This post is extremely off-topic and no matter how I swing it I can't get it to relate in any way to meditation or chronic illness. You have been warned...
Last night, huddled under my doona in the arid frozen wilderness AKA my bedroom, I was distracting myself from the bitter cold by surfing around one of my favorite websites, Etsy.
Etsy is kind of like E-Bay, except for people with OCD (Obsessive Craft Disorder). It only sells handmade items, and, yes, if you're wondering, there are still people out there who crochet.
Last night I stumbled upon the wackiest Etsy site I've ever seen. There is someone out there who makes miniature, felt versions of synthesizers and keyboards. Turning this -
Into this-
The Etsy shop owner, says "If there is a special keyboard or guitar, pedal or amp that you would like to have a little felt version of, please email me and i can do my very best to make it tiny, cute, and felty."
Flicking onto the comments section I found a happy buyer who'd bought one of these 7cm-long felted synths for US$75, and gave a glowing review saying, "This little Korg is completely awesome...an excellent complement to my lifelong keyboard/synth obsession."
I read this aloud to my family while we were tucking into a roast leg of lamb dinner and there was such an explosion of laughter that we spent the next 30 minutes picking off teeny pieces of roast potato and lamb from the surrounding furniture.
Who was this zany synthesizer aficionado, we wondered? Here's what I've come up with...
Somewhere in outer metropolitan Melbourne is a single man living in a nondescript house. We'll call him...Dale. He works for the post office. He's a quiet worker, but, as he does his delivery rounds, he occasionally breaks into air-keyboarding some of the greatest keyboard riffs from the '80's. Often it's the beginning of Europe's 'The Final Countdown,' or, on more carefree days, when the mail load is light, 'Jump' by Van Halen.
Coming home every evening Dale puts on his blue velvet slippers and pads down into his basement, where, stored in carefully welded racks around the walls, is his collection of Moogs, Yamahas, Rolands and Korgs. Each keyboard has a beautifully crocheted cover, designed to protect it from the vicissitudes of Melbourne's climate. Dale's mother makes the covers. She's locked upstairs in an airing cupboard with a size 7b crochet hook and a couple of balls of black Patons Dreamtime Pure Wool 2ply for company.
Tonight, Dale feels something stirring at the very depths of his soul. His full collection of 88 key analog synthesizers feels somehow incomplete. "What is it I'm yearning for?" he wonders, with an Oprah-esque tilt of his head. Suddenly, a thrilling electronic glissando reverberates through his being, and it comes to him.
"Of course! I need to pay $75 - the equivalent of 1 years medical costs for a Congolese AIDS orphan - for a miniature, 7cm-long, felted, Korg MS-20. It will be an excellent complement to my lifelong keyboard/synth obsession."
Here is what he bought...
What the?!
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