buy a new shirt and practice using your wang


Hellooo from Tuesday. I’m home alone, Sharaun’s at the gym, Keaton’s sleeping. Listening to my iPod, typing on my laptop, flirting with the idea of doing the dishes before Sharaun gets home… probably won’t (edit: I did). I’m very relaxed now, having the house to myself and only the living room light on; the front room is full of shadows and the Fallish weather outside is spilling in through the open back door. Sometimes a gray sky seems to “mute” outside sound to me, the way fog seems to – like cold and cloudy days are somehow more silent and contemplative. That’s how I feel now, reminds me of killing time on Fall days between classes back in college, makes me want to smoke my pipe (I always feel all introspective and Sherlocky when I smoke my pipe, I swear half the attraction there is psychological). Other than that, it’s a normal normal night.

At work, I associate with a lot of “lifer” engineers. Some of these folks are the kind of engineers who got into the field back in the 80s and maybe even 70s. Sometimes I look at these guys, with their unkempt gray mops and their hands void of any wedding ring, and think about how there’s a chance they’ve never had, nor ever will have, a significant other. You can see the hard core singles: body gone to pot (not that I’m one to criticise) and exhibiting the social abilities and etiquette of a grizzly bear. You can watch the bits of pizza dangling from their coffee-stained moustaches dance as they reach around themselves awkwardly to scratch their ass or pull up their ill-fitting faux-demin elastic-waist jeans. Hear their loud guffaws across the cafeteria as their similarly-afflicted tablemates make a joke about the hot chick on Firefly or reference Daleks or John Cleese. Have these men given up? Reverted back to some closeted adult rehash of their highschool A/V club? I feel for these guys, even though they likely don’t know what they’re missing. Hey lifers: Buy a new shirt and practice using your wang!

Spent a good bif of my not-on-meetings time at work this morning listening to the non-transcode leak of the new Hold Steady. I never got into any of the Hold Steady’s previous efforts, so I came to this album as a virgin to their sound. Not knowing what to expect, but with a decent amount of anticipation due the near unanimous nutting of respected critics, I queued up the folder. What I heard sounded like a follow-up to Darkness on the Edge of Town or the E Street one. One thing is clear, this is rock and roll – good ol’ American rock and roll that just sounds like America. I’m still listening, and still mulling it over, but the immediate early Springsteen-likeness perked up my ears fairly fast. I think it’s gonna be a good one, much better than the disappointing Swan Lake leak people are also swooning about… I’m still kinda bored with that one. How can it not be better when it has songs called “Party Pit” with lyrics like “I’m gonna walk around and drink.” Now that, my friends, is American youth… walking around at parties and drinking, and that’s it… drinking and walking… walking and drinking. Some of these songs make me want to be “young” again. Amen.

Continuing the tunes theme, Pitchfork reviewed the new Decemberists, and rightfully gave it high marks. It’s an outstanding album, one that I didn’t take to immediately, but only out of shortsighted ignorance. After a few listens, the thing took on a new life to me, with songs that tell stories moreso than 90% of the songwriting out there today, and a slightly “bigger” sound than on their previous efforts. I love it now, and realize I was in denial before. We all learn in time, all in time.

Even though it took me a while, I did manage to get a “best of” collection of pictures posted from our 4×4/camping bachelor party for Ben last weekend. You can check out the snaps here if you’re so inclined.

Oh, and for some reason tonight I asked Sharaun what she’d think if I bought a pistol. She was surprisingly receptive, but stated that she’d want to go shooting several times to get comfortable handling anything we did end up with, and that she’d want us to take a reasonable amount of care in storing/securing/locking/whatever the gun in the house. I was pretty surprised. I’m not really rushing out to buy a gun or anything, as I’m only half-sure I want one, but I was kinda surprised that she’d be OK with it regardless.

Goodnight.

it and the was


Wednesday night, and the sparse entries continue as work has been somewhat of a wringer lately. Less time to capture random thoughts into the cellphone as that night’s blog ideas, or something. Or less desire to sit here writing them. Something like that. Going camping this weekend over by the sea, that’s called “coastal,” y’all (not “coastal” like the Florida slang-for-cocaine “coastal,” but real-life on-the-coast coastal). Supposed to be pretty chilly and windy, somewhere in the 40s. Guess we’ll have to huddle-up in the tent at nights. I’m looking forward to it as a slight getaway, and hoping it gives me that release. Moving on…

Sharaun and I have decided to pull out all the stops for our first Keaton-havin’ Halloween party. Not really for the party, but for us… as we’re planning to fly my folks in as babysitters. I just didn’t feel comfortable pressing forward with the planning while the question of who’d be watching Keaton lingered. Knowing my folks’ll be here and with her that night makes me feel much better about planning my yearly apex of personal debauchery. Although the party is actually pretty mild as parties go, I feel better with Keaton in good hands. Plus, my folks are planning to stay a couple extra days to hang out – and I’m glad they’ll get this “tweener” time (between regularly scheduled holiday visits) with Keaton. She’s changing so much, I know if I only got to see her every few months it’d be a different little person each time. For that reason, I wish we were closer to our parents. That, and we wouldn’t have to buy plane tickets to get grandparent-babysitters for our Halloween bash. Nah, I’m just effin’ with ya… it’s really the sentimental one.

I’m so excited for Fall and Winter to officially be here, for all these, and more I likely couldn’t think of, reasons:

  • Seeing Keaton in thick, snuggly, long-sleeved shirts and warm comfortable pants for the first time ever
  • Turning on our fake gas-powered fireplace
  • Grey rainy days spent inside wearing sweatpants
  • Halloween (Keaton’s first, by the way)
  • The smell of the air on a cold, dew-damp morning
  • Taking Keaton’s first pictures in a pumpkin patch
  • Not having to mow the lawn for months at a time
  • New albums getting “stuck” as wintertime albums in my head
  • Keaton’s first Christmas

Yeah, it’s gonna be awesome.

I was thinking the other night about how it’s sometimes hard to find certain bands on filesharing networks/sites. I’m talking about bands with very short, non-standard, or ridiculously common elements to their names. Most search engines have trouble with strings like “and” or “it” or roman numerals and symbols. I think it’d be funny to see and up and coming band “obscure” their work from easy filesharing-fishing by naming themselves “It and The Was,” their album as “I Be,” and simply naming their tracks as incremental roman numerals, I, II, III, IV, etc. Try weeding out the results for something as search-string un-friendly as that.

Goodnight folks, I love ya.

entirely devoid of rhythm


‘Nother long day at work, this time starting at 7am for a meeting with those cagey Europeans and home at 6pm after closeted think-tank style meetings most of the day. I actually welcomed the brainstorming though, it’s fun to think occasionally. Sharaun is forcing me to watch some new dance-competition show. These infernal dance shows… am I the only person who just doesn’t get dancing? I mean, I see two people up there… bouncing around smiling… but I just can’t get an idea of “skill.” To me, it’s almost like that disease where people can’t discern one face from another. To me, it’s all walking around and spinning – I just can’t differentiate it. Sharaun claims this is because I am entirely devoid of rhythm… and I’m inclined to believe her. I just can’t see dancing. I figure that’s OK though, because it sucks. Oh, and I’m putting off getting up and doing the dishes… pretty standard stuff.

I’m tired of having to wait a few days for the latest leaked album, but am torn about begging invites to the biggest “zero-day” leak tracker sites… as I have visions of server raids netting memberlists and IPs and even share ratios. So, I’ve decided that the prestige of being 1st to the party just isn’t worth the time in jail – and I’ll wait until the stuff trickles down to the mid-level feeders like me. But dang, sometimes when I want to hear something… I want to hear something!

So, in what I hope is the last time I write about this, here are the two best wrapups of the whole LonelyGirl15 debacle. Enjoy.

Goodnight.

a windows-open weekend


Sunday night went long at a social event, so I didn’t get time to do my normal writing nor my normal posting of pictures. This didn’t bother me. In fact, as the clock approached midnight and we were just settling down to a dessert of apple pie and ice cream, the realization hit me: “I’m not writing tonight.” Usually, if I’m out somewhere and know I haven’t written, I’ll get preoccupied thinking about having enough time to get something posted after getting home. Letting it go, so to speak, is nice. As soon as I square my OCD-self with going outside of routine, I get all rebel-proud and cool-calm. Yeah, so, being that I didn’t post Monday I suppose I can do the in-brief weekend roundup right here and right now:

It was an “open windows” kinda weekend, with the weather pleasantly warm and sunny. (This was a stray sentence, but I like it so it made the cut.)

There’s no more sleeping in at my house. When Keaton gets up, the family gets up. This new trend often finds me up and about before 7am on weekends, something that, until now, was rather foreign to me. In fact, I’m writing this paragraph right now early one Saturday morning. Sharaun left for Wal Mart at 8am, as by that time we had both been up and ready for some time. Strange, you know, how things work like that.

Changed the brakes on the Ford this weekend, and flew completely solo for the first time ever. I know, changing the brakes is literally six screws and a jack – but I was extremely proud of myself nonetheless. Being incredibly not mechanically inclined, any successfully mechanical task is belt-notch worthy for me. In fact, my success in this simple task has ignited a small fire of desire within me to get to know my vehicle more intimately. Indeed, I find myself pursuing the Chilton’s manual and trying to “learn,” soak up some information. I go back to the long exhaust manifold job that’s been in “I gotta get that done” phase limbo for a couple years now, I catch myself checking local Pick-n-Pull hours of operation and thinking about scavenging a new bucket seat or center console lid or passenger-side mirror. Some day I’d like to know what a differential does, or how to realign a transaxle (I have no idea if you can “realign” a transaxle… it just sounded all “gear”). Hell, I even added a TiVo season pass for Two Guy Garage I was so passionate about the grease under my nails and finally getting to use that economy-sized jug of Fast Orange I bought years ago.

Switching gears to Keaton, she had her six-months checkup at the baby-doctor last week. And, in case you were thinking of picking her in the fantasy baby draft, here are her latest stats: weight: 25th-50th percentile; height: 50th-75th percentile; head: 90th percentile. So, if she can manage not to pull her neck holding up that massive melon of hers, I think she’s got the makings of a strong season ahead of her. She’s definitely got the head-size advantage over most of the field… although she could stand to put one some pounds.

I also got her gallery updated, albeit a day late. Unfortunately, I moved to allowing only registered users to comment until I can create a better spam filter, so you’ll have to register (one-time only) should you desire to comment. You can check out the new pictures right here.

Today the iPod did some bizarre “random” shuffling. Back-to-back I heard Donovan’s “Lalena” and Deep Purple’s cover of the same song. And, as if to mock the rand() function even further, later in the shuffle set I heard Al Kooper’s “Season of the Witch” followed (no joke!) by Donovan’s original version. Insane.

In closing, did you know that, per capita, if America’s national debt were spread across the population, each person would carry a balance of -$2778.07 (balance/per capita and balance/GDP data). Ouch. The logic of us being dead-last on the “balance sheet” of all the countries in the world confuses me. Someone care to explain?

Oh, and this just in, LG15 is busted. A 19 year-old New Zealand born actress who recently moved to LA to jumpstart a career. Looks like it worked.

Goodnight.

officially good


Three-day weekends are officially good. Managed to mow the lawn, do some long-waiting-to-be-done “fix it” stuff around the house, and attend three barbecues. Back to work tomorrow, not something I’m looking forward to at all. I keep thinking about my weeks upon weeks of state-funded “bonding leave” coming up in December, and the blissful days spent not going into the office. Yeah, I’m way ready for that. Mostly music; deal.

Oh, I did update Keaton’s gallery Monday, check it out (and yes, I added this sentence late, post-publishing).

I am chomping at the bit to see the movie Jesus Camp ever since catching the trailer on YouTube and reading David Byrne’s blog entry on his thoughts after seeing a screening. I have to see this movie, it looks ultimately compelling. Hopefully, it’ll make the rounds at one of the local artsy joints here in town.

Seriously, all the hubbub about the Pitchfork leak of Joanna Newsom’s new album made me positively itchy to hear the thing. The indie crowd is in a state of multiple-orgasm over it, leaving me perplexed. See, I couldn’t for the life of me get into her previously lauded effort, The Milk Eyed Mender. I’ll say up front that I’m not a huge fan of this whole “psych folk” or “freak folk” movement that’s been so hot over the past years – the sound is just a bit too “weak” for me. Anyway, I used my leak-locating superpowers and tracked down a YSI link for the album (which was just a rip of the “oops’d” shared PF directory).

What do I think about this album? What the hell? The message boards of the thick-rimmed set are lighting up, already proclaiming this five-track effort “album of the year.” Seriously? I’ll admit it’s interesting, the lyrics are somewhat engaging and there’s no denying an abundance of songwriting talent here, but it’s about as unapproachable to me as Natalie Portman – I’ll never get it. With lush orchestrated background approximating a Disney score and Newsom’s fragile annoying voice warbling out in a worse-than-Bjork timbre, I just don’t get it. Best album of the year? You’ve got to be effing kidding me. You guys can have your gay-ass freak folk, or whatever you call it. Give me something like The Figurines or Midlake or The Islands or The Decemberists… you can have this pansy crap.

By the way, I’m gonna get like tons more chicks than you when I’m blasting Wolfmother from my open car windows in response to your dainty Newsom “Monkey and Bear” harpischord balladry. That is, unless you want to date the Lilith Fair. Personally, I’d rather date Ozzfest.

Goodnight.

discovery


Monday night, and I’ve realized I’ve taken to opening entries with a simple statement about what night it is. Not much here tonight (canned stuff), been trying to work on the big three-year anniversary entry (not much progress there either, actually). Yeah, that’s right – sounds familiar, my humble little blog that started because I wanted to emulate others, is turning three years old next month. I’m not really sure what I’ve got planned for the occasion, maybe a statistic-driven entry tooting my own horn, sure a GIMP’d image, and likely nothing more. Sound underwhelming? That’s my style.

Today at work, my thighs burned as I walked up and down the stairs and the palms of my hands felt noticeably rough compared to their normal “computer engineer” suppleness. And I do believe I felt better for it. Each near-cramping step reminded me that I actually did something over the weekend. Breaking a sweat, getting things done – I love it. Compared to my daily job where I literally sit on my ass and type. No, seriously, I type all day long – staring at a monitor. In any given day, I experience so little outside the chest-high walls of my cubicle, my excitement is limited to corporate politics. It may sound like I’m complaining, but I’m actually torn. In some ways, I love that I’m able to do so little physically and make a living. On the other hand, I occasionally become desperate for something more – with wider boundaries and scope, maybe something more impactful or that has more quantifiable end-results. Because, at the end of the day now, would it really make a difference whether or not I answered those 100 e-mails? Probably not. I guess you’re just hearing my frustration with work of late, where the environment hasn’t been the best for a while.

Remember how I told you guys I thought there was a song on the new Decemberists album that had a “Doors sound” to it? I decided tonight to take some MP3 clips to try and make my point. Now, I’ll admit, when I heard the songs next to each other the similarities weren’t that striking – but I still think it’s worth sharing (especially since I spent 10min in Audacity whipping up the clips). So, for comparison, I present the clips

[audio:the_perfect_crime_clip.mp3]
The Perfect Crime 2, by the Decemberists

[audio:riders_on_the_storm_clip.mp3]
Riders On The Storm, by the Doors.

Let me know what you think. By the way, if you couldn’t tell from that badass driving bassline and steady drumming, that Decemberists song is excellent.

Music fanatics, rock and roll historians, and popular culture experts – you may want to shut your ears tight for this personal revelation: Up until this week, I’ve never, ever, sat down and listened to Pet Sounds all the way through. That’s right; never. Oh, I’ve read article on article about the merits and impact and durability of the Beach Boys’ crowning achievement – but I’ve always poo-pooed it all. Why? Simple: I hate(d) the Beach Boys. That’s right folks. All this time, I associated the Beach Boys with the “surf sound” that I so abhor; that Jan and Dean “Dead Man’s Curve” crap that I just cannot stomach. Really, it’s the “early” Beach Boys stuff… the surf-o-rama sound… that I can’t stand. It just took me this long to decouple that slick surfer group from the Beach Boys who did “God Only Knows” and “Vegetables,” y’know, the amazing ones. I guess it’s kinda like the guy who can’t stand the Beatles early records, the tripe like “Honey Don’t” and “I’ll Follow the Sun.”

So, what finally made me take off my blinder and listen to Pet Sounds as an album, rather than a “surf” album? I think my absolute fanatic love of Brain Wilson’s recently finished opus, Smile, had a lot do to with it. Listening to Smile, I was able to hear Wilson’s melodies and hooks as more than just surf music. I was able to hear the brilliant harmonies and layering, was able to hear the pure pop craft in the pieces, the attention to detail. Even though, to the casual listener, it may sound like “Beach Boys,” to me I was hearing something entirely different. In the end, I don’t remember what pushed me over the edge – but I finally gave in and picked up the Hoffman remastered DCC (25k gold) release of the album (in lossless FLAC format). Oh. My. God. This thing is brilliant. Dave, where the fuck have your ears been all these years?! How could you have ignored this gorgeous gem for so long, and purposely at that! Oh, gods of music, I am sorry… I lay this gold CD at your alter in atonement. Please, please find it in your heart to forgive me.

Before I go, I wanted to link over to this article at the new Porkbusters blog (blogging about government waste). Seems that senators Tom Coburn and Barak Obama have propose a piece of legalisation that would create a public-accessible website containing a searchable database of almost all federal funding recipients. This would be an awesome resource for John Q. Public, and, in my opinion, would go a long way in perhaps forcing some accountability on for whom and what funding is secured. Or, it’ll just make the money-getters become more creative in securing funds in less traceable ways. Anyway, some senator has placed a “secret hold” on the legislation, and Porkbusters is urging folks to call their senator asking for confirmation they aren’t the “secret holder.” Interesting. By the way, what the hell kinda thing is a “secret hold?”

Sorry for all the tune-talk. Love you bunches, goodnight.

wait for the stone on your window


Sunday night right now, didn’t have much “good” writing time tonight, so there’s really not a lot here. Had a productive weekend (a little more on that below), with a couple early morning starts helping to make the non-working days seem blissfully long. And, before I go, you probably don’t need the reminder, having grown used to my dedication to schedule, but I did manage to post some new pictures (and a movie) to Keaton’s gallery. Let’s get this tripe over with.

I thought I hated this Decemberists album, oh, I thought I did. Then, I put it on as I mowed the lawn Saturday morning. There, with time to listen to it properly, as a collection of stories, I changed my mind. Once again the Oregon outfit had me fooled off the blocks. The imagery conjured is outstanding if you really let yourself listen, and the music behind it has some great late-sixties swirly Leslie-Hammond organ stabs and Doors-esque muted-bouncy romps. Out of the two recent leaks I initially panned, I ended coming around on both. Guess I should learn to let an album simmer a little longer before putting my opinion on the web. But, how, then, do I brag about being among the first to a leak? Speaking of leaks, I ended up getting the whole new Tenderlegs album for Sharaun on Friday – needless to say she was ecstatic. Me? I’m once again impressed with the production on the album, and could easily ID at least four or five radio-ready singles. That’s all I’m gonna say.

Sunday I decided it was finally time to put down weed-cloth, dripline, and mulch in the planter strips in my backyard. I could’ve done this in about 2hrs any day before, but I’ve been putting it off now for months. After that’s done, I can choose some plants to go back there and get ’em in. So, I set out around 11am to get it done. Ran the drip, put down the weed-cloth, and headed to the shed to get out my trusty wheelbarrow, #1 Rolla. Turns out, #1 Rolla’s long period of inactivity caused his tire to go flat. I’ve dealt with this before, Pat and I struggled for about 15min trying to hold the weel onto the beads and simultaneously hit it with enough air from the compressor that it “took” and inflated. If you’re wondering, this is just a rubber tire on beads held there by air pressure – no tube. So, I fired up the compressor to a decent pressure and recruited Sharaun. We slaved for 15min or so in the sun to no avail. Then, I got the bright idea to check the internet for some kind of “wheelbarrow tire inflating” magic trick. I should’ve consulted the internet first. Turns out if you wrap a rope (I used a nylon tie-down) around the circumference of the tire and tie a stick (I used a short piece of rebar) into the cinching not, you can twist the stick like a garrot and pressure the tire back onto the beads. Worked like a charm, inflated the tire perfectly the fist time. From now on, I’m going to the internet first.

Anyway, got the job done and the yard looks better for it. I was going to upload some pictures to the backyard gallery, but I’ll wait until we have some plant life in the ground so it’s a bit more engaging.

Thinking about raising the capital for my dreamy co-op idea, and I do believe I’ve hit on a nugget of one. Ready? We pitch it to PBS as a reality show. C’mon, it’s brilliant – PBS is always doing reality shows with an “edutainment” bent. What could be better than my pitch for “Going Green,” the chronicle of a group of friends spending their first year in an idealist community environment where they seek to live lighter, cleaner, and with a reduced reliance on outside goods and services. I can almost hear it now, that deep-voiced TV pitchman running down the list of my rich tapestry of friends: “Four engineers, a seamstress, the beekeeper and his trapeze-artist wife, the ranch-hand and the sea captain. This Fall on PBS, they all cast their lots together to follow a common dream of a simpler way of life. Out here working the land, three master’s degrees and two doctorates won’t keep them from starving. Will they succeed at creating their own little Utopian lifestyle, or will the land best them? Find out, this Fall on PBS.” Oh yeah, I could totally get all the funding I need to get things working – then, I just wouldn’t ever leave. Right.

Somehow, I stumbled on the Voices from Inside page the other day. It’s part of a project by an anti-death penalty group. While their ultimate goal is the abolishment of capital punishment (not saying I’m aligned with that), the point of the page linked above is to get pen-pals for correspondence with condemned death row inmates. Without getting into the whole debate, I think it’s interesting that a campaign like this exists. I bet one could develop some very interesting written exchanges by sending out a few letters here and there, would make for a good themed-blog… something catchy like “dead men talking.” Sure, not the most tasteful of ideas – but I bet it’d pull hits. Anyway, if you liked that link and are interested in reading more about the prison scene, head over to the prisontalk.com forums and check out the many entertaining threads there. I find the “Husbands & Boyfriends” section of the board most intriguing.

I totally want to see this movie.

Goodnight.