February 21st: moon guitar and Thompson's exit
[ posted by mcdeviltoast ]
Day 158
Woke to sunniness, about damned time. After lunch, Matt and I threw the frisbee around (having procured it the day before from Heather) on the wide curve of the track since the field was still curiously mined with tetanus. After a BBoss and another failed attempt to watch "Team America: World Police" (although I got to see an extra minute on their machine) we pedaled to the DVD shop, and traded it for a high quality-looking copy of "Copland."
Before we left, Steve had sent me a link about Hunter S. Thompson's suicide. Very sad times. He was a true original, as much a pioneer of literature as Hemingway, with the same violent end. I don't think any of us can look at Ralph Steadman's splatter-ink art again and not link it to Thompson's final act. Self-inflicted gunshots to the head are so horrifying because it represents the destroying of the brain, the exploding creative factory. The hole left by the bullet released thousands of questions to plague the living like "...bats and manta rays all swooping and screeching and diving..."; numb and zombie-like, we fans are cursed to grasp at half-cocked theories why he did it, as if reason is a painkiller. It was ok that he was a private man, as long we had his writing. Now the well has run dry, and the bucket smashed into oblivion. All we can do is look back through his writing looking for clues he never left, apply meaning to randomness, spin the mythos into a steaming frenzy, and make room on the mantle for yet another dead hero. You will be missed, sir.
Afterwards, I showed Matt the music store, the ruan (moon guitar). This time, they had a pick-up for it and inserted it, tuned it a little, had me play it. It's played upright and struck with a little obsidian monolith called a plectrum. The sound is some combination of banjo and slight sitar. I talked the guy down to 825 yuen (which is less than 100 USD) and it came with a case, tuner, and plectrum. I haven't really gotten anything for myself so far, and I fell in love with this instrument. The guy said something about a teacher at Dongzhou, possibly a lesson-giver, but I only "ting bu dong" three times before I just agree with what they say. Tomorrow, I'm going to have Heather go with me and inquire about lessons.
We swung back by Dongzhou and everyone was out but Heather. (Prior to the music store, we ran briefly into Rhys who was on his way to get Jeni after her first day of teaching.) I was too busy showing her the ruan and forgot to give the frisbee back.
Matt and I pedaled back, the ruan strapped to my back Desperado-style. I fiddled with it for a bit, and Nigel came in to have a look, tried tuning it, complimented me on the quality and price of it. Matt and I shooed him out so we could check the quality of "Copland" and it didn't appear to pixelate at the crucial chapter. After dinner we watched it and sure enough, it was a good copy and we finally got to know how the damn thing finished.
I worked on my lesson plan (half holiday catch-up, half Valentine's Day vocab, with a matching game) researched the ruan, called it a night.
Woke to sunniness, about damned time. After lunch, Matt and I threw the frisbee around (having procured it the day before from Heather) on the wide curve of the track since the field was still curiously mined with tetanus. After a BBoss and another failed attempt to watch "Team America: World Police" (although I got to see an extra minute on their machine) we pedaled to the DVD shop, and traded it for a high quality-looking copy of "Copland."
Before we left, Steve had sent me a link about Hunter S. Thompson's suicide. Very sad times. He was a true original, as much a pioneer of literature as Hemingway, with the same violent end. I don't think any of us can look at Ralph Steadman's splatter-ink art again and not link it to Thompson's final act. Self-inflicted gunshots to the head are so horrifying because it represents the destroying of the brain, the exploding creative factory. The hole left by the bullet released thousands of questions to plague the living like "...bats and manta rays all swooping and screeching and diving..."; numb and zombie-like, we fans are cursed to grasp at half-cocked theories why he did it, as if reason is a painkiller. It was ok that he was a private man, as long we had his writing. Now the well has run dry, and the bucket smashed into oblivion. All we can do is look back through his writing looking for clues he never left, apply meaning to randomness, spin the mythos into a steaming frenzy, and make room on the mantle for yet another dead hero. You will be missed, sir.
Afterwards, I showed Matt the music store, the ruan (moon guitar). This time, they had a pick-up for it and inserted it, tuned it a little, had me play it. It's played upright and struck with a little obsidian monolith called a plectrum. The sound is some combination of banjo and slight sitar. I talked the guy down to 825 yuen (which is less than 100 USD) and it came with a case, tuner, and plectrum. I haven't really gotten anything for myself so far, and I fell in love with this instrument. The guy said something about a teacher at Dongzhou, possibly a lesson-giver, but I only "ting bu dong" three times before I just agree with what they say. Tomorrow, I'm going to have Heather go with me and inquire about lessons.
We swung back by Dongzhou and everyone was out but Heather. (Prior to the music store, we ran briefly into Rhys who was on his way to get Jeni after her first day of teaching.) I was too busy showing her the ruan and forgot to give the frisbee back.
Matt and I pedaled back, the ruan strapped to my back Desperado-style. I fiddled with it for a bit, and Nigel came in to have a look, tried tuning it, complimented me on the quality and price of it. Matt and I shooed him out so we could check the quality of "Copland" and it didn't appear to pixelate at the crucial chapter. After dinner we watched it and sure enough, it was a good copy and we finally got to know how the damn thing finished.
I worked on my lesson plan (half holiday catch-up, half Valentine's Day vocab, with a matching game) researched the ruan, called it a night.
---
[ posted by mcdeviltoast @ 2/21/2005 07:46:00 PM ]
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The dumbtronica act Montana & McDeviltoast, along with their friends, keep each other updated on their activities. Much fun having by all, and Pockys fear for their lives!