Our IT guy handed me a disc today and asked me if I could read it on my Mac. It’s a 12-year-old CD of sound effects from the Hanna Barbera archives, recorded in some proprietary format by a company that evolved into the folks that make ProTools. Anyway, the discs are filled with sounds any 18-45 year old kid would recognize, from Fred Flintsone’s feet making the car go to Muttley’s teeth chomping Dick Dastardly’s ass. Good fun for customizing alert sounds.
Oh, P.S. “That’s the way girls like Lynndie are raised.”
Heh. Here’s an article about something on our minds… The heck with it. We’re going to have a big fondue pot and let people pick their own hors d’oeuvres. (free registration may be required)
Well, That Helped. So Bush got on Arab TV yesterday and yammered on about how “…the people in the Middle East must understand that this was horrible.” No shit! He didn’t apologize for a goddamn thing, though, which is a fantastic lesson to teach our kids, country, and neighbors on this planet.
I spent about two hours working on some freelance last night while Jen was sleeping, and I have to say that I am extremely happy with our new office. This morning I got up early, made coffee, and sat down to another hour or so of edits. The sun was rising through the atrium windows over my desk, and the cats quietly paced around my feet; for the first time since we moved in the new house, I felt like things are coming together the way we want them to.
Last night, I started the process of centralizing the house network; after running miles of cable from the bedrooms down through the walls, I wanted to actually get some of the computers in the office on a network. So I started by splicing into a power circuit that apparently contains both doorbells, an outlet in the basement, the kitchen stove, and the hallway light in my neighbor’s house. After putting an outlet in next to the panel, I ran a new phone line to it and put connectors on the office lines. This morning I got up early to install the DSL modem and router, then ran a network line back to the dining room for the Airport base station. Thankfully, everything works.
A few thoughts about the latest good news from Iraq:
- America is doomed. We are a country of ignorant, bullying sheep.
- If Bush is re-elected this year, it will be proof that he has sold his soul to the Devil. Jen and I have decided that we will leave the country and move someplace that isn’t doomed, and raise our kids to be intelligent. (No, I’m not kidding.)
- I shudder to think of what will happen to the next American POW taken in that country.
- What kind of animal does this? And what kind of moron lets somebody take their picture while doing this? (Don’t give me that “They’re under a lot of stress” shit. This is wrong. Plain and simple.)
- Seymour Hersh wrote a fantastic article in the latest New Yorker about this—the latest in a series of fantastic reporting about the war. (For a great article about the previous Gulf War, check this out.)
- Bush is going on Arab TV today to talk about this whole thing. Like that’s going to help anything.
- Nobody in America cares about any of this. They’re all too freaked out about the last episode of “Friends”.
Last night, Dave sent me a link to a copy of Satie’s Gymnopedie No.3, performed on guitar by John Williams. Again, it’s beautiful and soothing—classical chillout music. I recommended an album to him called Selenography, by a band called Rachel’s. It’s sort of contemporary chillout classical, with drums, piano, guitar, and cello. I have yet to find the physical CD anywhere, and so will have to break down and order it online when we return from Italy. (Rubbing elbows with greatness dept.: I went to school with one of the members of the band.) Anyway, thanks, Dave!
Read this and tell me if you still feel like keeping the current administration in power. I’ve found my illustration subject for the week.
To-do list for Italy.
- Travel books
- Power adapter—iPod, Camera, and Powerbook
- New walking sneakers
- Weather information
- Copy of Indigo for the house lights, 2 more light controllers.
I went to have some bloodwork done this morning for a diagnosis (as well as a checkup—what is my cholesterol level, anyhow?) after, uh, avoiding it for a few days. I have what phlebotomists call a “dream arm”: thin and full of juicy veins close to the surface. I also have an inordinate fear of needles. Spiders, rats, bugs, gunk, blood (other people’s, mostly)—no problem. Show me a needle, and I get squirrelly. Heights above three stories and anything to do with the eye round out my trio of personal fears, but anything involving cold steel poking into my veins completely freaks me out. (Which is kind of funny, because I’ll work the whole day with a splinter sticking out of my hand, or a bloody gash, but I don’t get with the needles.) Which begs the question: What’s your worst fear? Add a comment below.
Anyhow, I left a warm caffeinated cup of pee and got blood drawn for the docs to run their tests on without passing out (about three years ago an older doctor took about a gallon of blood out of me, and I went down like a drunken prizefighter) and ran out of the building clutching my arm, happy to have it over with. We’ll see what the results say in a few days.
This is interesting news from California. Guess what other state currently uses Deibold voting machines? That’s right. Think it’s going to have any effect on voting in Maryland? I doubt it.
Housekeeping. Last night I added a list of links to the upper right there for the iTunes music store with a bunch of stuff I keep meaning to buy but don’t have the money for. I figure I’ll leave them there where they can’t get away.
Jen has, as of 12:00 this afternoon, left her craptastic job for the last time. Now, to find newer, better employment in a creative atmosphere. Meanwhile, we are both heading to our tax attorney’s office this afternoon to find out just how far in hock to The Man we are. Please keep your fingers crossed for us.
I’m sure that all 589 of these folks would love to hear the tasteless jokes foisted on the attendees of the Radio and Television Correspondent’s Dinner the other night (take a look halfway down the page) by our ignorant, arrogant President (better link).
“Those weapons of mass destruction have got to be somewhere. (Laughter and applause.) “
Really frigging funny, assface. I don’t know what’s worse, however—him making the joke, or all those lazy, worthless pricks laughing at it. Curious how I can’t find a whole lot about it on U.S. based sites right now, but had to find a link to it from the Guardian.
Anybody who needs a pretty wedding dress to wear for your special day, or just for going to the grocery store, please look here: Ebay item 2896753380.
Here’s something to look at participating in next week: Photo Friday. I haven’t been snapping a lot of shots lately (evidenced by the lack of entries for 2004 over there on the left), but with the advent of spring and an assignment, I think I can get out of the funk and start shooting again…
Music for working by: Boards of Canada, Music Has The Right To Children. Mellow, driving, melodic stuff that won’t distract you.
Huh. Y’know, I feel that I’m a pretty up-to-the-minute guy, but I had no idea that Baltimore had its own Craigslist.
Maybe I’m totally self-absorbed here, but I think that Dave may be calling me out on my link and comment yesterday about voting Democrat. Let me talk a little more about it, and if I’ve missed his point, feel free to comment below and tell me. What I’m asking for is not a simple knee-jerk reaction to the current administration, but a course of direct action against it. Would I enjoy and support a viable three-party system in this country? Sure. (Will I vote for Nader? I don’t think he’s a viable candidate this year.) Do I think that Democrats are just as wishy-washy, underhanded and slimy as Republicans? Of course. But I also think that anybody who believes our current president is doing anything besides promoting the agenda of a few very wealthy organizations is kidding themselves. Say what you will about the previous Democratic administration—they had progressive foreign, economic, and environmental policies, and for all their warts, I believe they made my life better. I don’t see anything like that with the current administration—I see lies, fear, and fascism in the guise of “Homeland Security” and patriotism.
Would I like to see a fresh crop of idealistic public servants reshape our government? Of course. Will that ever happen? Read your history books. In the meantime, I’ll take the next best thing.
There had better be a beer or two in my immediate future, because I am in a foul, foul mood.
Required Reading. Vote Democrat.
Crap, Part 2. One of the other joys of being able to field one’s own minor-league kitty softball team is the collective pile of fur they leave behind. Actually, it’s not one big pile—they can’t be bothered to clean up after themselves, of course—but an inch-thick layer throughout the entire house. We are constantly running the vacuum cleaner, chasing after dust bunnies the size of grapefruit, but as soon as one clean swath is made on a horizontal surface, it is covered by more fur. (Or, a helpful cat, who will then commence shedding like Pig-Pen from Peanuts.)
So it was inevitable, of course, that our washer drain would become clogged with the winter coats of five nervous cats and begin backing up into the utility sink (let’s all just savor that word for a minute: utility sink. Do you know how great it is to be able to work in the basement and wash one’s hands without having to run back upstairs to the kitchen? I’m in heaven here, people). I busted out the pipe wrench and attempted to pry the cleanout drain cover off a hundred-year-old iron pipe, with predictably negative results, and then tried running a snake down the sink drain. I’m sure that sink snakes work for extremely talented people and drain-cleaning professionals, but for me the process resembled fighting an agitated ball python in a puddle of sewage.
We called in a professional. This morning Mike rang the doorbell as Jen and I were getting ready for the day, and I ran downstairs to let him in the basement to deal with our balky pipes. Within about five minutes the drain machine was turned on and off, and Mike came back upstairs to present me with a bill for $140 and a sheepish smile.
Thankfully, he disposed of the clog, which I’m sure was the size of a bowling ball.
Funny Bunnies. Just click here. You’ll thank me.
Vote Democrat. (for the record, Kerry and Edwards are only willing to go as far as civil ceremonies, but I’d really prefer not to have a Constitutional ban on same-sex marriage, even if I don’t think it would ever pass through every state.)
I think I was probably one of the first folks in Maryland to get my music settlement check frum the gub’mint; it came on Monday for the sweet, sweet total of $13.86. I also have two winning Pepsi caps ready for use at the iTunes Music Store…this hack makes me wish I had thought of it myself.
Besides the fact that I’m pissed that the debate is only available on MSNBC, the Democratic candidates all sound very good. I’m impressed with all of these guys, and they all have made some fantastic points. Dean doesn’t sound as good as Clark or Kerry; I like Kuchinich’s points and gusto, Lieberman sounds like he finally woke up, and Sharpton impressed me with a couple of great points. Food for thought.
Greasy Kid Stuff. Our buddy Nate is one of the more intelligent people I’ve ever met. There are only a few people on this earth I know who can lead a conversation through science fiction, programming, anime, music trivia, politics, and random philosophy safely without losing anybody; the man is sort of a geek buddha. There are a few areas where I tease him goodnaturedly, and because he is a benevolent, friendly fellow, he doesn’t kick my ass.
Among the many choices for fast food here in Happy Valley, there is a tasty Iranian kabob restaurant in a nondescript strip mall. The food is good, the service is friendly, and the garlic in the food has a half-life of fifty years or so. Next door to this restaurant is a store where Nate buys comic books. He’s unapologetic about this, for which I give him credit (some guys get all mad and insist that they’re called “graphic novels”, not comix, as if a different name for a picture book featuring guys in leotards makes it literature), and I’ve often followed him in there to browse while we wait for our food. Now, I’ve not bought a comic book in ten years or more, so it’s always kind of strange to walk in there with him. I don’t want to be that guy, the one who has a whole wing of his house devoted to boxes of comic books, or the shifty guy who buys the anime porn on the top shelf, or the guy who has the bust of Spider-Man on his dresser. I like books that have a good story, or look pretty, or in some rare cases, both.
So I see some Hellboy comix on the shelf, and think back to the ones Nate showed me, which I liked. I find a book that I haven’t seen, which looks great, and… I take it up to the counter. Unfolding my wallet, Ronnie James Dio starts singing “Stranger In The Dark” on the radio behind the counter. And suddenly, I’m that dork wearing the denim jacket in 1987 all over again.
It is a good book, though.
(Note: I did not like Ronnie James Dio in high school. I was just surrounded by people who did.)
Pop Media Recap. There’s a disturbing ad on the radio right now for Larry Flynt’s Hustler Club in downtown Baltimore where they’re promoting midget oatmeal wrestling. I don’t know what’s more disturbing, the thought of midgets wrestling in breakfast cereal, or the way the dumb announcer chick pronounces the word ‘eoowwt-meel’ in that peculiar Baltimore dialect. There’s no accent more disturbing than a Balwmore accent, Hon.
I disagree completely with this reviewer’s take on Psyence Fiction, so I’m taking his review of the new UNKLE album with a large grain of salt.
Jen and I caught the Kajagoogoo episode of Bands Reunited on VH1 last weekend; besides humming the melody of “Too Shy” for the rest of the day, we thought it was pretty good. The band seems to have dealt with their meteoric rise and sudden plunge to obscurity pretty well; they were able to put aside their differences with relative ease and it looked like they had a great time playing together again. Discussion topic: Why would anyone change their name to “Limahl”?
Apparently I write bad cowboy fiction in my spare time.
Now Is The Time For All Good Critics… December is the month of Big Lists where every pundit has to weigh in with their 50 Best or 10 Most or 35 Worst of something. Usually I wait until December for all the music geeks to emerge from their darkened rooms and type out a list of something so that I can go back and buy ten or fifteen of the albums I’ve been hearing about all year but wasn’t cool enough to go out and buy. Also, enough time has passed where the albums they may have liked in February have had to stand the test of time and deserve a second critique. Usually this method works out pretty well, with a few misfires here and there.
Update Dept. I have finished my Christmas shopping for Jen as of this morning; now to wrap the goodies quickly while she’s not there and place them under the tree. In related news, the daughters of the previous owner of our house are not stopping by to say hello—apparently it’s a little too soon after their father’s passing. So we don’t have to run around cleaning this weekend (although the house could use it) but look forward to the promise of a visit in the new year. Tonight is Jen’s office Christmas party, which promises to be an exciting study in both social science and chemistry: there’s an open bar, which is reportedly a departure from the ‘drink ticket’ method of the past. Score one for morale-building. (It’s kind of frightening how far second-shelf booze goes to brightening anybody’s mood.) So I dusted off the suit and spit-shined the shoes; I’m driving tonight so Jen can enjoy herself as much as she likes.
The Beat-Down. I would never have pegged Jack White to be the type to curbstomp anybody, but this poor sap apperently met the wrong end of Mr. White Stripe’s fists at some bar in Detroit. Funny stuff, that.
Wake Up. News flash to all you pro-lifers out there: RU-486 over the counter is not going to promote promiscuity. Promiscuity is alive and well without this pill. People have a natural urge to have sex, and because the US refuses to teach its children about sex, contraception, or childbirth adequately, the current trends of accidental or unwanted pregnancies will continue. Simply telling kids to abstain from sex does not work. You may as well wish for world peace. Giving women a way to prevent an unwanted or accidental pregnancy is a good thing. (Disagree with me? Listen to Loveline some night this week and listen to the questions your screwed-up kids ask on a daily basis.)
Hypocrite Who? God bless this woman; her asshole father did not deserve a daughter with this much dignity and class.