His name is Smoky, and he’s an electric-acoustic cutaway with a built in tuner, made by Seagull. I put desperately needed new strings on him, and he sounds lovely. Got him for approximately half price, and there’s not a mark or fretwear on him.
Also, I solved an extremely irksome problem in Finale Songwriter this morning, so now I can continue working on writing tunes down.
The office move went well. The only thing that got lost from my desk was a trash can and one of my stalwart coworkers bagged me one. I thought I had a shitty deal in terms of location, but the proof of the seating plan is in the actual results, and in this case I declare myself pleased, and I’m glad they put the cacklers close together, because G. and I both cackle when we laugh. Also, who the hell’s idea was it to leave our fax number on the floor above? GawDAMM.
Jerome dropped by yesterday, and how awesome to see him! Shannon’s expecting again, and of course my family can never be too big. He was describing how Braden plays with the harmonica I gave him, which of course nearly made my heart ‘splode with joy.
Time to go put some more laundry away. I can hear Jeff blasting shit in Skyrim. Herewith Dara Korra’ti’s lovely song, Fuck You Skyrim.