Phuck You

 I was up all night "worrying" pieces of equipment apart to have parts to list on Ebay. I say "worrying" because those pieces of equipment may have been hart to put together, and they're at least as hard to take apart. It requires seeing every screwed-in screw, every fastener fastened, as a personal insult. And just going around and around, gradually getting the thing apart. 

So I was too tired to practice. 

I'd emailed the French class telling them I'm pulling out, and got my replay today, as I checked my email right after waking up at a bit past 1 in the afternoon. They can only give refunds for dropping out in the first week. I guess it's my fault for signing up for the thing so impulsively. My biggest peeve is the class requiring the student to have a smart phone welded to their hand at all times. 

I looked at lessons in German of all things and only since I believe it's a lost easier and still a European place. Plus I took a bit of it in college ... Lessons are held at this school that's behind the Whole Foods (by a street or so) off of Hamilton Avenue so it's reachable by bike or transit (with a bit of a walk) and is $500 a semester. Classes are Saturday 10-noon. I guess I just feel, as so many do, an urgent need to get out of here. Music is my best ticket but a 2nd language would not hurt.  

I also heard back from a clarinet teacher I'd contacted and meaningful, hour-long lessons would be $100 a week. For that I could rent a studio in this artist space on The Alameda to ... do stuff in. Or rent an office in this one building I know of that's apparently cool with live-ins, to ... do stuff in. 

I also reflect that a hero of mine, Artie Shaw, was entirely self-taught. Other than working delivering groceries or something for a summer to buy his first saxophone, he was in a lucky place where his only job was music from then on out. But then, I'm due to retire in less than two years and will have nothing but time. Plus, since I'm timing it for when I turn 65 and can go straight from Medi-Cal to Medicare, I'll be of the age where I can takes classes at the University of Hawaii for nearly no money. 

And in the end all I want to do is be competent to play on the fucking sidewalk. 

I should see if I have the notes to play that little Mel Bay thing that's the first thing in the book that's like an actual tune. It's actually a cute little ditty. I can play the first two vocal lines in "Deacon Blues" by Steely Dan, then it takes higher notes I don't have yet. 

But I do remember struggling to hit C in the staff on trumpet and I just kept working at it.