Scary monsters (and super camera problems)
Having spent a good long while searching for my usb cable so I could upload pictures from my camera for y'all to see (and having then found it sitting next to said computer, looking suspiciously innocent), I have discovered that I never installed the drivers for it on the mac (the laptop having recently sadly, passed away) and now have no idea where they are. Sigh. I can only assume that this is my mother's disembodied influence attempting to stop me from posting pictures of my things on the interweb.
But ah! Let me explain to you the lack of post yesterday. It is not, as you may have assumed, my inability to keep a new resolution after only a few days. Actually, I have a tale far more disturbing to relate.
I came in late last night. The boyfriend and I had been working on putting the studio together (read: playing with the CP70-B until I got cross about him putting his feet on it and went upstairs to shift the heavy stuff myself & then him talking me through all the pretty coloured dials on the console) and then went back to his for Chinese. I then insisted on watching terrible Ben-Elton-book-adaptation-movie. I didn't get home until past 1am (rolling into the driveway with the lights off, because I find myself coming and going at late hours a lot at the moment, and I'm afraid the neightbours will get the wrong idea about me... or something).
I dumped my bag and jacket in the hallway, brushed my teeth, checked all the windows were closed downstairs and then went into the living room to get Danny Wallace (or one of his books, at least - they make up two of three literary comfort blankets, the other being Good Omens by Gaiman/Pratchett) and to update the blog. I sat down in my big comfy chair (one of two which came with the console) and noticed an odd sound. Like music coming through a wall from a neighbour. Except that I live in a detached house, and most of the people within the nearest mile radius of it will have been tucked up nice and quietly by this point. I listened harder. The sound had a kind of crackly feel, as though it were coming from an old gramophone record. The style of the music seemed to be Sinatra-esque, early 20th century. White guy, band with actual instruments, a whole different kind of performance. I realised it was coming from the amp, which had been left on, attached to the Yamaha CP70-B through a little mixing desk from when we'd been playing with it earlier.
Let me give you some context: My house smelled when I moved in (and still occasionally smells) of old people. Something (must be pipes or similar) makes it sound as though someone is shuffling up and down the stairs at about 7am every day. I live alone, and I know it's not me. I am not going to go into my entire belief system right now, but I do believe in what people might refer to as ghosts, though I don't think that they're dead people who come back. It's complicated. In fact, that detail makes my reaction to this situation less in keeping with my general character. What is probably more important is that I'd bought series 7 of Buffy as a treat and it had arrived that day. I was thus halfway through a 14 hour Buffy marathon. That shit can make you jumpy.
So when my amp started singing what I could only think of as lonely old person music from seemingly no source, I was more than freaked. I checked all the rooms for sad aged folks, including under my bed before I got in it and climbed under the covers for safety. From my tent-like fortress of protection, I rang the boyfriend to tell him I was being haunted by malevolent forces with dated taste in music and that I was somewhat uncomfortable with the whole situation.
He said it was probably the CP70-B picking up radio.
And that's why there was no blog last night. If you think about it, I was held back from you by supernatural forces. That's not my fault. Anyone can fall foul of them. What with the malevolent evil and all.
In other news, I joined a gym today. And I picked up a MASSIVE box from the post office which I've just realised I've forgotten to open. Off I go to do so. Wish me well, adoring nations.
But ah! Let me explain to you the lack of post yesterday. It is not, as you may have assumed, my inability to keep a new resolution after only a few days. Actually, I have a tale far more disturbing to relate.
I came in late last night. The boyfriend and I had been working on putting the studio together (read: playing with the CP70-B until I got cross about him putting his feet on it and went upstairs to shift the heavy stuff myself & then him talking me through all the pretty coloured dials on the console) and then went back to his for Chinese. I then insisted on watching terrible Ben-Elton-book-adaptation-movie. I didn't get home until past 1am (rolling into the driveway with the lights off, because I find myself coming and going at late hours a lot at the moment, and I'm afraid the neightbours will get the wrong idea about me... or something).
I dumped my bag and jacket in the hallway, brushed my teeth, checked all the windows were closed downstairs and then went into the living room to get Danny Wallace (or one of his books, at least - they make up two of three literary comfort blankets, the other being Good Omens by Gaiman/Pratchett) and to update the blog. I sat down in my big comfy chair (one of two which came with the console) and noticed an odd sound. Like music coming through a wall from a neighbour. Except that I live in a detached house, and most of the people within the nearest mile radius of it will have been tucked up nice and quietly by this point. I listened harder. The sound had a kind of crackly feel, as though it were coming from an old gramophone record. The style of the music seemed to be Sinatra-esque, early 20th century. White guy, band with actual instruments, a whole different kind of performance. I realised it was coming from the amp, which had been left on, attached to the Yamaha CP70-B through a little mixing desk from when we'd been playing with it earlier.
Let me give you some context: My house smelled when I moved in (and still occasionally smells) of old people. Something (must be pipes or similar) makes it sound as though someone is shuffling up and down the stairs at about 7am every day. I live alone, and I know it's not me. I am not going to go into my entire belief system right now, but I do believe in what people might refer to as ghosts, though I don't think that they're dead people who come back. It's complicated. In fact, that detail makes my reaction to this situation less in keeping with my general character. What is probably more important is that I'd bought series 7 of Buffy as a treat and it had arrived that day. I was thus halfway through a 14 hour Buffy marathon. That shit can make you jumpy.
So when my amp started singing what I could only think of as lonely old person music from seemingly no source, I was more than freaked. I checked all the rooms for sad aged folks, including under my bed before I got in it and climbed under the covers for safety. From my tent-like fortress of protection, I rang the boyfriend to tell him I was being haunted by malevolent forces with dated taste in music and that I was somewhat uncomfortable with the whole situation.
He said it was probably the CP70-B picking up radio.
And that's why there was no blog last night. If you think about it, I was held back from you by supernatural forces. That's not my fault. Anyone can fall foul of them. What with the malevolent evil and all.
In other news, I joined a gym today. And I picked up a MASSIVE box from the post office which I've just realised I've forgotten to open. Off I go to do so. Wish me well, adoring nations.
posted by Leni at 23:14
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