Tag Archives: Lenny Breau

Fiddle stick.

2000 Years to Christmas

I don’t get it. How come the top string is bigger than the bottom string? And what are all these little machine knobs for? My fingers hurt!

Oh, hey. You know, you’re never too old to learn in this crazy world we live in. I like to think of every day as a journey of discovery. Just this morning, I lifted myself out of the sack and discovered that someone left the bathroom tap running all bloody night. Then I waded into the kitchen and discovered a three-foot gap in the floorboards, big enough to drop a pickle barrel into. And I don’t mean one of those consumer-style barrel-like jars they sell in the specialty shops … I mean a real goddamn hogshead. Almost fell into the son of a bitch. Now THAT would have been some discovery!

Well, in these days of social isolation, when you’re locked up inside your domicile for days at a time, you need to find distractions of one kind or another. And it tends to go that the longer you’re locked away, the more elaborate the distractions need to become. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) spent the first weeks of his isolation building simple Lego structures. (I mean real simple, like a thing that looked like three Legos plugged together.) By week three, he had moved on to erector sets. Now he’s taking spare bricks from a less well-maintained section of the mill and he’s building some kind of edifice, slapping cheap-ass mortar between the bricks in a kind of ham-handed (or ham-clawed) fashion. Hey … Marvin builds things. That’s what I’ve discovered.

Hey! Lemme try it!

Me, I decided to immerse myself in music. I pulled out a Lenny Breau album and began to think it may be a good idea to pick up my old acoustic guitar from time to time. Of course, when I did, I realized that I hadn’t changed the strings in about three years, so it sounds a little thuddy. Somehow I don’t think new strings would make that thing sound more like Lenny Breau. So I actually started playing the freaking thing. That was week two. Week three, I was on to the fiddle. Week four, I took a drumstick to the fiddle to see if it would make a decent percussion instrument, since I was such a failure as a fiddler. (If I had been the Fiddler on the Roof, I would surely have ended up the Fiddler face-down on the Pavement.) Now I’m eying the glockenspiel. It’s either that or that dulcimer like gizmo Matt used to have – the thing no one could freaking play, no how. Still … it’s a challenge!

Yeah, you’re right. I have to get out more. This mill ain’t big enough for the one of me.

Fire rockets.

What do you mean what am I listening to? Music. What the hell do you think? It’s my abandoned storage room. You got a problem with that? You do? Hmmm. Okay.

Well, here we are – another February at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, and let’s just say things are getting a little slow around the Big Green collective enterprise. For the world is frozen and I have touched the sky. (Wasn’t that almost a Star Trek episode?) ‘Scuse me while I kiss the sky – how about that? Anyway, not much to do this month except catch up on my reading and listen to some tunes. I made the mistake of cranking up some traditional jazz – Lenny Breau, to be exact – and our mad science advisor Mitch Macaphee took exception to that. Not a jazz fan he. I think he’s partial to Wagner. Porter Wagner.

Actually, it’s not just the music that has Mitch acting ornery. He’s been at sixes and sevens ever since that Space-X launch of the “Falcon Heavy” and the subsequent touchdown of its twin booster rockets. I have never seen Mitch so glued to a television set (except that time he Nice ride, Mitch.was cooking up a new kind of super glue and, well, inadvertently glued himself to the television set). I may be going out on a limb, but I think the thing that is sticking in his craw is the notion that another private rocket launch would be so successful. He also has a strange fixation on the Elon Musk space car. I think he wants to hijack that ride and take it to Pluto.

I try to mollify Mitch with my assurances that, though the Falcon Heavy was a huge success, we DID do at least five interstellar tours by virtue of his spacecraft expertise. Sure, we were almost killed about a thousand times and, sure, we were stranded on strange alien worlds for weeks on end, but those are mere footnotes. The REAL story is that we didn’t make a dime on ANY of those tours. THAT’S what’s got ME all worked up. I don’t know what the hell MITCH has to complain about. (Phew. You can see why my effort to reassure Mitch kind of fell flat.)

Okay, so … keep an eye on the hammer mill. If you see the nose cone of a rocket sticking up out of the courtyard, give me a call.