Sunday, June 26, 2016

Razzafracking emojis.

*mutter mutter mutter*  Stupid bright yellow disembodied heads with goofy expressions.  Balloons floating above the till at the supermarket.  Little stuffed ones lined up on the dashboard of a van on the street.  Ever-[redacted]-where.


Wednesday, June 22, 2016

Time flies. So does cat fur.

14 years ago today a lovely tabby Siamese named Freyja gave birth to her kittens on My living room couch.

Happy birthday to Caramon the Tum-Tum Cat and RJ-45, the two surviving members of Freyja's Dark Legion.

In memory of Raistlin, Walter, and Grayscale.

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Springy G versus the Salad Spinner of Certain Doom

Inspired by My recent post on arpeggios, and continuing the theme of challenging some of the more bizarre and irrational behaviours that plague My current existence --

-- Let's talk about salads.

I love eating salads.  Greek salad, Caesar salad, chef salad, spring mix with baby beets and goat cheese and candied pecans with a drizzle of balsamic reduction.  Yum.

Here, however, is a short list of things I would rather do than make a salad:
  • Climb 20-foot ladder and clear leaves out of eavestroughs
  • Do My taxes
  • Run a truckload of plaster and lath to the city dump
  • Drive out to band practice in a raging thunderstorm
  • Clean the Dark Legion's litter boxes...
...That's the gist of it.

This isn't to say that I don't make salads; I do, when I eventually get around to it.  Although I still haven't quite figured out how to make a decent Caesar dressing, I can assemble the rest of it with no major issues.  My Greek village salad (everything but lettuce) is just fine, as is the lettuce-enhanced version.

I do, however, have a nasty habit of conveniently forgetting that I have perishable salad ingredients in the fridge, and have lost a few proto-salads due to ingredient rot.  As a result, I try to avoid buying greens and such until I'm good and ready to make an honest-to-goodness salad out of them.

Right then and there.

The very instant I get the groceries into the house.

No sojourns in the fridge allowed, at least not till the salad is actually assembled.

(glances out window at somewhat menacing skies; clicks over to the local weather webpage) Just as I thought -- Chance of a raging thunderstorm tonight.  I'll be back after band practice.

Maybe even with a salad.

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Mr. Kittehson goes a-viking

Late this afternoon I was sitting at My desk in bare feet, a pair of fresh socks at the ready, as I was doing paperwork and making phone calls.  A certain fuzzy-butted cat by the name of Frey Kittehson was My lovely assistant, dusting the keyboard with his tail and strolling in front of the tax guide I was trying to read.  In due course, said fuzzy-butted cat was airlifted from the desk (under protest) and relegated to the floor, whereupon he stomped off in a huff.

Work finished, I went to put on the socks and get ready for this evening's band rehearsal.

"Funny, I could've sworn I brought a pair of them..."

I searched on the desk, under the desk, under the chair.  I retraced My steps back to the bedroom where I had picked up the socks, thinking that perhaps I had left one in the sock basket or dropped it on the floor.  Nada.  I shrugged, donned a different pair, and headed downstairs and out with My clarinets.

Several hours later, upon My return to Astrejurhof, I found the missing sock.

In the middle of the living room carpet.

Covered in burrs.

I'm not quite sure why Frey decided to steal one of My socks, and even more puzzled about how it wound up 50 feet away, on a different floor of the house, covered in plant matter that to My knowledge does not grow inside the house.

He's good.  He's real good.

Thursday, April 14, 2016


For some reason, I am terrified of arpeggios.  I suspect this started back in the 1960s when I was taking piano lessons.  They were the Weird Chord Things, totally unlike the solid and broken triad chords, and seemed so much harder that My brain just froze and never did thaw out.

It's telling that I can whip off a C# minor harmonic scale, 2 octaves, on piano and clarinet, from memory.  Show Me a C major arpeggio and plunk the sheet music right in front of Me, and My brain just goes "Uh... no.  Not doing that."

This is something up with which I will not put.  Stay tuned for Springy G Versus the Arpeggios from Hell.

Monday, March 28, 2016

It kinda grows on you.

It's taken over a week to sit down and craft My traditional "Welcome to spring!" message.  It's not that I like procrastinating; it's that --

-- Oh, I admit it!  I've been stalling for time because I couldn't think of anything charmingly divine to say about this somewhat lacklustre season.  Everything had nicely thawed out, the crows were high up in the elm trees building their nests, and I was chatting with the DeeDee Birds and the robins and that obnoxious little red squirrel who sits on the Hydro line and screams bloody murder at the cats.

This being Winnipeg, of course it had to snow.  That can really take the spring out of Springy G's step, especially when I'm tiptoeing across a sheet of ice in the twilight gloom with a knapsack full of clarinet gear and two bags of groceries.

What else could I do?  I made the rounds of the usual places that I cause trouble on the Internet, and  tootled melodiously on My clarinets, and played round after round of Mah Jong and FreeCell and Spider solitaire, pausing occasionally to sigh heavily, look out the window, and go "Meh."

I think the tide is finally turning.  The snow we got last week is almost melted, and I've heard a few cautious caws and chirps from My avian neighbours.  It isn't time to roll up the sleeves and start mucking about in the garden -- still too much muck for My tastes -- but I can see the light at the tunnel.

And it isn't on a snowplow, either.

Wednesday, March 9, 2016

Sir, I shall always be in your debt.

Upon the occasion of the death of Sir George Martin, I'm reminded of how his work changed My life back in 1963.  The first seconds of "She Loves You" by the Beatles erased an actual terror of music -- possibly caused by hearing a pipe organ in a church when very young -- and replaced it with love.

I went on to spend over 50 years listening, studying, performing, recording, DJing in college radio, and trying out one instrument after another before finally deciding upon woodwinds and keyboards.  Playing clarinet, saxophone and piano in community bands for the last 5 years has opened up something so huge that I now can't imagine not having it as part of My life.

I owe George Martin a debt that can only be repaid one way -- With music.

Okay, I'm crying now.