Saturday was Wet Food Day in the house. This happens approximately once a week where the kitties share a can of Fancy Feast. For all their enthusiasm for Wet Food Day, you'd think they could manage to finish their tiny serving of food and not leave everything but the juice for the dog.
In the last day, I've had two people remind me that I used to play the cello. I've actually been thinking of going back to it again and purchasing one. I really did enjoy playing it, although I can't imagine a concert venue appropriate for me and my cello. And at this age, there is not much hope of me becoming the Tori Amos of the cello and selling out stadiums. But it would be nice to own one and mess around with it. Did you know that the range of notes you can play on a cello most closely resembles the human voice? That has always impressed me. But I have also had an intense desire to learn the guitar. I can see a lot of uses to that in that I could accompany myself in song, experiment with both acoustic and electric varieties and just rock out in general. But I've never played the guitar in my life. I've played the banjo (which is material worth of an entry all itself) but never the guitar. How hard can it be? Plenty of hard-core rockers have played guitar, usually while high.
Or I could catalog these frivolities with learning German, Spanish and Sign Language fluently sometime in the next year, which is to say laugh at myself and my high hopes and complete lack of follow through. If they made a Cello Hero to go along with Guitar Hero, I could compare the two.
So what do you think I should do?
While everyone else in Southeast Virginia was waiting for Noah's ark to pull in and dock at the shipyard from hurricane weather (3.7" in one day ... a new record), I was in sunny Ohio having all day meetings. It was productive, if a bit exhausting. And since we finished up a couple of hours early, we decided to stop by the concrete corn sculptures in Dublin. They never cease to entertain me.
Kathy and I wanted to use our camera phones to share the beautiful weather with our cohorts back in Virginia. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember my PictureMail password. I tried every password I could possibly think of. Last four of my social, my ATM pin, my old address, 1234, 1111, my email passwords, my "easy to type" password, random passwords I haven't used in year ... nothing worked. By the time we got to the airport, I had locked myself out of the account. Using the web site I was able to have it send me my own password as a text message.
This is usually the password I reserve for systems whose registration processes piss me off. I should have started with that password all along.