I am done with shopping six days from the 25th. I donâ€™t think Iâ€™ve ever done that before. I usually throw a fit on the 23rd. I have also managed to get something for everybody in the family and Hâ€™s family, which may also be a record.
The prose rhythm paper turned out pretty well. Itâ€™s not publishable as is, but I see no reason that it canâ€™t go out in the spring after another draft or two. That gives me no less than 3 irons in the fire; Philâ€™s paper went out last week, but Iâ€™m not sure Iâ€™ll get one out by New Yearâ€™s. I really wanted to do so, but I donâ€™t want to send out stuff thatâ€™s not ready. Late Jan is doable for one and Feb-March for another.
Gorgias was moved to the den yesterday, installed in some shelving in the corner, and now it can play surround-sound video through the TV via various wiring trickery and an old SB Live! card that was collecting dust in the closet. This arrangement has added a considerable amount of real estate to my desk, as there is no need for a network switch, a KVM, or a second power strip anymore.
Iâ€™ve also figured out a new way to rearrange the closet, so my old hard drive recorder can come out and meet its even older friend, the Marshall combo, which human years is hitting puberty. But it still has its original tubes. I have an urge to play guitar some in the coming weeks. When I was getting my undergraduate degree I played a
But I still have my guitars. Theyâ€™re always waiting. I get disillusioned with my years of songwriting attempts easily. But I was thinking the other day, and I realized that Iâ€™ve only gotten better. I never got worse. And all the instrumentals Iâ€™ve written remain intact. My calluses come and go but itâ€™s never taken me more than a few weeks to reestablish old skill. Perhaps that time has come again.