isoglossia

We’re approaching the 48-hour mark of Magda and Adam’s departure, and it’s possible to track the trajectory of my days without them via statistics:

Hours of sleep logged — 18
Cans of Laško consumed — 8
SMSes, IMs, and emails exchanged — 6
Hours wasted at computer — 4
Hours spent reading — 3
Videos viewed — 2
New posts written — 2
Naps taken — 0
Moments spent missing the cookie-scent of my baby’s neck etc. — off the chart

We (by which I mean ‘me all alone — oh, and of course all the rest of Europe as if they count’) observed daylight saving last night, so some of those numbers may be skewed. When polled, most people say that if they had an extra hour in the day they would spend it either sleeping or exercising. That’s unimaginative. Here’s what I spent my free hour doing, a project which would have been im-frickin’-possible with Adam in the house:

The problem: CDs don’t toe the line, and Adam can thrust them back unto oblivion, and does. Frequently.

The solution: double-sticky tape under little battens. Applied, if at all possible, with no help from a baby.

The result: the slippery bastards finally and irrevocably line the hell up. PARADE REST, RHCP!

For the record, the sheer-strength of Scotch brand double-sided tape is remarkable. I can wholeheartedly and without hope of compensation from the Minnesota Mining and Manufacturing Co. recommend this product for all your anally-retentive needs. Also Post-It notes, like you didn’t already know that they rawk.

As I hoicked around the CDs, I was moved to contemplate how fleeting innovations can be. When I arrived at college I didn’t own a typewriter and felt under-abilitied, technology-wise. Your own typewriter was the state-of-the-art in paper-writing technology during that eon. By the time I graduated it was all about the Mac Lab and your floppy (which had to have the OS on it). During my sophomore year a rich girl I knew acquired a “compact disc” player. We all wanted to scoff, but were too jealous. Still, there were questions: what’re you gonna do with all your tapes and records? (the term ‘vinyl’ didn’t exist yet, kids). Never mind how are you gonna afford to replace all your music in this crazy little shiny disc format? Oh yeah, you’re rich. Never mind.
We were envious, dubious, and a little frightened.

It was eight years more before I became the owner of a CD player myself. Okay, it’s all gonna run on banana peels now? Fine, I’m in! It was a big purchase, but I found the prospect of buying the music much more daunting than the machine that would play it. The library grew, slowly and gradually, with occasional frenetic bursts if I was feeling rich or deluded. Pawn shops in army towns turn out to be great places for picking up cheap CDs (also weapons).

So I spent today’s golden gifted hour organizing the CD shelves. While wondering how long we’ll really need them.

Earlier this year I ripped all of our music to the secondary hard disc of our computer. As an archival thing. So all of our music, give or take a few recent acquisitions and maybe the Maria Carey Christmas album, physically occupy a space no larger and only slightly less reliable than a pack of tarot cards.

But the fully digitalized concept of music doesn’t quite work around here, not yet. We’re in the saurian process of changing over. I’ve spent a good deal of the last 48 hours listening to music in its “old” (that is, pre-mp3) form, painstakingly having to change the damn disc every hour or so. Nothing’s streaming here. I’ve also been doing some other old-fangled stuff, like looking though magazines and books (no, not E-books). I’m trying to feel good about being apart from Magda and the Destructor, doing things I wouldn’t ordinarily be able to do, like sleep late, lie around, and apply double-sticky tape to sticks of wood (WOO-HOO!) Also drink lots of beer while the sun is up, such as that occurs after daylight saving takes place. One of the books I’ve been finally delving into was a birthday present entitled “Empires of the Word — A Language History of the World”, and I’m finding it enthralling, a right ripping yarn. If you think you might be interested in it, re-read the title of this post.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, in the absence of my gorgeous wife and wondrous young son, I’m off to get to the bottom of this Assyrian business.