The story of my Wednesday morning

It's an accomplishment when you start the day off by fucking up. I woke up a little late, but not too late. So I made the compassionate but poor decision to wait for my car-less and equally indolent roommate, who wasn't awake at 7:45. I made coffee while he stumbled around trying to get ready. Now I'm not adverse to walking into class 10 minutes late, and I'm under the impression that my professor doesn't really mind either. However, this fuck up was compounded when there was a knock at the door. It's the landlord. He insisted on getting the rest of the rent from us. He needed a check right then, although he'd hold onto it for a week if we needed him to. The problem with this was that a) my checkbook is back in Rochester, and b) TJ hasn't got enough money in his account because the financial aid department is yanking his chain around. He informed Rod (the landlord with the porn star name), that the check would bounce if he tried to cash it, but Rod insisted that he receive it anyway. Apparently TJ has a week to try to straighten out the mess, and Rod even offered to call the school and lean on them too, but I suspect it wouldn't help.

Financial Aid offices are the most powerful entities in the universe, and there is nothing; no deity, no force of nature, no religious or political figure in existence that can make them do anything they don't feel like doing. If it is the fiat of the Financial Aid office to not give TJ his money for another month, God himself couldn't force them to.

Anyway, while TJ was writing out his rubber check, I decided it would be appropriate to ask Rod when he's getting his shit out of the back-yard, since there's only room for one car there. And the Fredonia pigs start ticketing cars parked on the street in early November. He said they were looking at Sunday, but I'm skeptical, since I view Rod as a complete liar. A nice liar, but a liar none-the-less. There's a massive pile of possessions in back of the house, including kid's toys from his day-care ventures, some kind of off-road vehicle, and a Hammond M3 organ, which is a boat-anchor now, since it's been outside (although under plastic) for a month. I swear that if he doesn't get his shit out of there by the last week of October, we're having a big yard sale. I figure I can get upwards of $500 for that goddamn dune-buggy of his.

Although I may have to keep the organ.

But I digress. Rod held us up, so that we were looking at waltzing into class at almost half-past, so TJ and I elected to go get breakfast instead, and then go see our teacher after class. So at 9:00, we went to the professor's office, and explained our sad circumstances, and told him we didn't want to disrupt class by coming in that late (aren't we considerate?). He, much to our pleasure, excused our absence, and said it's never a disruption to him, and that we're always welcome and encouraged to come to class, no matter how late. He figured that since we paid for the class, we should come even if we're running late. What a guy. So our fuck-up morning actually has turned out to be pretty good.

Also, I've decided with great difficulty to sell my upright bass. I have little desire to do so, but I don't really play it often, and I don't see myself having much time to work on it for the next couple years. And I'd really like a not beat-up 1969 trombone to play too. So sell her I shall. I listed it in the paper, and I also emailed the bass professor here about it. I was expecting him to write back and tell me that all his students had basses, but he actually asked what kind of instrument it was. This may be a good sign. If I can squeeze $2500-3000 out of it I'll be in great shape. I'll be able to get the professional trombone of my choice and still have almost a grand to spare. Good shit.

And now, I should go practice trombone and piano... I have my lesson and a piano test tomorrow. It wouldn't hurt, I suppose, for me to be prepared for them.