Trust it not, for it spaketh untruths.
Despite what the blog tells you, I've slept since making the last update, which means it was made yesterday. This is a different day's blog, dammit!
Not a lot to report today. I went to the gym for a couple of hours, first for the induction and then just for the damned exercise, and i felt so good after I was done. Felt like shit while I was doing it (and, I might add, during the ritual weighing procedures beforehand), but walked out feeling almost perky. Came home and really wanted to start work. But, of course, not everything's ready yet, not everything's even here yet. So I spent a bit of time making some room to move stuff around to (eventually) make room for the arrival of Bertie sometime in the near future.
Thus, in an arid region for actual information, I'll give you a handy glossary for future reference:
Sunday, Cathy, Joni and BabyJo are guitars - guitars only have one name, and are female. Joni was my first guitar, after the guitar I learned on (which was not mine, and I named Joannie), and BabyJo looks like her, but is much smaller.
Three is my tenor guitar from the US. Yes, it's a bad pun. Take your time.
Ruth is my big harp, who keeps changing her name. She was Sian when she got here, but she arrived new so I figure she's still finding out who she really is. Ruth doesn't feel right either. She'll let me know eventually. Her little sister is Joanna. Joanna likes to snuggle.
The keys are a different issue. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, they always give me two names: a male one first, then a female one. In some cases, like with my trusty rusty beast of an upright (Henry Jane), the two names are used as effectively one (she is only ever Henry Jane, never just Henry, never just Jane). Henry Jane is, as all acoustic pianos are, a girl. However, all my keys have some gender issues, ranging from near androgeny to some serious lesbian butch going on. A good example is my CP70B, who is a serious cross dresser. A male impersonator, if you will. She's damn good at it too. Her name is Philip Letitia, but people just call her Philip. It's better than way. The new piano's name is Bertie, but she's Anna to her friends. We barely know each other right now, so I'm sticking with Bertie for the time being. We'll work towards it. I'm so sad that she's still so far away. A nice dutch man sold her to me, and things always bode well when there's a Dutch person involved.
As a side note, the gym is not only helping me overcome the large-ass-tired-after-stairs issue, but is solving a minor personal crisis on another level. After far too long catching the bus to Uni every day, I began to believe that the way the day turned out would be based on whether or not I managed to obtain a Metro on the way in in the morning (or, indeed, by very good fortune on the way back. Tip: always check the back seats upstairs. It's a goldmine). Having moved here, and having bought a car and suchlike, I was afraid that I would never see Nemi's shiny happy face again or, more importantly, find out if her blue haired friend ever recovers from her breakup (totally tragic at the time - i'd have snapped her up if she wasn't two dimensional AND fictional). My friends from the time can atest to this. Imagine my glee, after two solid Nemi-free months, upon discovering that my gym stocks the Metro, and that there are still copies available late into the afternoon.
(Please, no suggestions about looking up the strips on the website. I tried this once. It only made me feel dirty).
Well, must be up early for the rigors of the cross trainer and suchlike. Plus, I'm knackered. NN.
Not a lot to report today. I went to the gym for a couple of hours, first for the induction and then just for the damned exercise, and i felt so good after I was done. Felt like shit while I was doing it (and, I might add, during the ritual weighing procedures beforehand), but walked out feeling almost perky. Came home and really wanted to start work. But, of course, not everything's ready yet, not everything's even here yet. So I spent a bit of time making some room to move stuff around to (eventually) make room for the arrival of Bertie sometime in the near future.
Thus, in an arid region for actual information, I'll give you a handy glossary for future reference:
Sunday, Cathy, Joni and BabyJo are guitars - guitars only have one name, and are female. Joni was my first guitar, after the guitar I learned on (which was not mine, and I named Joannie), and BabyJo looks like her, but is much smaller.
Three is my tenor guitar from the US. Yes, it's a bad pun. Take your time.
Ruth is my big harp, who keeps changing her name. She was Sian when she got here, but she arrived new so I figure she's still finding out who she really is. Ruth doesn't feel right either. She'll let me know eventually. Her little sister is Joanna. Joanna likes to snuggle.
The keys are a different issue. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, they always give me two names: a male one first, then a female one. In some cases, like with my trusty rusty beast of an upright (Henry Jane), the two names are used as effectively one (she is only ever Henry Jane, never just Henry, never just Jane). Henry Jane is, as all acoustic pianos are, a girl. However, all my keys have some gender issues, ranging from near androgeny to some serious lesbian butch going on. A good example is my CP70B, who is a serious cross dresser. A male impersonator, if you will. She's damn good at it too. Her name is Philip Letitia, but people just call her Philip. It's better than way. The new piano's name is Bertie, but she's Anna to her friends. We barely know each other right now, so I'm sticking with Bertie for the time being. We'll work towards it. I'm so sad that she's still so far away. A nice dutch man sold her to me, and things always bode well when there's a Dutch person involved.
As a side note, the gym is not only helping me overcome the large-ass-tired-after-stairs issue, but is solving a minor personal crisis on another level. After far too long catching the bus to Uni every day, I began to believe that the way the day turned out would be based on whether or not I managed to obtain a Metro on the way in in the morning (or, indeed, by very good fortune on the way back. Tip: always check the back seats upstairs. It's a goldmine). Having moved here, and having bought a car and suchlike, I was afraid that I would never see Nemi's shiny happy face again or, more importantly, find out if her blue haired friend ever recovers from her breakup (totally tragic at the time - i'd have snapped her up if she wasn't two dimensional AND fictional). My friends from the time can atest to this. Imagine my glee, after two solid Nemi-free months, upon discovering that my gym stocks the Metro, and that there are still copies available late into the afternoon.
(Please, no suggestions about looking up the strips on the website. I tried this once. It only made me feel dirty).
Well, must be up early for the rigors of the cross trainer and suchlike. Plus, I'm knackered. NN.
posted by Leni at 22:09
1 Comments:
Hooray for Leni and her blue-haired friend!
And yes, things do tend to get better when there's a Dutch person involved!! Am spotting lots of lovely Fresian boys, but no one to share the joy with as I don't think my nan would appreciate them like I do.
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