Jeremiah's School of Levitation
Upsy-Daisy!
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Fiddle-aholics Unite
Hello. My name is Jeremiah. I am a fiddle-aholic. No, I don't have a tabloid-ious relationship with the countrified violin-ic instrument. No. I'm a fiddle-aholic because I love to fiddle with things. You see, I cannot imagine, ponder, intellectualize, or cipher properly unless my hands are occupied with fiddling up something.
This is a "problem" I've had since I was 8. I used to love rubber bands. Not to shoot at The Mighty Poop Butt, aka, my little brother, but rather just to shake as I walked around. I would shake rubber bands like they had a thousand volts going through them. I'd walk around, sometimes talking to myself and all the time living in my head, and I'd be shaking that rubber band, whacking it up against walls and furniture, like it was a snake's forked tongue, flickering, taste-smelling its surroundings. My dad thought I was probably going to need medicine.
And, it couldn't just be any old rubber band. It had to have that "swing". To determine if a band had that swing, I'd give it a few test shakes to test its whippiness. Then, I'd weigh it in my palm to test the gravity of its imaginative powers. Then, I'd rub its width betwixt muh thumb and forefinger, to test its potential strength and durability.
If it failed ANY of these rigorous tests, then back in the drawer, back on the ground, back around whatever it was intended to bind, it would go. I would only fiddle with the best rubber bands. In case you're wondering, the best ones were green, just large enough to hang slightly loosely around my wrist, were firm like a tendon, and were of medium thickness. Yeah.
Nowadays, I have various fiddle-oids (as I call them). I've got those Chinese ding-a-ling balls, pens, marbles, hematite stones, mechanical pencils, my nose, my headphone chord, my hair, my glass yin-yang necklace, a closed book--heck, I find new stuff all the time.
My favorite, though, is my mini-slinky (see photos below). I constantly whip, whirl, bounce, and fondle that thing. I roll its thin, cool springs across my lips. I stick my fingers in its coils and then I spin it. I extend it and retract it dozens of times in a row. I hang it out of the car window. I swing it as I walk. I basically work that thing until, one day, I extend it exuberantly, and, with a sickening twang, it doubles back on its own spiral and, in that instant, it goes from an elegant, tight, and perfect spring, to a jangled jungle of twisted metal that now resembles a bowl of silver-plated vermicelli. The sight never fails to twiggle my belly-bone in horror.
So, then, on the way home from work, I have to stop at the math store to get a new mini-slinky. The math store is this place that sells math-oriented toys and games, which, is apparently the genre of slinkies. The lady who works there knows me now. She grins knowingly when she sees me walk in.
"You sprung another one?" she said the last time.
I shrugged and smiled back.
"Well, it's cheaper than therapy," she said.
Which, I suppose gets right to the heart of the matter.
I'm Jeremiah. I'm a fiddle-aholic. And, consequently, I can keep my head together. Daily.
My mini-slinky.
My mini-slinky slinkin'
This is a "problem" I've had since I was 8. I used to love rubber bands. Not to shoot at The Mighty Poop Butt, aka, my little brother, but rather just to shake as I walked around. I would shake rubber bands like they had a thousand volts going through them. I'd walk around, sometimes talking to myself and all the time living in my head, and I'd be shaking that rubber band, whacking it up against walls and furniture, like it was a snake's forked tongue, flickering, taste-smelling its surroundings. My dad thought I was probably going to need medicine.
And, it couldn't just be any old rubber band. It had to have that "swing". To determine if a band had that swing, I'd give it a few test shakes to test its whippiness. Then, I'd weigh it in my palm to test the gravity of its imaginative powers. Then, I'd rub its width betwixt muh thumb and forefinger, to test its potential strength and durability.
If it failed ANY of these rigorous tests, then back in the drawer, back on the ground, back around whatever it was intended to bind, it would go. I would only fiddle with the best rubber bands. In case you're wondering, the best ones were green, just large enough to hang slightly loosely around my wrist, were firm like a tendon, and were of medium thickness. Yeah.
Nowadays, I have various fiddle-oids (as I call them). I've got those Chinese ding-a-ling balls, pens, marbles, hematite stones, mechanical pencils, my nose, my headphone chord, my hair, my glass yin-yang necklace, a closed book--heck, I find new stuff all the time.
My favorite, though, is my mini-slinky (see photos below). I constantly whip, whirl, bounce, and fondle that thing. I roll its thin, cool springs across my lips. I stick my fingers in its coils and then I spin it. I extend it and retract it dozens of times in a row. I hang it out of the car window. I swing it as I walk. I basically work that thing until, one day, I extend it exuberantly, and, with a sickening twang, it doubles back on its own spiral and, in that instant, it goes from an elegant, tight, and perfect spring, to a jangled jungle of twisted metal that now resembles a bowl of silver-plated vermicelli. The sight never fails to twiggle my belly-bone in horror.
So, then, on the way home from work, I have to stop at the math store to get a new mini-slinky. The math store is this place that sells math-oriented toys and games, which, is apparently the genre of slinkies. The lady who works there knows me now. She grins knowingly when she sees me walk in.
"You sprung another one?" she said the last time.
I shrugged and smiled back.
"Well, it's cheaper than therapy," she said.
Which, I suppose gets right to the heart of the matter.
I'm Jeremiah. I'm a fiddle-aholic. And, consequently, I can keep my head together. Daily.
My mini-slinky.
My mini-slinky slinkin'
Elliot, 12:40 AM
8 Back at me:
Oh my god I wish I had a store like that here! I'd probably want to spend as much time in it as I would in a book store.
I drive my husband crazy when I'm writing because I sing, I tap my fingers, I fiddle with keyboard keys, anything to keep the mindflow going. I used to play with silly putty till that became non-desirous to have around the twins.
I drive my husband crazy when I'm writing because I sing, I tap my fingers, I fiddle with keyboard keys, anything to keep the mindflow going. I used to play with silly putty till that became non-desirous to have around the twins.
My fiance has a problem with silly putty. It might be libidinous.
I tend to accumulate weird fiddling items at work. Usually when something out of warranty breaks, I disassemble it and keep anything especially shiny or with a good ball bearing sleeve. On my desk right now is a freestanding hard disk spindle. Ball bearings you see...
I was gonna expound on my own busy fingers, but then I got a look at YOUR Fingers, and now my mind is elsewhere....
I need that slinky.
I need that slinky.
The Youngest has a thing for slinkies and I'm constantly annoyed because he winds them back on themselves and I can't fix them. I'll be more forgiving in future.
But have you ever gone through a worry stone?
I think I've been to that math store. I LOVE that store.
I think I've been to that math store. I LOVE that store.
Mr. Fiddler,
You must read my latest story of childhood...and cars. I think you would enjoy it.
You must read my latest story of childhood...and cars. I think you would enjoy it.
I'm starting to have Jeremiah withdrawals. Hope you have time to stop back in soon. Been thinking about you.
