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TitanPa 
"Here four more"
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 Posted - 12/03/2004 : 12:14:24
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I mean that Literally. SO whats your day like Benj? How long do you spend approving reviews? How much time do you spend with your loved one. When do you get time to eat?
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benj clews 
"...."
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Posted - 12/03/2004 : 12:43:08
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quote:
Originally posted by Titanpa
I mean that Literally. SO whats your day like Benj? How long do you spend approving reviews? How much time do you spend with your loved one. When do you get time to eat?
As most people have probably noticed (but have been too polite to bring up for fear of offence), I don't get around to approving anywhere near as many reviews as I used to. This is down to many things- mostly my girlfriend moving in with me, but also it seems a lot harder to sit down and work through several hundred reviews every night (probably down to the ever growing number of films I don't know off the top of my head which therefore need reading up on to remind myself). For these reasons, I'm lucky if I put in an hour a day approving anymore (used to be closer to 5). Some days it's maybe only a quick five minutes before bed, for fear of narking my woman off.
General day, though- get up, catch up on the fourum, maybe sneak in a few approvals, head to work (website development of all things) for 8-10 hours, sneak in a few approvals there, head home and sneak in a few approvals there. Also, a couple of times each week I spend the evening busting a gut at the skate park.
Weekends I usually try and catch up on cinema, and will normally see 2-3 films, tinker with the back end of the site, play banjo and practice slalom skating. Oh... and do review approvals. (As you can see my woman has to put up with a lot and often claims to be a skating widow- I must be the only guy alive who gets told off for eyeing up a railing the wrong way  )
Somewhere along the way I get to eat, but only when I absolutely have to 
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noncentz 
"Myself in four words."
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Posted - 12/03/2004 : 16:40:27
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Hey, I thought I was the only one here who played banjo (though oddly, I'm not much of a fan of country or bluegrass).
I also eat on occsion.
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Josh the cat
"ice wouldn't melt, you'd think ....."
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Posted - 12/07/2004 : 15:04:48
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funny thing is I don't play the banjo but I eat to frequentley and need to slow down or even cut out the occasional meal!
Keep up the great work Benj
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Conan The Westy
"Father, Faithful Friend, Fwiffer"
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Posted - 12/07/2004 : 19:40:18
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I'm considering losing weight by taking up the banjo. With the lack of eating among banjo players do you think they should suggest it as a substitute for smoking?
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Edited by - Conan The Westy on 12/08/2004 11:36:57 |
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noncentz
"Myself in four words."
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Posted - 12/08/2004 : 05:19:52
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Banjo players don't eat big meals.
We just pick.
(Just made that up. damn, I'm funny!)
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noncentz
"Myself in four words."
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Posted - 12/08/2004 : 10:06:42
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Folks are often surprised to find that I, a rock and roll, classical music, blues and jazz kinda guy, have a banjo sitting in my living room. (I think a big part of the romance of it stems from Kermit singing Rainbow Connection and Harold strumming at the end of Harold and Maude)
I'm in a writing mood. This is the tale of how I came to own my banjo. It's not a believable story, but it happened nonetheless.
I love the open road. I'm a man of the road and have driven across the U.S. more than 10 times, sticking to back roads almost exclusively. I love telling tales of people and places I come across and my most receptive audiences are usually my nieces and nephews.
Upon his graduation from high school, I opted to reward my nephew Brandon with a cross-country driving experience. No route planned, just a destination and a deadline. Brandon has always enjoyed my tales of the people I've met and the unexpected discoveries that have unfolded before me. Brandon isn't just a relative, he's a friend. He has joined me in some of my charity work, joins me every year when I give out my high school art and writing scholarships, and has helped me raise money for cancer research. A good kid, but a kid who hasn't traveled far from home.
So Brandon flew out to California and we loaded up the car. It was a great drive. We snuck into Mile High Stadium and he ran the field, he paid his respects at Columbine High, he saw his first moose. We ate a lot of bad food, and under my rules, at every meal he had to eat something he had never had before.
I taught him some road tips such as to always sleep on the side of the motel bed furthest from the phone (nearer to the phone means a lumpier mattress due to people expecting morning wake-up calls).
We also met a lot of interesting people. My mantra has always been that every person is an epic if you take the time to get to know that person. Time and again, the most average of people we came across revealed great stories about their lives. Brandon was into it. We stopped for an oil change in Nebraska, met a farmer and his son who told us about their workday, and by the end of it we were eating dinner with their family. The next (very early) morning, Brandon was laughingly forced to milk his first cow. As we drove off, Brandon joked that meeting the farmer probably altered his ability to blindly drink milk for the rest of his life, that the farmer would probably never realize how damaging the visit was to Brandon's healthy bone growth. Funny kid.
The road unfolded before us.
As a longtime fan of Huckleberry Finn, I descend into nostalgiic wanderings every time I cross the Mississippi River. We found a spot to pull over so we could sit and have lunch. We were vagabonds and looked the part, not having done laundry for a week. I suddenly had a strong, romantic urge to pluck a banjo. Once we hit the road again, I had decided that I would get one as soon as I could (I was driving back to California and I wanted one for the return trip).
We hit the east coast and visited a friend in New York City. That night we all headed down to a stretch of music shops in Manhattan. I pulled banjos off the wall or asked clerks for assistance (and in almost every shop, they played Duelling Banjos as they handed it to me).
I wanted the right banjo for me, so I waited for that magical moment when it would rest in my hands and I would feel a connection between myself and the instrument. I wanted to hold it and say "yup, this is the one." It didn't happen. None of them felt right. So I left NYC without a banjo on my knee.
Journey's end was Massachusetts, mom's house, my old hometown. Brandon's family was nearby. As we parted, he told me that he never realized how close the rest of the world was to where he lived. He told me that the town he lived in was probably filled with equally amazing people but he never really thought so before. Kinda cool ending.
Spending time at Mom's house, in my small hometown of 20,000 people, is always a relaxing time. No work, lots of love, creativity and late night snacks. It was two days until Christmas, which is a picturesque time in New England.
The next day, I decided to complete a sketch of the farmer I had met in Nebraska. I needed another art pencil, so I drove downtown to my childhood art store...which I soon discovered no longer existed.
However the town music store, where every childhood member of local school bands had purchased their instruments, was still extant. Not a big place but worth a shot in my banjo quest.
I scanned the walls of the string section. Guitars, cellos, violins, and not a banjo in sight. No surprise.
As I headed out the door, I came upon a glass case with old photos of local school bands, and several of a nearby defunct jazz club.
And there...leaning against the case, was a banjo. I held it, admiring the clean styling. I slung the strap over my shoulder, wrapped my hand around the neck, and strummed.
"Yup, this one's mine."
The clerk, hearing my sour notes, popped up.
"How much?" I asked.
"Well," he itched, "we just got that one in. It's used but the price guide says it's a $1500 banjo."
Gulp. Too much for something I was easily in danger of never learning.
"Wow. That's a lot. Is that the price?"
The clerk said that it had not yet been priced and he had to get his boss. He called for someone in the back of the store.
An old guy popped out and seeing me with the big bucs banjo, a wide grin spread across his face.
"Soooo...you like this banjo?"
"Yeah," I replied, "how much is it?"
He pondered it for a moment and looking it over, offered "well, how about $200?"
A look of surprise came over the clerk's face while I, stupidly honest, blurted out "uh, he said it was worth $1500." The clerk chimed in with nervous agreement.
The owner smiled and said "Well, it's my store so i can sell it for whatever I want. In fact, let me throw in some picks, strings, a banjo case and an instructional book. No charge."
I couldn't believe it. As I went to pay, I told him that the banjo was a great Christmas gift to myself but that his generosity would always be the memory I'd have when I played it.
He shook his head, smiling. "You're one to talk about generosity."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well," he said, "five years ago, my granddaughter had a baby while she was still in high school. It was hard for her and she was ready to stop her college plans. Plus, she really didn't know what she wanted to do in college. she didn't think she was that good at anything."
I had no idea what he was talking about at this point. He continued...
"So graduation time came and to her surprise, she won an art scholarship. Your art scholarship. And you gave her a letter with the scholarship, telling her what you liked about her art. Well, that was the incentive she needed and she ended up going to art college. She graduated last year with honors and she's already got a job as an art teacher. So...a banjo and some strings ar the least I can do."
I was blown away. THAT was my favorite Christmas gift that year.
We talked for a bit and he invited me into the store's storage room to look at his collection of instruments. It was like a museum. He had hundreds of pieces, including an original Beatles drum, a Civil War-era band uniform and a Dizzy Gillespie trumpet. Awesome.
All in the back room of this junky little music store, in my little hometown, across a continent, where I found my banjo.
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Edited by - noncentz on 12/08/2004 10:49:09 |
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Evil Giraffe 
"Guess who's back?"
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Posted - 12/08/2004 : 10:27:55
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Man, you got all the best stories.
Now to find out about an art scholarship to further narrow down Noncentz real identity!
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benj clews
"...."
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Posted - 12/08/2004 : 11:29:18
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Great story N.
Boy, have I gotta' get out more. All my best stories end with "and then I woke up" 
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AC 
"Returning FWFR Old-Timer"
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Posted - 12/08/2004 : 13:11:34
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Thankyou, noncentz. A wonderful story to start a bleak Ontario morning. Much appreciated.
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Sean 
"Necrosphenisciform anthropophagist."
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Posted - 12/08/2004 : 21:07:46
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It proves that good deeds are like fwfr votes. They have rubber-bands attached.
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GHcool
"Forever a curious character."
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Posted - 12/08/2004 : 21:28:00
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Love it noncentz!
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TitanPa
"Here four more"
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Posted - 12/15/2004 : 12:15:00
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quote:
Originally posted by Evil Giraffe
Man, you got all the best stories.
Now to find out about an art scholarship to further narrow down Noncentz real identity!
oye vey. I got it ages ago.
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Demisemicenturian
"Four ever European"
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Posted - 12/15/2004 : 15:18:41
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quote:
Originally posted by Titanpa
oye vey. I got it ages ago.
Along with most people here, I think.
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Hows your day?
