Working Turntables

So, I've got one window open watching some internet tv stuff, and then another with news, and then another with some music, and then itunes is running at the bottom with my old tracks playing over and over, trying to convince me that something of value resides therein, and if one thing ends, then the others take over, and I just mute everything except for 2, and that's enough to keep it going, because if they all end, the fucking silence is deafening and the blank screen is blinding, and the general scheme of my life slaps me in the face.

But enough about me.

How are you?

I took my guitar into the shop today. I bought it from my friend James circa 2001 for a tv and $150. The pick-up selector has been acting up for. . . uh. . . maybe 7 years? But since the top of my left index finger is covered with a fresh burn blister, I figured it might be a good time to hand it over to get fixed. 1 Week. They're backed-up at the shop. I blink. Shit, I probably should wait that long so I don't rip open this blister and set it back a while. Alright.

But time off is rough. Everything gets rethought. What about Vinyl? There's a company in California that does Plaskett's vinyl and they'll do short runs -- like, 100 records for $1100; you'd only have to sell 60 at $20. . . Seems like a lot. . . 60 records. . . Since I probably know 10 people with working turntables. . . And selling 60 when I'm not at all happy with a track-listing seems fairly impossible. . . But I really don't see the value of a cd anymore. Have I written about this before? Man, I almost want to just put the mp3's up online and sell the password at shows. That could work, right? No? I guess you could just put them online a la Radiohead, and ask for a donation of the buyers choice.

Man, I tell ya, I took the bandage off my finger before I started typing this, and it's hurting a bit, but not nearly as much as all my whining and soul searching seems to indicate. What a big fucking baby I am.

Jay.