Monday, August 18, 2008
I had this brilliant idea yesterday for an Acid Studio project. I would open a Sigur Ros song into a track then sing over it multiple times, accenting something different every time so that when I pulled the SR track out the results would sound very little like their core. I probably dubbed at least seven voices.
Insomuch as the results sounded almost nothing like the Sigur Ros song, I succeeded.
Insomuch as creating a piece of art that is enjoyable to listen to, I failed.
In other words, I spent a lot of time working on a song that showed traits of "sucking" early on in the mixing stage. Which is disappointing in a way, but then again, I had a lot of fun doing it, so it wasn't TOO big a waste of time.
I won't try it again.
Insomuch as the results sounded almost nothing like the Sigur Ros song, I succeeded.
Insomuch as creating a piece of art that is enjoyable to listen to, I failed.
In other words, I spent a lot of time working on a song that showed traits of "sucking" early on in the mixing stage. Which is disappointing in a way, but then again, I had a lot of fun doing it, so it wasn't TOO big a waste of time.
I won't try it again.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
Last night I sank back into a pretty serious bout of depression…the first one I’ve had since we moved into the house. I wish there were something I could blame for it. It would be nice to say “it’s because of THIS or “it’s because of THAT”. Even though there may be “triggers” that set it off, it’s not because of any of those, either. It just comes when it wants to and goes when it’s decides it’s time to go. Almost like it has a mind of it’s own.
It has manifested itself this go ‘round by an overall irritableness, an excess of thoughts vying for attention in my mind and the sneaking suspicion that I have no idea what “love” is. Total foolishness and cheap armchair nihilism. I know better. But like I said, this demon of depression has a mind of it’s own and it uses thoughts to convince me of things I know are not true. It makes me FEEL they aren’t true, though I know full well they are.
I doubt that makes much sense…It’s kind of hard to describe, and actually it seems to have let up some today. I decided last night that if the thoughts started flowing hard and heavy today that I would just get a book and lose myself in it. It would seem obvious that reading would be an effective cure for uncontrollable thoughts, but when I get depressed I don’t want to do ANYTHING. That’s something practically everyone knows about depression, that you lose interest in or cannot find pleasure in things that have always interested or entertained you. I know that a good book is a good temporary fix, but I have to MAKE myself pick one up and read it. Usually I can get into it after that point.
Unfortunately the same cannot be said for what has always been my greatest passion: music. I feel like I’m completely burned out on music. I’ll turn on the XM and try to find something interesting to me. Of all the music channels on XM you’d think I would find something to amuse or stimulate myself with…but no. All the joy that might be found in it gets swallowed up by depression.
I hesitate to write things like this, because I know that it won’t last for too long. I say I know, but that’s at a very deep level, like an anchor deep within my spirit that keeps me from abandoning all hope. On a more surface level, though, I fear that the bout I’m dealing with at the time is the one that’s going to haunt me till my dying day.
Moreover, it seems as if the depression is the price that must be paid to keep from becoming manic again. Mania is to be avoided at all costs, I’ll concede that point. I believe that my medication does a good job in regulating that, in keeping me from swinging up towards that state. But I don’t think my drugs do anything about the downward spiral. I don’t think it is wise, at this point, to attempt to add an anti-depressant into my potpourri of medication. If for no other reason than that I don’t want to mess up a good thing, ie the stuff I’m on now. So, as I say, I have to deal with this mess. I have my ways of temporarily staving the worst of it off. They are only temporary, though. Still…
It has manifested itself this go ‘round by an overall irritableness, an excess of thoughts vying for attention in my mind and the sneaking suspicion that I have no idea what “love” is. Total foolishness and cheap armchair nihilism. I know better. But like I said, this demon of depression has a mind of it’s own and it uses thoughts to convince me of things I know are not true. It makes me FEEL they aren’t true, though I know full well they are.
I doubt that makes much sense…It’s kind of hard to describe, and actually it seems to have let up some today. I decided last night that if the thoughts started flowing hard and heavy today that I would just get a book and lose myself in it. It would seem obvious that reading would be an effective cure for uncontrollable thoughts, but when I get depressed I don’t want to do ANYTHING. That’s something practically everyone knows about depression, that you lose interest in or cannot find pleasure in things that have always interested or entertained you. I know that a good book is a good temporary fix, but I have to MAKE myself pick one up and read it. Usually I can get into it after that point.
Unfortunately the same cannot be said for what has always been my greatest passion: music. I feel like I’m completely burned out on music. I’ll turn on the XM and try to find something interesting to me. Of all the music channels on XM you’d think I would find something to amuse or stimulate myself with…but no. All the joy that might be found in it gets swallowed up by depression.
I hesitate to write things like this, because I know that it won’t last for too long. I say I know, but that’s at a very deep level, like an anchor deep within my spirit that keeps me from abandoning all hope. On a more surface level, though, I fear that the bout I’m dealing with at the time is the one that’s going to haunt me till my dying day.
Moreover, it seems as if the depression is the price that must be paid to keep from becoming manic again. Mania is to be avoided at all costs, I’ll concede that point. I believe that my medication does a good job in regulating that, in keeping me from swinging up towards that state. But I don’t think my drugs do anything about the downward spiral. I don’t think it is wise, at this point, to attempt to add an anti-depressant into my potpourri of medication. If for no other reason than that I don’t want to mess up a good thing, ie the stuff I’m on now. So, as I say, I have to deal with this mess. I have my ways of temporarily staving the worst of it off. They are only temporary, though. Still…
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
...a sneak peek at a work in progress...
The last time Harley Riggs saw his ex-wife she was partying it up in some low-rent slumlord’s apartment, her fat ass hugged by a pair of cheap Faded Glory jeans and a dirty Tom Petty shirt hanging from her chunky shoulders. She was kneeling in front of an old glass coffee table with a straw in her nose. The cocaine her host had procured was cheap, low-grade blow, cut with whatever it is that stingy dealers use to maximize profits. She seemed to be enjoying it enough. Harley knew, as well as he knew his own telephone number, that she couldn’t have cared less about the quality of the drug, as long as it kept flowing throughout the night until the glorious moment arrived when she would suddenly pass out in the middle of whatever it was she happened to be doing at the time.
Her name was Betty. She married Riggs in 1982 on a dare. Her father, in a fit of anger over the possible engagement of his only daughter to man like Harley Riggs had dared her to do it.
“I dare ya,” he said. “Over my dead body, you’ll see. Truth or dare, my little princess. You haven’t been truthful with me. Don’t think I don’t know this. You aren’t half as clever as you think you are, but I think you’re smart enough to know a loser like Harley Riggs when you see one. So I dare you, sweetheart. I dare you to marry that no account scumbag.”
So she did.
Her father made good on his promise, too. He died of a heart attack the day before the nuptials. Betty was upset at the turn of events, but she had resolved not to let her mourning put a damper on the wedding plans. Her mother, a brow-beaten slave to her husband’s every whim, was not entirely displeased with this uncanny attitude of her daughter’s. She sincerely debated the pros and cons of attending her old man’s funeral herself. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand,” she said, “it’s a pack of bozos telling lies about what a great guy he was after he’s kicked it…those same liars who, only a week before, were calling him every name in the book and wishing him smooth passage into hell.”
All this notwithstanding, Harley Riggs was not concerned with it. If you had asked him at the time whether any of it mattered to him, he would have said no. If you asked him today if any of the drama surrounding his first wedding had left an impression on him, positive or negative, he would fix you with a stare that would express infinitely more than mere words could convey.
I don’t suppose it matters, either, insomuch as we began this missive with the day Riggs saw his ex-wife snorting a line at a biker party.
He had other things on his mind that evening, and he damn sure wasn’t at the party because she was there. He sure as hell didn’t know she’d be there. It was a total surprise to him, and not a pleasant one, at that. Yet his eyes were drawn to the spectacle. Greasy, tattooed love boys and grimy hog riders surrounded her. Each and every one of them exhorted her to inhale more and more of the coke. “Free” would not be the right word to use in describing the narcotic, but she wasn’t paying for it with cash.
“Whoopee!” yelped one of the spectators. He was wearing a tattered Hell’s Angels jacket he had picked up at a Salvation Army store for a quarter. It stunk, but not as bad as he did, so it all evened itself out. “You better rock steady, gal! You better rock steady and keep on a-rockin’ until the music is over. Until we turn out the lights, little bitch. I want to see you freak out, I’m GONNA see you freak out, so keep rockin’ steady!”
She had no idea what the fuck he was talking about, but if “rocking steady” meant snorting more and more dope, then she imagined she would do his bidding. “Rock steady, Joe!” she managed to blurt as she straightened up from the table. White snot, only lightly tinged with crimson, dripped from both of her nostrils.
Harley was disgusted by what he saw, but he wasn’t surprised. In all the years he’d known her he’d seen her do a lot of excessive and disgusting things. This was nothing out of the ordinary. He stifled a yawn and tried to remember exactly what the reason for his presence here was.
Her name was Betty. She married Riggs in 1982 on a dare. Her father, in a fit of anger over the possible engagement of his only daughter to man like Harley Riggs had dared her to do it.
“I dare ya,” he said. “Over my dead body, you’ll see. Truth or dare, my little princess. You haven’t been truthful with me. Don’t think I don’t know this. You aren’t half as clever as you think you are, but I think you’re smart enough to know a loser like Harley Riggs when you see one. So I dare you, sweetheart. I dare you to marry that no account scumbag.”
So she did.
Her father made good on his promise, too. He died of a heart attack the day before the nuptials. Betty was upset at the turn of events, but she had resolved not to let her mourning put a damper on the wedding plans. Her mother, a brow-beaten slave to her husband’s every whim, was not entirely displeased with this uncanny attitude of her daughter’s. She sincerely debated the pros and cons of attending her old man’s funeral herself. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand,” she said, “it’s a pack of bozos telling lies about what a great guy he was after he’s kicked it…those same liars who, only a week before, were calling him every name in the book and wishing him smooth passage into hell.”
All this notwithstanding, Harley Riggs was not concerned with it. If you had asked him at the time whether any of it mattered to him, he would have said no. If you asked him today if any of the drama surrounding his first wedding had left an impression on him, positive or negative, he would fix you with a stare that would express infinitely more than mere words could convey.
I don’t suppose it matters, either, insomuch as we began this missive with the day Riggs saw his ex-wife snorting a line at a biker party.
He had other things on his mind that evening, and he damn sure wasn’t at the party because she was there. He sure as hell didn’t know she’d be there. It was a total surprise to him, and not a pleasant one, at that. Yet his eyes were drawn to the spectacle. Greasy, tattooed love boys and grimy hog riders surrounded her. Each and every one of them exhorted her to inhale more and more of the coke. “Free” would not be the right word to use in describing the narcotic, but she wasn’t paying for it with cash.
“Whoopee!” yelped one of the spectators. He was wearing a tattered Hell’s Angels jacket he had picked up at a Salvation Army store for a quarter. It stunk, but not as bad as he did, so it all evened itself out. “You better rock steady, gal! You better rock steady and keep on a-rockin’ until the music is over. Until we turn out the lights, little bitch. I want to see you freak out, I’m GONNA see you freak out, so keep rockin’ steady!”
She had no idea what the fuck he was talking about, but if “rocking steady” meant snorting more and more dope, then she imagined she would do his bidding. “Rock steady, Joe!” she managed to blurt as she straightened up from the table. White snot, only lightly tinged with crimson, dripped from both of her nostrils.
Harley was disgusted by what he saw, but he wasn’t surprised. In all the years he’d known her he’d seen her do a lot of excessive and disgusting things. This was nothing out of the ordinary. He stifled a yawn and tried to remember exactly what the reason for his presence here was.
3:00 pm...I have just lost the third game in a row of Mahjongg. This particular stack is called "Mahjongg High and Low" and it is part of the 2002 Games program I have installed on my laptop. The 2002 Games feature was just one of 8 or 9 on a disc that, collectively, was supposed to feature 1500 games. That's a lot of games. Of course, when you get it installed you find that most of them are minor (and I do mean MINOR) variations on a couple of hundred. Which is still quite a few games, but trust me, not all of them are entirely worthy of being called "games". There's another CD I've seen called that's supposed to have 3000 games on it. It's probably a good thing I saved my money and bought the 1500.
But, nevertheless, the ten bucks I spent on the disc was well worth it for the Mahjongg stacks alone. There are over 60 variations to choose from (though a couple of them don't seem to want to work on my computer...still...). The tiles look pretty cool. I like 'em at least as much as the ones in Mahjongg Titans (the Mahjongg game that came pre-loaded on the Vaio).
So, as I was saying...the Mahjongg High and Low has kicked my ass about 15 times since yesterday afternoon when I began my campaign to beat it at all costs. I cannot rest easy until I have triumphed. Here I go again...
3:23 pm...I just got whipped again. Not only that, it seems my luck has taken a turn for the worse on an even grander scale. As I breezed through the initial matches I noticed that the air conditioner seemed to be going off and then turning itself back on. I temporarily suspended game play and paid closer attention to it. Sure enough, it would come on and blow for a minute or two then shut down. After this happened a few times I decided to turn it off hoping that maybe all it needed was some down time (it has been rather warm and the thing hasn't had too many opportunities to rest lately).
But it came back on...then off...then on...then off again. I called a friend who has a lot of expreience in the heating and air conditioning field. I told him what it was doing and he gave me his opinion as to what it might be. Of course, it's all over my head.
Serendipitously our landlord was doing something next door so I walked over there and informed him of the problem. He looked at the unit for a minute, felt the pipes, all that. I told him what was going on, how the fan had not been blowing the last time I checked. He told me to go inside and turn it on, so I did. When I went back out, lo and behold, the fan was running again. I was perplexed, to say the least. He said that from what he could see just on the outside (the unit itself) there shouldn't be any problem. I said I hoped so and apologized for bothering him in the middle of some work he was obviously doing (though I guess I had no need to do that...it's his job).
I called my friend back and told him what had happened. He was of the firm opinion that there was definitely cause to be concerned about the air conditioner, in particular the compressor motor fan. He said it would run fine for awhile then the motor would overheat and we'd be in the same old cycle again until it was replaced. I do trust him and I believe he knows what he's talking about...but by the same token I hope it was something else, that it's erratic behaviour was some quirk that perhaps fixed itself...Not that I live in a fantasy world in regards to these kinds of things...or maybe I do...
Now, while the batterie in this laptop still has some juice in it, I'm off to try to defeat High and Low yet again.
4:24 pm...Curses! Foiled again! I'm beginning to wonder if this "High and Low" pile is the Mahjongg equivalent of a "Challenger" level crossword puzzle. It has passed the point of frustration, but I am determined to crack it's Oriental code.
More importantly, however...the air conditioner seems to be working again. Knock on wood, cross your fingers and whatever else needs to be done. I probably shouldn't have brought it up. Know what I mean?
And now, another chance to achieve Mahjongg greatness...
4:33...DAMN IT!!! I have yet to achieve the aforementioned Mahjongg greatness...Yet, I am not deterred.
4:47 pm...YIPEE!!!! HOORAY!!!! I have entered into the gates of victory! The banner of conquest flies upon my mast! Yes, it is true! After at least 15 tries I have won!
When I entered my name into the "high scores" I noted that this was, in fact, not the first time I have gotten the better hand over "Mahjonng High and Low". I had forgotten. Yet it was still worth celebrating because my the amount of time it took me to win was about three minutes less than the last go-round.
But, nevertheless, the ten bucks I spent on the disc was well worth it for the Mahjongg stacks alone. There are over 60 variations to choose from (though a couple of them don't seem to want to work on my computer...still...). The tiles look pretty cool. I like 'em at least as much as the ones in Mahjongg Titans (the Mahjongg game that came pre-loaded on the Vaio).
So, as I was saying...the Mahjongg High and Low has kicked my ass about 15 times since yesterday afternoon when I began my campaign to beat it at all costs. I cannot rest easy until I have triumphed. Here I go again...
3:23 pm...I just got whipped again. Not only that, it seems my luck has taken a turn for the worse on an even grander scale. As I breezed through the initial matches I noticed that the air conditioner seemed to be going off and then turning itself back on. I temporarily suspended game play and paid closer attention to it. Sure enough, it would come on and blow for a minute or two then shut down. After this happened a few times I decided to turn it off hoping that maybe all it needed was some down time (it has been rather warm and the thing hasn't had too many opportunities to rest lately).
But it came back on...then off...then on...then off again. I called a friend who has a lot of expreience in the heating and air conditioning field. I told him what it was doing and he gave me his opinion as to what it might be. Of course, it's all over my head.
Serendipitously our landlord was doing something next door so I walked over there and informed him of the problem. He looked at the unit for a minute, felt the pipes, all that. I told him what was going on, how the fan had not been blowing the last time I checked. He told me to go inside and turn it on, so I did. When I went back out, lo and behold, the fan was running again. I was perplexed, to say the least. He said that from what he could see just on the outside (the unit itself) there shouldn't be any problem. I said I hoped so and apologized for bothering him in the middle of some work he was obviously doing (though I guess I had no need to do that...it's his job).
I called my friend back and told him what had happened. He was of the firm opinion that there was definitely cause to be concerned about the air conditioner, in particular the compressor motor fan. He said it would run fine for awhile then the motor would overheat and we'd be in the same old cycle again until it was replaced. I do trust him and I believe he knows what he's talking about...but by the same token I hope it was something else, that it's erratic behaviour was some quirk that perhaps fixed itself...Not that I live in a fantasy world in regards to these kinds of things...or maybe I do...
Now, while the batterie in this laptop still has some juice in it, I'm off to try to defeat High and Low yet again.
4:24 pm...Curses! Foiled again! I'm beginning to wonder if this "High and Low" pile is the Mahjongg equivalent of a "Challenger" level crossword puzzle. It has passed the point of frustration, but I am determined to crack it's Oriental code.
More importantly, however...the air conditioner seems to be working again. Knock on wood, cross your fingers and whatever else needs to be done. I probably shouldn't have brought it up. Know what I mean?
And now, another chance to achieve Mahjongg greatness...
4:33...DAMN IT!!! I have yet to achieve the aforementioned Mahjongg greatness...Yet, I am not deterred.
4:47 pm...YIPEE!!!! HOORAY!!!! I have entered into the gates of victory! The banner of conquest flies upon my mast! Yes, it is true! After at least 15 tries I have won!
When I entered my name into the "high scores" I noted that this was, in fact, not the first time I have gotten the better hand over "Mahjonng High and Low". I had forgotten. Yet it was still worth celebrating because my the amount of time it took me to win was about three minutes less than the last go-round.
Music Video of the Week: After the Fire
Step one: off with the Sigur Ros jukebox. Step two: a click on the button the activates the video so kindly supplied by YouTube. Step three: sit back, relax, let the images amuse you and the music consume you. Step four: turn the Sigur Ros jukebox back on when video is done.
"Der Kommissar"
After the Fire
After the Fire
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