State of the Studio Address

This is what we (as in "I") have so far:



I'll try to document my progress. At least this helps in getting some stuff up off the floor. That's a start, right?

Last night I moved that Fender Rhodes into its current position from around the other side of the desk, and as you can see I didn't leave much room behind there to maneuver it. So it was awkward. My back has been screaming at me ever since. I just took some ibuprofen. Yes, I tried to "lift with my legs" to the extent that I could. I think those weigh 140-150 lbs, and without two people, in that narrow space, there's no way to not be a little hunched over.

Yes, mom, I know it makes the shelves on that end harder to access. I'll designate that end as "long term storage".

Woohoo.

Just so that you can all sigh a big sigh of relief, I got some small shelves from Target today that work perfectly as supports for the table/desk that I'll be using as my computer and music work area. Now I can finally ascend to the next level of Maslow's Hierarchy of Things to Whine About.

Un-buying

Slowly but surely the climate is becoming more humane and less jungle-like. Either that or the heat has burned all the feeling out of my skin.

The theme du jour is "returning things". I feel like scum, but it has to be done. First I bought the new DVD documentary about Bob Moog and the history of the synthesizer (you can easily google for it), but it lacks that special elusive quality known as "non-defective". So that has to be sent back for a replacement. Then, I took the metal pipes and flanges back to the hardware store. The girl behind the counter acted really annoyed, but I think she was too young to be worried about her employer's profits (hell, I don't worry about my employer's profits) and was probably more annoyed at the process involved. And thirdly, I took this stupid alarm clock back to Radio Shack, otherwise known as "the land of overzealous salesboys". I dreaded that, but I didn't need the stupid clock, and the cash was better spent on a tankful of gasoline.

It's really against my nature to return things, though. It feels like going back on a deal, as if purchasing something equates to a vow of finality, and if you don't like what you bought you should chalk it up as a learning experience. It's like cheating or something. You could be a real asshole and make a lifestyle of "free renting" things in this manner, jumping from one store to the next and using their stuff while never paying a dime.

The studio is still amorphous. It is a room with things in odd piles, and a spot carved out to sleep in. But in small bits, related objects are finding their way to one another. And the rest of what's still in my car is low-priority stuff, so my only rule with that is to bring one little thing in every time I come back here. Today, for example, it was a box of cassettes.

In other news, I keep getting e-mail from people about some old rock band getting back together.

The little table that couldn't

Not sure where to begin.

Suffice to say, I cannot let this table, or this thing that is not really a table, put my whole life on hold. And yet it is doing just that. There is no one to blame. I've just never made a table before, is all, and it shows. It's humbling. Very humbling.

The most significant defect in this table is that it simply does not stand up. It is Bambi on the ice. I've got it very precariously balanced in an upright position right now, but if I walk over to it and set so much as a piece of paper on it, it will probably collapse. The legs themselves are strong because they are steel pipe, but they are screwed into wood that isn't solid, so the wood gives and thus the legs wobble.

Looking at it from here, it really is 4" to 6" too high anyway. I was hoping for a quick answer, but I'm apparently kind of fucked on this. I don't know. I'll keep thinking. We'll see.

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In the broader picture, I have in fact moved all my worldy crap back into the Village Gate, which, for those not in the know, is a large building with a permanent identity crisis. There are independent shops and restaurants here. Bands rehearse here. Concerts, shows, exhibitions and other events happen here. People live here. It's sort of chaotic, but it's a haven for freaks, where no one ever says "that's weird" or "why would you want to do that?".

I opted for the first room available, which is about 250 square feet and has no window facing the outside. On the upside, it's dirt cheap. Hopefully in a month or so I'll be taking over someone else's room across the hall for the same amount of money, and it will have a window. I want to live cheaply for a while so I can pay off some debt and buy a few nice things -- but if I keep blowing money on things that don't work, like this table, it will defeat that purpose.