Somebody’s got to pay for the piano

I didn’t shower from Thursday afternoon before work until today before work (this is four days!). I suppose it’s impossible for this to be the first time I’ve done such a thing, but it is at least the first time I’ve claimed it in a semi-public space. I mean I had all the weekend off and sometimes you just want to run to the grocery store on Friday without showering and after you’re back why do it since you’re not leaving again today and you don’t gotta go anywhere Saturday or Sunday neither even though you do but brush your teeth and put on some deodorant first. I was glad today came and I had to go to work so I’d have a reason to clean myself off. It was getting a bit weird in there.

I’d been playing this video game called Crackdown which basically consists of around a week of entertainment primarily based on you controlling a superhero who progressively gets stronger as you beat senseless the gangs of this city you’re in. But like I said, a week, and it’s somehow not as fun to nuke townspeople from the top of a skyscraper with a homing rocket as it once was. Consequently I am struggling to find the motivation to play some of my other games or take something else up altogether; god knows what that would even be. I gave the guitar back to Dad in anticipation of getting to Japan, with my firm personal acceptance of my lack of skill with it. It’s fine–I just wish there was another instrument I could really pour myself into like I did with the sax so long ago. I have told myself piano. Keyboard. I could even hook it into my computer, where-ever I wind up. At any rate, I can hardly afford one, let alone one worth two tickles of an ivory, and any good one I could end up getting would be too cumbersome to make the trip with me to Japan. The true holding pattern, endlessly circling waiting for an approach. In the meanwhile, Guitar Hero suffices, but only to give my rhythmistic impulses somewhere to fire. I am without the end product, the, you know, music, but at least have the mechanical. It works for now. Maybe I’ll take up pen spinning. Maybe not. Maybe really not.

The Whirley Pop is a popcorn-popping pan with a crank on it that spins a rod to move your popcorn kernels around so they don’t burn when you pop ’em. I got a Whirley Pop from a sibling for Christmas, and after I had used it once it broke. A quick call to Whirley Pop’s International Headquarters had a new one on the way out to me in less than a couple of minutes with no UPCs, codes, or receipts required, just a description of my problem, a minute or two, and my address. It has indeed been too long since I had such a great customer service experience–and certainly not within the technology industry (Whirley Pop dual-gear-action-spinning-system notwithstanding). Just wanted to throw that out there!

I called Comcast the other day, almost out of pure whimsy, just to tell them that I didn’t like what we were paying for our Internet service, and to ask them if there was anything they could do about it for me, since they botched my install so badly (missing three appointments to set it up consecutively). As it turns out there was something they could do, and that was give us fifteen bucks off our service. I guess I make Comcast (creatively titled “Comcrap” in my phone’s address book) sound nice in this story, which was not my intent. Merely by mentioning their particular name in relation to customer service after a note about Whirley Pop I should be encouraging heavy odors to pour forth from the mouth of the Earth. Anyway, Comcast is pretty lame, and now I’m paying a few bucks less for their service.

It re-occurred to me the other day while sipping an Arrogant Bastard that when I came to Pittsburgh my beer knowledge extended primarily to Miller Lite, then known as The Only Beer I Could Drink. I thank fortune and coincidence for allowing me to become a better-rounded imbiber of brew throughout my time here: I now have a pleasant means with which to feel pleasant, and can leave the rough liquors and frozen drinks to the outliers. I will take one (or two or three) full-flavored beers, fellows, with a game of darts on the side (if you please). Truly this is one of the innumerable steps I must take to become a man I like, well-rounded and well-traveled, of clear mind and clearer conscience, having experienced what there was, having known the feeling of throwing triple-twenties after a couple, having bummed a cigarette from a stranger (even though I don’t smoke them). For merely having happened, they can only be good things, those which we remember, and those we occasionally cannot!

I showered today, I wish I had an instrument to play, my popcorn popper broke (but has been fixed), my cable bill was fixed (but wasn’t really broke), and I Like To Drink Beer. This is basically all that happens.