Finger update

For those of you who were not there at the time and/or have not yet heard: A month ago I got the two outermost fingers of my left hand crushed in a car door. Not slammed, as in struck by the swinging side, but crushed--in the business end, right above the hinge.

The damage, currently

Anyway, this accident caused a good deal of concern at first, and not just because it hurt like hell (which it did); these are two very busy fingers for a guitarist, and even more so for a fiddler. Luckily I had a two-week hole in the schedule and that was just about enough time for the nerve damage to heal. Right about then the third finger bled out and that was that; I expect it to make a full recovery. The fourth finger, however, was so situated at the time of the incident that the nail root was crushed, and so that nail's a goner. It's just starting to loosen now (who knew you could make a noise like a rusty door hinge with your nail?); observe the 4mm clot underneath.

That's 1/8" of congealed blood. Cool, huh?

The best part of all this is that the hand that swung the door shut belongs to a certain James Dean. This is going to be that most intensely exciting life-experience story to tell one's descendants over and over and over. Not entirely certain as to how I feel about that.

Confessions of a book addict

Alright, my two and-a-half weeks of nonstop activity is over. At last I can rest on my laurels. Rather, I would have been able to so recline had said laurels not been squashed beneath the enormous pile of books I've accumulated during this whirlwind tour. It would seem that I've outsmarted myself once again, having amassed such a collection that I am now at a total loss as to where to begin reading. It's just as well, really, as I have a whole lot of other things to attend to, most notably my current epic-scale painting, which has been gestating for well over a year now. But I'll not want for reading material for several months to come. One of my prize finds: 33 current and recent back issues of Model Aviation ($3.00 for the lot- that's a 98% savings off newsstand price).

I am now going to spend the remainder of my day off gazing skyward at my insurmountable teetering tower of literature, occasionally looking out the window as the forecast 12-14" of fresh wet snow piles up on top of the only recently-exposed driveway. On the upside, if we run out of cordwood we have plenty of books to keep the fire going.

In Which I Get Some Sleep

I am a juggernaught.

I've been firewalling it since Wednesday 11. The madness that is my average day has been accelerated straight through into insanity; days merge into nights and back again into mornings. Time becomes meaningless, though ostensibly it is of the utmost importance. Run, walk, jog, drive, fly, swim, somersault numbly from hither to yon.

I am a juggernaught.

Last weekend was one of late nights on stage and a whole lot of tossing and turning in a very noisy hotel. New York kids have already got to be the loudest little pukes there are as it is, but put them together in any number--let's not talk about the small army that patrolled the halls for 72 hours straight--and things start to happen. The ubiquitous Do Not Disturb signs begin disappearing from their proper places, with the result that room service stumbles in to find one in one's natural state or, worse, finally having nearly dozed off; public bathroom fixtures likewise mysteriously uproot themselves and migrate to a faraway land; doors are randomly kicked in by twelve-year-old girls demonstrating to their friends the inadequacy of the locks. New York is no place for the insomniac, regardless of what is said.

I am a juggernaught.

Immediately upon returning from the Catskills, the library dash begins. Two shows a day, in every corner of the State. Drive, unload, set up, crowd control, cast control, cast control, cast control, break down, reload, drive, repeat. Read five pages of Walden, if eyes will stay open that long. Repeat, repeat, etc.

I am a juggernaught.

Only one show Saturday morning. Unload entire set and props. Disembowel, ..uhh, clean out the van in preparation for the "Shanty Shindig." Refill (to the brim) with musical instruments, launch oneself over standup bass in order to reach seat. Dandify oneself; this is a pirate party, after all. Swashbuckle one's way through a four-hour set, ending at 2:00 AM. Scratch, scratch, scratch (wearing a wool sack coat). Scratch some more. Reload van, drive, unload van.

I am a juggernaught.

3:45 AM: I lie awake in bed. The rain drums on the roof. Cool sheets. Soft pillow. The morning brings my first day off after ten days on. Life is so good.

I am a jugggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg

For the bookworms

Today found me lugging plywood set pieces into the basement program room at Library C. This stop is always the highlight of my two weeks or so of touring as they simply have the best ongoing book sale there is. I have my own fan club among the librarians due largely to my compulsive inability to leave with less than a small tower of dusty volumes in my arms. Without fail there is a treasure or two to be found, and a surprising amount of ribaldry and smut. But take a gander at my booty for today; I walked out with two computer cases full. Total damage: $38. This fetish for good literature is getting to be expensive. Among my prize finds from this week's work are:

• Dictionary of American Slang (second supplemented edition), circa 1973

• Webster's Collegiate Thesaurus, 1976

• Half-Lives, Erica Jong, 1975

• A pocket Norwegian-English Dictionary- primary language, Norsk

• Der Langenscheidt Taschen-Wörterbuch, Third Edition

• The Golden Encyclopedia of Music, Norman Lloyd, 1968

• The AARL Handbook for Radio Amateurs, 77th Edition

• Splinter of The Mind's Eye (Yes! I actually managed to dig up an intact copy of this legendary unlicensed Star Wars spinoff novel! The inner nerd is SCREAMING), Alan Dean Foster, 1st edition, 1978

• A copy of Metroid. For y'all who missed the
NES train, this is not in fact a book, but a rare and much-sought video game dating from 1985.

Alright, it's too late to write more and you've already read too much anyway. But don't take my word for it- go to the book sale at your local library, and tell them I sent you.

Ode To Ringlets

Today was day two of the intermunicipal tour of a play which runs for two weeks this month in libraries and public buildings across the state. Being a general-purpose lackey for the fabulous mobile theatre unit run by the sisters, my duties are largely restricted to heavy lifting and ...uh, well, that's about it, actually.

This morning's performance was at Library A, a place of an alarming compactness; by comparison, Library B looks like a service hangar. It also turned out to be the most heavily attended show; at least forty or fifty people were packed into the tiny room when all was said and done.

The second enactment took place in a spanking new Senior Center rather than Library B, as past experience with the logistics of that particular township's library, and the fact that our current set is of a size and complexity that puts the infamous Rainbow Monstrosity to shame, made it a simple function of common sense that we should relocate. As I surveyed the audience, I was inspired to write a poem:

O, Perm-
A voluminous curiosity art thou.
Wiggle
Waggle
Round and round you go,
A hundred thousand bouncing carousels.
A dam burst somewhere;
Forth comes the maelstrom.
Upward, outward, downward
Eddies swirl about the ears
Round and round you go.
But get'st thou not moist in earnest,
Lest thy surge be stilled.
Aye, woe be unto he who showers thou;
Who by terrible new tempest be extinguished.

Still catching up on that lost sleep. Photos and explanation still to come.

Paddy On The Internet

So it has come to my attention (repeatedly and from several directions) that I should be blogging. Thus, my very first entry:

Fiddle-dee-dum-dee-dory-o.

Hmm. Not a particularly interesting genesis, is it?

Alright, I'm off to bed as I spent the last two nights in a hotel room, at the mercy of what I took at the time to be the Apocalypse come (but, as it turns out, only several dozen overjoyed eight-year-olds running laps in the halls all night). More on this later.

Stay tuned for some quality programming.