food, thought, medicine.

Ike looks alarming, wouldn't you say?

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I'm trying a little experiment this weekend wherein I attempt to not do all of my little procrastinatory habits, most of which revolve around food or this blog or both. See, this weekend is the first and last time I'll have even the tiniest bit of breathing room for a few weeks, and I can already feel myself wanting to do nothing but breathe until there's no room left.

If that makes any sense. What I'm saying is, I often find it hard to work unless a deadline is standing on my neck, or pinching the bridge of my nose, or any other mean thing a deadline might do, but at the moment? I'm kind of tired of my deadline self. Like Carly Simon, I Haven't Got Time For The Pain.

Wouldn't it be refreshing if this time, just as a crazy experiment not completely unlike the Large Hadron Collider, I worked consistently and methodically every day, anticipating and subsequently avoiding my endearing tendency to wander off down other semi-related lanes of inquiry (those hours I spent recording solos on my new PostcardWeevil were totally well-spent, though, I'm not talking about that).

OK, like just now. I went looking for a video of the PostcardWeevil and I found this:

Which led to several other things, and I was in a Googhole for 20 minutes. That's what I'm talking about! Here's the PostcardWeevil by the way. In this demo it sounds tiny, but imagine if you ran the output through a humongous bass amp...total destruction. I accidentally blew a basketball-sized hole in the dining room wall this morning during my extended Weevil solo (not really...we don't have a dining room!):

OK, I used up all my food-talking time looking for information on how to fuck up children's toys. I guess that's all for today. But you see my point. Oh, and Pitts? Please make sure Erica doesn't throw away any of the twins' sound-making toys...I'll be bringing my soldering iron with me this Xmas.

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