Category: general

Where I put something when I’m too lazy to categorize it.

Posted on

fake your way

the forest I wearily tread on a daily basis
Some things can make me feel so stupid. At work, I sometimes find myself in a situation where someone is asking me a question – and I have no idea what the answer is. Thing is, I should know the answer – but more likely than not I haven’t cared enough about it previously to learn it. I may have heard it a thousand times, but I just filter it right out. Thing is, I usually don’t learn until I’m burned. By that I mean I really only learn things that I don’t care about in one of two ways: by rote, or because I have to learn them. I don’t learn the answer to a question until I’m put on the spot and embarrassed for not knowing it. I don’t pick up on things unless I’m immersed in them every day. I ignore important details because I simply don’t care. It’s all about what I find interesting I guess. I am able retain knowledge I don’t care about – but if I do it’s either because I know it by heart and don’t have to commit brainspace to it or someone’s called me out for not knowing it before. It somewhat comes down to being selfish I think. I don’t want to be embarrassed, so the memory of feeling like a heel spurs me to commit something to memory.

If I care about, or am interested in, something – it sticks up there whether or not I will it. Even tho I didn’t intend for the derivation of the quadratic formula to be burned in my head, it’s there. I didn’t purposely memorize the lyrics to “We Didn’t Start the Fire,” they just stuck. My dumb old head just works that way. I don’t care about stuff I don’t care about and I don’t like doing things I don’t like to do. My selfish head will bypass stuff I should know; or commit it to rote for the short-term so I can get by, then trash it when the immediate need to remember it is gone. I’ve always been about “just getting by” when it comes to learning stuff I have no interest in. However, when it comes to learning about something that intrigues me – I attack it with some kind of hunger. Devouring all I can find and retaining a surprising amount of it for the long term.

That’s one of the things that bugs me about work (not my specific job, but work in general). Ideally, my job would involve a knowledgebase that I enjoy having and knowing. I want to have a job where I want to learn more, where I want to know that extra tidbit that sets me apart from the other guy. My best example comes from working in the music store. I used to get so much respect for how much I knew about music. My recommendations were pretty much always lauded, and eventually I had a returning-customer base who asked for me because they knew and trusted me. I liked knowing what I knew, and what’s more, it fed my ego to know it.

A job where you’re respected and praised for your knowledge, that’s what I enjoy most. I have occasional burst of that now, but the thing is – I have to care about every bit of the material related to my job in order to gain enough expertise and win that respect. If I don’t care about it, I don’t learn it, and then I don’t get that respect. Bottom line?, gimme a job doing something I intensely enjoy: webpages, music, writing, etc., and maybe it won’t even seem like a job. I shouldn’t complain, I do like what I do right now – but I find myself saddled with that same attitude of “who cares” in way too many instances. So, like so much of my academic past, I fake my way through and buckle down when I have to – and somehow get good at it.

Back in gradeschool they used to tell me, “You just can’t fake your way through middle school David, it’s the real deal.” Then, as I was graduating from three years of faked-through middle school they’d say, “Mister, you better really buckle down come high school. You just can’t breeze your way through there, there’s no ‘faking it’ in high school. You’ll be swimming with the big fish there.” Shortly after I faked my way to 6th in class and a full scholarship, my guidance counselor said “This is it David, you’re an adult now and this is your life. You won’t be able to fake your way through a job, so you better get straight.” Screw ’em, I’ll keep on fakin’. Feigning interest in whatever it takes to keep a paycheck, but secretly (between you, and me, and the entire internet), not giving a damn about anything but what I want to. Bollocks to them all, this is one ne’er-do-well who will always work the system as much as possible.

I’m truly happy when I’m listening to music and writing or reading. I’m truly happy when I’m camping or hanging with my good friends. I’m truly happy every day when I come home to my wife. I’m truly happy when I’m working on our house or yard. I’m truly happy when I can wake up in the morning knowing I have no set plans for the day, even more happy if I know the same for the next day too. I’m truly happy when I can “get away” and spend time with family or even by myself. I wonder if, regardless of vocation, there will always be that need for release via “getting away” from whatever it is that becomes your “daily grind.” Maybe true happiness only comes with the autonomy that retirement or winning the lottery brings? Yeah right.

I’ve said it to Anthony many times. While drifting down the river on his boat, no destination, no time to be back, nothing on my mind but what a nice day it is and how comfortable I am: “Dude, this is why I work.” It’s true. I work not to “better myself,” or “get ahead,” or “make a name for” myself; I work so I can enjoy the times when I’m not working. So I can pay my bills and afford to buy Anthony a tank of gas for the favor of a day on his boat. So I can afford the gear I need to take three days off and climb Half Dome with my friends. So I can take Sharaun to a nice steak dinner and still afford her favorite candy at the movie. All those self help books that talk about getting ahead and getting noticed or whatnot, you can have that trash. I need surprisingly few things to make me truly happy, and work is not one of them. Unfortunately, by way of association – money is. Not money itself mind you, but money nonetheless. So, I work. And will continue to do so. Work is a (by and large unfulfilling) means to an end.

Wow, a semi-personal entry, a thing of blog lore. I admit to a bit of job dissatisfaction (in that it’s not my #1 dream job), I admit that my learning is largely selfishly motivated, and I admit that I need some ego stroking to make me truly happy.

In other news, I found this article quite relevant.

Dave out.

Posted on

beyond grunts and gestures

No particular reason, I just truly love the Andy Griffith show... I suppose there was a tenuous connection with the vacation theme...
Concert in San Francisco last night. Show was great, like a crazy band orgy or something. Each act was some combination of members from all three, and at one point I counted eleven people on stage, including two trombones and two trumpets. They made a glorious rock noise. What more can I say? Got lost trying to get to the venue. Got back late. I won’t dwell on it too much, you’ve heard it before.

Vacation: soon. Seriously, I am getting mad antsy. I want some real downtime, like where nothing goes on. Thanksgiving should be just that. Lay around by the fire and read a book, sleep. I’ve been wondering about how the blog will fare over the holiday. Since we’re going out of town, to a place with no phone in our room… I’m not entirely sure if I’ll be able to do the daily blog. I mean, the lodge will be a great place to get some writing done – I just may not have a way to upload it. Guess I’ll just wait and see.

This recording jones is getting pretty bad. I’ve got a mental tally running on how much it would cost to get a few second-hand instruments and a fourtrack. I’d really only need a guitar, bass, keyboard/synth, and the fourtrack. I can use Fruity Loops for the drum track, or just bang on whatever. I’m just hesitant to spend the money and then never use the stuff. And it is kind of a strange idea considering my talent amounts to being barely able to pluck out Teen Spirit on the bass.

I was working on a “morph” of the gradeschool pictures from yesterday’s blog, mostly because I’ve never done a morph before and I thought it’d be cool. If it comes out OK I might post it here. I was once again mining my old journals for blog fodder the other day, so much of my writing style is embarrassing when I look back on it. Comes off sounding like I’m trying to be all “thoughtful” or something. Ugh. Anyway, I did find a couple entries I thought were interesting. If for nothing else than just to confirm to me that I’ve always had dumb thoughts about cavemen.

I was thinking about this one as I pulled out of the parking lot the other day after work. It was a hot day, and the sun had turned the cab of the Ford into an oven. I hate climbing into a sun-baked car, the heat is so “thick” as it hits my head and gives me an instant mini-headache. The AC only blows hot air for the first 30 seconds, and the seats and steering wheel burn you. Even the music sounds bad at first. So, that got me thinking, how much I don’t like getting into the car while it’s so hot – but how I do it anyway because I need to get in the car to get home. And I want to be home more than I don’t want to be in the hot car. So, that got me thinking about “choice.”

So, I started thinking. Have advances in technology ultimately increased or decreased our freedom of choice. I mean, one of the main selling points of “new” and “improved” technologies is the greater freedom the endow us with. Such as the freedom to order movie tickets online, and skip the line on opening night. Or the freedom to climb in a car and drive home at 70 mph instead of jumping on a horse or walking. So, I was thinking that technology in a way increases our freedoms, but that increase comes at the premium of having many more things to make decisions about. I got to thinking about way back in the hunter-gatherer days of nomadic people. Small tribes, who move with the food or weather, only stopping in one place as long it provides the basics needed for existence. Perhaps not even having a spoken language beyond grunts and gestures. Did these people have a greater freedom of choice than us? Well, it depends. In actuality, “freedom of choice” is kind of an oxymoron. Freedom would to me means unrestricted possibilities, and choice implies a finite number of options. Not an oxymoron in the true sense, but enough of one to make the thought interesting in my head.

So then, what did these people have? Not much! But their choices were extremely limited compared to what we have to choose from. They either hunted, gathered, or died. I mean, on the detailed level, there were still millions of tiny choices being made – but the number certainly was much less than what faces us today. When they were hungry, they chose to get something to eat. But it did not involve deciding between eating out or cooking in, Italian or Sushi, etc. It was go hunt some animal and eat it. How do you get to the food? Take a bus, ride a bike, drive? Nope – you walk. Do you need to go to the ATM and get cash, or do they take a debit card? Do you have ketchup at home or do you need the little packets? Nope, you throw a sharp rock at a rabbit’s head and hope you kill it. If you miss, you stay hungry.

Anyway, my point was: We, in this age of technology, are often forced to make unappealing choices in order to achieve a desired outcome. Back then, did you ever have to do anything you didn’t want to? Were things so basic and primal that we just avoided doing unpleasant things altogether? If you don’t like it – don’t do it. Right? That’s basic, that’s primal, that’s something logical. I thought I was right, I thought that those people – when faced with walking back to where they slept last night or just laying down when they got tired, would just lay down – since the extra effort walking to last night’s camp wouldn’t offer any bonus and wouldn’t be worth the effort. I, however, climb into the hot car when I really don’t want to – because I need to get home.

Owell, it was a good thought for about 5 minutes, until I realized it was stupid. And that everyone at some point has to choose to do something unpleasant to get what they want. What if you were a squeamish hunter, and really didn’t like blood and guts. But, you still have to eat – and you have to clean your kill before you cook and eat it. Guess what, that guy is gonna work through his dislike of blood and guts to get dinner, so he won’t die. So for me it’s a hot car, and for cavemen it’s something else altogether. We’ve always had to make crap choices to achieve desired outcomes, it’s a part of life.

See, yuck. Sounds like I’m being all pretentious and “insightful.” Whatever, I needed something to fill the pages, and it was already written, and it made me laugh because I still daydream about crap like that today.

Man, I really misuse and abuse the comma and hyphen. Sorry for the crappy entry, sorry for the terrible grammar.

Dave out.

Posted on

i been around

show flyer from the GAMH
Tonight’s the Broken Social Scene / Stars show in SF. I don’t feel like writing anything about it, but I’ll do the customary wrap-up tomorrow. Remember I snuck my camera into the Death Cab show the night before last? Well, I put together a lil’ movie of the footage I captured during the show. The sound is crappy because the big rock noise easily overpowered the tiny integrated mic, but you can kinda discern enough to bob your head in time. Most of you won’t enjoy it, but I had fun making it – and who knows, maybe there are some closet indie fans reading this thing… Anyway, here it is for broadband and also for dialup (both are sizeable files, so beware).

Evolution of a blogger:


1st grade:
Holy crap that is one cute kid! Don’t worry, I used up all the looks early in life.		        
2nd grade:
Hmm…. looks like I may have been crying, or pinching a loaf. Cuteness definitely on the decline already.

3rd grade:
Ahh… “the teeth years.” Notice at this point I’ve still got a pretty well-defined chin, keep that in mind.		        
4th grade:
Clean-cut, mom still buying clothes… becoming quite the lanky thing too.

5th grade:
Whoa! I’ve obviously had a hand in that t-shirt, and that haircut too! Spiky and bemulleted, I am a force to be reckoned with.		        
6th grade:
Awww… the drugstore clerks would have never suspected this babyfaced darling was stealing cigarettes by the carton and selling them to the track team.

7th grade:
Hmm… what’s it called when you start to look all awkward and your face gets greasy? Oh yeah, puberty – seen here in full, undeniable, effect. Note the “what the crap?!” hairstyle – it only gets worse…		        
8th grade:
What, the, crap. Seriously… The hair, the face, the eyes pointing in two different directions?… The eyebrows, and that smile? My head is a near-perfect sphere I think. Where are my ears? Check out that adams apple! You believe this kid had a steady girlfriend?

9th grade:
Well, at least I look a little more proportioned. I don’t know if I ever even did anything with my hair, it looks so… big. Note the subtle blending of chin and neck, pretty soon the two will complete their synergy and become a single entity.		        
10th grade:
Oh yeah, sophomore year. The height of my hooliganism, you can almost see the authority-defiance in my eyes. I think I look particularly cocksure in this photo – it’s a wonder I didn’t get beat up more.

11th grade:
I brought a picture of Thom Yorke in the “Creep” video with me when I asked for this haircut. Seriously. At the time, I loved it. By this time I’ve ditched most of my old friends for my new girlfriend… a dick move that surely saved me some jailtime or brain damage in the long run.		        
12th grade:
It took me twelve years of school before I looked semi-presentable. Sharaun got me cleaned up pretty nice in the end tho. Here I am with my new hair “style” (with highlights!), some chic earrings, and my soon-to-be-trademark confused smile.

Wow, what a multimedia-rich blog this turned out to be. Movies, pictures, scanned in flyers… I put entirely too much work into these things. I have a lot of other stuff written, maybe I should just throw in a random pre-written paragraph….

Sometimes I go to the bathroom for no other reason than to “run a check.” C’mon, don’t play coy with me… you know what I’m talking about. I mean, sometimes I just get this “feeling,” call it a cautionary thing. I’m sitting on the couch, thinking “things just don’t feel right… maybe I should hit the bathroom for a ‘test wipe’ real quick.” Yeah, I said it, I don’t be carin’. Usually it’s a false alarm, but sometimes… I wonder, perhaps that’s not normal. Maybe I’m not working right, from a functional perspective. Anyway, the way I look at it – at least I go check. Right?

Ahh, much better. OK that’s it. Enjoy the pictures and the movie.

Dave out.

Posted on

out of the past

it wasn't quite this bad... but the house is kinda drafty now...
Hey, I got stuff to write!

Last night Wes came over to help me with another “project” I’ve been wanting to do. The puny one-bulb wall light that came in our garage is just not enough to light that place up. Since it’s attached to a switch inside the laundry room, I’ve been wanting to rewire that switch to ignore that tiny light and instead control a new shop light that I would mount from the garage rafters. Sounds easy enough right? Problem is, I’m cursed.

When it comes to “mechanical” projects I am utterly hopeless. Murphy’s Law seems to be in full effect every time I have to use hammer, nail, drill or saw. It’s just the way it’s always been. I have a feeling I inherited it, because I can remember helping my dad and uncle hang paneling in our spare room once – you know where you slather the back of the paneling with something not unlike Liquid Nail and press it against the existing wall? Yeah, we got about three or four panels in place and realized we had been hanging them upside down. Too bad that glue binds stronger than anything on earth… we just hung the rest upside down. Pretty little flowers, all growing right down towards the floor. There are so many more examples… but I think you get the idea.

Anyway, since Wes had successfully done some wiring projects at his house – his resume impressed me, so I asked if he wouldn’t mind helping me out. Being the sucka he is, he graciously agreed. He had previously hung a shop light in his own garage, as well as put in a couple ceiling fans and done other miscellaneous projects. He also once recounted to me a story in which, during one of his projects, he managed to put a knee through his ceiling from the attic. Sounded bad, but I wasn’t worried. Looking back, I shoulda realized that Wes had a history…

We made a couple trips to the Home Depot (see, you can never go to the HD only once for a project… it always requires at least two trips – one usually involving a return or exchange) to get the necessary tools and materials. After which we studied the problem, ordered some iffy take-out Chinese, and got ready to work. The initial work went great, we hung the shop light and drilled a new wire hole in the in the to-be-bypassed light wiring box, all in little time. With our spirits up, we headed into the attic with the fish tape to drop a new wire into the existing light box.

Fishing wires through existing walls is hard; not to mention supremely frustrating. I don’t think anything can be as aggravating as trying to hit a 1″ area from above with a metal tape, and doing it all blind, while breathing dust and insulation. After much cussing and sweating, we finally managed to fish a wire through. After some wire-nutting, drilling, and breaker-tripping, we finally managed to get everything done. I now have a super bright shop light hooked to the switch. It’s like noon in that garage now, I love it.

Ahhh… but I skipped the good part… As we were toiling in the attic trying to fish the wire through the garage wall – Wes Vila struck again. Yup, you got it right. Crash! Right through our laundry room ceiling. All I can say is, I managed to not fall through the roof… maybe the effects of gravity are slightly more on Wes than all other humans or something. Anyway, check it out:


wes’ hole, i stuck my hand thru and “pointed” in case you couldn’t see it		        
every time we open or close the garage door, a snowstorm of insulation comes raining down

despite wes’ “accident,” i have a beautiful new shop light!		        
my attempt to get the switch action and new light in the same shot… worked ok i suppose.

Anyway, I still gotta thank Wes for coming and helping me out. New skylight notwithstanding, we got a lot done in one evening – and my new light is awesome!! Although I did have to update my “list of jobs I think I might like:”

  • Farmer
  • Mammographer
  • Special Effects Wizard
  • Video Game Tester
  • Fishing Show Host
    
  • Firework Maker
  • Standup Comedian
  • Rock Star
  • Retaining Wall Builder
  • Home Wiring Expert

Did you guys notice the comment from “Shaine” on the blog yesterday? Holy crap man, lemme ‘splain a little.

Shaine and I were best buds way back in 5th grade. I’m pretty sure we were the two coolest kids at our whole school, at least that’s what we thought. We “owned” the last two swings on the line of swingsets (the farthest from the schoolbuildings, so we could cuss and tell dirty jokes without fear of punishment). If people were in them, they would actually get out when they saw us coming. Shaine lived across the field from me, and we used to run across the field and climb his backyard fence when going between houses (the farmer didn’t like it very much). Man, did we have some awesome times… I’ll write about them sometime. I just wanted to mention it because it blew my mind to finally talk to him again (on IM). Thanks for reading, and commenting. If all goes well – we plan to hook up again when I go down to visit my folks next, possibly even visit some of our old haunts in Lompoc. I’m totally pumped.

Finally, sorry this blog is so late… but honestly, it’s pretty big and kinda complicated. Little images and bulleted lists in tables, man… crazy. Hope you enjoyed it.

Dave out.

Posted on

wasting time

which of you gen-x'ers out there can spot this?
Late and light blogging today, as usual I wrote the entry last night, but didn’t get a chance to upload right away. My apologies to the blog-faithful (do they exist?). Holy crap I found a fun website last night. Check this out, it’s a sincere site that allows you to make custom “safety signs,” printable ones at that. Doesn’t look terribly fun right? But oh man is it. I played around with it for a while last night and created some signs. I made this one and this one and this one and this one and this one and, just in case, this one.

Pat sent me this link today, I got a chuckle from it. The Onion always comin’ correct with quality. I never thought of hiding my blog from the moms and/or pops, I think they pretty much know I’m a good lil’ kid now – and they probably pretty much know what a bad lil’ kid I was so long ago. Either way, they gonna find out.

Mercedez Benz is in Taiwan right now, but when he gets back we got a new load of concertin’ to do. We have the much-anticipated Death Cab / Nada Surf show, as well as the possible wildcard show from Broken Social Scene / The Stars. Should be a good week!

OK I’m spent. Brain frazzled, not in a writing mood. Enjoy the signs, enjoy the links, bash the article in the comments… whatever.

Dave out.

Posted on

playing with fire

this bear hates me... if we were in a cartoon i would be his nemesis
I actually get a little embarrassed to “publish” some of the dumber things I’ve done, but the blog has kinda morphed into this two-purposed thing. One: to document what’s going on in the present, and two: to write down funny stories from the good ol’ days. I try not to glorify the bad stuff too much, to me now it’s mostly just head-shakingly funny. You know, like “oh man I was an idiot back then,” chuckle chuckle. Anyway, I did it, and I like writing about it, so I’m gonna keep doin’ it I suppose. Meeting Sharaun really cleaned me up, thank God – and I’m no longer the awful miscreant I once was. Don’t hate me for what I was, love me for what I am. Hopefully most of the stuff is back beyond the statute of limitations of my hometown PD.

I can trace my fascination with fire back to such a young age that it’s hard for me to believe. The very first place in this world that I can actually remember is our house in Huntington Beach. We lived there until I was somewhere between five and six years old, so you gotta realize these aren’t the best memories. However, one of the most vivid memories I do have of those times involves fire. I had gone a couple houses down from ours to play with a friend, who I think was older than I was. We somehow ended up with a book of matches. I remember I lit a match and burned the crap out of my finger. I remember wanting to cry and run to mom, but knowing I’d be in trouble. I hid the burn from my folks. That’s my very first memory of fire, you’d think it would have deterred me from further experiments. (I know it seems strange to think that I was playing with matches at five, but I swear my memory is correct on this one. I’ve tried to imagine it happening at other ages and in other houses – and it was definitely back in Huntington Beach. Can you even talk when you’re five and half?)

Growing up, I have memories of staring into campfires for hours, begging Grandpa to let me strike the long match and start the fireplace, and biking around on the 5th of July to collect the spent fireworks people left in the street (I loved that burnt smell).

My next real memory of “playing with fire” comes sometime near the 4th grade I think. I convinced my dad’s dad to let Frank and I “shoot” matches in the backyard one day. My parents weren’t home, and he let us hold the match to the strike pad on the side of the box and “flick” the matches into the air as they lit up. We shot matches in the backyard for a while, thinking it was so cool. (Actually, I can remember feeling genuinely guilty for asking my grandfather to let us do that. I knew my folks wouldn’t allow it, and I also knew that my Grandpa probably wouldn’t object. I remember feeling like I had “used” him, and to this day that feeling of guilt still sticks to that memory).

Probably sometime shortly after that, I had another experience in the same backyard with “shooting” matches. Our neighbors on the one side had a stone wall instead of a regular wooden fence. I was arcing lit matches over the wall, why – I have no idea. Luckily for me nothing caught fire (I don’t think I was really thinking of the possibility anyway). However, I also didn’t think of my neighbor finding a small pile of burnt matches in his backyard. He came over and told my folks, and next thing I know my mom is taking Frank and I down to the fire department. Once there, we got a nice tour of the building – and then got sat down for a lesson on “playing with matches.” I remember the fireman being stern but nice, and I remember thinking we were in trouble, but I don’t think anything ever really came of it.

I think the remainder of my gradeschool years were relatively fireplay free, although I do recall spraying words on Ryan Lopez’s fence with hairspray and lighting them on fire. I think I must have chilled out for a while though.

When we moved to Florida, I met a group of friends who were as pyro-crazy as I was. In 6th grade we learned how to make what we called “napalm” (really just styrofoam dissolved in gasoline). We used to keep a coffee can full of it hidden behind a friend’s house, and pull off the sticky chunks to light and throw around. I remember learning that Brut stick-style deodorant burned, and frequently lighting mine on fire in my room. We also developed some crazy game where we’d spray our forearms with Off! and light them on fire, to see who could last the longest without waving themselves out. Joey discovered that aerosol white lithium grease is perhaps the most flammable aerosol on the planet, and burns forever. I can remember sneaking out at night with friends and us all pouring lines of gas in the street so we could light them and “race” the flames down the line. Filling mason jars with gas, tying them to string above a campfire and shooting at them with BB guns. Trying to make the “hearts and diamonds” bomb from the Anarchist Cookbook (probably tweaked out on “bananadine” at the time – Anarchist Cookbook joke, sorry). And always having a stash of fireworks to play with. For a couple years, I wore this old army jacket everywhere I went. We all had one, all filled with various “useful” tools. Matches and ladyfingers were a staple item in the jackets.

Sometime around the end of middle school, our firelust got dangerous. I can recall starting at least five fires in the woods, a couple of them being fairly large. I think there were more than that, but there are only five that I can specifically remember. There would be four of us, each with a book of matches. We’d walk in a line, shoulder to shoulder through dry brush. With each step we’d “shoot” lit matches over our shoulders until the books were empty. The rule was that you couldn’t turn around or look back until all the matches were gone. No matter what you heard or felt, you could only look back when it was done. Oh man, did that ever work. We used to run away and come back later to watch the firetrucks put out our work. Gawd… we were truly horrible.

At this point in my life, I consider myself lucky. I’m not dead, and I’m not in jail. I did so many stupid and just plain mean things. For the record, I no longer burn things? and my love of fire is now limited to campfire gazing and firework watching. And for an afterschool special wrap-up: What I did was dumb. Don’t ever do it. I’m actually pretty ashamed of a lot of the stupid stuff we did, but I can’t erase it, so I might as well write about it. In fact, I went back through my journal and searched for fire-related stories – there are a couple really good ones related to specific incidents (the “Tex fire” and the “tire fire” in particular). I’d put ’em in here, but they’d triple the size of this already bloated and boring entry.

I promise I’ll write something worth reading again soon… promise. Dave out.

Posted on

a dead dog with sticks in its eyes

i think these things are bruising my ears
Yesterday my headphones at work broke. That sucks, I knew $20 Target headphones wouldn’t be the pinnacle of quality, but c’mon… I’ve only had ’em for like a month and half now. It sucked, because I was totally groovin’ to some old Beulah at the time – and then I realized I couldn’t hear the left channel. Turns out I’d been listening to one channel for like two days and handn’t even noticed it. I thought the chorus on those Vanderslice songs sounded kinda weak.. sounds much better with the left channel. Sheesh.

Anyway, Anthony had an old pair of Kenwood noise-reducing headphones that were broke. He gave ’em to me and showed me where to order the replacement part, $25 for $150 headphones ain’t bad… sucka. Since I need music to survive at work, I’ve got these things taped up and lookin’ way ghetto on my head – but I’ve got tunes.

Tonight’s the show in SF, we’re leaving here at 5pm and heading over. Should be a good show – I’ll put a some impressions up tomorrow. Steve asked me this morning what my annual concert budget was like… that’s a good question. I’d say it’s the majority of my “entertainment” costs, and since the little indie bands we go see usually only charge ~$15 per ticket… I think it’s not a bad deal.

I have been getting closer and closer to pulling the trigger on a 4-track lately. My camera sold for $375 on Ebay, and I could get a nice used Tascam for that. I was thinking the other day how I used to just lock myself in the room and try to make songs. I’d like to do that again, only this time I actually think I might be able to put something together. Who knows. I’d probably buy it and use it for a week before it went on a shelf.

Looks like they are finally going forward with the plans to put a mall by our house. Hopefully that will make my property value go up and I can be rich. I keep waiting for that day when I suddenly, and without any effort on my part, become stinking rich. I mean, I know it’s gonna happen… I just have to be patient and wait for the waves of money to overcome me.

Oh yeah, I found a new band to love. Stumbled across a group called The Decemberists on absmi the other night, I did a quick lookup on Pitchfork and saw both albums rated in the 8’s – so it was on. The singer reminds me of the dude from Neutral Milk Hotel, but the music is pure awesome. Beatlesey, old-timey, and very E6ish in general. Dave say: “good!”

That’s about it today, nothing too entertaining. Anthony said I shouldn’t drop this link, that I should rewrite it in first-person. I kinda agree, but I just wanna be done with it, since my writing inspiration sometimes comes in spurts – and that subject has been all spurted out. Anyway, some light afternoon reading.

Dave out.