Music. We went there last night, and I found Ali G, the new Menomena CD, and an anime DVD called “Grave of the Fireflies”, which promises to be beautiful and tragic. I’ll letcha know.

In case you didn’t know, I grew up in Yakima, Washington. It’s a very isolated town in the middle of Washington. People who live there may tell you that “well, it’s a good place to raise kids” or whatever, but I was a kid growing up there, and I feel like it was a difficult place, particularly compared to the city in which I was born.

It’s long been one of the drug hubs of the entire nation, and that’s especially astounding when you consider that fact per capita. I used to have a little Honda CRX when I lived there, and I’d always leave the doors unlocked, because otherwise the windows would get smashed out by drug addicts looking for things to steal. It used to get rummaged through almost every single night. In fact, I was thrilled on the rare occasions when I’d go outside in the morning and NOT find the glove compartment open, the seats pushed forward, the carpet pulled up, the little storage hatch open, and the hatchback popped open. Very often, I’d find that all of those things had been done. Seriously; Yakima’s a shit-hole (and I don’t normally throw terms like that around, either), and I hated living there.

A friend of mine saw this a couple of days ago, in McSweeney’s, and e-mailed it to me. I had to laugh. I wasn’t at all surprised to learn that Yakima is now the meth capital of Central Washington. It’s been called “Crackima” for ages, since the 80’s, when crack was the Thing to Do. Even the mayor’s son got busted for using and selling it, back in the day.

Can I just say how much life has improved since I moved to Portland? It really feels like I’ve lived two entirely separate lives, even though Portland is (I’ve HEARD) the meth capital of the whole Pacific Northwest. I will always appreciate where I am now, and how much I enjoy life now, because I spent so many years wondering why life was even worth living.

Books saved my life; “The Little Prince” came along just when I needed it. Movies saved my life; “My Dinner With Andre” and “Mindwalk” came along just when I needed them. My piano saved my life. My guitar saved my life.

Glad to be outta there, Yakima. Good riddance.

I usually don’t take the time to write letters such as this (mostly because I’m infinitely large and have no opposable thumbs), but one of my lackeys recently forwarded your message to me, and it sounded like you could use a comforting word or two from me. I admit that I like you, and your posterior. A lot. But not that much. And hey, I’ll be the first to admit that I likes me the buggery just as much as the next universe does, but let’s be realistic here. I just don’t have time to give that level of attention to each individual one of my citizens. Not to mention the fact that a star–let alone a galaxy, let ALONE an entire universe such as myself–is vastly bigger than a single human anus, so suffice it to say that even if I did want to do that to you, I’d be simultaneously doing it to every other being and planet and star inside me. And to myself too, if you think about it. Which really isn’t my thing.

So rest assured that you’re off the hook, at least as far as buggery and I are concerned. I can’t speak for all those other universes or ‘string theories’ or whatever. You may wish to take up any further concerns you may have with them.