You can eat a bunch of sushi then forget to leave a tip.
I. The E-Bay Moment of Clarity
I've been a bit obsessed lately with electronic music gear. I got my SY77 a few weeks ago, and it is totally fun. Like, super fun. It's way more fun than my old SY85, even though that one was slightly newer. Getting the SY77, however, was somewhat arduous. I had to drive up to LA, and not even just LA, but the valley, to get it. When I called the dude the day before he was like: "I know you're coming from San Diego, but could you tell me, you know, exactly when you'll be here, so I can make sure I don't have to spend the whole day waiting because, you know, being in LA I'm used to a lot of flakey people." Whatever. I'm paying you $250 bones for this thing and you want me to send you text messages for every highway I pass? Screw you, buddy! Anyway, I'm driving up there at like 9am on Saturday a few weeks ago, and I call him at the designated time (when I left the 405 for the Ventura Freeway). His wife picks up the phone: "Oh, sorry, he has a meeting for another hour or so." Grr. Flakes in LA, indeed. Me: "That's ok. I have cash. I can just get it from you, right?" Her: "No. He wants to be here."
Growl. Pisser. Sumbitch. What the fuck? That jackass made me drive up all the way giving him little electronic signals for every stoplight I passed, and now he won't even let me pick up the damn thing? Cruddy. Anyway, I get off the freeway and take Mulholland (that's right! WOOHOO!) up to this guy's neighborhood. I decide to wait for his ass in some fancy-ass grocery store, which was far too fancy-ass for my tastes. It had an automatic wine-chiller device. Apparently, you put your wine in this machine for a designated number of minutes, and it returns all chilled-like. I wonder if it works for Colt .45? That'd be a miracle. Anyway, he finally calls and I go get the thing.
The thing is, I was sort of on a time crunch that day because my dad wanted me to come by his house for dinner. However, there was an extra incentive. If I made it by 3pm, I could meet George Foreman! Woohoo! Apparently there was some chance that the Champ was going to be at this function because his kid goes to my dad's school. So I'm trying to burn rubber from Burbank to Redlands. And, thank you very much, I did it in one-and-a-quarter playings of The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars. (Why did I just write out the whole title? I'm a mystery.
However, the GF thing was a bust. He was a no-show. For my time, I got to sit in a middle of a football team pep-talk, with a speech given by my dad, approximately half of which was given up to introducing me and giving minute details about my personal and professional life. Or, anyway, that I'm a philosopher. Which is too much information for some people to take.
Anyway, that was a long winded introduction to my recent ebay moment of clarity. Because this keyboard is so much friggin' fun to play with, I decided to look around to see what other used gear is out there, and stumbled across this. Now, I have a long history of lust for this keyboard. The first time I noticed the name "Kurzweil" was on the back of the keyboard that Nick Rhodes of Duran Duran was using during the Duran Duran comeback of 1992-3. I thought: that's a weird name for a keyboard. But then I happened to mess around with one at Big Dude's Music City of Kansas City, MO. Sweet. Of course, the price tag was a consistent $3500, beyond my means. So I got a cheaper one, my old standby SY85.
But these things have been showing up on ebay. Especially the rack-mount one, which is considerably less and does everything the normal one does. So I've been bidding. And one was ending today, which started the day off at $120. A steal. So I bid. And bid. And bid. Finally, I get to $150. I know that if I bid even $2.50 more, I'll get it, because I've reached the other guy's maximum.
And that's when it hit me: how the fuck am I going to afford $200 (including shipping) for a Kurzweil K2000? No way at all! So, with 58 seconds left in the auction, and with my cursor in the "Bid Now" field, I let it expire. No go.
A little sad, perhaps. Disappointed. But greatfully, thankfully, alive.
II. The Real Moment of Clarity
I was at a labor-day party on Monday, Labor Day, that is. Having a smashing time with Mr. Rugby, Mrs. Rugby, Monopoly, and assorted others. Occasionally it happens that my glasses will get a little dirty. Perhaps a little dusty, a little oily, a little smudged with mustard or some other condiment. Perhaps some potato salad. Or a little saurkraut (though I rarely do this one on purpose). Anyway, I took my glasses off to rub them with the front of my shirt, and to my utter astonishment, they break in two. Right in half. You know that classic nerd image of the guy with a pocket protector and tape on the bridge of his glasses? Well, that's me without the tape or the pocket protector. My glasses have gone kaput.
What to do? Well, I walked around the rest of that day looking really closely at things. I decide that Tuesday I will get a new pair. But how? If I don't have $200 to pay for a Kurzweil K2000 (a tear...) I surely don't have $200 to pay for a pair of glasses. But then I remember one of the fundamental principles of our economy: credit cards. Mine, however, happens to be a somewhat limiting American Express, refused by the student health optometrists. Ugh. So I guess I'll have to go to Lenscrafters. So I go. I say: "Could you possibly read the prescription off of my glasses? I just want whatever I have in a new frame." He say: "No can do. You have to get eye exam." I say: "Dashed! Ok." So I go get an eye exam. Whatever. Halfway through he takes my glasses. He says: "Ok, I'm going to take your glasses and see if your prescription has changed." Er. Wait. Pause. Consider. Ruminate. Ah-ha! The Thomson Twins! You have to read my old prescription off of my glasses in order to get my new prescription! Buggerer!
So I'm pissed as I go to pick out frames. There was a grand total of one pair that didn't make me want to barf. But it was 250 bones. It was cool, a very distinct Clark Kent look that suited me. Alas, however, I couldn't afford them. I settled for a sub-par pair of Ray-Bans.
Until I went to pay for them and realized they tacked on another $180 for lenses.
BULLSHIT!
So I split. Went to student health. Paid $119 for a pair of semi-Clark Kent frames that just came in today. Poor for the rest of the month, although it's quite likely that I could leap small buildings in a single, or perhaps two, bounds.
Two moments of clarity, for a grand total of $424.
I've been a bit obsessed lately with electronic music gear. I got my SY77 a few weeks ago, and it is totally fun. Like, super fun. It's way more fun than my old SY85, even though that one was slightly newer. Getting the SY77, however, was somewhat arduous. I had to drive up to LA, and not even just LA, but the valley, to get it. When I called the dude the day before he was like: "I know you're coming from San Diego, but could you tell me, you know, exactly when you'll be here, so I can make sure I don't have to spend the whole day waiting because, you know, being in LA I'm used to a lot of flakey people." Whatever. I'm paying you $250 bones for this thing and you want me to send you text messages for every highway I pass? Screw you, buddy! Anyway, I'm driving up there at like 9am on Saturday a few weeks ago, and I call him at the designated time (when I left the 405 for the Ventura Freeway). His wife picks up the phone: "Oh, sorry, he has a meeting for another hour or so." Grr. Flakes in LA, indeed. Me: "That's ok. I have cash. I can just get it from you, right?" Her: "No. He wants to be here."
Growl. Pisser. Sumbitch. What the fuck? That jackass made me drive up all the way giving him little electronic signals for every stoplight I passed, and now he won't even let me pick up the damn thing? Cruddy. Anyway, I get off the freeway and take Mulholland (that's right! WOOHOO!) up to this guy's neighborhood. I decide to wait for his ass in some fancy-ass grocery store, which was far too fancy-ass for my tastes. It had an automatic wine-chiller device. Apparently, you put your wine in this machine for a designated number of minutes, and it returns all chilled-like. I wonder if it works for Colt .45? That'd be a miracle. Anyway, he finally calls and I go get the thing.
The thing is, I was sort of on a time crunch that day because my dad wanted me to come by his house for dinner. However, there was an extra incentive. If I made it by 3pm, I could meet George Foreman! Woohoo! Apparently there was some chance that the Champ was going to be at this function because his kid goes to my dad's school. So I'm trying to burn rubber from Burbank to Redlands. And, thank you very much, I did it in one-and-a-quarter playings of The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars. (Why did I just write out the whole title? I'm a mystery.
However, the GF thing was a bust. He was a no-show. For my time, I got to sit in a middle of a football team pep-talk, with a speech given by my dad, approximately half of which was given up to introducing me and giving minute details about my personal and professional life. Or, anyway, that I'm a philosopher. Which is too much information for some people to take.
Anyway, that was a long winded introduction to my recent ebay moment of clarity. Because this keyboard is so much friggin' fun to play with, I decided to look around to see what other used gear is out there, and stumbled across this. Now, I have a long history of lust for this keyboard. The first time I noticed the name "Kurzweil" was on the back of the keyboard that Nick Rhodes of Duran Duran was using during the Duran Duran comeback of 1992-3. I thought: that's a weird name for a keyboard. But then I happened to mess around with one at Big Dude's Music City of Kansas City, MO. Sweet. Of course, the price tag was a consistent $3500, beyond my means. So I got a cheaper one, my old standby SY85.
But these things have been showing up on ebay. Especially the rack-mount one, which is considerably less and does everything the normal one does. So I've been bidding. And one was ending today, which started the day off at $120. A steal. So I bid. And bid. And bid. Finally, I get to $150. I know that if I bid even $2.50 more, I'll get it, because I've reached the other guy's maximum.
And that's when it hit me: how the fuck am I going to afford $200 (including shipping) for a Kurzweil K2000? No way at all! So, with 58 seconds left in the auction, and with my cursor in the "Bid Now" field, I let it expire. No go.
A little sad, perhaps. Disappointed. But greatfully, thankfully, alive.
II. The Real Moment of Clarity
I was at a labor-day party on Monday, Labor Day, that is. Having a smashing time with Mr. Rugby, Mrs. Rugby, Monopoly, and assorted others. Occasionally it happens that my glasses will get a little dirty. Perhaps a little dusty, a little oily, a little smudged with mustard or some other condiment. Perhaps some potato salad. Or a little saurkraut (though I rarely do this one on purpose). Anyway, I took my glasses off to rub them with the front of my shirt, and to my utter astonishment, they break in two. Right in half. You know that classic nerd image of the guy with a pocket protector and tape on the bridge of his glasses? Well, that's me without the tape or the pocket protector. My glasses have gone kaput.
What to do? Well, I walked around the rest of that day looking really closely at things. I decide that Tuesday I will get a new pair. But how? If I don't have $200 to pay for a Kurzweil K2000 (a tear...) I surely don't have $200 to pay for a pair of glasses. But then I remember one of the fundamental principles of our economy: credit cards. Mine, however, happens to be a somewhat limiting American Express, refused by the student health optometrists. Ugh. So I guess I'll have to go to Lenscrafters. So I go. I say: "Could you possibly read the prescription off of my glasses? I just want whatever I have in a new frame." He say: "No can do. You have to get eye exam." I say: "Dashed! Ok." So I go get an eye exam. Whatever. Halfway through he takes my glasses. He says: "Ok, I'm going to take your glasses and see if your prescription has changed." Er. Wait. Pause. Consider. Ruminate. Ah-ha! The Thomson Twins! You have to read my old prescription off of my glasses in order to get my new prescription! Buggerer!
So I'm pissed as I go to pick out frames. There was a grand total of one pair that didn't make me want to barf. But it was 250 bones. It was cool, a very distinct Clark Kent look that suited me. Alas, however, I couldn't afford them. I settled for a sub-par pair of Ray-Bans.
Until I went to pay for them and realized they tacked on another $180 for lenses.
BULLSHIT!
So I split. Went to student health. Paid $119 for a pair of semi-Clark Kent frames that just came in today. Poor for the rest of the month, although it's quite likely that I could leap small buildings in a single, or perhaps two, bounds.
Two moments of clarity, for a grand total of $424.
posted by dd0031 at 3:18 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home