I wrote this half of a verse to "Everybody's Lost But Me" the week before W declared war on Iraq:
The war that is impending
Will not have a happy ending
Long as Washington's pretending
It's our freedom their defending
Too bad it's a little dated now.
And then this morning I came up with this verse, but it probably will never see the light of day, since it's too much of a mouthful:
Future civilizations
Will have to use their imagination
To understand why our nation
Turned our fascination
From improving race relations
And space exploration
To weapons, masturbation
And idol adulation
Monday, October 04, 2010
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Golden Age!
Part of the reason no blogs have blogged out of me is that Emily, Madeleine, Liam and I are in a golden age of sorts. This is definitely a time that I will someday look back upon fondly as "the good old days." Madeleine has breakfast with me every morning, and rushes to greet me at the door every evening when I get home from work. Emily and I spend long hours on our couches, discussing life and our family and our future plans. And Liam's face lights up into a big, dimply smile when he lays eyes one me. There is simply not a single thing I could ask for.
So, rarely do I have a private moment to write out my thoughts. I'm making time for it now though because I have recently noticed that my memory is beginning to slip. I attribute it less to age as I do to lack of environmental change. The memories in this house are building up, happily. But I find even my daydreaming has begun to fall into cyclic routines much like the household chores. So, for my own sake, I must continue to document my thoughts.
One current event-themed thought, perfect for documenting; Immigration. Personally, I believe in loving and respecting all humans, regardless of nationality. I suppose that could be a "globalist" view, but perhaps that warrants further discussion. At any rate, I have difficulty understanding the reasoning behind granting privileges to people simply based on what latitude and longitude they happen to have been born at. (Not that they had much choice in that matter.) Now, I do understand the practical applications of citizenship, but it is my failure to grasp the root logic of it that is confusing to me.
Furthermore, I believe that it is my American upbringing that only confounds the issue. I understand that at certain points along my ancestry, my families arrived as immigrants to the country. The "assimilated," sure. But they also added their own unique ingredient to the melting pot. An American culture that did not include the flavors of Native, Central, and South Americans, Africans, Asians, and Pacific Islanders would hardly be recognizable as distinct from European. On an even closer scale, we have a pan-European culture mixed in as well. Distinct strains of German, French, Italian, British, Scandinavian, Greek, Irish, Russian, Baltic, Balkan, Belorussian and more are all evident in our country. And even then, there is a distinct "Americanness" to it all. The idea that immigrants must "assimilate" and "speak the language" is preposterous. It is only by proudly adding their own patches to our quilt that they are true Americans. And it is only by accepting them that we are truly America.
So, gracefully ignoring any sort of potential racism, the fight against immigration seems suspect at best. The idea appears to be based upon a melange of actual facts, unverifiable claims, reliable and unreliable statistics and conjectures, and downright lies. And the attitude is bolstered merely by anecdotal evidence.
Another day we can explore the ramifications of the concept of citizenship. But for now, I feel quite convinced; give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
So, rarely do I have a private moment to write out my thoughts. I'm making time for it now though because I have recently noticed that my memory is beginning to slip. I attribute it less to age as I do to lack of environmental change. The memories in this house are building up, happily. But I find even my daydreaming has begun to fall into cyclic routines much like the household chores. So, for my own sake, I must continue to document my thoughts.
One current event-themed thought, perfect for documenting; Immigration. Personally, I believe in loving and respecting all humans, regardless of nationality. I suppose that could be a "globalist" view, but perhaps that warrants further discussion. At any rate, I have difficulty understanding the reasoning behind granting privileges to people simply based on what latitude and longitude they happen to have been born at. (Not that they had much choice in that matter.) Now, I do understand the practical applications of citizenship, but it is my failure to grasp the root logic of it that is confusing to me.
Furthermore, I believe that it is my American upbringing that only confounds the issue. I understand that at certain points along my ancestry, my families arrived as immigrants to the country. The "assimilated," sure. But they also added their own unique ingredient to the melting pot. An American culture that did not include the flavors of Native, Central, and South Americans, Africans, Asians, and Pacific Islanders would hardly be recognizable as distinct from European. On an even closer scale, we have a pan-European culture mixed in as well. Distinct strains of German, French, Italian, British, Scandinavian, Greek, Irish, Russian, Baltic, Balkan, Belorussian and more are all evident in our country. And even then, there is a distinct "Americanness" to it all. The idea that immigrants must "assimilate" and "speak the language" is preposterous. It is only by proudly adding their own patches to our quilt that they are true Americans. And it is only by accepting them that we are truly America.
So, gracefully ignoring any sort of potential racism, the fight against immigration seems suspect at best. The idea appears to be based upon a melange of actual facts, unverifiable claims, reliable and unreliable statistics and conjectures, and downright lies. And the attitude is bolstered merely by anecdotal evidence.
Another day we can explore the ramifications of the concept of citizenship. But for now, I feel quite convinced; give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
Great Acheivements in Manliness!
"You really think you can unload all that concrete in six minutes?" she asked, her sarcastic tone was not enough to disguise her true feelings. She wanted me out of there.
"I promise I can do it," I replied without thinking. I absolutely love a challenge, and subconsciously I had all ready made up my mind to prove myself to her.
"You have eleven hours to come down here, and you chose the last five minutes?" she retorted. Ok, landfill gate attendant lady, no need to get insulting. I had raced here to arrive before closing time, not to mention the hurried job I did to load up the truck all by myself. I had worked hard to get here in time, and while one snide comment was understandably warranted in this situation, I had not given her much reason for two. It was clear though - her further taunt was meant to undermine my ability.
"What a bitch!" Emily summed up my feelings succinctly as we drove down into the waves of refuse.
The older man standing alone amongst the monuments to wastefulness had a similar appraisal to the bitch. "Concrete?" he said as I pulled near. "Just back up next to the hill there and unload it." I didn't want to make these folks work late, and their lack of confidence in me only pushed me harder. I whipped my dad's Ford Ranger around and lunged headlong -- er, asslong? -- toward my goal.
Jumping up into the bed, I strained to lift the concrete chunks and hurl them into the maelstrom of filth. Then the other items followed; a tree trunk, a couple dozen fence planks, pvc pipes, paint cans, and peg boards. Flinging the last items onto the heap, I jumped back in the cab and took off towards the gate.
"How was that?" I admit was smug as I settled the truck onto the scale.
"That was pretty good!" I had earned a smile from the landfill gate attendant lady. She handed me my receipt happily, and I drove off, rolling up my window at the stench.
Stamped on the receipt was a document of my accomplishment. I had unloaded 760 pounds in under 6 minutes!
"I promise I can do it," I replied without thinking. I absolutely love a challenge, and subconsciously I had all ready made up my mind to prove myself to her.
"You have eleven hours to come down here, and you chose the last five minutes?" she retorted. Ok, landfill gate attendant lady, no need to get insulting. I had raced here to arrive before closing time, not to mention the hurried job I did to load up the truck all by myself. I had worked hard to get here in time, and while one snide comment was understandably warranted in this situation, I had not given her much reason for two. It was clear though - her further taunt was meant to undermine my ability.
"What a bitch!" Emily summed up my feelings succinctly as we drove down into the waves of refuse.
The older man standing alone amongst the monuments to wastefulness had a similar appraisal to the bitch. "Concrete?" he said as I pulled near. "Just back up next to the hill there and unload it." I didn't want to make these folks work late, and their lack of confidence in me only pushed me harder. I whipped my dad's Ford Ranger around and lunged headlong -- er, asslong? -- toward my goal.
Jumping up into the bed, I strained to lift the concrete chunks and hurl them into the maelstrom of filth. Then the other items followed; a tree trunk, a couple dozen fence planks, pvc pipes, paint cans, and peg boards. Flinging the last items onto the heap, I jumped back in the cab and took off towards the gate.
"How was that?" I admit was smug as I settled the truck onto the scale.
"That was pretty good!" I had earned a smile from the landfill gate attendant lady. She handed me my receipt happily, and I drove off, rolling up my window at the stench.
Stamped on the receipt was a document of my accomplishment. I had unloaded 760 pounds in under 6 minutes!
My current treatise on God
God is the Unknown. Whatever lies just beyond the grasp of our understanding - that's what God is. And like the paradox of infinity, God will continue to remain tantalizingly out of reach. To whatever degree you choose to believe that God guides you along the path of existence, only the things for which you have no other explanation are attributed to Him.
To explore the Universe is to seek out His face. And to delight in the mystery of the future is to worship Him.
And just as unseen forces bond the subatomic particles together or curve space time to keep our feet on the ground, so too are we connected to one another. Love is the only purpose for our existence.
To explore the Universe is to seek out His face. And to delight in the mystery of the future is to worship Him.
And just as unseen forces bond the subatomic particles together or curve space time to keep our feet on the ground, so too are we connected to one another. Love is the only purpose for our existence.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Colonel Salt!
I had vaguely recognized this before, but my most recent obsession with the "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band" has revealed to me an underlying theme to nearly all the songs. A "concept" if you will. In fact, you might go so far as to call this a "concept album."
The only thing is, the concept isn't some imaginary band and their songs. The concept is Maturity. The album's recording sessions were kicked off with the songs "Strawberry Fields Forever" and "Penny Lane." Both of these songs, appropriately enough, focus on the composers' childhood. From there, John and Paul seemed to be inspired, consciously or not, to explore the themes of growing up. It's probably no coincidence that all this came after their very first break from touring and recording in nearly four years. They must have finally had time to sit back and analyze their lives. And with touring now a thing of the past, they were undoubtedly pondering their futures, almost as if they were recent college graduates.
Paul's songs, being more literal, are easiest to dissect. Other than the Sgt. Pepper songs, his songs are: Getting Better, Fixing A Hole, She's Leaving Home, When I'm Sixty-Four, and Lovely Rita. Getting Better speaks of school in the past tense (as does John's Good Morning Good Morning), Fixing A Hole is concerned with home repairs (and the larger metaphor of getting your life in order), and She's Leaving Home and When I'm Sixty-Four are pretty obvious, aren't they?
John's contributions are a bit more abstract, and maybe require a little more creative thinking to link them to the concept. Maybe even out of context, the connection would be more tenuous. But there isn't a collection of Lennon songs with more obvious influences from his life than those here. Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds was inspired by a painting by his son and then by his favorite childhood book, Alice In Wonderland. Being For The Benefit of Mr. Kite! is taken almost word for word from a promotional poster from the 1800s. A Day In The Life is literally taken from articles from a newspaper. And Good Morning Good Morning is imaginatively reworked from phrases overheard from the television.
Their one co-written song, With A Little Help From My Friends, again pushes the boundaries of the connection. But George's contribution Within You Without You makes up for it by giving McCartney's theme a spiritual counterpart.
At least, I found this interesting.
A couple other obscure points about the recording sessions that interested me: John and Paul sang the backing parts to With A Little Help From My Friends in unison, then went back and sang the higher harmony part again in unison. Instead of their earlier practice of John taking the low part and McCartney taking the high part, then double tracking themselves.
Also, I think that the story of the famous edit in Strawberry Fields Forever may be just a little exaggerated. I had the opportunity to hear the original trumpet and cello backing track before it was slowed down to match Take 7. I'm pretty sure the basic backing track was recorded in the original key and tempo, then the tape was sped up for the overdub, with the intention of slowing it all back down again. Therefore, the only amazing coincidence was that Ringo played them in exactly the same tempo. Given his track record, this was hardly a fluke.
The only thing is, the concept isn't some imaginary band and their songs. The concept is Maturity. The album's recording sessions were kicked off with the songs "Strawberry Fields Forever" and "Penny Lane." Both of these songs, appropriately enough, focus on the composers' childhood. From there, John and Paul seemed to be inspired, consciously or not, to explore the themes of growing up. It's probably no coincidence that all this came after their very first break from touring and recording in nearly four years. They must have finally had time to sit back and analyze their lives. And with touring now a thing of the past, they were undoubtedly pondering their futures, almost as if they were recent college graduates.
Paul's songs, being more literal, are easiest to dissect. Other than the Sgt. Pepper songs, his songs are: Getting Better, Fixing A Hole, She's Leaving Home, When I'm Sixty-Four, and Lovely Rita. Getting Better speaks of school in the past tense (as does John's Good Morning Good Morning), Fixing A Hole is concerned with home repairs (and the larger metaphor of getting your life in order), and She's Leaving Home and When I'm Sixty-Four are pretty obvious, aren't they?
John's contributions are a bit more abstract, and maybe require a little more creative thinking to link them to the concept. Maybe even out of context, the connection would be more tenuous. But there isn't a collection of Lennon songs with more obvious influences from his life than those here. Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds was inspired by a painting by his son and then by his favorite childhood book, Alice In Wonderland. Being For The Benefit of Mr. Kite! is taken almost word for word from a promotional poster from the 1800s. A Day In The Life is literally taken from articles from a newspaper. And Good Morning Good Morning is imaginatively reworked from phrases overheard from the television.
Their one co-written song, With A Little Help From My Friends, again pushes the boundaries of the connection. But George's contribution Within You Without You makes up for it by giving McCartney's theme a spiritual counterpart.
At least, I found this interesting.
A couple other obscure points about the recording sessions that interested me: John and Paul sang the backing parts to With A Little Help From My Friends in unison, then went back and sang the higher harmony part again in unison. Instead of their earlier practice of John taking the low part and McCartney taking the high part, then double tracking themselves.
Also, I think that the story of the famous edit in Strawberry Fields Forever may be just a little exaggerated. I had the opportunity to hear the original trumpet and cello backing track before it was slowed down to match Take 7. I'm pretty sure the basic backing track was recorded in the original key and tempo, then the tape was sped up for the overdub, with the intention of slowing it all back down again. Therefore, the only amazing coincidence was that Ringo played them in exactly the same tempo. Given his track record, this was hardly a fluke.
Sunday, March 07, 2010
The Essence Of Music
I compare musical composition to architecture. The key, meter, chords, and scales are your structural materials. The arrangement is your facade, the melody your utility, and the lyrics your furnishings. A great song is structurally sound; it doesn't have to be complex, but it does have to be aesthetically pleasing. A construction of very poor substance, even when covered by a fancy finish, will soon reveal its poor workmanship.
Furthermore, I compare musical arrangement to cooking. The melody and harmony are your recipe. The instruments are your ingredients and the modes and beats are your seasonings. Just as how certain foods and spices are inextricably linked to specific cuisines, so too are certain instruments indicative of their style. (Example: adding the Sitar to "Norwegian Wood" was akin to adding Curry powder to an otherwise run-of-the-mill meat and rice dish.) As the skill of the musician or the quality of the food increases, so does the excellence of the finished product.
Furthermore, I compare musical arrangement to cooking. The melody and harmony are your recipe. The instruments are your ingredients and the modes and beats are your seasonings. Just as how certain foods and spices are inextricably linked to specific cuisines, so too are certain instruments indicative of their style. (Example: adding the Sitar to "Norwegian Wood" was akin to adding Curry powder to an otherwise run-of-the-mill meat and rice dish.) As the skill of the musician or the quality of the food increases, so does the excellence of the finished product.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Random Thoughts
The moon is so bright tonight that the sky around it is blue. You can't see any stars.
It occurred to me today that a disproportionately large amount of my dreams are located in the neighborhood of my old high school. Just recently I've had dreams in classrooms, hallways, the auditorium, and many of the streets adjacent. It's almost as if I've spent more time there in dreams than in reality.
That has made me realize that several significant things have taken place there, outside of school itself. My first date was there (homecoming dance), and my last "date" was there too, if you will. The very last thing Emily and I did before we found out that we were parents was watch 24th of July fireworks from the bleachers. It was my final moment of childhood before discovering that I was to have a child of my own.
I've been wondering about neutrons tonight. Seemingly, they're the Universe's dead weight. Why do we even have them? Sheesh. Electrons go around and do all sorts of crazy shit, and protons are so important that we keep meticulous count of how many are in an atom. But neutrons can just come and go. Doesn't matter. Sure, we'll keep track of your isotopes, but even then you're not as important as ions. So whatever, neutrons. Thanks for nothing.
Except atomic chain reactions. You do that for us. Without which, there would be no sun, and therefore no life. So, that's cool. But come on, don't you want to stand up and state your opinion, positive or negative, at least once in a while? You're not neutral, you're just apathetic.
It occurred to me today that a disproportionately large amount of my dreams are located in the neighborhood of my old high school. Just recently I've had dreams in classrooms, hallways, the auditorium, and many of the streets adjacent. It's almost as if I've spent more time there in dreams than in reality.
That has made me realize that several significant things have taken place there, outside of school itself. My first date was there (homecoming dance), and my last "date" was there too, if you will. The very last thing Emily and I did before we found out that we were parents was watch 24th of July fireworks from the bleachers. It was my final moment of childhood before discovering that I was to have a child of my own.
I've been wondering about neutrons tonight. Seemingly, they're the Universe's dead weight. Why do we even have them? Sheesh. Electrons go around and do all sorts of crazy shit, and protons are so important that we keep meticulous count of how many are in an atom. But neutrons can just come and go. Doesn't matter. Sure, we'll keep track of your isotopes, but even then you're not as important as ions. So whatever, neutrons. Thanks for nothing.
Except atomic chain reactions. You do that for us. Without which, there would be no sun, and therefore no life. So, that's cool. But come on, don't you want to stand up and state your opinion, positive or negative, at least once in a while? You're not neutral, you're just apathetic.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Blog Title
Yeah, so it's been a while. All this introspective blogging did me some good to a point, but now what? I think I started to be conscious of my audience again, so hopefully this long hiatus after all that ranting will have driven most everyone away.
Ok, one thought - Doakes is the real hero of Dexter, seasons 1 and 2. He seems like a total asshole, but it's because he's such a good cop he can actually tell that there's something wrong with Dexter. When he thinks Dexter is a junkie though, he is supportive and cool. He tactfully tries to bring it up with Deb, which is how he finds out that the Narcotics Anonymous meetings were a front. He shoots the dude from the Taunton Macoute, but we see later that he was following orders. And when faced with a murderous ex-army ranger, we see that his principles are stronger than his emotions. He's a badass.
Another thing, I have to give up sugar. It's horrible for my body anyways, but now that I know that it's the source of my headaches, finally I have a strong motivation to kick the habit. So, in an odd way, these headaches may have just been one big blessing in disguise. A blindingly painful disguise.
I'm looking at upgrading to computer recording. It's been a long, tortuous process for me. Working my way up from the four-track cassette portastudio, briefly through 8 track cassette and digital portastudios, to the ADAT - now I think I'm finally ready. But goddamn. Computers are so hard to work with. I've been doing all the research I can into 24 bit converters with 96kHz sample rates. Or something. (I hope in 5 or 10 years I read this blog and those numbers seem astonishingly quaint.) But with all the shopping I've been doing, I think I'm going to have to go with the most ironic choice: use the audio interface my dad bought me back in 2002. I think there's even a blog either published on here or saved on my computer waiting to be re-revealed that concerns my distaste for computer recording. Distaste is putting it mildly, I think. But here's the thing. Now that I've worked with everything in an analog (or at least semi-analog) environment, I've built up an understanding of what each component is supposed to do. Hopefully the task won't seem so intimidating now.
At least I hope so. There's still a part of me that wants to keep my ADAT set up, and expand it so I can master CDs directly from it. But fortunately my budget keeps my humble, and I realize that this will never happen. I say fortunately because I know that moving to computer recording is something that I should have done a long time ago. (Like, say 2002?) Shut up parentheses voice.
I hope that my obsessions with college football and politics have been properly impaled by my disillusionment with them. Both are a waste of time, because they trump up the drama in order to obscure the fact that it's all a trick being played on us. This doesn't change my support of either the Utes or Obama. It's just, like, well... I don't need to listen to anybody else any more. And maybe I don't feel the need to convince anyone else anymore. Drama is intriguing, but serenity has always been my goal.
Ok, one thought - Doakes is the real hero of Dexter, seasons 1 and 2. He seems like a total asshole, but it's because he's such a good cop he can actually tell that there's something wrong with Dexter. When he thinks Dexter is a junkie though, he is supportive and cool. He tactfully tries to bring it up with Deb, which is how he finds out that the Narcotics Anonymous meetings were a front. He shoots the dude from the Taunton Macoute, but we see later that he was following orders. And when faced with a murderous ex-army ranger, we see that his principles are stronger than his emotions. He's a badass.
Another thing, I have to give up sugar. It's horrible for my body anyways, but now that I know that it's the source of my headaches, finally I have a strong motivation to kick the habit. So, in an odd way, these headaches may have just been one big blessing in disguise. A blindingly painful disguise.
I'm looking at upgrading to computer recording. It's been a long, tortuous process for me. Working my way up from the four-track cassette portastudio, briefly through 8 track cassette and digital portastudios, to the ADAT - now I think I'm finally ready. But goddamn. Computers are so hard to work with. I've been doing all the research I can into 24 bit converters with 96kHz sample rates. Or something. (I hope in 5 or 10 years I read this blog and those numbers seem astonishingly quaint.) But with all the shopping I've been doing, I think I'm going to have to go with the most ironic choice: use the audio interface my dad bought me back in 2002. I think there's even a blog either published on here or saved on my computer waiting to be re-revealed that concerns my distaste for computer recording. Distaste is putting it mildly, I think. But here's the thing. Now that I've worked with everything in an analog (or at least semi-analog) environment, I've built up an understanding of what each component is supposed to do. Hopefully the task won't seem so intimidating now.
At least I hope so. There's still a part of me that wants to keep my ADAT set up, and expand it so I can master CDs directly from it. But fortunately my budget keeps my humble, and I realize that this will never happen. I say fortunately because I know that moving to computer recording is something that I should have done a long time ago. (Like, say 2002?) Shut up parentheses voice.
I hope that my obsessions with college football and politics have been properly impaled by my disillusionment with them. Both are a waste of time, because they trump up the drama in order to obscure the fact that it's all a trick being played on us. This doesn't change my support of either the Utes or Obama. It's just, like, well... I don't need to listen to anybody else any more. And maybe I don't feel the need to convince anyone else anymore. Drama is intriguing, but serenity has always been my goal.
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