26 Things I Want (but won't get) For My Birthday: 1-10

And yes, I know that I did my countdown backward in the title; it just seems so weird typing "10-1," like it's a baseball game gone wrong or a police code or something. Anyway, it's time to get on with it, I suppose, but before that, a bit of an update: #24 on my list was something I actually got as an early gift -- not only that, but I now have a grand total of elven -- 11! -- followers, including my own dear mother (hi Mom! Love you!), which is about 11 more followers than I thought I'd get. So thank you, all eleven of you, and on with the countdown.

Incidentally,  I have been informed that, in some respect, my blog titles are purveyors of false advertising, as several of the items are things that I actually could conceivably get for my birthday (see: #24), and that I'm sort of letting some people down. Well, let me promise you now that this final ten will be all completely unattainable -- at least in the next month or so. This I promise you. On we gooooooo.....!!

$160 million Picasso painting: Not on the list

10. A writing gig. You know, something freelance and regular -- if I could get paid to rant and be me, then why the hell not? 

9. Or, if we're being greedy, a job that employs my unique (but pretty useless) skill set. If you can think of anyone that'll have me, here's what I have to offer: excellent organizational skills; not-so-excellent MS Paint skills; the ability to write in both a formal and conversational style; a general-knowledge pool that surpasses the pools of many; a nice sense of humo(u)r and a biting wit; not inconsiderable music skills (both performance and composition); rich knowledge in both British and American history and culture; a curiosity of the world around me (until it bores or scares me, then I quit); and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope a general charisma and easy-going nature that makes it easy for people to deal with me. Any takers?

Also not on my list of skills: cool hats.

8. An awesome motorbike. Maybe, say, a Suzuki Bandit 1250GT! 

Shiny.

I've wanted to join the ranks of the motorcyclists for a few years now, for a number of reasons, but my piss-poor manual transmission driving skills pretty much guarantee that my ability to work a bike will be equally piss-poor. Maybe if I had one, though, I'd gain sufficient motivation to get off my fat rump and learn.

7. For my "old man" persona to actually reap some benefit. My face says, "Hey, I'm in my Mid-20s!"

Now you know why I go with the footprint on my header.

But my words and actions seem to indicate at times that I have this trapped in my body, ready to bust out Alien-style and devour us all:

Although, there are far worse things to turn into than Humph.

I wax nostalgic for events and things that my own parents have a hard time remembering, I'm equally at home watching Buster Keaton films or The Hangover, my iPod contains Lady GaGa and The Smothers Brothers, Gorillaz and Wagner, ABBA and Dexter Gordon. One of the most entertaining books I've ever read is the diary of a late 18th Century pastor (his views of Methodists are hilarious!) -- indeed, I tend to find much kinship and amusement in the constant whinging of old men (which is probably why, not only do I know who Humphrey Lyttelton actually is, but I have almost every episode of I'm Sorry, I Haven't a Clue on my iPod) -- and all this has only served to make me either the most boring person alive or a freak of nature, depending on who I'm talking to at the time. Maybe this ties into the job thing, but I just can get over the inherent sadness  involved with my personality being of little help to me.

6. My old iPod, the one that was stolen from my car in August. Apart from the fact that its replacement has been utterly hopeless (the glitchy 120GB classic model which finds it necessary to reboot every half-hour), that iPod contained my only copy of several recordings of mine, from big bands to combos to Garter Band recordings to solo works, my big band arrangements, my classical lessons... all gone. There might be backups somewhere -- probably on a dead laptop somewhere in my garage -- but if they exist, I can't find them. So a call-out to those who might be reading: Any Corey-era OJE, Jazz Cafe, Garter Band, or whatever recordings -- if you have them, I'd love to have a copy. (Especially if you have OJE studio recordings, I don't think I had those to begin with...)

5. A return to form for my saxophone playing. This one would be particularly nice to have pretty quickly, as I'm playing with my former high school right at the front end of June. Pulling out the sax and playing, I'm not bad -- I was pleasantly surprised how many licks came back to my muscle memory in such short order -- but I can't help shaking the feeling that, about six years ago, I was much, much better -- great, even. Ah, what am I talking about? It'll all be okay. It's one of my skill set, yeah?

4. For the Dungeons and Dragons overlords to restore my bard to her former glory. Let's just say that I'm very -- very, I say -- unhappy with their update of my "wail of anguish" power. Very unhappy.

3. To finish my book.  I swear, I've rewritten this thing, like, six times. Again, I just need to shut up (maybe not blog so much?) and do it. 

2. A recording of Stephen Fry reciting T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." I suppose, really, you might be able to replace "Stephen Fry" with about 50 different names of UK origin and I'd be pretty satisfied; years back, when I'd consciously practice my British accent like a cut-rate theatre student, I'd read this poem aloud, and actually, my accent today is moderately passable, although now I'm more adept at saying "In the room the women come and go/Talking of Michelangelo" than something infinitely more useful like, "Pint o' lager, guv," or "Oi! Which way to the loo?" There was a reason for choosing that particular poem, though -- ever since I was required to do a presentation about it in high school (and botched it mightily, I might add), it became one of, if not my favorite poem, and every time I read (or recite) it, I find new meaning, new lines that make me think, so while this entry on the list is superficially due to my need to compare my sycophantic mimicry to the sonic qualities of a native speaker (so to speak), there's actually a bit more to it than that.

In particular, my mention of Fry as the voice of Eliot. Besides my genuine love and admiration for the guy -- which I think was evidenced quite clearly if you've ever read my MySpace blog or heard me talk ever -- the voice of Fry lamenting about the rigours of time and the curse of missed opportunity is pretty intriguing to me. Prufrock is a poem about a man looking at himself as a spectator rather than an imbiber of life; Fry's persona, at least his media persona, seems to be quite the opposite, as one who experiences all there is to see and do and conveys it to the Prufrocks of the world, but both possess a certain self-awareness that would make one's recitation of the other's thoughts and feelings a very interesting thing to witness, to say the least. There's actually a lot more I could say about this -- and Prufrock in general -- but I feel like I should leave that for another time. Silly lists shouldn't be clogged up with serious discussion. Still, I can't help thinking that hearing

"And would it have been worth it, after all,

After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,

Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,

Would it have been worth while,

To have bitten off the matter with a smile,

To have squeezed the universe into a ball

To roll it towards some overwhelming question,

To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,

Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"--

If one, settling a pillow by her head

Should say: "That is not what I meant at all;

That is not it, at all." 

Would be pretty amazing. And seriously, check out Prufrock. It's pretty long (for standard poetry), but well worth the read.

1. An Eigenharp. These things are absolutely amazing. I mean, look at this!

So awesome.

This thing is definitely the ultimate in electronic music -- it looks like a cross between a bassoon and an air purifier, but the possibilities for creating pure win from it are endless. I can only imagine myself whiling away years of my life playing Freezepop covers or composing pieces for jazz band and Eigenharp. The basic model, the pico, is slightly less than 400 pounds sterling (that's cost, not weight -- pay attention, kids!), but the executive edition is about ten times as much, which is pretty spendy in my book. Sigh.


Well, I hope that was at least moderately entertaining for you guys. I actually had something resembling fun writing it. Now I have to think of something else to write about; if I stop now, you guys aren't going to get another post for months.