The brain

Patrick has been on the phone all morning calling around to music stores trying to find a cymbal clamp for mounting an electronic drum kit brain. Mostly it seems he's been getting what he calls the "pimply drum geeks" who don't know what the hell he's talking about, but a few moments ago he just found what he needed from one store close by our house (he's been trying to avoid going to Hollywood or Santa Monica).

I've been getting a kick out of hearing him say, "it's to mount the brain." The BRAIN. Creepy!

I just asked Patrick for details about the specific type of drum brain he has. Follows is our actual conversation:

Me: What kind of drum brain do you have?
Patrick: It's a very sophisticated model.
Me: Well what is it? I want to post a picture to go with this silly story I'm writing on my blog.
Patrick: It's called a medulla oblangata.
Me: (Pause) (Laughter)
Me: Smart ass!

(For those of you who are still reading and are curious, it's an Alesis Trigger I/O.)
("Medulla Oblangata" sounds like a rejected Police album title. I bet Sting would've been all over that title.)

...

So now Patrick's packed up his gear, is heading out to the store and then cruising up to Culver City to meet up with his friend Chris to set up for a jam session tomorrow (how many times can I use the word "up" in a sentence?). I was going to go but decided moping around in my nightgown drinking diet cokes and listening to Big Boys was a better idea. Right before he left I sort of begged him (jokingly of course, let's not put off any erroneous visions of me being pathetic here) to come home in time to take me to the movies or something tonight and he gently reminded me of all the times his weekend is spent at home alone while I'm off pushing "play" and "go" at the theater.

Well. Fine, then.

I totally need to write another installment for the Great Adventures of Irene and Stewart Copeland. I'm behind.