I am not so coherent about yesterday as my roommate was late last night (here
, for those of you on her life filter). She wasn't kidding about this lot
being brain-scramblingly good.
In other news, I have once again created a shelf-space crisis in our living room. Something about going to the Island to return a hammered dulcimer to its original owner
(my father arranged for her to have the money to upgrade a few years ago and I ended up with her dulcimer; I never played it enough to really get much use out of it, so when they contacted me about a new student over in England looking for a dulcimer, I said yes, of course), and so having the chance to raid my other set of bookshelves again. Five bags of paperbacks later . . .
Also, I find I dislike Glocks. Or possibly I just dislike my father's Glocks (a nine-mil, roughly equivalent to a US .38, and a .40--both annoyingly jumpy in my hands at their current wrist strength), as they are fond of jamming when I'm firing them, and obey the IT law for my father (computer has Issues until fix-it person gets within three feet of it, then it works perfectly, making its normal user look a fool).
. . no, I'm still back at 'buh' over the concert. We were describing my brain on the ferry ride back as Scrambed Tofu.