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a little bit country?

Sunday afternoon and we’re back from a great weekend away.

Up the hills, across the bridge, and down the bumpy road we went.  We sidled up to the river and stayed a couple nights, staving off the heat of the day by playing in frigid waters and moving camp chairs with the shade.  Anyway, we’re back and unpacked and the dirt’s all down the drain with our bathwater.  Sharaun headed out with her friends for a nail appointment, Keaton’s napping, and I’m sitting here watching The Magnificent Seven on this humongous TV we recently got.  And even though it, like most of the things I tend to like watching, isn’t anything near HD (what do you expect for 1960?), it really seems somehow dustier and grittier and gunfightier.

I’m gonna talk a little bit about music, hope that’s OK.

Those of you who know me likely know that I am, in general terms, not a fan of country music.  Then again, those of you who know me a little better may know that I am a fan of some “roots” type country music like bluegrass and the early 19th century country-blues of the American South.  It’s just the “modern” country that I don’t like.  And, before you country people get all on my case – I’m not even talking about the whole “crossover country” thing that’s been going down now for ten or fifteen years; I’m talking about “traditional modern” country (I know, it’s an oxymoron, but it’s what I mean).  Anyway, I’ve always known that a lot of older “roots” country represents a large black hole in what I know about the evolution of music – I’ve just never tried to dive-in and figure it all out.  But, that changed a while back.

Sharaun and I were invited over to dinner with friends, and while we were there they were playing the “classic” country channel on Sirius.  Now, I’d always known I have some sort of affinity for rootsy, early-sounding “hillbilly folk” or “honky tonk” type stuff, as evidenced by the immediate shine I took to albums like John Prine’s self-titled debut and nearly everything Gram Parsons and the Flying Burrito Brothers did during the roots-country rennaisance of the late 60s and early 70s.  But, that night nearly every single track that beamed down from the satellite radio seemed like a gem.  The rough nature of the tunes reminded me of the same reasons I adore things like Robert Johnson’s scant recorded history, or things like John Fahey’s Blind Joe Death: in them you can hear the embryonic sounds of decades of music yet to come.  After enjoying the soundtrack to our evening so much that night, I decided I’d spend some time questing for a good “classic country” primer.

The problem is, to make a decent and somewhat complete introduction to the birth of country music is not an easy task.  At first I began looking for some sort of compilation, maybe Rhino Records has done something, maybe some budget-bin put-togethers that managed to put a bunch of old songs together on disc when their copyrights lapsed or something.  Turns out, though, that the history of country music is a huuuuge beast, with twists and turns and reels and reels of music.  I tried reading threads on hardcore country music message boards for tips on good catch-all comps, I browsed through Usenet groups looking for homemade lists of essential classic country, I searched the internet far and wide – and couldn’t find much.

At first, I had decided to try and make my own collection.  I would download the best-ofs from luminaries like Cash, Lefty, Hank, Willie, Mel, Autry, etc. and just cobble together my own thing.  And, that’s how I started, just grabbing (and by “grabbing” I mean exchanging cash-money for) all sort of stuff.

I didn’t get far, however, when I happened upon a description of a twenty-CD collection called The History of Country and Western. This enormous compilation spans the years from 1927 to 1951, and was put together by a German label (go figure).  After looking over the tracklist, I decided this was the holy grail compilation I’d been looking for.  Sure, there’d still be stuff stretching into the early to mid 60s I’d need (to complete my strange “bookmark” years of when I figure the music was “pure” and not the twangy lost-love crap it turned into), but this thing would give my collection a huge jumpstart.

And boy, I was right.  This is an excellent compilation.  I mean, there’s nary a bum groove on this thing.  OK so it’s nowhere near something everyone’s gonna get into, but it’s one awesome historical document of the birth of a genre.  I sat spellbound listening to them on my first run-through, which was unfortunately brief (I plan on hitting the thing hard tomorrow at work), each track a little piece of music revelation previously unknown to me.  Seriously, I recommend it to anyone.  The best part about it is that it’s dirt-freakin’ cheap.  Amazon carries it if you want to get one for yourself.  Again, it’s got the nod of my hat.

So… somehow, I’ve gotten into country (please don’t misquote me on that, and no Sugarland albums for Christmas please, I will throw up).  Makes me happy, really, because I know there are so many more rocks out there unturned – so much good music I’ve still yet to hear.  I mean, what’s next?  Reggea?  Disco?  Standards?  No, no, and no, most likely… but still, I love hearing new stuff.

Anyway, I’m about done now… that thing kinda took off and spawned more paragraphs than I figured it would.  So, I’m gonna go enjoy the rest of my Sunday evening, maybe throw together some leftover Smores ingredients with a bowl of vanilla ice cream or something… who knows.

Goodnight y’all.

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a pleasant turnaround

Friday.

There’s been a pleasant turnaround in our small household.  Keaton hasn’t thrown up all day, and I’ve been able to sit on the couch more than the toilet.  Seems that perhaps we’ve reached the calm after the (happily breif) storm, and might have just licked those nasty creatures invading our entrails.  This is good, because it means we’re still in for the camping trip this weekend.  So, that means that tomorrow we’ll steam off into the hills as soon as I give a must-do presentation at work.  I’ll phone it in, from the very same couch I’m sitting on now, more than likely.

And, before said steaming-off into said hills, I’ll need to get stuff together.  The plan is to leave as soon as possible after the single morning meeting I couldn’t get out of, hopefully sometime around 10am.  Campsites at our regular spot are extremely limited, and there’s no reservation system (it’s primitive camping, first-come, first-served), so we always worry that the place’ll be full when we get down there.  With only five spots up for grabs, and just three of those alongside the river, it’s a must that we secure “good ones.”  So, tonight, in just a scant few minutes, in fact, I’ll be pulling the car out of the garage, doing a loop in the street and backing it right back in to load it with all our gear.

And, fast-forward to nearly 11pm.  Packing is done, and Sharaun’s putting the finishing touches on what food we’ll need to bring out in the kitchen.  I’m online typing these last few sentences and trying, futilely, to upload the presentation I have to give tomorrow morning.  Something wrong with the server at work I guess, I keep getting a timeout.  Owell, I’ll try again early before I have to speak.

For now though, I bid you a goodnight.  Love you, see you Monday.

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a lovely day spent horiztonal

Thursday.  Remember yesterday when I said I felt off and hoped I wasn’t getting the stomach bug that’s been floating around inside the bellies of our friends?  Well, I’m sick.  Keaton’s sick.  Sharaun, so far, is well.

Today I alternated between sleeping, in some half-dead approximation of myself, and running to the bathroom at the not-so-subtle behest of my knotted and writhing insides.  Furthermore, this tortuous cycle was interrupted several times to join Sharaun in the bathroom to rub little Keaton’s back and tell her it’d be “OK” as she “spit out” (what she calls it).  Having not been in this situation before, she was of course terrorized by what was happening to her physically, and only wanted to be held – which, as you might imagine, impacted our ability to “aim” her where we wished.  Ah… yes, a lovely day spent horizontal.

Sharaun took care of us both, bathing Keaton twice after each “spitting out” instance, and herself once (for the same reason); cooking me some buttered toast for lunch and later some chicken soup for dinner; taking the garbage out to the curb; all the stuff you’d expect a good mom/wife to do when you’re under the weather.  And, with that soup staying in my belly well, and glass after glass of some liquid designed to replenish my electrolytes (whatever that means), I’m feeling on the up enough to sit here and bang the keys.  Which is good, because it’s been a bad week for writing.

Let’s just hope the universe send us the mend before the weekend, as we’re slated to go camping this weekend and I’m bound and determined to get some time with dirty feet.  So send some wellness our way, eh?  If you’ve got it in abundance, throw some in and ship it, OK?

Goodnight.

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atoms of music

So, I know… I took a little haitus.  Truth be told, it wasn’t some 1,000th-post respite or anything, I was just occupied evenings the past couple days.  I hope you’ll forgive me the disappearance, and pray you’ll fall right back into that daily groove with me again.

Me, I’ve been doing fine.  A few of our clique have recently succumbed to a nasty stomach virus, which is now making its way through the group.  A pillar of natural hardiness, this would normally phase me little.  However, I can’t help shake this strange tingly-chills thing, and I have the odd sensation that my body is working to defend itself.  And, with a camping trip looming this weekend – I’ve got petitions out to several dieties (a good engineer should always try to cover the spread), just in case.

Now, for something completely boring.

Not too long ago, I came up with the concept of the atomic appreciation of music.  See, I think everyone appreciate the tunes they enjoy at different atomic levels.  Let me explain by giving an example: For me, my “atom” of music is the album.  I consume my music in albums; I acquire and catalog my music by the album; and, for most part (with a few exceptions) I judge the “goodness” of an artists’ effort based on the sum quality of the album which contains it.  Now, this is not to say that there’s no place for the single, because I’ll admit I have my share of one-night stands when it comes to a good catchy tune, but, for me personally, the album is the base-unit.  I don’t download songs, I download albums (let it be known, however, that I pay for everything I do download in real American dollars that I’ve earned working at my job).

The thing is, I don’t think this is the way most people consume their music.  And, to be honest, it has its drawbacks.  I think I’m less apt to enjoy the sparkling singularity of a stellar one-hit-wonder because of it, and I’m also prone to looking down my nose at an entire LPs worth of songs just because of one or a couple stinkers.  I think most people are more prone to enjoying their music on the atomic level of the song.  This, in fact, seems quite logical, when you consider it.  But, whether it’s the collector in me or what, I’m stuck on the album.  And, there are some rewards for this… think about Zeppelin’s 2nd LP, or Delaney & Bonnie’s Motel Shot.  Albums that just play like a solid wall of awesome, think Arcade Fire’s Funeral, or Sgt. Pepper.  Yeah, for real.

OK, I’ve just wanted to type that for so long… I know it’s not fun to read.  Apologies.

And, unfortunately, I’ve got nothing more.  I swear I’ll make a comeback next week.  Forgive.

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my 1,000th post

It’s like some kind of celebration up in here.

Today marks the 1,000th here on sounds familiar.  I know you can barely believe it, but this very sentence you’re reading right now, which lives as a part of this very post you’re reading right now, is just one sentence of one post out of a thousand.  I don’t know, it seemed like a big deal to me.

I mean, doing the math: this blog officially started on September 11th, 2003.  Today is July 10th, 2008. I guess that’s pert-near five years of wirting.  If we estimate ~250 “bloggable” days per year (exlcuding weekend and holidays), that’s 1,000 out of 1,250 days I’ve written, or something close to 80%.  Yeah, it’s an inflated rough estimate – but I think sounds familiar has done me proud.

And, since I’ve reached such heights, I’m taking today off.  I suggest you click that “random post” link on the sidebar a few times and see if you stumble on anything you like.  Or, go down the blogroll and read some of my friends’ stuff.  Or, don’t.

I’ll be back Monday, have a good weekend.

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bye-bye diapers

Happy Thursday folks.

What a smoky steamy day here in Northern California.  110° and not two miles visibility through the choking haze as California continues to burn.  But, aside from that nastiness, it was a good day.  Got a lot of work done, took my lunch hour (or, y’know, hourish) and met Sharaun and Keaton up at the local “kids bounce” place (which was packed with moms and kids looking for an indoor playground removed from the smoky simmer outdoors).  I brought us some lunch, we ate, and we bounced.  Yeah, it was a happy day.

And, t’would be a good bit happier had the Senate yesterday not followed the House’s shameful FISA legistlation vote, continuing to trash our civil liberties while retroactively clearing anyone of blame.  What a joke; great job “nonbinding withdrawal timeline” Democratic Congress – you sure showed ’em.   Check this, fellow Obamaniacs:

I strongly oppose retroactive immunity in the FISA bill.

Ever since 9/11, this Administration has put forward a false choice between the liberties we cherish and the security we demand.

No one should get a free pass to violate the basic civil liberties of the American people – not the President of the United States, and not the telecommunications companies that fell in line with his warrantless surveillance program. We have to make clear the lines that cannot be crossed.

– Barack Obama, January 28, 2008

Fast-forward to yesterday and check the big fat “Yea” next to “Obama” for the free-pass retroactive immunity FISA legislation.  Did I say no one should get a free pass?  Oh… I meant no one shouldn’t get a free pass… my bad.  Did I say I strongly oppose retroactive immunity?  Oh… what I meant to say was that I strongly impose retroactive immunity… sorry.  Way to go; way to go.

That’s really all I’m going to say about it, for fear of not being able to see my readership from up on this soapbox.  Moving on…

It’s been two weeks since Keaton decided she would suddenly be potty-trained.  And, I’m happy to report that, during that time, we only had one off day.  Other than last Thursday, when we actually had to put her in a diaper because her brain seemingly forgot about her recent conversion, she’s not had a single accident.  I’m going to count that as twelve days.  We put her in “big girl underwear” now (Dad simply can’t bring himself to write, Heaven forbid say, the word “panties”) each morning, and she keeps them dry all day.  Not only has she proven herself to us, but to the workers at the nursery during Sharaun’s mom’s group and to a friend/babysitter last night.  I’m pumped.  Dunno when I can call it “permanent,” but I’m more confident thinking we’re almost there.  Bye-bye daipers!

Well, that’s it for tonight.  A mixed bag I’m afraid.  Hopefully it was somewhat readable.  Goodnight.

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heart=melt

Happy hot Wednesday, folks.

When the digital temperature readout in my car dips below thirty degrees Fahrenheit or so, it alternates between the outside temperature and flashing the word ICE! to let me that the conditions are right for slick and dangerous roads. Today when I drove home from work, however, it was alternating between 111° and SATAN! Really, it was that hot today here in smoky California. I had briefly considered going up into the attic after work to run a length of CAT5 cable to the new satellite receiver – but even at midnight it’d be like a blast furnace up there. So, yeah, it’s totally hot here.

Today (which was yesterday, as you’re reading this), Sharaun and I have been married for eight years.

Eight years ago today I was fiddling with my rented tuxedo behind closed doors at the back of a church I didn’t go to. My best friend and best man Jeremy was there with me, we were probably making coarse jokes. I can remember we’d walked through the motions and standing positions the day prior, and I shuffled out the side door to the front of the waiting crowd. Sharaun looked beautiful, and, as I often do at weddings, especially, it turns out, my own, I had to bite back tears watching her part the sea of onlookers walking towards me. I remember little of the vows, other than that they were simple and traditional, and that the whole thing was over in fifteen minutes or so. I do remember when our officiant asked the maid of honor for the ring, Sharaun instead reached into her cleavage to retrieve it – and the crowd let forth much mirth.

The reception is a blur, I barely remember it. I do recall taking my friends’ new daughter onto the dancefloor and shuffling around with her (I loved that girl to death).  I remember we had no booze at the fête, y’know, to keep The Lord happy (which conversely kept my highschool buddies quite unhappy, and was the reason for their early exit, I’m sure).  I remember the food being good, although probably ultimately unremarkable, and I remember hating every minute of dancing (I loathe dancing, I’m just not made for it).  And, finally, I remember driving off to spend our first night as a wedded couple in the airport at the hotel before we flew away for our honeymoon.  That’s it though, just a series of memories, mostly a blur.

I would’ve posted one of our wedding pictures as an accompaniment to this blog, but Sharaun has locked them away in a vault somewhere never to be seen by human eyes again.  Yes, she hates them that much.  So much even, that she’s, quite seriously, suggested we reshoot them now one time when we’re back in Florida.  Now, we’ll not be doing that – that much is sure – but you can see how much she hates them.

Tonight, on our way to drop Keaton off with Kerry so we could enjoy an anniversary dinner together, she said, “I wanna come with you dad!”  “No,” I said, “This is a special dinner for Mommy and Daddy.”  Sharaun chimed in with, “It’s Mommy and Daddy’s anniversary.”  (We’ve been telling her this for a few days.)  She replied, “I know!  Because Mommy and Daddy are married!”  And then, after a slight pause to think, “Daddy, I want to get married someday.”  (I’m not kidding, she totally said that!).  “Oh,” I said, curiously, “Who would you like to marry someday?”  “I want to marry my Daddy.”

Heart=melt.

Tell you what though, that day eight years ago was far and away the best decision I’ve ever made.

Goodnight.