I know I say this a lot, but you’ll all have to forgive my absence from Blogging - especially you Max, I know how much you depend on my adventures to get you through the working day – I’ve been trying to write, believe me, in all sincerity I have, but of late nothing has been coming out. Oh, there have been adventures; there are always adventures when there’s gin in the cupboard, money to burn and you have a fondness for telling strangers your musings on why the government is holding back a cure for AIDS so they can sell more units of Blossom Season 2 on DVD, but adventuring hasn’t been the problem. Of late I’ve become completely consumed by this:
http://pepperspianoteacher.ytmnd.com/
Brian Peppers stories aside, the hypnotic tones of that talking piano have had me returning to that page multiple times a day, so much so in fact that I haven’t been able to write anything since first being turned onto it. I don’t know whether to cry, be afraid, or laugh, there’s so much going on with that dulcet voice, it’s truly the most fascinating thing I’ve ever heard and it’s rendered all my emotional responses null and void. I could have the girl of my dreams, dressed as Princess Leia, pledge her love to me evermore, but if it wasn’t voiced by a magic piano or at least imitated, she’d be better off peddling her translucent affections elsewhere.
...And it turns out that I'm not the only one in my family addicted to this either. While working in Victoria's Most Boring Town 2007 and staying in a ridiculous converted mill for what turned out to be less than two hours of actual work, I received a text message which prompted my Sparky message ring tone (uploaded here for your enjoyment) to blast forth at 128kbs from the phone's modest speaker. Yet before the piano could introduce himself my old dad turned to me in Christmas morning excitement and finished the forthcoming sentence, in perfect monotone character mind you. Turns out the old bean has been a fan from way back, and he himself had once been addicted to the original 45" record. Small world, you spend all your lives living in the same house wondering how to connect to one another and all the while there's an electronic synthesizer waiting to bring you together...suffice to say his ID in my phone has been changed to Old Man Sparky, while unfortunately, mine remains Ungrateful Bloodsucker in his.
Was it the digs or his conflicted feelings
of fatherhood that bemused Tom so?
...And it turns out that I'm not the only one in my family addicted to this either. While working in Victoria's Most Boring Town 2007 and staying in a ridiculous converted mill for what turned out to be less than two hours of actual work, I received a text message which prompted my Sparky message ring tone (uploaded here for your enjoyment) to blast forth at 128kbs from the phone's modest speaker. Yet before the piano could introduce himself my old dad turned to me in Christmas morning excitement and finished the forthcoming sentence, in perfect monotone character mind you. Turns out the old bean has been a fan from way back, and he himself had once been addicted to the original 45" record. Small world, you spend all your lives living in the same house wondering how to connect to one another and all the while there's an electronic synthesizer waiting to bring you together...suffice to say his ID in my phone has been changed to Old Man Sparky, while unfortunately, mine remains Ungrateful Bloodsucker in his.
Was it the digs or his conflicted feelingsof fatherhood that bemused Tom so?
