If people ask us “Can you speak rhinocerous?”, we’d say, “Of courserous! Can’t you?”

I like a little (lot?) of creep factor in my life.

I also possess an affinity for music boxes and musical movement machines.  I have a musical ceramic mother and baby bear that a dead relative gave me as a child.  It plays a languid version of “Talk to the Animals” that I somehow find simultaneously miserable and warm.  The notes lazily progress, metal comb plucking each pin deliberately.  The result is calming, but gives me goosebumps.  I have loved the tiny metal device for as long as I can recall, and now look to it for inspiration, as I have decided to try my hand at crafting a musical movement machine.

Musician boyfriend will be composing a 50-note tune for me, and I will painstakingly prod pins of musical wire into polymer clay to produce a minuscule music machine.  What I hope to do is purchase parts to create a moving piece, similar to a musical windup carousel horse.  In lieu of a horse, I’m hoping to pick up an older ceramic doll head. Nothing would delight me more than an eyeless, porcelain head bobbing up and down while boyfriend’s melancholy jingle resounds.  I hope to begin purchasing the parts soon, although final construction is far off.  The man who authored the internet guide I will be using in my endeavor took two years to complete his music box, perfectly named the “Foreverbox”.  His steps to music box construction can be found here:   http://www.unity303.com/musicbox/

I will be pleased with myself if I manage to complete this project.

In terms of workplace updates (as this stupid blog is supposed to be written while I’m stuck at my job as a parking garage attendant), I have few.  Not much by way of importance happens around this place.  Mostly I surf the internet, watch “Criminal Minds” on the cable television, and think about moving away.  I do have another job perk to add to my list of workplace bonuses:  self defense lessons.  Upon hearing that I was groped the other day while buying coffee at the market near my apartment, the security guard who closes the parking garage at night taught me a couple of techniques to defend myself should anyone ever attempt to touch me in a threatening manner.  He also recommended I purchase a taser, but I think I’ll try the ol’ elbow-to-the-throat tactic before I resort to jolts of electricity.

Tonight at my concrete parking labyrinth by the sea it is quiet.  I am supposed to be handing out American flags in celebration of the holiday weekend and I feel awkward when doing so.  The past couple of nights I’ve been lucky enough to see newly legal fireworks being set off from a parking lot nearby.  I may not understand or appreciate the extreme nationalism represented by American July Fourth celebrations, but I will gladly accept any excuse to see massive, colorful explosions in the sky.

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