[ some might consider this pornographic... ]
...but those folks have a disorder named after them, I imagine.
As the summer months faded into early September and school started again, I struggled to situated myself relative to the uncomfortable reality that I no longer had much legitimate claim to being oncampus, aside from The Band. One amazing Friday, Lewis and I drove down to the guitar center, and picked up the absolute beauty pictured below:
The body and neck are actually part of a single piece of deep, cherry-ish wood. The pickups are a hungry pair of Humbucker coils, though the guitar's signal strength doesn't quite compare to the ever-reliable keyboard. (I think the keyboard has lentils in it, at the moment.) The tone varies from a reedy, thin twang to a low, rumbly purr. The action is fast and pliant, with more flexibility out of the high strings than I'd consider healthy, frankly. (The high strings are where the instrument sings, by the by, though that's more to do with my lack of skill than the instrument's own properties). She's an Ibanez whose design/soul strives towards a Gibson, her own model name an obscurity.
...her name is Elise, and she's far more than I deserve, though I certainly don't plan on things staying that way.
Flush with the success of picking out a guitar that seemed to accommodate both my heavy inclinations towards the stylings of both My Bloody Valentine-mastermind Kevin Shields and U2-backbone The Edge, Lewis and I returned to Haverford nothing short of ecstatic. As it were, I'd slept for two hours that day, and hadn't had much more than a slice of pizza to eat.
...one party, two bottles of Lionshead, three shots of 101-proof Whisky, a glass of red wine, a disowned gin & tonic, and perhaps a brief ninety minutes later, I found myself fetal on a bandstand that had been set up for the next day's Cubano-American Pride Event, talking to Josh about the differences between how Java and C compile.
...about two minutes thereafter, the remnants of a seven-year, four-month vomit streak (in the form of an undigested slice of pizza) showered the grass by the bandstand.
Fucking crazy night, that.
Music: Daniel Lanois - Sonho Durado. I will teach myself to play this song to a high degree of tonal accuracy, if nothing else.
As the summer months faded into early September and school started again, I struggled to situated myself relative to the uncomfortable reality that I no longer had much legitimate claim to being oncampus, aside from The Band. One amazing Friday, Lewis and I drove down to the guitar center, and picked up the absolute beauty pictured below:
The body and neck are actually part of a single piece of deep, cherry-ish wood. The pickups are a hungry pair of Humbucker coils, though the guitar's signal strength doesn't quite compare to the ever-reliable keyboard. (I think the keyboard has lentils in it, at the moment.) The tone varies from a reedy, thin twang to a low, rumbly purr. The action is fast and pliant, with more flexibility out of the high strings than I'd consider healthy, frankly. (The high strings are where the instrument sings, by the by, though that's more to do with my lack of skill than the instrument's own properties). She's an Ibanez whose design/soul strives towards a Gibson, her own model name an obscurity.
...her name is Elise, and she's far more than I deserve, though I certainly don't plan on things staying that way.
Flush with the success of picking out a guitar that seemed to accommodate both my heavy inclinations towards the stylings of both My Bloody Valentine-mastermind Kevin Shields and U2-backbone The Edge, Lewis and I returned to Haverford nothing short of ecstatic. As it were, I'd slept for two hours that day, and hadn't had much more than a slice of pizza to eat.
...one party, two bottles of Lionshead, three shots of 101-proof Whisky, a glass of red wine, a disowned gin & tonic, and perhaps a brief ninety minutes later, I found myself fetal on a bandstand that had been set up for the next day's Cubano-American Pride Event, talking to Josh about the differences between how Java and C compile.
...about two minutes thereafter, the remnants of a seven-year, four-month vomit streak (in the form of an undigested slice of pizza) showered the grass by the bandstand.
Fucking crazy night, that.
Music: Daniel Lanois - Sonho Durado. I will teach myself to play this song to a high degree of tonal accuracy, if nothing else.
posted by Aziz at
12/06/2005 08:28:00 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home