machine love

Yay! New computer has finally arrived. To my slight surprise and relief, I like it, but do not love it. It sounds silly to type this out with punctuation, but I was a little concerned that a) my old computer would be sadly neglected from now on, despite not having committed any sin other than succumbing to age, part and whole; and b) the status of my favourite mechanical thing would be taken away from the disused, but much affectionately beheld guitar--but a guitar is an instrument, not a machine.

When does an instrument stop being merely an instrument and become a machine?

I suppose there is a spectrum and at some point, when the touch of hand becomes too removed through too many processes and parts to produce an immediate, emotive sound, it can be said to be more machine than simple instrument. However, a vend diagram would still be in order.

So rest secure, my Cavallera guitar, you are still (aside from my beloved bear who really qualifies for some genuine animism by this decade) my number one--cue ABBA!

Missed dim sum today, but will try to make it to the Powwow. Saw "Big Lebowski" again last night and it is a great testament to that bromide about friends (and films): sometimes the best ones are old ones. Next time somebody gets a little righteous or smarmy or whatever stripe of unattractive, not-minding-his-own-business shows through civil clothing, I can channel the Dude and say:

"Oh yeah? Well, that's just like, your opinion, man."

Geniusity!