http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9BRxm187PZs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ooVB9qDUqDY
Might write a bit later. For now, just sharing something amazing.
November 14, 2010
November 07, 2010
Light Bright
Last night was a long night. And this morning finds my head hurting just a little. But... from the bad comes the good.
I rolled over at a spry 730am and felt a bit like someone punched me in the face. Now, I've never actually been punched in the face. So for all I know, medically, my condition could be a lot closer to getting hit by something larger than a fist... like a brick or a cinderblock. Also, you should know that I spent at least a few minutes trying to include a large fish, maybe a salmon or a trout, into that short list of potential culprits. But it just didn't come together on the page. Alas, the biding and biting teeth of failure.
At any rate, sounds and thoughts are ricocheting around the space between my ears with similar force.
My heater was on too high last night so I was all out of sorts when I got up. My face was traumatic and the rest of my body was just powering on through some kind of... biological trench warfare. Such is the price of what some consider to be a successful evening.
I watched the first bit of an EPL match before I realized my efforts to regulate temperature in and around me were completely futile. I peeked out the door and saw that the sun was already up. The wind was whipping so hard through the treetops that there wasn't a single bird happy enough to sing about it.
Sometimes, the best way to gain control of a situation is to accept the fact that control just isn't possible. I put on some warm clothes and decided to let the sun do all the heavy lifting for me. I opened the door and wandered pitifully through the tall, wet grass out to the end of the back yard where the sun had already found the ground.
The grass was dry and the ground was soft. The crunchy leaves smelled like autumn and the troubled birds overhead were most certainly monitoring a curious human.
I checked the ground a bit like a dog searches for the four-square-foot space best suited for an imminent, steaming pile of Laziness. I tested the density of the available green pillows with a palm and decided on one without too many acorns around it.
Not a moment later was I six feet shorter scanning the green horizon with the winter sun in my face.
Sighs were readily available and a mere sixty seconds later, my Sagittarian whim was comfortably validated. I felt better.
As I lay there considering the nature of nothing, I cracked my eyes and was assaulted by the manifold, multifaceted scenes unfolding between my cranium and the light source so many miles away.
Anyone who ever rolled around in the grass as a kid or watched certain movies knows how much fun it is to get lost in a miniature world. My eyes were generally opposed to taking it all in because the direct sunlight had certain effects... as you can probably imagine.
So there I was laying sideways, toying imaginatively with scaled, choreographed aerial stunts of epic proportion that even a miniature Maverick couldn't have handled. My eyelashes were doing damage control against the sunlight. And the grass's canopy, all three inches off the ground, was bent, fractured and hidden at the same time by years-old splinters of light. Every eyelash fought with the strength of an entire standing army against the attack. And we were victorious.
But as I lay there, a certain beauty was realized: how nice it is to have two devices which, unlike their industrial counterparts, can consistently handle everything between them and the sun. Have you ever tried to take a picture in direct sunlight? How much of what you actually wanted to capture ends up being visible? Of course, there are exceptions... but not many. And I like to think my brain records things in video instead of stills, anyway. Modern hard drives still have a long way to go before they catch up to our CATA drives (Cerebral Advanced Technology Attachment).
"Some Might Say" by Oasis on (What's the Story) Morning Glory
October 22, 2010
Leaks
I read one article about it and I can't bring myself to read a second yet.
I can't think about it tonight after such a long week. This is such a monumental failure that it's impossible for me to express my discontentment.
Anyone who's spouting opinions right now clearly has not sat down and considered the magnitude of the information contained therein. Perhaps they are plainly unwilling to do that. Hopefully this information will have the same effect on the military industrial complex as the subprime mortgages had on the financial sector. It obviously wouldn't be completely dissolved or removed because we need it. But it'll whittle it down and clean up the mess. I can only hope that's what it does. It had better...
We'll need to wait for the public to digest the information. Thank you Wikileaks for shining the light in the face of an establishment with so many faces. This is the equivalent of Uncle Sam posing for a mug shot.
For fucking shame, you militaristic, industrialized bigots.
It should be interesting to see how the media giants dance to the broken beat of the upcoming social drumming. I won't be listening, though. It's already really, really loud here. Did you know I can play the drums?
It looks like it's gotten farther along than I had suspected. At least once in this blog, I think I've touched on the mentality of a soldier and what it must take to justify a successful career over time. With so many generations living who have fought in battles and wars, which generation is possibly bold enough to choose not to fight? By the time a soldier is in an Official position to make that decision for a younger generation, the wheels of the military establishment are simply spinning too fast for any sort of emotional stream to penetrate the construction of such a machine. If seasoned military veterans had a reputation for being sensitive and emotionally thoughtful, then maybe such an undertaking would be possible. But I suspect at least one person other than myself finds humor in that concept.
Follow me here. When a person chooses a career as serious as deadly matters, when technology can protect a soldier better and longer than ever, when a nation's population is so bombarded with breaking news information produced by entertainment psychologists, what soldier is seriously going to refuse to fight just "for the greater good?" All that person thinks they might stands to lose is... well... let's think about it: they think they're about to lose their own pride by not fighting along with the respect of everyone he or she has ever known. What sort of a fighter stops fighting? You don't tell a doctor that medicine isn't a good idea after all. You don't tell an accountant that debt doesn't matter. After years of training and battle, does the soldier's sense of duty ever deteriorate over time? I'd say it seldom does. Is it likely that the companionship experienced during times of training and battle came to define a major part of their lives? I think it's very likely. And is it possible that due to the incredibly intense and often highly dramatic nature of those circumstances that the person will come to assume those emotions as a foundation for making other decisions of a lesser magnitude in the future? I'm not gonna answer that one for you. Any human who has ever felt strongly about anything has dealt with the pangs of emotion associated with similar circumstances down the road. Humans love eachother. And watching other humans we care about die is a serious matter which 9.9 times out of 10 will affect the way we live our lives thereafter. Try to tell an American soldier that the battle his best friend just died in was not justified at the political level. Let's see how much conjecture takes place before his or her emotional level overheats. After all, you're not only calling into question their own personal involvement in the affair, but you're potentially tarnishing the legacy of their friend for dying for an unjust cause. What respectable broadcasting company exists that's willing to cover emotional topics like this with proper allowances for time, explanation and the emotional resolutions required to develop a conversation like that to ANY kind of a conclusion? Not a fucking one... not a single fucking company will do it. But you can believe every company will have the newest, brightest animations of spinning globes and million-dollar personas ready to present exquisite 3-minute long, diluted opinions right before they bend over and take it up the ass by Johnson & Johnson, Geiko or whatever other company approves of their moronic fact-hatchery.
But it seems it hasn't stopped there. The older generation of leaders apparently has overlooked the true well being of the soldiers. And in their own ongoing struggle to solidify their legacies as successful leaders in battle or otherwise, to their progeny and their egotistical Beyond, perhaps they have now for the first time officially sought battle when it was anything but necessary. Have the most steadfast survivors actually forgotten that the best chance for survival always exists where bullets do not?
If the common tendency between humans leaned towards radical, violent aggression in the majority of everyday circumstances, perhaps something like the conclusions I'm drawing from these documents could be understood more easily. But it does not. And that leaves me only with the notion that unfortunately, several people who are in positions to make the most powerful rational decisions in human history are completely unable because they don't feel they have the ability to reject the suggested, the embedded reactionary course of action. They are unwilling to temper the drumming of a media gone awry. This is a serious problem.
This is such a foul show.
I can't think about it anymore tonight. I sincerely hope this news remains one of the most important stories for at least as many years as the Iraq War has been active. It will be for me. I can't speak for the rest of you.
I'm almost shaking just thinking my way through this.
I can't think about it tonight after such a long week. This is such a monumental failure that it's impossible for me to express my discontentment.
Anyone who's spouting opinions right now clearly has not sat down and considered the magnitude of the information contained therein. Perhaps they are plainly unwilling to do that. Hopefully this information will have the same effect on the military industrial complex as the subprime mortgages had on the financial sector. It obviously wouldn't be completely dissolved or removed because we need it. But it'll whittle it down and clean up the mess. I can only hope that's what it does. It had better...
We'll need to wait for the public to digest the information. Thank you Wikileaks for shining the light in the face of an establishment with so many faces. This is the equivalent of Uncle Sam posing for a mug shot.
For fucking shame, you militaristic, industrialized bigots.
It should be interesting to see how the media giants dance to the broken beat of the upcoming social drumming. I won't be listening, though. It's already really, really loud here. Did you know I can play the drums?
It looks like it's gotten farther along than I had suspected. At least once in this blog, I think I've touched on the mentality of a soldier and what it must take to justify a successful career over time. With so many generations living who have fought in battles and wars, which generation is possibly bold enough to choose not to fight? By the time a soldier is in an Official position to make that decision for a younger generation, the wheels of the military establishment are simply spinning too fast for any sort of emotional stream to penetrate the construction of such a machine. If seasoned military veterans had a reputation for being sensitive and emotionally thoughtful, then maybe such an undertaking would be possible. But I suspect at least one person other than myself finds humor in that concept.
Follow me here. When a person chooses a career as serious as deadly matters, when technology can protect a soldier better and longer than ever, when a nation's population is so bombarded with breaking news information produced by entertainment psychologists, what soldier is seriously going to refuse to fight just "for the greater good?" All that person thinks they might stands to lose is... well... let's think about it: they think they're about to lose their own pride by not fighting along with the respect of everyone he or she has ever known. What sort of a fighter stops fighting? You don't tell a doctor that medicine isn't a good idea after all. You don't tell an accountant that debt doesn't matter. After years of training and battle, does the soldier's sense of duty ever deteriorate over time? I'd say it seldom does. Is it likely that the companionship experienced during times of training and battle came to define a major part of their lives? I think it's very likely. And is it possible that due to the incredibly intense and often highly dramatic nature of those circumstances that the person will come to assume those emotions as a foundation for making other decisions of a lesser magnitude in the future? I'm not gonna answer that one for you. Any human who has ever felt strongly about anything has dealt with the pangs of emotion associated with similar circumstances down the road. Humans love eachother. And watching other humans we care about die is a serious matter which 9.9 times out of 10 will affect the way we live our lives thereafter. Try to tell an American soldier that the battle his best friend just died in was not justified at the political level. Let's see how much conjecture takes place before his or her emotional level overheats. After all, you're not only calling into question their own personal involvement in the affair, but you're potentially tarnishing the legacy of their friend for dying for an unjust cause. What respectable broadcasting company exists that's willing to cover emotional topics like this with proper allowances for time, explanation and the emotional resolutions required to develop a conversation like that to ANY kind of a conclusion? Not a fucking one... not a single fucking company will do it. But you can believe every company will have the newest, brightest animations of spinning globes and million-dollar personas ready to present exquisite 3-minute long, diluted opinions right before they bend over and take it up the ass by Johnson & Johnson, Geiko or whatever other company approves of their moronic fact-hatchery.
But it seems it hasn't stopped there. The older generation of leaders apparently has overlooked the true well being of the soldiers. And in their own ongoing struggle to solidify their legacies as successful leaders in battle or otherwise, to their progeny and their egotistical Beyond, perhaps they have now for the first time officially sought battle when it was anything but necessary. Have the most steadfast survivors actually forgotten that the best chance for survival always exists where bullets do not?
If the common tendency between humans leaned towards radical, violent aggression in the majority of everyday circumstances, perhaps something like the conclusions I'm drawing from these documents could be understood more easily. But it does not. And that leaves me only with the notion that unfortunately, several people who are in positions to make the most powerful rational decisions in human history are completely unable because they don't feel they have the ability to reject the suggested, the embedded reactionary course of action. They are unwilling to temper the drumming of a media gone awry. This is a serious problem.
This is such a foul show.
I can't think about it anymore tonight. I sincerely hope this news remains one of the most important stories for at least as many years as the Iraq War has been active. It will be for me. I can't speak for the rest of you.
I'm almost shaking just thinking my way through this.
October 21, 2010
Sennheiser and a wool cap
I think I've started a post like this before. But, sometimes things just come together.
As a case in point, Sennheiser makes some stupidly great headphones. Now, since I've graduated to god-tier listening levels, I feel required to pose the following question to myself. This is highly necessary. Have I become one of the audiophile dweebs I've always criticized... one of those guys who's too wrapped up in reproducing sound instead of refining their ability to create it? No way. It simply cannot be. And now that I'm thinking about it, the opposite leaves me excited. It makes me wanna shout, "Mercy! I'm emotionally vibrant whilst considering myself a gangster!"
Yeaaaaaaah XD Slammin.
Ok. Seriously, though... these headphones are outstanding. I had completely forgotten what it felt like to have porous playback... layered comfort. Basslines are supposed to keep you warm at night. And the highs? The highs are supposed to make you kinda cock your head to get comfortable with it and then just get clobbered by the downbeat. I don't know what I'm talking about.
No idea.
At any rate, it does feel good to be a gangster.
Hours are many with twelve a'workin each day before today this week. Today was a cozy 10.
I got to go to the electronics store to get a new test headset for the softphones for the agents. I got a Sennheiser pair. And after testing it this afternoon, I went back and got a pair for myself. I'm so happy I did. Earbuds just... they just don't do it. They're great for on-the-go stuff, but I've outgrown my piss-off-the-downstairs-neighbors phase and just use headphones at home. Now... when I play guitar... that's another story :D
My mom was up here for a couple weeks visiting family. It was good to see her in such great spirits. She always is anyway, but you know what I mean. I hung out with her a bit and fulfilled my obligation as her tech-geek son by scraping data off an old, failing hard drive. Mission barely accomplished.
Insert badass drummer here. Sorry. I'm just testing these headphones on all kinds of stuff. After using $4 WalMart headphones for several months (yes, I got the nice $4 ones), this is incredible.
I had wanted to write a bunch more here but... I'm all ***** tonight so I don't think I can do it.
I'm just gonna crawl over to my pillow and call it a day.
>>"1234" by Feist on The Reminder
As a case in point, Sennheiser makes some stupidly great headphones. Now, since I've graduated to god-tier listening levels, I feel required to pose the following question to myself. This is highly necessary. Have I become one of the audiophile dweebs I've always criticized... one of those guys who's too wrapped up in reproducing sound instead of refining their ability to create it? No way. It simply cannot be. And now that I'm thinking about it, the opposite leaves me excited. It makes me wanna shout, "Mercy! I'm emotionally vibrant whilst considering myself a gangster!"
Yeaaaaaaah XD Slammin.
Ok. Seriously, though... these headphones are outstanding. I had completely forgotten what it felt like to have porous playback... layered comfort. Basslines are supposed to keep you warm at night. And the highs? The highs are supposed to make you kinda cock your head to get comfortable with it and then just get clobbered by the downbeat. I don't know what I'm talking about.
No idea.
At any rate, it does feel good to be a gangster.
Hours are many with twelve a'workin each day before today this week. Today was a cozy 10.
I got to go to the electronics store to get a new test headset for the softphones for the agents. I got a Sennheiser pair. And after testing it this afternoon, I went back and got a pair for myself. I'm so happy I did. Earbuds just... they just don't do it. They're great for on-the-go stuff, but I've outgrown my piss-off-the-downstairs-neighbors phase and just use headphones at home. Now... when I play guitar... that's another story :D
My mom was up here for a couple weeks visiting family. It was good to see her in such great spirits. She always is anyway, but you know what I mean. I hung out with her a bit and fulfilled my obligation as her tech-geek son by scraping data off an old, failing hard drive. Mission barely accomplished.
Insert badass drummer here. Sorry. I'm just testing these headphones on all kinds of stuff. After using $4 WalMart headphones for several months (yes, I got the nice $4 ones), this is incredible.
I had wanted to write a bunch more here but... I'm all ***** tonight so I don't think I can do it.
I'm just gonna crawl over to my pillow and call it a day.
>>"1234" by Feist on The Reminder
September 29, 2010
Folds in your hands
Well it's a bit hard to contain myself with my headphone volume at 11. It's makes this communicative medium seem as relevant as a shadow in the night. But whatever. Hopefully the people reading this consider the setting alternative.
So rip it open. These guys are so rad... been listenin to em for a few months now. I think they've gotten good radio time so y'all are all probly tired of em. But... for the love of god, respect the synthesizer.
There's just.... look, people. When it comes to heavy synthesizers/pop keyboards, there's a very fine line between the grungy, mash-your-fists-into-the-keys garage approach and the highly refined grumblings of an electronic behemoth. Granted, the instrument itself can cover a lot of ground. But the real magic is in a synthesizer than can pick up a three-ton rock and throw it into the crowd to make some waves. Some tones just weren't meant to be created by an instrument descending from the most regal of the regal. But this tone, which I consider to be a cross of this lady and this thing, is just collabulous. That's "colossal" and "fabulous" mixed together.
Kindly refer to the rolling arpeggios in the prechorus on top of the orchestral track underneath.
You can hear the nastiness and the grumble ring out at the end of the song.
Lasagna's done.
I believe in a world where literacy is paramount. I believe in a world where men and women can achieve the same. And I believe in a world where I don't fucking burn myself every time I try to take something out of the oven. It sucks!
The week is half done (finishing writing while this pound of sexy pasta cools off). It's been pretty nice so far. The weather has been overcast. But with my American diet of officemeal and 32 ounce headphones, I've hardly noticed.
So... I'm... gonna make this unbelievable culinary masterpiece disappear. And then get back to work.
Enjoy the synthesizer :)
lol
>> "Folds in Your Hands" by Passion Pit on Manners
September 24, 2010
Singin sweet songs...
...of melodies pure and true.
Sayin, "This is my message to you-ou-ou."
Anyway, Bob graced me with his presence a minute ago. And now I'm sorta chillin with the crickets out the window.
Another week has drawn to a close out here. After work, I went over to the mall and got a couple shirts to keep things changing. That image doesn't have any immediate relevance, but google suggested it meant "changing." And I can't pass up a picture of Sean Connery next to a massive wolvo-bear.
I got home and my landlord has returned from her two weeks in New York. Admittedly, I was bummed. I really wanted to take the guitar for another ridiculously long spin through reality. I settled on stuffed green peppers and Rachmaninoff on pandora.
I've been working on the rings consistently. Last night----
Ever have to just stop and ask yourself why in god's name don't your headphones go any louder? It's like... for fuck's sake... I just spent an entire week doing everything EXCEPT listening to Rachmaninoff. And now that I'm here, the old man in the old recording is just ... not LOUD enough. Damnit all, Rachy. You should have written this whole piece fortissimo. Obbbbbviously. The nerve...
I am pleased to announce that I have just tied an old dress shirt around my head to mash the headphones against my ears. It just... man....
It just feels so good to be a gangster.
Anyway, I've been working on the rings out back consistently. I actually got out of the office at decent hours this week. So I'd get home with a little sunlight left and go out and give the dogs something to bark about. Hey. Look at my horn here. Hang on. Yep. This is my horn. And this is me tooting it.
I did 15 pullups in a row yesterday. My record was 18 when I was like... 10. So I'm getting back into the rhythm of being less computerized. And it's good. If only Rachmaninoff would play louder. I can't take this anymore. I need something loud.
And, of course, as soon as I decide I want to change it, he finally presents the melody. I touched on this a while back when talking about Liszt. These guys just go all over the place and then decide, "Oh... enough of this madness. Let me play something more beautiful than anything that's ever been heard before." And then they take the silver cover off the melody and... if you're anything like me, you pretty much just geek out in an unrivaled stupor.
Whatever. I need volume right now. This is better.
The lyrics are kinda depressing. But this beat just flows incredulity. You've gotta wait for it to come in. She talks about rage and concrete and cityscapes. And then it just rolls. Wait for the beat. Seriously. Just lean back and wait for it. Let her talk about the city for a minute. And listen to her. It's easy.
Are you waiting? Fucking wait already. Stop reading. Cause it breaks...
The beat breaks in big time.
I can't like.... tell you to stop reading. I'm just assuming you want to get as much out of these songs as I do. So sit your ass back and relax. See what she has to say...
When the guy says, "Yeah, check it," you may continue reading :)
Some things come in pairs. Some things flow in a series and you know what's coming next. Sometimes you just vibe and don't give much of a damn what comes next. That's where life is. Dropping it all in neutral and keeping an awareness about you that lets you examine any situation in any light you want. That's what this music does for me. The simplicity just cuts all the madness around me. When the beat hits, it's like marionnettes getting cut from their handles so they can finally relax. It's like I'm in the middle of some vicious, uncontrollable mess of earthly happenstance when my mind's camera just drops to 1/4 speed and I blink into black and white. Maybe the x-axis on the camera even get a little loose and starts drifting and panning a little faster and faster. Spacial orientation. Make of it whatever you want. I don't know. It's just nice. Maybe I'm over analyzing. But... that's the only way I ever get anything done. And it's the only way I can really ever relax... analyze whatever's on my mind to death until it turns into a nonsensical mass of... dated interpersonal egotism. It's like... just rubbing your fingers together to clean them instead of washing them. Nine times out of nine, humans are thinking of themselves. When you accept the fact that we're all completely selfish, working to evolve our own emotional mind, the issues you were just dealing with are trivial. And you wonder about much more comfortable possibilities in the future. Whatever pieces were just bugging you are made up of pretty much the same things you are. What was just happening was just happening. And it's of little importance to your future.
What the hell am I talking about? Damn song...
The reverb on the rimshot on this song is so great. They clipped it, though... rather than letting it fade out naturally. So.... I think it's looped.
Now I just don't know what I want to listen to next. Not your problem, I suppose.
I was sitting in the office this evening after everyone left. And out the window was a kind sight, a very kind scene. The imagery I can provide does little to sustain the suspended beauty I had in my imagination at the time. It was definitely one of those instances I described earlier about the camera in my head just breaking to 1/4 speed, black and white, and everything just sorta became its own entity... with its own little story in time. The sun was shattering through the physical at every possible point imaginable. And the visual consistency made me consider the fragile, yet amazingly persistent forces in inhospitable places like... plumes of boiling water at the bottom of the ocean... places where the extreme forces are relentlessly destroying eachother but perfectly allowing life to exist on their periphery at the same time. In this light, I was a bystander in my own life. And I was able to view the fragile, yet amazingly persistent forces in which we live... inside an equally random, equally harsh existence.
And then I got about five or six great images of something from a long time ago.
The Barn Playhouse, if it still exists, is a little, independently run theater in downtown New London, NH.
The first feeling I got was actually a couple intertwined: a flash of the soft grass below me as I walked with my mom toward the red building. I vividly recalled my excitement as I anticipated seeing what songs and stories the acting troupe had perfected since I had been there last. That's all they ever did... perfect things. They were college kids who all lived nearby and rehearsed daily through the summer. They were clear-cut celebrities in my mind: women whose charm could render me absolutely speechless and men who were capable of rattling the rafters with their voices. The second part of the first emotion was looking up into the trees, probably considering my friends back near my grandparents' house. There were always fun things going on up there. If it wasn't one thing, it was the next. I was probably thinking about playing with friends or just... sitting on a hill or under birch trees and just watching people relax.
The next image in the memory, maybe six or ten frames of the rolling reel, consisted of me standing on the hand-built porch and being surrounded by small-town, chattering friends. The smell of the antique building mixed with the friendly atmosphere of laughing men and women created a buzz around the street. The sturdy doors were wide open on the front of the old building. And people were already heading inside. So I was there. And I was next in line to get a pillow. The theater itself only had wooden planks for seats, if I recall correctly. And the real racket here, the real cash cow for the acting troupe wasn't the ticket entry or anything like that. It was the nickel they charged for a butt cushion :D I imagine my grandmother gave me a couple nickels and this image consisted of being bored because the people in front of me weren't getting their pillows and getting inside fast enough. I was sort of looking at the ground and some old guy's pants in front of me while I leaned against the huge wooden box holding the pillows. I never could see into that thing because I was so short. I guess I had already stopped trying to look in it and was just waiting, staring at this guy's plaid pants in front of me and smelling the old, comfortably musty pile of ass-pillows just on the other side of the wooden wall. I imagine some old woman took the change, gave me the pillows and I thanked her with explicit instruction from my grandmother. Otherwise I would have obviously just walked right in and picked out the best seat so I could have the best view of whichever astoundingly beautiful, astoundingly mature 16-year-old was playing Annie that night... or whichever story it might have been.
The next image was of the lights while looking on from the second story. I think it was Annie, actually. She was sitting on a stool or something and there were a couple guys on stage. And... I don't remember the tone of the song, but she was lighted. There was something so great about the lighting in there. The place maybe held 75 people at max capacity. And sometimes it really felt like max capacity. It would warm up after about thirty minutes and everybody would start fanning themselves with their programs. Anyway, the lighting gave way to the massive amounts of stage makeup that I never understood. I think it just helps the actors get into character, when it comes right down to it. I don't even know. It must be like their war paint, or something. Anyway, I could see the lighted faces on stage and those titans were giving it their everything.
Next was the sound. I don't remember if I'm imagining this or not. But I think there were actually live musicians who played at these performances. I seem to recall always leaning forward and putting my head on the balcony railing to get a glimpse of the musicians and the audience below. I really don't remember. But I'm almost certain there were musicians under the stage playing the music... in a pit of sorts. And I definitely think I spent a good amount of time trying to spot them and figure out which instruments were doing what. I think maybe I saw a piano player once or twice... and a drummer tapping away on the high-hats and mini-snare. They could only use a small one because the space was so tiny! I hope I'm right about that. I have no idea. You know what? I'm sure of it. It was a live band. I am as sure as I am because I remember that in at least one show, the snare drum was used as a gunshot. And it scared the living piss out of everyone in the tiny building.
That's it. That's where my mind went for a fraction of a second in the Virginian twilight today. I wish it wasn't this hard to convey a split second of an afternoon to people. All these things are around us so often that we just take them for granted, I guess. I, for one, probably just assume people are as introverted and... distracted as I am. The way I see it, everyone is introverted. No one would possibly ever go around just saying things without thinking about the repercussions... would they? Right...
But I have a feeling that if most people analyzed things as much as I do, they'd just sorta crumble and... drool on themselves.
Anyway, I'm done for now. I'm tired from the week. And I want to play a little more guitar.
I'll leave you with a cool song... but a perfectly bizarre video. "Sound can be seen." Good luck.
>> "The Last Trick" by Anja Garbarek
Sayin, "This is my message to you-ou-ou."
Anyway, Bob graced me with his presence a minute ago. And now I'm sorta chillin with the crickets out the window.
Another week has drawn to a close out here. After work, I went over to the mall and got a couple shirts to keep things changing. That image doesn't have any immediate relevance, but google suggested it meant "changing." And I can't pass up a picture of Sean Connery next to a massive wolvo-bear.
I got home and my landlord has returned from her two weeks in New York. Admittedly, I was bummed. I really wanted to take the guitar for another ridiculously long spin through reality. I settled on stuffed green peppers and Rachmaninoff on pandora.
I've been working on the rings consistently. Last night----
Ever have to just stop and ask yourself why in god's name don't your headphones go any louder? It's like... for fuck's sake... I just spent an entire week doing everything EXCEPT listening to Rachmaninoff. And now that I'm here, the old man in the old recording is just ... not LOUD enough. Damnit all, Rachy. You should have written this whole piece fortissimo. Obbbbbviously. The nerve...
I am pleased to announce that I have just tied an old dress shirt around my head to mash the headphones against my ears. It just... man....
It just feels so good to be a gangster.
Anyway, I've been working on the rings out back consistently. I actually got out of the office at decent hours this week. So I'd get home with a little sunlight left and go out and give the dogs something to bark about. Hey. Look at my horn here. Hang on. Yep. This is my horn. And this is me tooting it.
I did 15 pullups in a row yesterday. My record was 18 when I was like... 10. So I'm getting back into the rhythm of being less computerized. And it's good. If only Rachmaninoff would play louder. I can't take this anymore. I need something loud.
And, of course, as soon as I decide I want to change it, he finally presents the melody. I touched on this a while back when talking about Liszt. These guys just go all over the place and then decide, "Oh... enough of this madness. Let me play something more beautiful than anything that's ever been heard before." And then they take the silver cover off the melody and... if you're anything like me, you pretty much just geek out in an unrivaled stupor.
Whatever. I need volume right now. This is better.
The lyrics are kinda depressing. But this beat just flows incredulity. You've gotta wait for it to come in. She talks about rage and concrete and cityscapes. And then it just rolls. Wait for the beat. Seriously. Just lean back and wait for it. Let her talk about the city for a minute. And listen to her. It's easy.
Are you waiting? Fucking wait already. Stop reading. Cause it breaks...
The beat breaks in big time.
I can't like.... tell you to stop reading. I'm just assuming you want to get as much out of these songs as I do. So sit your ass back and relax. See what she has to say...
When the guy says, "Yeah, check it," you may continue reading :)
Some things come in pairs. Some things flow in a series and you know what's coming next. Sometimes you just vibe and don't give much of a damn what comes next. That's where life is. Dropping it all in neutral and keeping an awareness about you that lets you examine any situation in any light you want. That's what this music does for me. The simplicity just cuts all the madness around me. When the beat hits, it's like marionnettes getting cut from their handles so they can finally relax. It's like I'm in the middle of some vicious, uncontrollable mess of earthly happenstance when my mind's camera just drops to 1/4 speed and I blink into black and white. Maybe the x-axis on the camera even get a little loose and starts drifting and panning a little faster and faster. Spacial orientation. Make of it whatever you want. I don't know. It's just nice. Maybe I'm over analyzing. But... that's the only way I ever get anything done. And it's the only way I can really ever relax... analyze whatever's on my mind to death until it turns into a nonsensical mass of... dated interpersonal egotism. It's like... just rubbing your fingers together to clean them instead of washing them. Nine times out of nine, humans are thinking of themselves. When you accept the fact that we're all completely selfish, working to evolve our own emotional mind, the issues you were just dealing with are trivial. And you wonder about much more comfortable possibilities in the future. Whatever pieces were just bugging you are made up of pretty much the same things you are. What was just happening was just happening. And it's of little importance to your future.
What the hell am I talking about? Damn song...
The reverb on the rimshot on this song is so great. They clipped it, though... rather than letting it fade out naturally. So.... I think it's looped.
Now I just don't know what I want to listen to next. Not your problem, I suppose.
I was sitting in the office this evening after everyone left. And out the window was a kind sight, a very kind scene. The imagery I can provide does little to sustain the suspended beauty I had in my imagination at the time. It was definitely one of those instances I described earlier about the camera in my head just breaking to 1/4 speed, black and white, and everything just sorta became its own entity... with its own little story in time. The sun was shattering through the physical at every possible point imaginable. And the visual consistency made me consider the fragile, yet amazingly persistent forces in inhospitable places like... plumes of boiling water at the bottom of the ocean... places where the extreme forces are relentlessly destroying eachother but perfectly allowing life to exist on their periphery at the same time. In this light, I was a bystander in my own life. And I was able to view the fragile, yet amazingly persistent forces in which we live... inside an equally random, equally harsh existence.
And then I got about five or six great images of something from a long time ago.
The Barn Playhouse, if it still exists, is a little, independently run theater in downtown New London, NH.
The first feeling I got was actually a couple intertwined: a flash of the soft grass below me as I walked with my mom toward the red building. I vividly recalled my excitement as I anticipated seeing what songs and stories the acting troupe had perfected since I had been there last. That's all they ever did... perfect things. They were college kids who all lived nearby and rehearsed daily through the summer. They were clear-cut celebrities in my mind: women whose charm could render me absolutely speechless and men who were capable of rattling the rafters with their voices. The second part of the first emotion was looking up into the trees, probably considering my friends back near my grandparents' house. There were always fun things going on up there. If it wasn't one thing, it was the next. I was probably thinking about playing with friends or just... sitting on a hill or under birch trees and just watching people relax.
The next image in the memory, maybe six or ten frames of the rolling reel, consisted of me standing on the hand-built porch and being surrounded by small-town, chattering friends. The smell of the antique building mixed with the friendly atmosphere of laughing men and women created a buzz around the street. The sturdy doors were wide open on the front of the old building. And people were already heading inside. So I was there. And I was next in line to get a pillow. The theater itself only had wooden planks for seats, if I recall correctly. And the real racket here, the real cash cow for the acting troupe wasn't the ticket entry or anything like that. It was the nickel they charged for a butt cushion :D I imagine my grandmother gave me a couple nickels and this image consisted of being bored because the people in front of me weren't getting their pillows and getting inside fast enough. I was sort of looking at the ground and some old guy's pants in front of me while I leaned against the huge wooden box holding the pillows. I never could see into that thing because I was so short. I guess I had already stopped trying to look in it and was just waiting, staring at this guy's plaid pants in front of me and smelling the old, comfortably musty pile of ass-pillows just on the other side of the wooden wall. I imagine some old woman took the change, gave me the pillows and I thanked her with explicit instruction from my grandmother. Otherwise I would have obviously just walked right in and picked out the best seat so I could have the best view of whichever astoundingly beautiful, astoundingly mature 16-year-old was playing Annie that night... or whichever story it might have been.
The next image was of the lights while looking on from the second story. I think it was Annie, actually. She was sitting on a stool or something and there were a couple guys on stage. And... I don't remember the tone of the song, but she was lighted. There was something so great about the lighting in there. The place maybe held 75 people at max capacity. And sometimes it really felt like max capacity. It would warm up after about thirty minutes and everybody would start fanning themselves with their programs. Anyway, the lighting gave way to the massive amounts of stage makeup that I never understood. I think it just helps the actors get into character, when it comes right down to it. I don't even know. It must be like their war paint, or something. Anyway, I could see the lighted faces on stage and those titans were giving it their everything.
Next was the sound. I don't remember if I'm imagining this or not. But I think there were actually live musicians who played at these performances. I seem to recall always leaning forward and putting my head on the balcony railing to get a glimpse of the musicians and the audience below. I really don't remember. But I'm almost certain there were musicians under the stage playing the music... in a pit of sorts. And I definitely think I spent a good amount of time trying to spot them and figure out which instruments were doing what. I think maybe I saw a piano player once or twice... and a drummer tapping away on the high-hats and mini-snare. They could only use a small one because the space was so tiny! I hope I'm right about that. I have no idea. You know what? I'm sure of it. It was a live band. I am as sure as I am because I remember that in at least one show, the snare drum was used as a gunshot. And it scared the living piss out of everyone in the tiny building.
That's it. That's where my mind went for a fraction of a second in the Virginian twilight today. I wish it wasn't this hard to convey a split second of an afternoon to people. All these things are around us so often that we just take them for granted, I guess. I, for one, probably just assume people are as introverted and... distracted as I am. The way I see it, everyone is introverted. No one would possibly ever go around just saying things without thinking about the repercussions... would they? Right...
But I have a feeling that if most people analyzed things as much as I do, they'd just sorta crumble and... drool on themselves.
Anyway, I'm done for now. I'm tired from the week. And I want to play a little more guitar.
I'll leave you with a cool song... but a perfectly bizarre video. "Sound can be seen." Good luck.
>> "The Last Trick" by Anja Garbarek
September 21, 2010
Music Mind
I just finished playing guitar for a cool two-hundred and ten minutes... without stopping. My mind is happier now.
The past few mornings (5, exactly), have been punctuated by the neighbors' doberman going completely apeshit between 6:34 and 6:36am. The consistency is frightening.
Today was good. I was doing things with stuff and working hard at it. I talked to some people and agreed with most of what they said. I had a flipshit conversation with an engineer at... I can't remember what it's called. They're in India. The company developed a server monitoring program and this guy was going to email me later in the day with more information about something. This character used the word "yanti" as his phonetic expression when attempting to communicate the letter "y" in his email address. He had already sidestepped two of my questions about the program so after trying to make both heads and tails out of what the hell he was saying, I simply asked him to spell his phonetic translation so I could understand the single letter he was attempting to convey. This provided me with an irreplaceable opportunity to remove the phone from my ear and laugh heartily. "Hey man, you got any yanti?"
Ah, the yanti.
I was listening to the radio for much of the day. I took notes.
"Someday we might learn to tell the truth.
We might even find the fountains of our youth."
That's from a Brandi Carlile song, "Closer to You." It hit a vein and I wanted to write it down. I was daydreaming at the time and considering the piecemeal structures we create over our own heads from the examples set by our parents. And I decided that most people end up just wanting to go back to the same mental state they were in during their childhood. In many cases, this most likely includes the habits instilled in them by their parents and their parents before them. And this led me to believe that knowing what is good is easy. It does not require speech to communicate what is or is not good. What requires communication is the reasoning for either acting or not acting on that goodness. The only reasons many people ever consider are those which were supplied to them initially. We humans treat emotions like instincts, strangely enough. We never consider changing them because they usually come and go at about the same time in the same situations. I consider a boy learning things from his father to be tantamount to a young animal learning how to hunt. Many years later, after the father is gone, the child will still have an unfounded desire to do certain things much like the animal who simply must hunt. We do it because we want to feel close to eachother. Animals do it because they have to survive. Anyway, that quote resonated with me because telling the truth to ourselves will allow us to reclaim the youthful creativity we once had, the youthful creativity that once allowed us to look past the darkness of mundane responsibility and into the corners of creative motivation, comfort and personal inspiration. I believe this is why the lyrics were written in this order, either knowingly or not.
Maybe that's what he meant when he said, "Yanti."
The next note is:
"snare drum in 'in your eyes' by peter gabriel is outstanding... and cymbals"
Enough said. I'd link it but the youtube video has poor audio quality. I'm a sucker for tight heads on thin snares.
Next is the keyboard slam in Ryan Adams's "New York, New York" at 2:31. Most people would just look right past it because it's "part of the song." You're damn right it's part of the song. Except this part picks the song up by its suspenders and throws it's ass back towards the speakers. There's something really great about a musician who's normally in the background and gets the chance to just geek out for a minute in the spotlight. It takes incredible composure as a musician to walk the line like that... to be comfortable enough to play in the background all day but willing to stand up and rip it when the time arrives.
Next is Amy Cook's song "Hotel Lights." I had heard this once before. The initial vocal melody reminded me of an old British or Celtic melody. The rest of the song is just really, really peaceful and I am unable to do any single thing while it's playing. Anything. The audio mix is exquisite. The strings are liquid. The video was shot in Austin. It's a great song and it's good to hear an artist who makes the microphone work for them, not the other way around.
Last in my notes from the day is the following:
"there's nothing like some coldplay"
Done and done.
>> "Hotel Lights" by Amy Cook
The past few mornings (5, exactly), have been punctuated by the neighbors' doberman going completely apeshit between 6:34 and 6:36am. The consistency is frightening.
Today was good. I was doing things with stuff and working hard at it. I talked to some people and agreed with most of what they said. I had a flipshit conversation with an engineer at... I can't remember what it's called. They're in India. The company developed a server monitoring program and this guy was going to email me later in the day with more information about something. This character used the word "yanti" as his phonetic expression when attempting to communicate the letter "y" in his email address. He had already sidestepped two of my questions about the program so after trying to make both heads and tails out of what the hell he was saying, I simply asked him to spell his phonetic translation so I could understand the single letter he was attempting to convey. This provided me with an irreplaceable opportunity to remove the phone from my ear and laugh heartily. "Hey man, you got any yanti?"
Ah, the yanti.
I was listening to the radio for much of the day. I took notes.
"Someday we might learn to tell the truth.
We might even find the fountains of our youth."
That's from a Brandi Carlile song, "Closer to You." It hit a vein and I wanted to write it down. I was daydreaming at the time and considering the piecemeal structures we create over our own heads from the examples set by our parents. And I decided that most people end up just wanting to go back to the same mental state they were in during their childhood. In many cases, this most likely includes the habits instilled in them by their parents and their parents before them. And this led me to believe that knowing what is good is easy. It does not require speech to communicate what is or is not good. What requires communication is the reasoning for either acting or not acting on that goodness. The only reasons many people ever consider are those which were supplied to them initially. We humans treat emotions like instincts, strangely enough. We never consider changing them because they usually come and go at about the same time in the same situations. I consider a boy learning things from his father to be tantamount to a young animal learning how to hunt. Many years later, after the father is gone, the child will still have an unfounded desire to do certain things much like the animal who simply must hunt. We do it because we want to feel close to eachother. Animals do it because they have to survive. Anyway, that quote resonated with me because telling the truth to ourselves will allow us to reclaim the youthful creativity we once had, the youthful creativity that once allowed us to look past the darkness of mundane responsibility and into the corners of creative motivation, comfort and personal inspiration. I believe this is why the lyrics were written in this order, either knowingly or not.
Maybe that's what he meant when he said, "Yanti."
The next note is:
"snare drum in 'in your eyes' by peter gabriel is outstanding... and cymbals"
Enough said. I'd link it but the youtube video has poor audio quality. I'm a sucker for tight heads on thin snares.
Next is the keyboard slam in Ryan Adams's "New York, New York" at 2:31. Most people would just look right past it because it's "part of the song." You're damn right it's part of the song. Except this part picks the song up by its suspenders and throws it's ass back towards the speakers. There's something really great about a musician who's normally in the background and gets the chance to just geek out for a minute in the spotlight. It takes incredible composure as a musician to walk the line like that... to be comfortable enough to play in the background all day but willing to stand up and rip it when the time arrives.
Next is Amy Cook's song "Hotel Lights." I had heard this once before. The initial vocal melody reminded me of an old British or Celtic melody. The rest of the song is just really, really peaceful and I am unable to do any single thing while it's playing. Anything. The audio mix is exquisite. The strings are liquid. The video was shot in Austin. It's a great song and it's good to hear an artist who makes the microphone work for them, not the other way around.
Last in my notes from the day is the following:
"there's nothing like some coldplay"
Done and done.
>> "Hotel Lights" by Amy Cook
September 15, 2010
Space-time continuum
Space and time go together. In this space and time tonight, I was looking at porn. And its beauty compelled me to post.
So I was sitting in my chair at the office today doing god knows what when I was transported to elation... or "exultant gladness," as dictionary.com puts it.
I experienced a similar emotion years ago under different circumstances. Specifically, the emotion comes from transcending time and space... allowing the mind to drool vividly into another time while the body breathes normally. Well... I've done it dreaming and meditating, but only twice that I can remember during either conversation or body... intensive... things...
I opened pandora.com for the first time in a while and was listening to my Ulrich Schnauss station. This song started playing. And I was content to let it... I think it was helping me with my livecycle edits. So... I was editing pdfs and... pretty much fighting them with my bare hands.
Now, the song sort of gets... twinkly... at the three minute mark. It gets floaty. And... I was jamming. Livecycle did something I liked and I got all excited and clicked on something that wasn't meant to be clicked. Windows made its error noise like any good operating system should. But the Windows 7 noises are sorta spacey. They're kinda floaty in their own right, the default sound scheme, anyway.
In an instant, the song's tide gifted a glimpse of the spacial error sound and I was immediately staring at myself from at least a hundred years ago. I said to myself, "Jesus in a hamster wheel! I'm in the future!"
Now, in the past, revelations like this one have been inspired by various substances ranging from Russian combustibles to the stickiest of the ickies. But I had neither today: just PDFs and Windows errors.
I'm sure you all think I'm just batshit at the moment, so let me explain. As a disclaimer, I acknowledge that said "explanation" does not guarantee my personal absence from the mental state of bat...shittery. But I'll continue, since you've asked so kindly.
Here I was, listening to a musical recording emanating from a place few people have ever seen. Can you hold the digital information as it runs through the speaker wire to your speakers? No. You might actually get electrocuted if you try. So I was sitting there staring at glossy finish glass monitors with displays of infinite depth and commanding them with my hands without ever even touching the screens. An unknowing bystander would have seen me engaged and, based on my body movement, probably would have noticed I was sending some kind of relevant information into these shiny, bright things. Even if they had no idea what kind of voodoo was in use, they'd be able to see I was going to considerable mental lengths to achieve some personal result inside the magic window pane. In addition to the computer... sensory stuff, I was listening on overdrive. It's the only setting I have. I'm either listening to crunchy high frequencies that might or might not exist in the original recording or am listening to the barrel tone of the snare drum.
I don't know if you know this, but the human ear can hear a lot. At least the two next to my brain can. Everybody talks about our ability to hear as opposed to other animals. We can hear everything dogs can hear. Dogs are idiots. But convincing our minds that the sounds are relevant takes a little work. At any rate, my brain was lost in the full spectrum of sound. My fingers were electric as they sent commands into the shiny, flashing machines. And I was just enveloped for a moment. Frozen. Mesfin was wrapped up in a .NET blanket next to me while I was lost in the beauty of the present technology. I was absolutely unconvinced that we are not living in the world we all hoped to be in one day. What else do we need? I know a jetpack would be nice, but physical laws suggest flight in numbers is safest.
The average American is able to type five or six letters and click on what they see. It will allow them to see and hear what they want to see and hear. It's brilliant. And all I can do is sit here and consider the disenchantment that must be responsible for the lack of awe and wonder I see in other people. Or are we perhaps just so humanly jaded that we shun the entity altogether because it only appeals to two senses. Look, people. If you click on something, you can see and hear it. That's two senses. Now... access the third by chewing on your keyboard. Access your fourth my tapping your toes on the floor. And access the fifth my smelling whatever in the hell you want to smell. Then, you won't be all that different from two other notorious individuals who pioneered the practice. Anyway, that's my steaming pile of an explanation. It's all I can muster.
Right now, I've used an old dress shirt to tie my headphones to my head. They kinda suck and sound was escaping between the headphones and my head. So I did this. My pigmentation has thankfully remained intact.
The other night, I continued watching Philip Seymour Hoffman movies with Love Liza. It was about a man whose wife recently committed suicide by asphyxiation in her running car in a closed garage. Philip copes by sniffing gasoline. My interpretation is Philip's character wanted on some level to be with his wife in her last moments. And in an attempt to relate to her state, he referenced the only other form of automotive inebriation I can imagine. It also starred Jack Kehler from The Big Lebowski and Stephen Tobolowsky. Any respectable movie viewer will recognize him as the tons-o-fun insurance salesman from Groundhog Day.
Anyway, I saw the summary of the movie and on some level just really wanted to watch Philip Seymour Hoffman sniff gasoline for an hour and a half. And... he sure did it. He sniffed the hell out of some gasoline, model jet fuel... you name it. It was uncomfortably humorous.
Kathy Bates stars as his late wife's mother. The story basically revolves around his inability to operate in reality any longer and his refusal to address the suicide note his wife left. It was filmed very well and I recommend it. It had a pretty good soundtrack, too. He's just a great damn actor.
I'm kind of tired now. It was a decently long day. All the softphones are working now. The temperature gauge in the server room seems to be pretty stable between 70° and 77°. I've still got some Livecycle updates to do and... I have salespeople calling me back to back. I'm researching options for both remote backup and enterprise monitoring software. Many of these salespeople are really, really happy to hear from me. And when they ask if they can, "...follow up in the next few days," they really mean 9am the next morning. It is what it is. I also figured out how to check voicemail on the new phones. Our telephony support group, who in my opinion is just disinterested in telephony, informed me they don't even support the telephone. Thankfully, there is the internet.
>> "For Good" by Ulrich Schnauss on Goodbye
So I was sitting in my chair at the office today doing god knows what when I was transported to elation... or "exultant gladness," as dictionary.com puts it.
I experienced a similar emotion years ago under different circumstances. Specifically, the emotion comes from transcending time and space... allowing the mind to drool vividly into another time while the body breathes normally. Well... I've done it dreaming and meditating, but only twice that I can remember during either conversation or body... intensive... things...
I opened pandora.com for the first time in a while and was listening to my Ulrich Schnauss station. This song started playing. And I was content to let it... I think it was helping me with my livecycle edits. So... I was editing pdfs and... pretty much fighting them with my bare hands.
Now, the song sort of gets... twinkly... at the three minute mark. It gets floaty. And... I was jamming. Livecycle did something I liked and I got all excited and clicked on something that wasn't meant to be clicked. Windows made its error noise like any good operating system should. But the Windows 7 noises are sorta spacey. They're kinda floaty in their own right, the default sound scheme, anyway.
In an instant, the song's tide gifted a glimpse of the spacial error sound and I was immediately staring at myself from at least a hundred years ago. I said to myself, "Jesus in a hamster wheel! I'm in the future!"
Now, in the past, revelations like this one have been inspired by various substances ranging from Russian combustibles to the stickiest of the ickies. But I had neither today: just PDFs and Windows errors.
I'm sure you all think I'm just batshit at the moment, so let me explain. As a disclaimer, I acknowledge that said "explanation" does not guarantee my personal absence from the mental state of bat...shittery. But I'll continue, since you've asked so kindly.
Here I was, listening to a musical recording emanating from a place few people have ever seen. Can you hold the digital information as it runs through the speaker wire to your speakers? No. You might actually get electrocuted if you try. So I was sitting there staring at glossy finish glass monitors with displays of infinite depth and commanding them with my hands without ever even touching the screens. An unknowing bystander would have seen me engaged and, based on my body movement, probably would have noticed I was sending some kind of relevant information into these shiny, bright things. Even if they had no idea what kind of voodoo was in use, they'd be able to see I was going to considerable mental lengths to achieve some personal result inside the magic window pane. In addition to the computer... sensory stuff, I was listening on overdrive. It's the only setting I have. I'm either listening to crunchy high frequencies that might or might not exist in the original recording or am listening to the barrel tone of the snare drum.
I don't know if you know this, but the human ear can hear a lot. At least the two next to my brain can. Everybody talks about our ability to hear as opposed to other animals. We can hear everything dogs can hear. Dogs are idiots. But convincing our minds that the sounds are relevant takes a little work. At any rate, my brain was lost in the full spectrum of sound. My fingers were electric as they sent commands into the shiny, flashing machines. And I was just enveloped for a moment. Frozen. Mesfin was wrapped up in a .NET blanket next to me while I was lost in the beauty of the present technology. I was absolutely unconvinced that we are not living in the world we all hoped to be in one day. What else do we need? I know a jetpack would be nice, but physical laws suggest flight in numbers is safest.
The average American is able to type five or six letters and click on what they see. It will allow them to see and hear what they want to see and hear. It's brilliant. And all I can do is sit here and consider the disenchantment that must be responsible for the lack of awe and wonder I see in other people. Or are we perhaps just so humanly jaded that we shun the entity altogether because it only appeals to two senses. Look, people. If you click on something, you can see and hear it. That's two senses. Now... access the third by chewing on your keyboard. Access your fourth my tapping your toes on the floor. And access the fifth my smelling whatever in the hell you want to smell. Then, you won't be all that different from two other notorious individuals who pioneered the practice. Anyway, that's my steaming pile of an explanation. It's all I can muster.
Right now, I've used an old dress shirt to tie my headphones to my head. They kinda suck and sound was escaping between the headphones and my head. So I did this. My pigmentation has thankfully remained intact.
The other night, I continued watching Philip Seymour Hoffman movies with Love Liza. It was about a man whose wife recently committed suicide by asphyxiation in her running car in a closed garage. Philip copes by sniffing gasoline. My interpretation is Philip's character wanted on some level to be with his wife in her last moments. And in an attempt to relate to her state, he referenced the only other form of automotive inebriation I can imagine. It also starred Jack Kehler from The Big Lebowski and Stephen Tobolowsky. Any respectable movie viewer will recognize him as the tons-o-fun insurance salesman from Groundhog Day.
Anyway, I saw the summary of the movie and on some level just really wanted to watch Philip Seymour Hoffman sniff gasoline for an hour and a half. And... he sure did it. He sniffed the hell out of some gasoline, model jet fuel... you name it. It was uncomfortably humorous.
Kathy Bates stars as his late wife's mother. The story basically revolves around his inability to operate in reality any longer and his refusal to address the suicide note his wife left. It was filmed very well and I recommend it. It had a pretty good soundtrack, too. He's just a great damn actor.
I'm kind of tired now. It was a decently long day. All the softphones are working now. The temperature gauge in the server room seems to be pretty stable between 70° and 77°. I've still got some Livecycle updates to do and... I have salespeople calling me back to back. I'm researching options for both remote backup and enterprise monitoring software. Many of these salespeople are really, really happy to hear from me. And when they ask if they can, "...follow up in the next few days," they really mean 9am the next morning. It is what it is. I also figured out how to check voicemail on the new phones. Our telephony support group, who in my opinion is just disinterested in telephony, informed me they don't even support the telephone. Thankfully, there is the internet.
>> "For Good" by Ulrich Schnauss on Goodbye
September 10, 2010
Friday Face
Well I had this fancy bit in mind to start this post but when I went to my blog a minute ago, I clicked on the Trombone Shorty link from last week. And now here I am, jamming to it on repeat, all bouncin around like an idiot in my chair with a bottle of Guinness and a stupid ass smile on my face. Yes, my hand is in the air whilst jamming. Yes, I do this alone on Friday nights and I'm really okay with it. Such is life.
This song is out of control. This kid nailed it. I had things to say and ideas to spout but they just cleared out of the street and made way for this massive music.
Mmmm it's the weekend. And I've got nothing to do. Guinness abounds and pizza is in the oven. I put in 12 hours today and now I know how to add printers by IP in XP, configure SIP voicemails, lock down USB ports and restrict drive access to any number of drives. Yeah.
I have nothing planned for the weekend. So that's incredibly great.
I created an FTP server and am working on a script to upload -- break
Sometimes, you look down and realize that the words you were just typing are in no way comparable to the steaming pizza resting in your lap. And you realize God has just smiled upon you.
Baby jesus. I shit you not... if you can imagine Trombone Shorty playing with the volume at 11... and a pizza in my lap... you will understand my happiness. Granted, there is some Guinness involved. But everyone is a little Irish on Fridays.
Last night, I watched "Owning Mahowny" with Philip Seymour Hoffman. He plays a financial advisor/account manager who perpetually steals from his clients to satisfy his gambling addiction. The emotion is conveyed in a cold, direct manner which made me plainly uncomfortable. But Hoff submits his standard measure of theatrical genius and allows the audience into the mind of a truly innocent, compulsive mentality.
Gamblers are always grasping reality one hand or one roll at a time while trying to convince themselves that a deck of cards or a pair of dice are divine entities capable of dictating their future. Sad is the man who does not believe his future well-being is in his own hands. Currently, my well-being lies in the thyme kindly included on this pizza. But I digress. Philip nailed it. And Minnie Driver was pretty good, too. She could have survived with a different haircut. Hi Mom. I know you're reading this. "Skype" does not contain a "c" and I don't have a girlfriend out here yet. It turns out I'm only attracted to women who have Gmail accounts.
Alright. I'm still hung up on the Hurricane Season. It's unreasonable.
Moving along, I've been reading the news. How about some New things? There's a stupid asshole in Florida and an equally stupid congregation in Topeka, KS who want to inflame a large portion of the human population because they're too fucking ignorant to... I'm surprised these people can even speak the English language with such an outstanding mental incapacity. My Orthodox Christian, Ethiopian coworker just heard about this Koran-burning business today and he wanted to know what I thought about it. We share a respect for cultural identity, Mesfin and I. And I told him, outright, this is a national embarrassment. I told him this country has made great strides to promote equality and cultural awareness. And if this spiritual inebriate was actually as offended as he would like us all to believe, he wouldn't have waited nine years to take [such stupid fucking] action. No one who chooses to publicly incinerate in bulk the holy text of more than a billion living human beings has any possible capacity to lead a congregation of any kind. Given the size of the Islamic following, this moron should be incarcerated just out of globalized DECENCY if nationalistic integrity exists at all. I told Mesfin I'd be surprised if this guy himself stays in good health through the coming days/weeks. And even if this guy is just being a social thorn and exercising his Constitutional rights to be a loud fucking American, he's just as stupid. Someone needs to shove a four-foot, bronze statue of an obese Buddha up this guy's ass so he can understand the pain he's birthing. Unbelievable. Keep it up and I'm headed to Europe, folks.
In other news, some drunken Swiss man was sitting in his castle pushing buttons at 2am European time last night. I thought it was an SNB intervention until I looked at it on the minute charts.
Google Instant came out. And I like it. But I like my search field at the bottom of the page, too. I hope they reinstate the footer search field. It just made sense. They still have not redeemed themselves for the gross mutilation of images.google.com.
Oh... I read a really great article by Stephen Hawking in the Wall Street Journal of all publications. One of these days, people will start to listen. This was also a comforting read.
Man... I'm all about the links tonight. More importantly, I just said I'm "all about" something. The sincerity is oozing. I'm done.
>> more of this
This song is out of control. This kid nailed it. I had things to say and ideas to spout but they just cleared out of the street and made way for this massive music.
Mmmm it's the weekend. And I've got nothing to do. Guinness abounds and pizza is in the oven. I put in 12 hours today and now I know how to add printers by IP in XP, configure SIP voicemails, lock down USB ports and restrict drive access to any number of drives. Yeah.
I have nothing planned for the weekend. So that's incredibly great.
I created an FTP server and am working on a script to upload -- break
Sometimes, you look down and realize that the words you were just typing are in no way comparable to the steaming pizza resting in your lap. And you realize God has just smiled upon you.
Baby jesus. I shit you not... if you can imagine Trombone Shorty playing with the volume at 11... and a pizza in my lap... you will understand my happiness. Granted, there is some Guinness involved. But everyone is a little Irish on Fridays.
Last night, I watched "Owning Mahowny" with Philip Seymour Hoffman. He plays a financial advisor/account manager who perpetually steals from his clients to satisfy his gambling addiction. The emotion is conveyed in a cold, direct manner which made me plainly uncomfortable. But Hoff submits his standard measure of theatrical genius and allows the audience into the mind of a truly innocent, compulsive mentality.
Gamblers are always grasping reality one hand or one roll at a time while trying to convince themselves that a deck of cards or a pair of dice are divine entities capable of dictating their future. Sad is the man who does not believe his future well-being is in his own hands. Currently, my well-being lies in the thyme kindly included on this pizza. But I digress. Philip nailed it. And Minnie Driver was pretty good, too. She could have survived with a different haircut. Hi Mom. I know you're reading this. "Skype" does not contain a "c" and I don't have a girlfriend out here yet. It turns out I'm only attracted to women who have Gmail accounts.
Alright. I'm still hung up on the Hurricane Season. It's unreasonable.
Moving along, I've been reading the news. How about some New things? There's a stupid asshole in Florida and an equally stupid congregation in Topeka, KS who want to inflame a large portion of the human population because they're too fucking ignorant to... I'm surprised these people can even speak the English language with such an outstanding mental incapacity. My Orthodox Christian, Ethiopian coworker just heard about this Koran-burning business today and he wanted to know what I thought about it. We share a respect for cultural identity, Mesfin and I. And I told him, outright, this is a national embarrassment. I told him this country has made great strides to promote equality and cultural awareness. And if this spiritual inebriate was actually as offended as he would like us all to believe, he wouldn't have waited nine years to take [such stupid fucking] action. No one who chooses to publicly incinerate in bulk the holy text of more than a billion living human beings has any possible capacity to lead a congregation of any kind. Given the size of the Islamic following, this moron should be incarcerated just out of globalized DECENCY if nationalistic integrity exists at all. I told Mesfin I'd be surprised if this guy himself stays in good health through the coming days/weeks. And even if this guy is just being a social thorn and exercising his Constitutional rights to be a loud fucking American, he's just as stupid. Someone needs to shove a four-foot, bronze statue of an obese Buddha up this guy's ass so he can understand the pain he's birthing. Unbelievable. Keep it up and I'm headed to Europe, folks.
In other news, some drunken Swiss man was sitting in his castle pushing buttons at 2am European time last night. I thought it was an SNB intervention until I looked at it on the minute charts.
Google Instant came out. And I like it. But I like my search field at the bottom of the page, too. I hope they reinstate the footer search field. It just made sense. They still have not redeemed themselves for the gross mutilation of images.google.com.
Oh... I read a really great article by Stephen Hawking in the Wall Street Journal of all publications. One of these days, people will start to listen. This was also a comforting read.
Man... I'm all about the links tonight. More importantly, I just said I'm "all about" something. The sincerity is oozing. I'm done.
>> more of this
September 04, 2010
Humanoids
Tell me how big your beats are. Do they walk themselves down the street? Do they make people look out the window and come outside? Yeah Shorty. Shorty Trombone. Now you know.
I just got back from Machete. I went alone to the first showing around the corner today. It was pretty good. I have to admit, I had been looking forward to it since I saw the preview at Grindhouse. I personally think Desperado should have been written around Trejo's character (just a general badass) years ago, but good things take time. Accompanying Danny in Machete are Cheech Marin, Michelle Rodriguez, Don Johnson, Robert DeNiro, Jess Alba and Lindsay Lohan. It was pretty great. I don't have much to say about it, really. The obvious is that Jessica Alba still can't act. But I think Robby Rodriguez just told her not to try in this one. Little Lohan is pretty gross in both her nun costume and in her birthday suit. I just can't... yeah. Not good.
DeNiro didn't really sell the Texas politician role in my opinion. I just... couldn't smell the whiskey on his breath, you know? Don Johnson played a great shooter-for-hire/contract militiaman. Michelle Rodriguez kicked ass, chewed bubble gum and then kicked the bubble gum's ass. She's just great. And Cheech? Yeah. Cheech was just the right mix of priest and pothead. And how could I forget Steven Seagal? The everlasting antagonist, Steve played the Mexican ringleader who... well.. I won't spoil the movie. Let's just say the man knows how to tap out nicely from a fight.
Watching the movie felt like being back in Austin. I recognized the parking lots, the intersections, etc. The Frost Bank building is all over the film. Michelle Rodriguez is the head of an underground Mexican network comfortably named "The Network." Her hideout/HQ is in the old, spray-painted carriage house on E. 4th Street where the horse-drawn carriage company mounts and dismounts the carriages each night. Just before the grand finale, Trejo and his army blow down a widened E. 5th street all fanned out in a swath of hydrolic, shiny hoopties and ape-hangers. It was pretty cool.
Anyway, the movie was certainly eye candy. The nudity and body count were established very plainly in the first 60 seconds of the film. He's called "Machete" for a reason. It was pretty cool. I don't know if the advertisement for the trilogy just before the credits was genuine, but I hope it was... for Danny's sake. I want him to stay up front and show these kids what movies are all about.
This weekend is... allegedly three days long. I think I'm going to go into the city again tomorrow and ride around... exhaust myself. I don't know. I'm kinda stagnant at this point. I need to take some time and finish some songs. I might... miiiiight find an open mic night at one of the colleges around here at some point and see if anyone cares to relate to me in this place.
I haven't been able to look at the forex charts at all in the last two weeks since I started my new job. I've been working 12-14 hour days consistently and am... things are starting to fall into place. I'm getting a feel for how the place runs and just what exactly is expected of me. Right now I'm gonna brainstorm on the charts and see if I can't start automating my system.
Little can you tell, but I just got sidetracked and listened to an hour's worth of Florence and the Machine remixes. This is why my god invented the weekend: so I could hear Florence and the Machine remixes. There's one reason why these remixes work. And I've said it before. It's because the producers on this album (3 producers) did a masterful job of layering her voice. Every vocal part, be it a lead part or harmony, is either doubled or tripled. The voice carries this album like Atlas carried the world. It was written as a deliberate wave of emotion in the wake of the singer's father's death. Live performances do not, unfortunately, maintain the same power of the recordings from 2009. Such is the magic created in a studio over time.
I'm gonna listen to my favorite radio station for the rest of the day today and get ready for my trek into the city tomorrow. I'm gonna take my computer and geek out somewhere. My phone charger is at the office and the phone is dead. So I will have no music on the bike tomorrow. This is regrettable. But I will manage. Who knows. I might even be forced to engage in conversation with other humanoids, perhaps of the female variety. I hear they like being called "humanoids of the female variety."
>> "A Last Dance with Leon" by Doctor Flake on Minder Surprise
September 01, 2010
Sink in
My feet haven't really hit the floor since I drove out of Austin a few weeks ago. I told my sister it still really feels like I'm in transition and I'm doing what I can to expedite the... whatever it is.
Things are good, though. This whole area is rich with activity, active people and active places.
I took my bike on the DC Metro down to the center of the political world a couple days ago. It was a Saturday so I didn't have to deal with too much traffic. A police officer forcefully banished me from a particular road in front of the White House. But it was otherwise easy riding.
I actually got off the metro at 930a and was out riding until about 430. I saw every monument I could find and then some. I paused somewhere North of the White House and went to Subway. I went to the park to eat and... that was alright. It was basically a big ass ravine... like... you slip, you die. I did not slip. I ate a footlong construction with chicken teriyaki and the sweetest onion sauce in all the land.
It feels weird saying it, but I was more comfortable riding in the streets in downtown DC than I am here in the burbs. I don't know. Maybe it makes sense. Maybe it's because it was a Saturday. Maybe it's just because there's more pavement. Whatever the reason, the pavement was kind to me there.
I was out for about 8 hours and... I think the only person I talked to was the person who made my sandwich for lunch. Ah I bought a homeless guy a Sprite, too. When he asked me if I would buy him something from the grocery store, I said, "Yeah man. What do you need?" He replied, "Ah man, I want some french toast!" Last I checked, precooked and prepackaged french toast was pretty hard to come by at the grocery store. I actually check for these things from time to time. Anyway, we settled on a Sprite and... yeah. I talked to that guy.
I had one way conversations with the quotes inscribed on the walls of the Lincoln and Jefferson memorials. I'm certain the Jefferson memorial is the most beautiful. And looking to the South, I could only stand still. The memorial itself is structurally open with many large columns surrounding the effigy and supporting the dome overhead. After reading the mountainous quotes overhead, I wandered out the back of the sanctuary and let the wind from behind take my eyes far out in front of me and show me what the hills might have looked like centuries ago. Highways and signs dissolved and there were only slow hills. It forced me to consider with strength the pieces of land which undoubtedly sowed the peaces of mind from which our national fiber was borne. What a time that must have been. Pre-industrial revolution... horses and thunder were still the loudest distractions imaginable on any given day. At the risk of committing to a full-on rambling escapade, I'd just like to state that the founding fathers' individual enlightenment, as unnatural as it was in their time, seems thunderous indeed to the natural environment in which they were living. It's comforting to know these things gave way to such great discoveries. And it reassures my quiet lifestyle. Focusing so hard at my new job, I needed to state this tonight.
I was completely worn out and was not... really... able to stand when I made it back to the metro station that evening. I hadn't ridden in about a month. But as it happened, the city was doing maintenance on the rail system that afternoon and evening. So I was able to reflect on the day a bit sooner than I had expected. It took twenty minutes to get into town and two hours to get back. But there was a sweet girl who wanted to smile at a dirty fucking guy on a bike at the King Street platform. And that made me less exhausted for a short while. Then the metro came and our visual romance ended.
I've started my new job and it feels like I'm in space. Before I get into my new job, and while I'm thinking about space, I need to record something which beached my mental ship this afternoon. It's inspirational in nature. And it's sensory. It's comfortable to me.
At Valentine's Day, I used to say the green candy hearts tasted like grass. They actually taste like something closer to feet. But back when I was stupid enough to ingest these green candy hearts, they reminded me of the smell of grass. I know, I know. Yes... I ate grass when I was a kid, too. But I'm talking about the scent... I'm talking about cross-sensory relation. This is like when love feels like you're skydiving or when certain candy makes you feel like you're wearing your Halloween costume from nineteen eighty-something. I had one of those moments of irregular sensory relation earlier today... a mild synesthetic event.
This pairing really, truly exposes my admiration of a particular musical entity. I recently stumbled upon a simply amazing video (in my opinion, of course). I won't describe it just in case anyone cares to watch it. It's important you watch it full screen with sound on the first time through... and don't skip forward. Just wait. Click the link and don't even read the description. Cause the surprise is half the fun. You might need to turn your volume DOWN a touch, but having sound is quite rewarding after... i don't know... the first third of the video.
I was listening to my songs earlier with my headphones, and "I Remember" by Yeasayer started. It reminded me of the sensation I got the first time I saw the video from above. I'll leave it at that. It's not really something I can convey in any more detail.
Alright. Enough mental meanderings. I'm headlong into my new job and as I told my friend earlier tonight, it feels like I'm straddling a freight train every second of every hour on the clock. I actually brought a small portion of the train home with me tonight and am currently listening to my (half-assed) French submersion and Fredo Viola while I wait for one of the servers to finish stomping several thousand customers' bills into tri-fold pdfs. It's madness. I feel like a crazy-ass Santa Claus with several multi-core reindeer at the end of the reins. Granted, my gifts suck. But I'm fat and happy, generally speaking.
I'm living very, very close to my office... about 4 miles. I've been putting in 10-14 hour days consistently since I started last Monday. But it feels like... it fucking feels like marathon recording sessions... the last thing I can think of I did consistently for such long amounts of time with so much interest, intent and happiness. Hours go by like someone greased the clock's gears a little too well. I've had one minor flub so far across 13 servers. But... that call center didn't need those call recordings anyway, right? :) Right.
I'm tired now. And I was tired this morning. I'm getting up in 6 something hours and maybe this thing will be finished. I don't know. I'll sleep when I can. I'm the first one at the office and the last to leave. Nothing especially new, but it's fucking awesome. And that's all I can say about it tonight.
>> "The Sad Song" by Fredo Viola on The Sad Song EP
August 10, 2010
Recollections
I don't remember if I wrote most of the following on the flight out to Hawaii or while I was on the ground, but I trust Google to save my documents more than paper. So here it is.
Before I left on the trip, the night before, I had dinner with my grandparents at their place in Bethesda. My grandmother made the standard quality, lavish fare, chicken marsala and the works. And I had yet another "bonus" chance, as she likes to call it, to listen and watch them enjoy their remaining time together.
Grandpa went out to the course that morning and did his best to work his way through 18 holes. With record highs, the temperature surpassed his age (which doesn't happen very often). He did say that toward the end of the trip, he was having trouble swinging the club at all.
During dinner, we talked about the details of my trip. I know and, at the time of this writing, KNOW very little. But he had spent a good amount of time [in Hawaii].
His father had an expansive career as a naval officer and was, at one point, an active member of Harry Truman's War Cabinet during the second world war. My great-grandmother, his mother, was actually living on the islands when the Japanese attacked in 1941. My grandmother was wise enough to interview her on tape to get a first-hand account of the siege. Her tone on the recording was expectedly somber, but she herself also realized the historic value of her experience. Two of my grandfather's brothers, who I never met, were in the house doing whatever children do. They were drawn outside by a buzzing which they expected to be American planes in formation... training, perhaps. That day, they saw the first wave of fighters and kamikazes on their way to Pearl Harbor on the other side of the island.
My grandfather was in Annapolis at the Naval Academy at the time, I believe. His father and the rest of the crew on the USS Battleship Texas had been dispatched to the central Pacific only two days earlier on December 5. Otherwise, they would have been carrying out their normal duties according to schedule right there in the harbor. I can't imagine the news, the alarm, when my grandfather heard of the attack. His mother and brothers were all physically fine, but the infamous damage took its toll. During dinner (I've been on planes all day and am having a hard time accepting the fact that I was just eating w/ them last night), my grandfather had to stop and think hard as to whether or not his two younger brothers went to the harbor that day to help pull bodies out of the water. He concluded they did not. But his mother, as a ranking officer's wife, ended up consoling numerous wives whose families were destroyed that morning. he said she acted in this role for several weeks.
Pardon the discontinuity, but I just had a tremendous turkey sandwich. Zero of my three planes were on time today. And I didn't have any time to either get something to eat or drink in between. So... I just bit the culinary bullet and bought the $10 sandwich. It was outstanding.
So... previously, I suppose I was talking about something other than a turkey sandwich. At this point, I find that notion rather unlikely. Let me investigate by reading what I've already written and count the number of references to turkey sandwiches.
Well that was disappointing. Forgive me for making light of such a serious topic. But according to the accounts I've heard, there were no turkey sandwiches at Pearl Harbor from Dec. 5-7, 1941. I will ask my grandfather the next time I see him for confirmation.
Pearl Harbor aside, my grandfather had other stories. He said the snorkeling is divine and I have to make time to do it. I told him I most certainly would. But the story to which I relate the most at present is his first trip out to Hawaii. The story is brief, but it made me think/reflect for a moment. And the bridge between something happening and me making you goons read about it is whether or not it makes me reflect.
Jack was at the Naval Academy and he received word from his father that he (Jack) would be spending the summer out there. Some kind of transport took him out to either LA or Coronodo where he waited for "orders" or, more likely, an escort of some kind. Anyway, he mentioned that there were any number of ships he could have ended up using. But he was directed to a "boat" in the most formal sense. As opposed to a battleship or something of a similar class (cruised at or above 20mph), he was taken to what he referred to as, "...a real POS... only went around 8 miles an hour the whole way." He went on to explain that it took a little over two weeks for him to get from the California coast to the big island of Hawaii.
And this put everything into perspective this afternoon. As it happens, "this afternoon has lasted about 10 hours so far. And as we chase the sun into tomorrow at 38,000 feet, I don't suspect it will change in the immediate future. But I digress. Perspective. Mine has been adjusted.
I was all bent out of whack because I might have had to sleep in LAX and go to Hawaii about 12 hours later. And I had to stop and think about the true measure of convenience we all have at our disposal.
Be grateful both for your survival and for the wisdom you have gained through the pain and sorrow of the past.
[a small tune struck me the next day or two after settling into the breeze on the island...]
Oh you came, you talked
you laughed, you walked
ah ye celebrate
you've got a whole lot of life to go
give your best to those you know
float the river... enjoy the show
and celebrate
[I'll finish it up at some point. I put some bliss in my pocket out there and I only hope I haven't put those pants through the wash yet.]
[and I'm pretty sure the remainder is from the flight back]
Artificial love must include selfish intentions classified and erected as anything not directed towards the audience. This only takes place in active conversation. There is time for selfish thought. This time, this thought, is reserved for personal reflection. Must there be--
There must be time for personal reflection.
I'm on the plane ride home now. And the trip was akin to discovering a new world. Some people never get to live the thrill. Others live it and, I suppose, they never share the knowledge they found.
The green was greener and the rain was more watery. The wind never sat and the sun was content to move its own speed. The waves ran their own course all day and every day.
Time spend with family was time well spent, even along the adversities. Friends were met and, presumably, family was made.
The reason for the initial bit here in this entry was the death beach we visited during the first week. The Minihuni (sp?) were an ancient people and maintained royal roles from birth. One of these obligations was bestowed upon the "royal companions"" of sorts. The royal entity was never to be alone.
In fact, the first individual borne after the royal individual, be it hours or days after the birth, was effectively obligated to remain by the royal individual's side indefinitely. Regardless the circumstance, the royal one was never to be alone. No matter what happened, that person would always have counsel, direct empathy, to assist in the decision-making process. This relationship would last to the death. And the finality would manifest at Polihale, the death or dying beach.
The name was given to the beach because the pocketed cliffside was used to bury/hide the bones/remains of the royal entity. As the sole purpose of the lifelong companion was companionship, his/her services were no longer needed at the conclusion of the royal one's life.
The companion would be lowered by rope over the towering cliffs while clutching a bucket or some recepticle with his friend's remains.
The Hawaiians consider the physical remains eternally relevant to the soul's well-being after death. A person's power was retained in their bones after death and it was therefore of the utmost importance to conceal the specific location of the remains of each leader.
After the companion would locate a sufficient place for his/her friend's remains, the individual would tug the rope to signal success and the others at the top of the cliff would cut the rope and allow the companion to fall to his/her death on the rocks below. This was how their ancient culture ensured their leaders' powers were kept safe. The cliffs are referred to as "the jumping-off point for spirits." And the view is astounding.
The couple sitting next to me is returning from the same island. We are now on the second plane en route to Dallas and they're going to Baltimore as well. I just had to break from my recollections to save on paper their strength. In their silence, they remind me likes do exist. They intend to move to the island within the next year. That doesn't relate to my path. But it's comforting knowing, being shown, that likes exist.
Descent into Dallas.
>>No music tonight. WallE is on HBO.
August 09, 2010
Mainland
Well I'm back on the mainland and am back in the urban sprawl. What a difference 5,000 miles makes.
The Hawaiian island of Kauai was a complete blast from the past, a separate world altogether. The most striking elements were, of course, elemental. The prehistoric peaks and the perpetual breeze just eclipsed time completely. And it was unusual to see moving vehicles and actual modernization. But it's generally apparent that foreign influence has been held to a minimum over the course of the last few decades. The Hawaiians have worked hard to keep it that way on the remote island. Such is not the case on the others.
I wrote a little on the trip in a journal of sorts and I think I'll transfer it onto here tomorrow night. I didn't write nearly as much as I thought I would because I was in the water the whole time. Well... in the water and drinking mai tais.
We went to a luau, talked with locals, ancients and fellow tourists alike. We snorkeled, surfed, bodysurfed and I was beaten and broken by the ocean almost daily. I turned into one big ball of sand and salt... and comfortably so.
I'm heading into the office tomorrow for the second time to meet the telephony consultants and to watch them install the fiberoptic system. It was deemed "relevant to my interests" by the powers that be. They know me well.
>> "Is This Love" by Bob Marley
July 20, 2010
Channel mania... I feel so dirty.
I've been living without television for several years now. But while I crash at my aunt's place, I can sort through the umpteen-thousand channels available on the space... dish... television... machine.
Seriously. This is an unreasonable amount of entertainment.
I can tell you the proper steps to make swiss, gouda and cheddar cheeses separately. Should you need anyone to fashion a hydroelectric dam on a large river in western Mexico, I will happily do it. I can show you the best way to catch catfish in Borneo and I really had no idea the Tour de France was so freaking long. Diving competitions, surf competitions, Paul Newman's cookie factory and lunar landings are all... three feet away. With Harold and Kumar keeping me company, I sit here and recall the design for the indoor ski resort in Dubai. I saw two guys create quicksand and I saw a man create a cake robot.
It's endless.
I've been helping my aunt around the house and around her office this week. She's in charge of moving her office into a new building and it's way too much work for one person. She's been pretty much the go-to person for any old thing, whether it fits her job description or not. And her health is suffering because of it. So I've been going up there and helping her coworkers pack stuff, load stuff, etc... just making sure she can think straight. I'm heading down there tomorrow and I think we're transporting a refrigerator. I was told I need to be there before noon so I can partake in the office pizza party. It will be done.
This evening, I left on my bike at about 5:45 and just explored. This area, Montgomery Village, is rife with paved walking paths that wind through the woods between several neighborhoods. The slow rolling hills and the hand-crafted, wooden fences could easily be mistaken for a neighborhood in Colorado. The only difference is the background. There's only one mountain in Maryland and it's not really visible unless you're actively looking for it.
The heat here has been pretty comparable to the Texas summer. I was just about soaked by the time I got back from my ride about 45 minutes later. I've yet to get into the city on the metro and honestly don't know if I'll be able to do it before I leave on Saturday.
I have absolutely no idea what to expect on my trip. I know I'm going to swim a bunch. And I might sleep a lot. I saw an episode of a show called "Aerial America," which I didn't know existed until tonight, in which a helicopter flies over a particular destination. The show tonight was on Hawaii. And... I'm super excited.
Anyway, I'm staying as busy as possible in anticipation of the trip. I'm hanging out with family and have played the guitar a couple times. It felt a little foreign after the drive up, to be honest. But, all is well. And... I'm getting ready for about a 12 hour flight on Saturday :)
July 18, 2010
Paradise City
Against all odds, I made it to the East coast this week.
Now I'm just sitting here, reflecting and generally attempting to process what seems to be a new world altogether. I commented on the air quality to my sister this afternoon on the phone. I spent a lot of time in New England growing up and, although the DC area is considered southerly, there is an absolute richness to the smell of the air. The soil and the grass are thick and the fir trees sit close to the ground. I have a sagittarian fantasy to crawl under one and take a nap.
The drive up was pretty nice. The car did well and the scenery, the bits I could actually see, were beautiful. But it rained horribly both nights. Driving into Nashville, I had to buddy up to the 18 wheelers and follow their tail lights because I was not willing to drive slow enough to see the actual lines on the road. This notion seemed completely unreasonable at the time. I effectively tailgated the truckers completely blind through the hills of Tennessee. Given that I had already been on the road for about ten hours, this was exactly what I needed to stay alert...
Other noteworthy events are as follows:
*gas gauge failed and car died with what appeared to have been a quarter of a tank left 55 miles outside of Austin (yesss AAA)
*rekindled my love for Sunkist
*hit 86mph in Virginia (cause im a badass)
*experienced some priceless right-wing talk radio ("Thank goodness that World Cup is over.")
*got "Freebird" and "Paradise City" in Arkansas
*power went out at the hotel in Nashville, children got stuck in the elevator, got locked out of the room, could not eat my pizza
*powered through flash flooding just South of DC
I found a place to stay today. All the places up here are considerably more expensive just because of the geography. But I'm really happy with this place. It's super close to the metro station so I'll be able to get into DC proper to play in traffic on my bike. And you can imagine my surprise when I saw the freaking FIOS modem IN the damn room :D I'm pretty ecstatic. The owner is a super cool older lady whose son is in grad school in Michigan. The room is abnormally large and... it's maybe a mile and a half from my new office. I can now say with confidence that chewing industrial leather will indeed keep you alive if and when sustenance is scarce.
I've visited with my grandparents, cousins and aunt :) My grandfather, 90 years old, shot a hole in one the other day when he went out for his customary 18. We went out and got some Chinese food and he told me stories about hotels in Hong Kong and India in the 60s. He told me about the time when, 72 years ago, he drove his brother's fiance and her mother across the country from Rhode Island to Ventura, California. He said he got the car up to 100 going across South Dakota and he made the women think he was a ravenous bear by scratching on the screen at a camping cabin in Yellowstone National. Entertainment is comfortably cheap on long road trips. Gram's still dancing and they're both rocking the internet every day.
I'm not starting the new job until late August but I went in for an orientation of sorts yesterday. Paul and I went over all the network architecture and I got a good idea of the scale of the operation. It was a really long day but I ate it all up. I'm really excited to get started. But... it will just have to wait for the time being.
Audrey is taking me and my mom to Hawaii :) My mom is still in a slow state of recovery after she was rear-ended... I think over a year ago now. It took some serious maneuvering to convince her to brave the trip out there. But now that the dates are set, she's been feeling better mentally. Auds said I've been working too hard in general over the last couple/few years and that I needed a clean slate before starting the new job. This will indeed by my last hurrah before digging into a virtual timewarp of instances where that little man from Princess Bride says, "Inconceivable!" We're going to the island of Kauai, leaving next Saturday, and I'm going to spend much of the time in the water. This next week I'm going to take the metro into the city and sightsee. I've... been... sorta chomping at the bit.
>> no music?
June 28, 2010
Summer storms returned
Summer storms returned this afternoon with a warm welcome.
This morning, I ran errands for my mom and helped her around the house up North. I loaded the playlist from my roommate's old hard drives and straight-up jammed all the way up there. I'm gonna miss the pace of things down here. BUT... the mix includes Neon Indian, Yeasayer, Tallest Man on Earth and Ratatat. :D
I came back down South and made it a front-porch afternoon. I moved my lil amp to the screen door and threaded the cable between it and the door frame. Propped up against the wooden chair with the sun kindly across my legs, I pushed notes over the stone wall, through the rose garden and deep into the oak trees across the street. Green, the resident Schäferhund, lounged and snoozed in the yard with the occasional roll/back scratch/snort.
The clouds and thunder started to roll in soundly from the West. And as soon as the shade hit the yard in full, the mosquitoes descended like bloody vampires and hassled me straight into the house. When Texas mosquitoes come after you, you can either pull out the garlic and silver bullets (maniacal jazz hands) or run away like a man. I chose the latter... with half-hearted jazz hands.
I grabbed a bag of Sun Chips and headed back out front to check the state of the storm. It was just grumbly... frustratingly so. It never actually rained here, but it sure did sound nice. After feeding Green and myself an ample amount of Sun Chips, I came in and just plain passed out on the coffee table to the sounds of thunder. Green was the enabler. You might be surprised how good a flat surface feels after an hour and a half of musical recklessness.
I woke up all out of sorts and the sky was still growling about something. It was all talk.
I watched a movie called "Keinohrhasen" last night. And it was pretty freaking funny. My only other exposure to Til Schweiger prior-to was his severely disgruntled character in Inglourious. He directed Keinohrhasen and it was hilarious. It seems to me that one clear sign of a good director is that the movie makes perfect sense to an audience who doesn't speak the same language. Such is this movie. I'd like to see it with subtitles at some point because it was definitely pretty raw in a couple places.
This evening, after waking up on top of the coffee table, I watched "Das Wunder Von Bern," another German film which loosely documents the German World Cup victory in 1954 around the story of a family's struggle to accommodate a grizzled father/husband recently returned from the war. It's a great look at the man's battle to reconcile his nearly-forgotten domestic sentiments. The movie did this succinctly and, although I was watching subtitles most of the time, I feel the acting was pretty good. I recommend it. It probably also helps if you're a soccer fan, to some degree.
I've got a roommate to take my place here in July so now... I've basically got the green light to boot scoot outta town (def. number 2). I'm gonna get my car checked and enjoy some final miscreant adventures before I vacate. I've loved Austin and am still not completely comfortable leaving my mom here in her current state. But now is the time. She and I both agree.
>> "Hold Tight, London feat. Anna Lynne" by Chemical Brothers
June 08, 2010
Goose attack
I haven't been to Virginia in a long time. I'm just trying to remember what it's like.
I imagine it's green and hilly. And maybe the people there speak slowly like Texans?
The last time I was in Virginia, I was going to a summer tennis camp at UVA when I was... 14 maybe?
I'm looking for someone to take my room right now here in Austin. But with rental market plateauing right at the "apeshit" level, it's gonna be hard. As soon as I get someone lined up, I'm packing my clothes, guitars and computers into the Oldsmobile and headin out.
I was in Washington DC a couple weeks ago for my grandfather's 90th birthday party. The night before, my sister and I went out with my cousin and her husband and his twin brother and his wife and... we all know eachother. I hadn't seen them in about 4 years and... we usually just go for broke.
We started drinking and talking about IT stuff and Mr. Man said, "Hey Rich... hypothetically speaking, would you be interested in...?" To which I replied, "Abso-damn-lutely."
We had intended to crash out at a reasonable time to prep for the party the next day. But when we got back to the house, Paul said, "I'm gonna get a drink and then play some trivia."
The events which followed can only be described as a goose attack of the mightiest proportions.
The feral Grey Goose of western France attacked us repeatedly in the face, several times an hour.
I processed about a quart and a half of unholy pheasant juice over the course of four hours on an air mattress. Then, I was awoken by my sister and she coaxed me into the car.
After some very fortuitous automobile dormancy, I woke up with what I felt was an expanding fault line, a rift, if you will, between the two hemispheres of my brain. I made it to the party. But any discerning eye will be able to spot the traumatic trappings of our bird hunt gone awry.
Grandpa's great and Gram's even better. And I got myself a new job to boot.
Things are moving quickly and I'm going to have to update this periodical a bit more periodically.
For now, suffice it to say that there are several uncertainties at present. But the goose...
Oh, the goose...
>> "November" by Music Box on Lydian Label
February 20, 2010
Weekend warrior
Well this post has nothing to do with the term you might recognize from the movie Cocaine Cowboys. In an ongoing effort to get my head as far away from work as possible, I set out on my bike multiple times this weekend.
Ray gave me a new seat so I really wanted to get out and test it. As I told him on Friday, it's like a Cadillac for my butt. It's awesome. My old seat had become completely defunct after a spill I took a while back. I went end-over and somehow the seat took the most damage. Ever since, the seat has effectively been on about a 30° slope to the left. For one reason or another, the single bolt that held the seat in place needed a metric sized allen wrench.
Any excuse will do for a trip to Home Depot. The smell of lumber is attractive to me in the winter. Yep. I also enjoy going while maintaining the appearance of someone who has never actually set foot in a Home Depot. Day laborers covered in paint, foremen on a deadline and heart-of-Texas employees see me in boat shoes, shorts and a busted old GAP shirt with half the collar folded in and a pair of headphones stuck in my head. I got the allen wrenches and replaced the seat.
I scrambled over to work (on my day off) to meet with my 401k advisor. He's spot on and I was happy to meet him.
After the meeting, I took off into the city. At times, I wish I was in a bigger city simply because there is only so much that can be seen. I'm... trying to remember exactly where I went at the moment. I did a dumb thing and went into town on a Friday afternoon... just when everyone was scooting to get out of town. Whatever. I'm on a bike. Cars must obey. It's a beautiful thing.
My face-mounted mirror is growing on me. I've finally figured out how to make it work without being too awkward. For the record, I shall always look awkward on a bicycle. Off the record, I am awesome regardless the amount of face-mounted hardware I might be sporting.
I scrambled all over town, I guess. I took nearly the same route today, albeit a bit extended. I think I just went around South and Central Austin yesterday. Yes indeed. That's what I did. I went to the bank and to Zilker. And then I paused at the top of the hill at the Long Center and looked out over Town Lake and all the dogs doing what they do best.
I repeated the process today whilst jamming Little People, Emancipator, Fischerspooner and Brother Ali. Brother Ali is the perpetual Man.
Today, I started out by chugging up to the UT Campus and going to Wheatsville Co-Op for some Frito Pie (note the capitalization). For one reason or another, there was a massive Woodchuck/Boy Scout/Father-Son Excursion event on the UT campus and there were brown shirts all over the place. It was interesting.
Given the sheer, frightening amount of children, I decided to eat away from my usual grubbing spot. I require a certain degree of (general) peace and quiet for the proper levels of grubbing to take place. I hopped back on the machine and made my way down to Austin Proper. I ended up going to Whole Foods and eating on the roof.
I burned down 6th street comfortably with my mirror and completely ran 110% into the last intersection. Just at the last moment, I tore into the huge parking lot adjacent to Whole Foods and enjoyed the chorus to one happy-go-lucky song and a break in the clouds at the same time. I was content to do figure-eights with a stupid grin on my face while everyone was actively congesting my roadway by the store. Who in the world would be in a hurry on a Saturday? Whoever they were, I was happy to let them stew in their own anxious juices while I did an urban ballet against the condos' rooftops.
There were many people at the store. I've found it's not nearly practical to expect anything else at any given time. If the store is open, it's going to be packed. And that's fine. It's people-watching season right now through this time next year. Folks can't figure out if it's hot or cold out. The ladies are doing their best to prolong the winter season by wearing boots and matching earmuffs in 55° weather. I parked and locked the bike and took my frito pie up to the rooftop to get my digestion on. Jalapeños. Woot.
Come to think about it (because I think about these things), those cub scouts weren't nearly old enough to watch me eat frito pie. Once I start eating that stuff, it's a no-holds-barred digestive event. It couldn't possibly be rated anything less than NC17 by the stiffs at the MPAA. Let's put it this way. If Tarantino directed a short covering the life of a small Wheatsville frito pie after being purchased by me, there would (very accurately) be an enormous body count, multiple explosions and just general mayhem. I would be played by Jason Statham and the frito pie would be played by this guy.
I finally got a chance to watch some of the Olympics. Since Time Warner's accounts database failed continually, I was not able to register my ISP (which is required) to watch them live on NBC.com. I did, however, manage to find some pretty good recordings online. Ms. Vonn is infinitely awesome and the biathlon was... interesting at best.
I came home and talked to the landlord. Mr. Man has not paid rent in several weeks and I've been instructed to find a new roommate. I've already met with 3 and have a match. Now it's just a matter of time until tons-o-fun decides to move his butt... and his xylophones, Nirvana posters and broken keyboards.
I played guitar for a while today and... I don't really even want to put it down. Now... I had previously affirmed the fact that I will never be a guy who treats his guitar like his significant other. I'm a hopeless romantic and am ever entertaining the possibility that my songs will sound better when played with a woman in stride. But I recently found myself comparing the scent of a passing lady to that of my guitar case. With a highly critical inflection, I thought, "Wow. My guitar case smells way better than her." Nonexistent love life, beware. The 86 is on the up and up.
Speaking of odor, I'm going to break for a second and go on a mental tangent. Follow if you dare. An olfactory excursion's prepared.
So the sense of smell has evidently been proven to be the most primary of our senses as it relates to memory. I am attempting to consider easy ways (easier than standing on my head for extended periods of time) to take my mind away from what's in the foreground.
I rode by an industrial construction site downtown yesterday and was met with a great memory of being in bigger cities. The odor of raw lumber and cement blowing through the hollow floors took me back to city streets in Houston, DC and New York. A few hours later, I found myself considering whether or not it's feasible to plan a day or a weekend to include any number of these odoriferous experiences. Biologically speaking, it should create the emotional levels required to suit a proper break in the pace of Life. After considering this concept thoroughly, I have come to the distinct conclusion that it's not currently, not in any way possible, to be a bigger tool than I currently am. I do, however, expect women to smell like my guitar case. So anything is entirely possible.
And with that, I jam the rest of the night away with Joss Stone. Sweet, merciful Jesus.
>> "Killing Time" on VA Ibiza Lounge Cool Jazz Edition Vol. 2 by Joss Stone
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