Monday, May 26, 2008

So Long, U. Utah Phillips


I'll see you up north. We'll sing "Starlight on the Rails".

"Oh, I will go up and down the country and back and forth across the country. I will go out West where the states are square. I will go to Boise and Helena, Albuquerque and the two Dakotas and all the unknown places. Say brother, have you heard the roar of the fast express? Have you seen starlight on the rails?"
-Thomas Wolfe

Thursday, May 22, 2008

I Hope My Pony Knows the Way Home



It has been long haul, but we covered a lot of ground. Worked everywhere from night shift factory assembly lines to the most advanced and productive research labs in the world. Went through the entire American educational system, K-PhD. Learned a lot of valuable lessons face down drunk in the gutter of the streets of Midwestern towns deserving no name. Learned to defend myself with my brain and my fists. Became adept at disappearing like a faint wisp of smoke, and staying that way. Played music all over the world, from European concert halls to the woods of West Virginia. Slept with a multi-orgasmic woman, got punched out by a Birthright Quaker girl, played banjo for a one-legged tap dancer, been married for 15 years. Shook off a lot of curable diseases, got nailed by a certified, incurable 100% fatal one. Forgot more than most people have experienced.


This song is written and played by Tom Waits.



This song is played by me.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Gold Label "ultra-Dino": Cigars of the '60s

Have you ever had a memory resurface like disagreeable, unwanted flotsam? Like when you're bobbing in warm ocean water at the Jersey shore, relaxed and fully happy, then suddenly, an air-filled (or gas-filled?) bag of medical waste surfaces at your side? You see the black and red bio hazard label, and then the bag's contents: used syringes, knotted condoms, deflated IV bags, deformed enema bottles, all surrounded by a brownish-red muck? You swim in with your head above water, stop at the van for the Clorox bottle, and take a long shower? And when you return to the beach, the bag is still visible, but slowly retreating? My recent flotsam-memory concerned a comment made by a young classmate about the 1968 Presidential Primaries. This event occurred in the spring during a junior high school civics class. The Diggers had proclaimed the counterculture dead by fall 1967. In the southwest suburbia of Cleveland, we young students were shamefully unaware of its life or death or significance. Most student comment reflected the attitudes of parents, which ranged, in my socioeconomically and racially homogeneous but intellectually diverse bedroom community from hostile apathy to the strange beginnings of MOR commercial counterculturalism (which later gave rise to Frank Zappa's "consumer-amoeba" construct, and President George W. Bush, crackhead). A student comment connected RFK's hairstyle to a fear that he might be part of the "LSD for lunch bunch". This comment reflected the "METRACAL for lunch bunch" advertising campaign. Metracal was one of the early meal-replacement liquid diet adjuncts. It was developed from baby formula by food scientists at Mead-Johnson to deliver, upon drinking, the feeling of "fullness" after a meal without caloric intake. The desired result was severe and rapid weight loss.

"The Metracal system consisted of flavoured powders
which were to be added to water and
shaken vigorously in a specially designed
Metracal container until they frothed up
into an appetisingly dense foam, just
like a thick shake. Except the flavour,
whether it were vanilla or chocolate
or strawberry, tasted of dust."


Weight loss was seen as the route to fuck-at-the-drop-of-a-hat, which was how "The Greatest Generation" and their younger siblings misinterpreted the message of the counterculture (see Crumb, R: "Whiteman"), until Kent State and Charles Manson rendered the message moot, and Nixon rendered the message irrelevant. The "METRACAL for lunch bunch" appeared on TV as intelligent, anorexic, and eminently fuckable. The student making the anti-RFK statement is now an architect who designs hospital renovations.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Saturday, May 17, 2008

Studio

Finally got the new studio set up. It's on a wide L-shaped bench fully accessible to my power wheelchair, and everything that I can still do hands-on is Right There. It's set up for a/d transfers, mastering, composition, voice-over, and Ken Burns-style multimedia content creation. Two work stations (one dedicated to weird computer based composition using flakey apps that won't even run on XP or modern hardware), a rack with outboard gear, a small quiet 10/2 hardware mixer, three monitor systems (great, fair, and real world), XP/Linux dual boot laptop with basic field apps on the XP side and Pd on the Linux side...the main workstation is a 3.4 GHz screamer w/ 1 gig memory and 1 TB HD space running dual 19" monitors and MAudio PCI hardware at all rates and depths...noise (unbalanced) from line in to Reaper is a respectable -85db, nothing I can't clean up to -104db at 0% DC offset with gentle FFT based NR...clean, filtered 20 amp AC...does what I want.


Saturday, May 10, 2008

No More Light Outside of Recollection

Have you ever looked way back in your life and wondered where everyone went and why? Listen to this song. Don't download it, buy it. It's by Nanci Griffith.

http://home.comcast.net/~steventrish/Nanci GriffithThere'sALightBeyondTheseWoods.mp3

Hard to recover anything.


click on the song, then the image

Thursday, May 8, 2008

Funnies Day

It seems that graphic artists of the 19th century could produce material as sick as anything that oozed from the pens of R Crumb (e.g. Nuts Boy) or S. Clay Wilson (e.g. Captain Pissgums and His Pevert Pirates). As exhibit A, we shall consider the work of Wilhelm Busch. Wikipaedia tells us his dates were 1832-1908. He was a German painter and poet who is known for his satirical picture stories. After studying first mechanical engineering and later art, he turned to drawing. If he had lived another 20 years, All Quiet on the Western Front may have been a graphic novel. Consider "The Virtuoso" of the 1860s (click image for full size)

Sick.


Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Light from a Distant Shore

This post refers back to my April 9 post. I have been in love with lighthouses since being read The Little Red Lighthouse and the Great Gray Bridge by H. H. Swift, as is common for many people of my generation. (This book contains most of the knowledge required to get through life without becoming bitter and isolated.) I have been to the top of every lighthouse on the Outer Banks, NC as well as the lighthouses at Barnegat and Cape May, NJ. I can no longer climb, but have visited nearly every lighthouse from Maine to Key West. Lighthouses represent to me a human endeavor that I consider quasi-sacred. People come together to plan and create something real, of "bricks and mortar", that says with an unequivocal beam of light, "Stay away from here, it's dangerous!", or "Almost there!", or "Good evening!", or "Right on course!", or "This way home!" So often, in real life, we have to create our own lighthouses to keep from becoming despondent while attempting to navigate a featureless ocean of time and distance. Frost's words "...and miles to go before I sleep" never provided any comfort for me, but at least I can see the shore. To the north.



Tuesday, May 6, 2008

Hiatus

Let's try to get up and running again. Posts start tomorrow.