So, you remember my ongoing war with the ukulele player upstairs?* Oh, the fun we had! He played at midnight, and I sent him notes, and I complained about him on Facebook, and Henrik and I stood on the hill outside our building just to glare at him, and I wished he wouldn't be so bad at the ukulele. I was not a member of the ukulele fanclub. Or the fanclub of the guy upstairs.**
But between Amanda Palmer and my friend Bri, I've been converted. Not to the fanclub of the guy upstairs, because I still wish he would learn a few more chords, although to be fair to him, he no longer plays at midnight. No, I've learned to love the ukulele.
So, one sunny Saturday (or, at least, a relatively not-rainy Saturday, which for York is close enough), Bri took me shopping. And we tried out some ukes, and I was clueless and indecisive and she was helpful and patient, until I at last decided that I couldn't handle a soprano uke without sticking passive-aggressive notes on my own door, and settled on a moderately-priced concert uke.
|Ukulele power! (With unintentional ukulhalo!)|
I have named him Arthur, because my current Cabin Pressure addiction/John Finnemore crush left me with relatively few options. I could have named him John Finnemore, of course, but I feel like that's starting to cross the fine line between "fangirl" and "terrifying stalker". I've already named my cacti after the Cabin Pressure characters, but a second Arthur is never a bad thing.
|Incidentally, guess who I'm seeing live next weekend! <3 (Source)|
Anyway, because Arthur is a concert uke, I thought I should give a concert. So here, for your musical enjoyment, is a six-second concert.
*Any person description suffixed with "upstairs" sounds like a nickname for God. Also, I have very recently learned to spell "ukulele".
**See first footnote.