Not only have all us lucky students gotten our holidays (yay!), which marks the usual Irish summer, (as we don't normally have the weather to match) but we're also being scorched off the face of the earth. I don't mind a nice warm day, with a light breeze, around 17 degrees Celsius, in fact I'd welcome it. But there is warm, and then there is 'ouch my lungs can't breath from the excessive sun'. Why? Why is there such a need for 27 degrees? In Ireland of all places! The entire nation will be sunburnt and riddled with freckles before the week is out! I know we Irish love to chat about the weather, and moan about the lack of sun, but honestly, we never expected the sun to come down from the heavens and nest in our backyards. What are we, dating?
I'm aware that at least 70% of the country are cursing people like me (non-sunworshippers) for our putting a downer on our Spain style weather, and are enjoying the scald for the time they get to keep it, but what about all of us delicate flowers? The difference of a couple of degrees for us is traumatic and downright scandalous. I don't even own a fan, I was under the impression that this was a non-scald country. I need to breath, over here. I wouldn't mind if I had a swimming pool (well, I would a little), or at least lived near the sea where a breeze could exist, but an inland area, I don't know how long I'll last. Even my Puppy/giant dog mutt, has no desire to go get the ball, that's a basic doggy right. Not that I could go out and throw it, I fear I'll get frazzled like a little egg on a pan. Suggesting sun cream isn't an option, I would go mad if I had to wear that slime, I'm only human.
Due to my sudden aversion to going outside/inability to leave my cool home, I have taken to playing le boif's bass, and reading le boif's The Bass Book. It does what it says on the tin, and concerns itself with shiny and crumbly old basses that belonged to music-y people, whilst providing pictures and educating helpless and clueless little ladies like myself, in the world of boom. I'm not implying that when I'm finished I'll retain much information, but I enjoy brushing up on my awareness of my ignorance.
From the little amount I've read, I appear to be more of a Jazz Bass lady than a Precision, and I've also fallen in love with the most handsome bass in town/around. I will show you him now, but bear in mind that he's mine, and you can't have him. (As if I could get my hands on one *cries*) Looooooook at him! In'he a beaut? The one on the left is the AEB-1 (Ampeg Electric Bass), and the one on the left is MY AUB-1 (Ampeg Unfretted Bass). I love him. He's so pretty.
Look at him sitting there, with his lovely scroll cranium (headstock), his f-holes right through, his quirky bridge, lack of frets and his mystery pickup, why is he not mine? We all know he's supposed to be mine, it's a given, so how's about we speed up the painful process? Or else I'll storm up to Mr. Ampeg and tell him to quit all this amp manufacturing malarkey and make me my bassy. He can't say no. What could go wrong? I know I ought to get a bass of my own, of some description first, in the meantime, but NIH.
I also happened upon a sheer piece of joy yesterday in my Google Images searching. To all you people out there he may just look like a normal mandolin but I beg to differ. I've never seen anything so pretty. I was so delighted with the world for making this 'un, that all faith in the human race has been returned, and I forgive you all for all your nonsense. So here's a picture to brighten your day.
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