Pipes and Marx

So, right, I go down to pipe practice again, and although I really have only practiced twice this past week (bad woff, me), I do okay, and I’m encouraged and stuff … well, more than encouraged actually, suddenly the “well if you come here regularly and you work out you will eventually be a member of the band” morphs into “hey, I don’t think I gave you our application form for the band last time, why don’t you sign up today” and “would you be free on the 4th to march with us and, you know, just carry a flag?” … so anyway … on to the important bit with the beer-drinking down at the bar after practice …

There’s this guy named Jim, and he seems an okay sort, not overly outgoing and friendly, but okay … shows around his Triumph motorcycle catalogues, so woot, neat crotch-rockets and all … and I talk to someone else for a bit, and I look over again, and I see him having this huge book out, “The complete translated works of Marx”. So, er, I go “Marx? Wow”, and we get to talking some … I had this guy pegged as about anything but someone who would wade through Marx … and the rest of the evening is spent on political discussions about Hitler, parallels to Bush (which I think are there but not nearly as prominent as they’re made out to be at times, which this guy disagrees on, no no, Bush is gonna be the next Hitler), the Irish situation, the working man getting fucked by politicians be they Republican or Democrat (true, actually, just the Democrats smile and say “I love you” before butt-raping you … that image stolen from Michael Moore … and by the time I get out of there again, I have three beers in and feel decidedly weirded out.

I think I will like it in this band. Whodathunk. A piping marching band, I expected firefighters (Brian who is teaching me is one, damn nice guy by the way), police and the military, and a whole lot of patriotism. Not an American Irish misfit quoting Marx.

Flag Day

C. and the kids will be fulfilling their patriotic duty today, and I’ll be tagging along. It’s Flag Day, so we’ll go to Six Flags. Yay.

Belgian Ales are Evil. Note to self: Nostradamus may be süffig, but he’s not called Nostradamus for nothing.

Extreme Gear is even more Evil. I ordered a yellow case, and got a puke green one. The case was the right one, it was an X-Dreamer … but it had that greenish yellow, tending very heavily to green, rather than a vibrant sun yellow. I returned it, thinking there had been a mistake … only to be told “that is our yellow, Sir. We’ll refund your purchase price. Too bad about the shipping”. That’s $65 in shipping down the drain. I am officially Not A Happy Customer.

Bagpipes

Bagpipes, noun: An octopus wearing a kilt.

I hooked up with the Springfield Kiltie band, and they have agreed to teach me the pipes. Yay. Now for practicing every day

Lessons learned

- Falling up the steps hurts
- A few blasts of WD40 can make a graphics card fan go again
- But they don’t make it run any quieter

- Just because you order a yellow case and it looks yellow on the website doesn’t mean you get a yellow case. It might be puke green instead.

Grah

Our landlord called. We’re out.
So, now the apartment-hunting begins again. Wish us luck. Moving will be a bytch. At least the kids will be in PA over the summer, so they can’t get underfoot.

I tried taking an otter’s advice and change oil by myself on my car. Boy, did that go wrong. I couldn’t get the plug loose for the life of me.
So, Chris will take it to the garage for an oil-change, and have them install the valve I bought while they’re at it.

Otherwise, nothing to report. I need a vacation.