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screw this let’s go

Not polite to point.
Thursday (actually, it’s Wednesday night as I write and I just got off a conference call with some guys in Bangalore, India… ah… world time zones) and a slim entry before I skip Friday once again, just seems to be a pattern this month. Out of work at noon today, on the road… heading to a good ol’ fashion wedding on the ranch… high desert… can’t wait. Cloudless blue skies and 14,000ft peaks as a backdrop, let’s go now. I don’t know what I’m going to write… I don’t have much going on.

Music roundup: I’m still trying my best to see what it is that’s got everyone so orgasmic about this new New Pornographers album. From my first listen, it was just another New Pornographers album, sounding like it should and nothing all that special. In fact, I remember thinking that I liked AC’s solo effort more on 1st listen. But, the critic-collective seem to be eying this LP as one of the year’s best already… so I’m doing my best to give it plenty of time to wash around the palette before spitting it out. And, actually, it’s growing on me… bit by bit, it’s growing on me. Aside from the Pornos, other noteworthy items that’ve ended up in my headphones lately: A promising one-man-extravaganza album by The Ladies and Gentlemen; Broken Social Scene’s new one (hopefully it’s better than their sophomore effort, which I didn’t like at all); and Kepler’s latest, which I liked immediately for its country-tinged hush. August is a good month for music, lots of good new listening material.

Guess what. I got a letter in the mail from my doctor today. My throat culture results from back when they put me on antibiotics for strep. In the “results” section it says: strep = negative. I didn’t even have strep. So what was wrong with me, and why did antibiotics clear it up?

OK. Whatever.

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everybody’s lootering

I love this picture.
Wednesday already, and I’ve got a short week. Doing a half-day on Thursday and taking all of Friday off to attend Kristi & Erik’s wedding down south. I can’t wait… it’s almost like my mini-Friday right now. I’m already zoning out just thinking about it. Before my thoughts turn exclusively to camping and drinking and socializing… I better write something.

It’s amazing how far stealing music has come since the days when I was first introduced to it. I can remember when a buddy of mine mentioned Napster to me on campus one day. I went home, downloaded and installed it, and was blown away. I was late to the game, so the network was already populated with millions and millions of traders hosting everything, and I do mean everything, a body could want. The only problem for me: I was still on dialup at the time. I can remember my formula: on a good day with a good connection, you planned for 10-15min per song. I can remember the day that the Pumpkins’ new album, Machina, leaked – long prior to it’s street-date. I was actually online as the songs started getting propagated. I would refresh my search every few minutes and the next track on the album would show up, I’d add it to my download queue and wait for the next one to come online. That night I stayed up all night long. Literally started downloading at 10pm and didn’t finish until near 4am. To fill the time while songs downloaded, I’d listen to what I already had. Think about that, an entire evening spent online stealing songs bit-by-painfully-slow-bit.

Today, things are so much better. While the P2P situation is no longer as easy, and much more risky – alternate looting-locales are flourishing in the high-speed age. These days, I wouldn’t use a P2P app to download tunes even if you paid me. Sure the odds are low, but I don’t want to be the unlucky one who’s the target of some RIAA lawsuit. I don’t even like using BitTorrent for legit downloading. But, despite the grim P2P landscape – music is easier to get than ever. And, it’s so much faster. Nowadays, I can download and entire album in just a couple minutes. In fact, the situation is such that you can simply download entire albums just to “check them out.” What a luxury! I would’ve killed for that kind of speed back in college. And believe it or not, even without P2P – everything you could ever want is still out there somewhere. Yes, I do believe that one day my conscience will get to me and I’ll start paying to download music (actually, I do pay now – but I pay for the ability to grab stuff illegally, not the music itself). I don’t think I’ll mind paying for music, I’ve always been willing to pay for it considering how much enjoyment I derive from it. But for now, while my conscious is still undecided, I’m building up my collection as best I can.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned it yet, but my next trip to beautiful Taipei is looming not far in the distance. I’ll be gone the 2nd week of September – doing the same conference I’ve done several times before. As I’ve said several times before, I love Taiwan, and always look forward to going. I guess that’s all I had to say about that.

And, I guess that’s all I had to say period. Goodnight.

Posted on

dreams

Verdant.
Don’t know if anyone else managed to catch the National Geographic Channel’s Inside 9/11 documentary, but man was it excellent. Crammed with interesting details, the first of two two-hour installments details the events leading up to the terrorist attacks on America. The forming of the cells, flight training, etc. The second installment chronicles the events on the day of the attacks. Masterfully put together and chock full of emotional firsthand stories and tons of amazing footage and audio – it’s by far the best telling of the events I’ve ever seen.

Sunday the backyard beat me again. I’m about at the level of frustration where I’m ready to call in a landscaping crew and just hand the task off to them. I really don’t know what else to do. Every time I put on my work clothes and get all motivated, I only end up pacing around the edge of the pavers wondering what to do. Soon enough, I’m so confused and frustrated by not being able to see the solution – I give up and come inside, take off my workclothes, and sit down on the couch in defeat. I really just don’t know what to do. Moving the sprinklers back is such a chore… and then there’s still the problem of actually placing a border around the porch. Sharaun suggested I call a landscaper, have them come take a look, and then pay them to fix it. Problem is – I know that’ll be thousands of dollars… and I begin to wonder about my priorities, spending thousands on a backyard when we’ve got a baby on the way and aren’t really sitting on a pile of money. My pure frustration and this extended (more than a year) stalemate have me nearly convinced that I’ll never actually get around to do anything – and paid help may be the only option. In fact, I think I kind of silently made the decision today… that I’m going to call on Monday, and have them come out this week to evaluate it and draw up some plans. At least at that point, I could still say I did most of the yard. Bottom line is: I just want this dang thing done.

I’m sure someone else, somewhere, at some point, has written about this before, but I’m gonna go ahead with it. I’m not sure how many of you out there used to (or perhaps still do, I’m not judgin’) indulge in a little recreational drug use. Me, I gave up the weed years ago – but my smokin’ years left me with a question that I still think about every so often. Maybe you’re not too familiar with the world of drugs, that’s good, you’re likely better of for it. But, I’m sure you’ve seen an episode of COPS or Law and Order where they show some kind of drugs (pot or cocaine, maybe) packaged for street sale in those little tiny ziplock baggies. There are varying sizes, but when I was in high school you could buy a dimebag ($10 baggie) if you only wanted a joint’s worth of stuff. Most bigger dealers won’t mess with dimes, since they are a pain to package – but the profit margin is higher the smaller you breakup the brick. Anyway, kids are poor, and dimebags are cheap and easy – so that’s what we bought when we were weaning onto the stuff.

What I’m wondering is, where the heck do people get those miniature baggies? And, under what guise are they sold? I would argue that bags of those size are used almost exclusively for the resale of illicit drugs. You never see them in stores, although I have seen them for sale at a head shop or two before. If I’m a soldier in the war on drugs, I’m gonna start tracking customers of these little baggies. Because I’ll tell you what, the guy that buys 10,000 of them isn’t using them to store buttons. Honestly, what else can you do with a 3/4″ by 3/4″ ziplock baggie? You’re not storing screws or beads in there… you’re hawking crack or coke or something on the streetcorner.

Lately I’ve been remembering my dreams when I wake in the morning, which is unusual for me. Some of them were so strange, I wanted to write them down and try my hand at “interpreting” them. Here goes. Wednesday night: I crap my pants at work. I’m running down the aisle trying to make it to the bathroom, but I don’t make it. Interpretation: I’m afraid of messing up at work. Thursday night: I witness the murder of a young girl on a school playground, Ben and I are chased by the killer. Interpretation: I’m afraid of something, and I’m trying to avoid it. Friday night: Anthony is too drunk to drive, so I’ll do it for him. But, he’s towing a boat and I can’t back it up. He agrees to backup the boat and then I can drive away. However, he backs up over a fire hydrant, overturning the boat and killing two kids who were sitting in it. Interpretation: To me this implies I have guilt of some kind, feeling bad for letting those girls get crushed. Saturday night: I’m back working at Omni Music & Video in Florida, but my coworkers are my coworkers from my current job. Interpretation: Work’s got me stressed, and I’m casting thought back to the simpler days of working at the record store. There’s an underlying theme here… one of work and fear. New job, new responsibilities, new fears.

I don’t know how I missed the fact that the Arcade Fire put out a 7" single with two new tracks, but I did. Consisting of one original and one cover, which are simply gorgeous and OK-for-a-B-side, respectively. The A-side, Cold Wind, is a haunting tune that was supposedly done exclusively for some show on HBO I’ve never seen because we don’t have HBO. Who cares, it’s new Arcade Fire… and it’s lovely. Please, our Father who art in Heaven, please allow this band to continue producing music of this quality. Too bad their September show at the Warfield is sold out. I think we paid ~$10 to see them the 1st time at the Bottom of the Hill… oh how they’ve come along, fetching a cold $25 per ticket now.

‘Night.

Posted on

three days without pills

Paydirt?
Sunday night and I wrote more than one entry’s worth, so I split it in half and will post the spillage tomorrow. Makes things easier for me, and helps to avoid last week’s spotty posting style. This entry can be summed up as a “blog update,” so to speak. The “meat” of it is down below, but here’s a couple shorter updates before we get to that. Enjoy.

First off, an update on my post about my attempts to kill off the bermudgrass armies marching on my front lawn. This past Friday, nearly a week to the day I sprayed, I finally started seeing results. The weedy areas are browning up, but the good turf still looks healthy, untouched. I’m not sure if I need another application or not, I was going to do it on Saturday – but I think I’m going to give it a few more days lest it just needs more time and I over-poison.

Next, remember that ridiculously obscure state-mandated test I mocked when we learned Sharaun would have to take it for her teaching credential? She took two of the three units (the hard two), and, to her immense surprise, passed them both. The day after the test, she came home so bummed, convinced she’d failed. She didn’t even logon to the website to check her scores. But, when the official results came in the mail – she had passed both. It really made her happy, and that made me happy. One more unit to go (the one about songs and dance and whatnot), and she’ll be done.

Flashing waaaay back to the entry where I learned of my allergic-to-cold malady – last week I ran out of my allergy medicines, and I forgot to fill them right away. By the third day without pills, I was nearly unbearably itchy. I itched when I got out of the shower, when I drove to work with the windows down, after coming back into the air conditioned building where my sheen of summer sweat slowly cools off. Guess this nuisance disease is here to stay for a little longer, which really bums me out.

Finally, remember when I told you that Pat and I had talked about fixing up my grandpa’s old highbanker? We were planning a camping trip with a gold panning theme. Well, we finally pegged the weekend for the trip – Labor Day, and on Saturday Pat urged me to bring over the pieces parts of the machine so we could try and get it up and running. My previous description of the machine, linked above, was actually inaccurate. What I was describing was a dredge/sluice combo – where my grandpa’s old equipment is really just a water-assisted sluice, also known as a “highbanker.” It consists of an engine, which runs a pump. The pump sucks water from the river and routes it through a hose to a sluice. You then dump buckets of sediment onto the sluice and the running water powers it over the “riffles” (bumpy-edged stuff) in the sluice. The heavier stuff (including gold) collects at the bottom of the riffles, usually on black rubber mats. These “leavings” are then panned to reduce them to the “take,” or gold. It’s a fairly brilliant idea – elegantly simple.

My grandfather’s old highbanker was in need of some repair. First, we had to ensure that the old Briggs & Stratton motor was still operable. Once we emptied out the old oil and fuel and replaced them with fresh stuff, we mounted the motor to a piece of 1″ board and fired it up. Without much effort, the old motor was puttering away like a champ. Now, let me explain the basics of how the contraption works. While modern power-sluices or highbankers employ a motor/pump combo unit, my grandfather’s solution was simply a small engine powering a stand-alone pump. The two are connected by a drive belt, the engine turning the pump. In my grandfather’s original implementation (which I only know about because I was given hand-written instructions from my mom’s cousin when I inherited the machine), simplicity ruled. Both the pump and motor were mounted to pieces of 1" thick wood, and these two pieces were connected by way of a couple door hinges. When you connect the pump and engine with the drive belt, the two hinged planks can’t lay flat, and the weight of the pump pulling on the hinges provides the tension on the drive belt. Imagine it like this:

I spend too much time in Visio.

With this “clapper board” arrangement, there’s no elaborate mounting constraints to ensure the proper amount of belt tension – gravity takes care of that. Not to mention, you can tap out the hinge pins and separate the pump and engine boards for easier transport and storage (also mentioned in those hand-written instructions). When I got the parts, both the engine and pump mounting boards were missing, as was the drive belt. Pat and I made a trip to the hardware store and picked up some hinges, 1″ board, and a drive belt for an edger. We quickly mounted the engine and pump, and connected them with the door hinges. The gravity-tension on the belt worked perfect! We then moved the whole rig out to his backyard, where we’d be testing it in the pool. We attached the short intake hose to the pump, and dangled it into the pool. Then stretched out the long output hose around to the other side of the pool. Pat suggested we “prime” the pump by pouring some water into the intake hose and pump itself, this way, the pump would start sucking water as soon as the engine started turning it. His suggestion was a good one, as the pump would only start sucking water well after it was properly primed. Once we got it – it worked like a charm. So good, in fact, that we were both surprised by volume of water the little rig was transferring. Some imagey-goodness for your approval:



Affixing the hinges to the engine side of the “clapper board.”

Mounting the pump, the clapper is attached and hinged.


The hinged pump providing tension for the drive belt.

Hoses attached, getting ready for the test.


It works!

Labor Day could be payday if this thing works out right. Well, not really… but it would be super cool to at least get some dust/flakes from the process. I’ll be happy if we find anything. Changing subjects a bit, we’ll be camping for the next two weekends. This coming weekend at Erik and Kristi’s wedding, we’ll be camping on their land – where the ceremony and reception will be held. I’m actually in the wedding, so I’m really excited about heading down. I’ll be taking Thursday afternoon and all of Friday off from work so we can head down early for the rehearsal and dinner, and get in a couple more evenings of camping. It should be a great time, the weather is supposed to be perfect – and they dug a true firepit, ringed in stones and accented with stump-chairs – not to mention the beer. So, wedding camping this weekend and gold-prospecting camping the next. I’m pumped… really looking forward to both.

With that, goodnight or good-day – depending on where you are.

Posted on

happy birthday sharaun!

Lil' Chino?
Didn’t write last night because I had nothing to say. Went out for some beer and “networking” after work, ended up staying out late and talking shop with some other work-folk. Nearly Wednesday now… or at least Tuesday night, the week is flying by again. Time for another post, so here goes.

Tonight, Sharaun and I watched some show on the Discovery channel that documented the conception-to-birth process through a mixture of following actual pregnant women and some pretty decent CG animations of the baby’s journey from egg and sperm to birth. It was a pretty cool show, documenting the fetus’s development throughout the pregnancy (do you know I had to look up how to make “fetus” possessive? The whole s-apostrophe/apostrophe-s thing is one grammar concept that I still get confused on). Anyway, the show of course culminated with video of the women who’s pregnancies were followed finally giving birth. At several points during the show, I had to stiff-face back some tears, lest Sharaun realize that the whole thing was so blindingly amazing to me. Crying isn’t something I’m accustomed to, but seeing some of that stuff and thinking about it going on in my wife’s belly at that very moment was just too much.

Oh man, I want this so bad. Honestly, I could watch the Andy Griffith Show every day – I always revert to the TiVo’d episodes when there’s nothing else on. These are even better though, because they’re restored and uncut, containing scenes that even TV Land doesn’t air, and as a bonus have the promo-spots that Andy did for products. DVDs are funny because, for the most part, I don’t care about them. The few I own (less than ten), I never watch. So, I don’t normally desire to “own” movies or DVDs of TV shows. However, with things like this set – and the Land of the Lost set I ordered on impulse – the obsessive collector in me takes over. For the completist, these “season” compilations with full uncut scenes and bonus items are like the Holy Grail. Now if they’d only come out with an authorized version of the Wonder Years… because this one is bootleg as hell.

No visible results yet from the deadly poison I administered to my ailing lawn last week, but I’m still encouraged by stories on the ‘net that mention at least a week timeframe for results, and some at two weeks with a couple applications. Hopefully the death will be widespread and completely unexpected by the weedgrass – I’m thinking shock and awe.

Goodnight.

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dressing the part

I make more money than you.
Monday morning, 7:30am. Guess I drank enough water last night to offset the 12-year scotch that coursed through my system as I finished up and published Monday’s entry, ’cause I feel fresh as a daisy. I’m not a fan of liquor by any stretch, and a “scotch on the rocks” is probably the last drink I’d order by choice. Changing subjects, in her haste to leave this morning, Sharaun grabbed my keys on her way out the door – her own keys being in her purse, which she also took. This leaves me keyless. No way to start my car to get to work, no way to get back in the house once I’ve locked the door behind me. Luckily, there are enough folks who work with me that live near here that it’s not hard to score a ride in. It’s kinda nice, sitting here in the air conditioning, listening to some vintage Cure… almost makes me wish I was friendless and had no one to call to get into work.

Lemme hit you with a quandary I’ve been thinkin’ on the past couple weeks. I’ve been thinking lately about “dressing the part” at work. What I mean is, changing the way I dress to be more in-line with my newly bestowed responsibilities. Using my acute sense of perception, I’ve noticed that most “bigwigs” at work wear decent looking slacks and shirts most of the time. So, while I hate “dressing up,” I’ve been considering changing my daily uniform to something more becoming a “manager,” junior or not. I’m not talking long-sleeves and ties or anything, just something a tad “dressier.” I’m even willing to make the long-pants-in-summer sacrifice for this, that’s how much I’ve debated it. Problem is, I’m torn about actually doing it… being able to see it from two totally different angles…

Part of me thinks this is very logical, something that I should definitely do. I think of a new-hire, fresh out of college, and their 1st impression of me should I be appointed their manager. Here’s a junior manager, wearing shorts, sneakers, and a t-shirt. Is he going to respect me more or less than a junior manager who’s sharply dressed in slacks and a nice polo shirt? As judging-a-book-by-its-cover as it sounds, I think the clothes do manage to communicate some sense of professionalism – lending some “cred” to the manager title. Not saying you can’t be #1 stellar manager in shorts and a ballcap, but I also think that dressing the part may help me actually act the part. Odd as that sounds, when I’m dressed up I feel more important and actually act a little more professional. After all, the saying “The clothes make the man” must exists for a reason.

While part of me does see logic in it, another part of me sees the idea as horribly pretentious. Young snot makes good and all the sudden starts dressing like he’s hot shit. I don’t want that at all. Heck, there are people twice my age who’ve worked here three times as long as I have – and here I go getting some minuscule promotion and start dressing like CEO or something. There’s got to be a happy medium between the two extremes. I’ve considered “breaking in” the new look: starting with one day a week, maybe bumping that to two or three after people warm up to the new duds. I’ve set myself up really, since going from my daily vestments of today to Dockers and buttons each day would be a pretty evident change. What a silly thing to worry about, right? You’d think, but it’s been on my mind of late.

I love the new look of audioscrobbler, or last fm or whatever it’s called now. It’s actually a really cool site. My profile’s been linked in my sidebar for a while now, and I’ve been aggregating stats on my listening habits for a little over two months now. I hope the service stays free; it’d be interesting to go back over a year and see if my listening habits line up with what I say the choice albums were for that year. Right now the “overall” charts look pretty accurate for what I’ve been digging the past couple months. We’ll see.

Goodnight.

Posted on

scotch on the rocks

Glug glug.
Today, no two paragraphs are about the same thing. At least I had some time to write this weekend. Time that should’ve been spent mowing lawns or painting walls or doing laundry or any number of other things – but wasn’t. Tonight was Chivas Regal scotch on the rocks at a coworker’s place for dinner… four of those and the fingers are a little heavy and stubborn on the keyboard.

Got my bermudagrasss killer in the mail the other day, and I eagerly opened the package to find the pint taped securely shut across it’s lid. Anxious to put the stuff down on my weeds, I sat down to read the product label and advisories. Apparently this stuff is the most caustic poison on earth. You can read the warnings for yourself, but this is some evil stuff. When applying, you’re advised to wear long pants, a long sleeved shirt, and special gloves to avoid skin contact. You can’t breathe it or get it in contact with your skin, and God forbid you somehow get it in your eyes or ingest it. You’re supposed to triple-wash the container before recycling, and are advised not to burn it or spray it near irrigation or animals. When I placed the order online, I chose the full pint over a half, thinking that, if I did need to do several applications to get the job done, I didn’t want to run out. Turns out the stuff is so potent, that you use less than an ounce for 1000 square feet of turf – so my $60 pint is probably enough to treat an entire city.

I’m sorry Death Cab, I probably jumped the gun. The more I listen to your new album, the one I panned a last week, the more I realize that my downloaded copy is probably not the real deal. The quality isn’t stellar, and some of the songs sound half-done. If this is, indeed, the studio version and not some comp of demos or whatever, I’m cool with that too. It’s not 100% bad, but it’s not what I’ve looked forward to as a follow up to that album with the bird and string on the cover. It’s slow, and drippy, with only a couple peppy numbers to break the melancholy. Most times, I love the dreary indie-pop, dig the teary-eyed horned-rim stuff… but this stuff is kinda… bland, kinda… vanilla. I’ve got some hope that, when and if the proper album leaks, it’ll be a little more polished and a little more instrumented… but who knows.

I was sitting in church this Sunday, looking down at my folded hands as I often do during a prayer. That’s when I noticed a smallish raised bump on my finger – what I used to call my “writing bump.” A callous from holding my pen/pencil tight as I write, only now it’s merely a dwarfed miniature of what it once was. I just don’t write anymore. Thinking about it, I write so little, I can name the few instances when I do: signing something, such as a document at work ; writing the one check a month for that single remaining bill which I can’t setup for auto-debit; or taking quick notes during a meeting. All of this probably amounts to only a few hundred words per week. Using my hands to write has almost become a thing of the past. I type everything. Back in college, when I would fill both sides of a piece of notebook paper with the step-by-step operations of a laborious LaPlace transform – my writing bump was prominent, well-worn. Since college though, the actual times I hand-write something have dropped so sharply, I hardly have a bump at all.

Goodnight.