Upward, not Northward.

all falls down

2010-03-12T08:01:00.001-08:00

so I'm working on a new design for the wanderingbears.com--i asked Miss Mannix what sort of feel she wanted, and the answer was "something green. earthy".

ok... umm... wandering bears... uh... bears... that... uh... wander... and... uh... live in forests... and.... earthy... um... forests... uh... trees.... that are.... um... green... trees... forests...

you get the point.

so, i fire up Illustrator, fire up some Miles/Coltrane, fire up some fine green, and this comes out:

I didn't intend to draw what a salvia trip looks like, but the result is surprisingly close. it sort of reminds me of one trip in particular, in which the world around me was constructed out of colored bic ballpoint pens.

mission creek 2010

2010-03-04T11:54:00.001-08:00

...with a tip of the hat to Johnny La and his puzzling penchant for parallel lines.

The Recording is not the Song

2010-02-15T10:47:00.000-08:00

So there's this Blind Pilot song, "The Story I Heard", that just floors me every time I listen to it. While listening to the album today, it occurred to me how much I prefer the Daytrotter version. Pondering it for a while, I was reminded of a discussion in the Dewi Sant van that happened somewhere between LA and Portland. The conversation floated around, skirting many different subjects, and somewhere along the line it touched on the discrepancy between the recorded version of a song and the live version. More than one person expressed the disappointment they felt when listening to a band perform live and it didn't sound like the recording. I didn't have words to express it at the moment, but something about that didn't sit well with me.

I can remember a time, in my high-school pop-punk days, when the greatest compliment a fan could give was that "you guys sound just like the album." In this age of AutoTune, time correction, and sound replacement, I suppose that actually is quite a compliment for many bands. It certainly was for us at the time--it was tantamount to saying "you guys are not a fabrication." And for a long time, this sentiment remained; the goal, whenever performing, was to reproduce, as precisely as possible, the recorded song.

Somewhere along the line that all changed. It's hard to pinpoint discrete moments of mental shift, but if I had to venture a guess, everything probably changed with my discovery of jazz--specifically, bop (and later, Free Jazz). To a jazz quartet, the concept of a song was much more transcendent . To quote Ornette Coleman:

I don't know how it's going to sound before I play it any more than anybody else does, so how can we talk about it before I play it?

A song existed only in the moment it was performed. Improvisation was not just a novel tool to be used to spice up a tired guitar solo; improvisation was the thing itself--it was the interaction between performers. The music became the medium through which a listener might listen in on a conversation between musicians. The Song was what the band was talking about.

To paraphrase Korzybski, "the recording is not the Song." It's easy to lose sight of the fact that recordings are a relatively new cultural artifact. Before the advent of electro-mechanically reproduced sound, the concept of Song was drastically different from what we're currently accustomed to. A Song was not something that existed as a singular entity. A Song did not fit tidily on your shelf or hard drive. A Song was a more ethereal thing--a thing that existed outside of space and time in a sort of meta-musical Hilbert space. Once in a while, if the conditions were right, the Song might decide to materialize in local Euclidean space-time. It existed then and there, in that moment, ineffably bringing together performer and listener.

But heretofore, the whole course of music, from its first day to this, has been along the line of making it the expression of soul states; in other words, of pouring into it soul. Wagner, representing the climax of this movement, declared again and again, "I will not write even one measure of music that is not thoroughly sincere."

When a mother can turn on the phonograph with the same ease that she applies to the electric light, will she croon her baby to slumber with sweet lullabys, or will the infant be put to sleep by machinery?

- John Phillip Sousa, "The Menace of Mechanical Music," 1906

While Sousa's essay is a bit over-dramatic (as befitting his music), he recognized very presciently the dehumanizing effect of recorded music. He saw that as mechanical recordings replaced the folk pastime of music making, something important would be lost. This, however, is not to say that recordings are a Bad Thing--that would be short-sighted.

Even as I write this, I'm listening to recordings. Raheem DeVaughn, Caroline Smith and the Good Night Sleeps, The Tallest Man on Earth, Lil Wayne--all of this music is floating around me. I remind myself, though, that these recordings are not the songs themselves. That would make as much sense as saying that my 8th grade class portrait embodies who I am, right now, at this moment. That wallet sized photo is no more than a visual recording of who I was. To recognize that a recording is no more than a snapshot of a Song at a particular place and time: this, I think, is the important insight.

The Blind Pilot recording that I prefer exists only because of a broken acoustic guitar string and an electric guitar that happened to be lying around. The specific circumstances of the session are now archived in that recording. Like a Polaroid of a perfect day spent sailing the azure water off North Bimini, a song can remind us of the sublime moments in life. But just as fixating on a photo of a former-lover can distract from what is right in front of you, considering a recording as the Song itself limits one's access to the infinite potential contained within.

a week of may outside LA

2010-02-08T08:15:00.001-08:00

So I recently finished a one month tour with my friend Michael Morris's newest project, Dewi Sant. I can say, without a shred of hyperbole, that it was one of the best months of my life. It was a last-minute endeavour; the band's usual bass player backed out at the last minute, and the drummer, my friend Arlen, suggested me as a stand in. The timing of the whole thing just fell into place; I had a software consulting contract starting the week after the tour ended, leaving me just enough time to fly out to DC and get situated before diving into the project. Without getting into a metaphysical discussion, it was definitely one of those providential moments that felt like it was "meant to be".

It couldn't have gone better.

It seems like the first thing everyone asks me is "Did you all get along? Were there any fights?" Yes, we all got along. No, there were no fights. I don't think I've ever met a group of such considerate, well-adjusted people in my life. Sure, there were moments of stress and tried-patience, but these moments were recognized as such and accommodated for accordingly. There was a protective bubble of Midwestern politeness enveloping the band.

It's easy to forget what a rewarding--if not difficult--experience being thrust into a completely unfamiliar situation can be. Jumping into a van with six people--five of whom you've never met--certainly qualifies as such an experience. It is in these situations, full of novelty and uncertainty, that truly lasting memories are made. I've grown as a person as much in the last 30 days as I have in the previous 12 months. I suppose I'm channelling Terrence McKenna here, but I think the modern, ego-centric, personally isolated lifestyle that we've developed as a technological society can lead to a sense of personal entitlement that is often unhealthy and destructive.

The cure? That which McKenna terms the "archaic revival": a return to a (more) pre-technological, nomadic lifestyle. Forgive me for getting a little McKibben-esque, but the evolution of our technology has surpassed the evolution of our human mind. It is this discrepancy, I think, that leads to the sense of dysphoria that we all feel at one time or another. Another visionary, Dr. Tim Leary, once observed that "the space you occupy determines the time that you live in. To move into new space is the only way that new realities can be created, and the fastest way that future nervous systems can be activated." An Econoline van affords little--if any--personal space or privacy. This breakdown of space has profound effects on your sense of self and interpersonal relationships. I've experienced this before, during a week spent at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. The bonds of friendship forged in such trying circumstances are not soon broken. I'd lie down in fucking traffic for any of these friends.

I feel sad now that the tour is over. But this, I suppose, is a good thing; this bittersweet feeling lets me know how lucky I was to be there. I keep coming back to one word to describe how I feel: thankful. I feel so damned thankful to have experienced everything that I did. From the shivering weirdness of Austin in January, to the soul-renewing warmth of southern California, to the pastoral simplicity of two days spent at Holden Village in remote Washington, I experienced as much beauty in the space of one month as many experience in their entire life. I don't deserve this.

the real OC

2010-01-20T14:50:00.001-08:00

So my good friend Arlen (of Caroline Smith and the Good Night Sleeps and Cloud Cult) asked me to go on tour with one of his bands, Dewi Sant. Their bass player backed out at the last minute, and I was the first vagabond he thought of. Tour has been absolutely beautiful. I'm sure I'll be singing a different tune next week when we're cold again, but right now, in southern California, I can't imagine feeling happier. I'm going to petition the rest of the band to move here as soon as possible.

Our present hostess, Elizabeth, made us some mean blueberry coffee cake for breakfast. We should probably be leaving for our show in LA right now, but not before I make us a late brunch. The following recipe is the result of things found in a fridge in a beautiful home at the top of a big hill in Laguna Beach:

Uova alla Puttanesca

note: Measuring is for suckers. All given metrics are completely arbitrary guesses.

1 Dozen large eggs
Heavy Cream (or Half and Half or Milk)
1 Sweet Bell Pepper
2/3 Red Onion
4-5 cloves garlic
2-3 Tbsp. Capers
1/2 lemon
Cayenne Pepper
Oregeno
Salt
Pepper

Heat some olive oil in a large skillet under medium heat. Mince the garlic (tip: first slice the cloves really thin, then add some salt--this will act as an abrasive to aid in mincing). Fry the garlic for a few minutes (add enough oil to keep the garlic from caramelizing and congealing). Turn the heat up to medium-high and add the onion; cook for a few minutes before adding the bell pepper. Squeeze the lemon juice into the skillet. Cook for a few minutes and add the capers. Salt, pepper, cayenne, and oregeno to taste.

In a mixing bowl, whisk the eggs and about 1/4 cup of cream/milk. When you're tired of whisking, whisk for another minute or two.

When the veggies are cooked to your desired tenderness, turn the heat up to high and add the eggs. Stir regularly to evenly scramble the eggs.

Serve.

are you kidding me?

2010-01-05T16:41:00.000-08:00

I just stumbled on this article (via reddit) by Joel Spolsky, author of the (very good) software blog, "Joel on Software." Until now, Joel has been a developer I've looked up to and respected. After reading this article, I want to slap him. If an employer pulled this shit with me, they would find themselves short a developer the following morning.

Lesson: don't be a dick. Especially not a greedy dick.

A-fucking-MEN

2009-12-11T10:51:00.000-08:00

So my days usually start with a quick scan of craigslist--specifically, the "computer gigs" sections of major US cities (NYC, DC, SF, etc.). This is where people post requests for websites, or web applications, or desktop software applications. Going through it every day, you grow used to seeing quite a few annoying posts. There are myriad sub-genres, but they all fit quite well under the general heading of "retarded". People requesting completely unrealistic applications; people requesting a $5000 website who, unfortunately, can only pay $400; or, my favorite, an "exciting new startup" in the "first rounds of VC" who have planned the "next big social networking site"--they can't offer any pay, but they can offer you "an exciting opportunity getting in on the ground floor" of the Next Big Thing. Never--I mean never--underestimate the self-delusional capacity of an MBA.

Lately I've been seeing more "rally cry" posts from knowledge workers who are fed up with sifting through so much bullshit. While often snarky, they make for great reading. In the world of digital freelancing, it's the equivalent of bitching about the boss in the break room. A post from today's DC board is the best I've seen:

If you want to hire a developer DO NOT request work samples. Doing so indicates that you have absolutely no idea about what is involved in programming an application and you identify yourself as potential employer who is unaware of the actual time requirements and cost of completing the task.

IF AND ONLY IF you are ready to receive gigabytes of source code to analyze, configure a development including web server, databases etc, build / compile and deploy several software applications then DO ASK for work samples. If you actually expect to receive URLs to websites than you are confusing a programmer with a graphic designer and you should NOT ASK for work samples.

It is just as banal as asking choosing a heart surgeon based on pictures of faces of his previous patients. A website will tell you NOTHING about the skills of the programmer. It won't tell you if they can make the site secure (unless you are ready to do penetration testing but will likely go to jail for hacking).

It won't tell you if their code is stable, efficient, well documented, scalable and you can't even tell what language the server side components were written in. What is the point of asking a java or php developer for a URL? There isn't one.

So as not to be a complete ranting troll, I will offer a suggestion as to how you can really evaluate potential developers. The best way is to have them questioned by someone who knows what they are talking about to evaluate their technical skills. You should also evaluate their work ethic and reliability by requesting (and actually following up) reference. This does not have to be always references for related jobs since you want to find out from some source if the person is reliable, committed and won't flake out on you after 3 weeks so that you have to start all over. If you don't have any way to evaluate their technical skills then ask for references for technical jobs so that you can get a 3rd opinion.

Finally, PLEASE - have realistic expectations. Don't expect someone to make a site similar to facebook by next Wednesday for $300. If you get 6 responses for your project and all of them quote you $3000 for some project and one guy quotes you $750 than DO NOT Go with that guy. The cost savings will mean that basically you are going to pay $750 for something that doesn't work and will be unusable by future developers you will eventually hire after he doesn't call you back for 7 weeks.

Amen, brother. Amen.

friday funnies

2009-10-23T07:39:00.001-07:00

Last night, after watching this talk between Douglas Rushkoff and Daniel Pinchbeck, I attempted to sketch out a future blog post discussing potential ways for spiritually-minded people to engage others without sounding like complete fucking hippies. Or, how does one discuss the entheogenic experience--an ordeal that most often completely transcends linguistic descriptions--without sounding like a Coloradan new age book shop employee? I'm still working out the details, but the prognosis looks negative. To wit, the following craigslist post. Enjoy:

DC-area jam band seeks patchouli-smelling, technically-proficient individual to tape its live shows and post them to archive.org.

we've got a digital recording device you can use, and for the last year we've been slicing up our recordings in audacity and posting them to archive.org. we would really like to outsource this work to (or supplement it with) somebody who can name at least 10 instrumental originals by the dead, phish, string cheese or a similar band whose name i'm way too high to remember right now.

we play 1-4 shows per month: mostly bars and clubs, but would be willing to play cornfields and other outdoors venues if candidate requires overnight stay for "a more authentic experience" or whatever.

if you're too much of a sell-out to not just do it for the music, we might be able to pay you depending on your resume and how many tie-dyed articles of clothing you can confirm owning -- that is, if you believe in material ownership in the first place (if you're not, we're cool with that, too).

rock on,

local jam band

where's waldo?

2009-09-12T09:57:00.000-07:00

i've lost count, but i've sent out at least 42 copies of my resume over the last month. i've heard back from exactly three people. now, i realize my resume is nothing to write home about, but a seven percent rate of return? ridiculous.

while thinking of unique ways to fallaciously pad said resume, i got to thinking of the prevalence of the middle finger in my facebook profile picture. sure enough--i google my name, and wham! the big fuck you.

i suppose the straightforward solution would be to change my facebook picture to something a little more congenial. but, given the pride i take in bird throwing, that really didn't sit well with me.

so the next step was google. or, more to the point, why the hell is my facebook profile showing up in google results? basically, google works by crawling the web, going from webpage to webpage, following all the links on any given page. by following link after link after link, google constructs its view of the internets. it keeps an indexed record of the contents of every page it lands on, and through this mechanism it is able to serve your search results. but a page like facebook is a little different; google can't just start at facebook.com and crawl its way to every profile page. profile pages are not linked back to a central locus; therefore, for a profile page to show up in google search results, facebook must be proactively publishing user profile pages so that google can easily index them.

after a little digging, i discovered that this is exactly what is happening. from your facebook home page, go to "settings" --> "privacy settings" --> "search". at the bottom of this page there is an option to create a public search listing for your profile. deselect this shit.

without going into a winded privacy diatribe, it's pretty shady of facebook to enable this option by default. privacy options should default to the most restrictive, not the other way around. it would do the engineers at facebook well to review their CS1 course notes; apparently they've forgotten about the principle of least privilege.

anyways, my profile picture does not currently feature my middle finger, but you wouldn't be able to figure that out via google.

real before everything

2009-08-31T21:21:00.000-07:00

(following drew's lead, i've abandoned capitalization. potential exceptions for Proper Nouns and camelCase)

in the beginning, after all, were the words, and they came with a tune. that was how the world was made, how the void was divided, how the lands and the stars and the dreams and the little gods and the animals, how all of them came into the world.

they were sung.

the great beasts were sung into existence, after the singer had done with the planets and the hills and the trees and the oceans and the lesser beasts. the cliffs that bound existence were sung, and the hunting grounds, and the dark.

songs remain. they last. the right song can turn an emperor into a laughingstock, can bring down dynasties. a song can last long after the events and the people in it are dust and dreams and gone. that's the power of songs.

there are other things you can do with songs. they do not only make worlds or recreate existence. fat charlie nancy's father, for example, was simply using them to have what he hoped and expected would be a marvelous night out.

- neil gaiman, "anansi boys"

so i'm presently living with johnny la in dc, enjoying life and doing my best to wrap my country head around the city life. save for the hours i spend looking for freelance software development gigs, it's just tops. (sidenote: if you are a straight male, craigslist has little to offer you. skip it. however, if you are a female of any stripe, craigslist can afford you the opportunity to never work another day in your life) on sunday i was paid to teach a masseur how to use pro tools and ableton live. i guess craigslist worked.

when i first got here, john was playing a lot of chris garneau. it was tolerable until i found out that chris was a dude. really, though, it was just really depressing music. it was a bit of a blessing, admittedly; given the litany of saddish music i've been coming back to in the last month, mr. garneau was the straw that broke my back.

i've since insisted upon a strict no-bummer-music policy in the apartment. draconian, perhaps, but it should be remembered that remembering a song can often get in the way of forgetting something that might best be forgotten. but frightened rabbit does get played from time to time.

songs i'm glad to be hanging out with:
"astral weeks" - van morrison
"graceland" (as in the whole album) - paul simon
"vogt dig for kloppervok" - the books
"luckiest man" - the wood brothers
"if work permits" - the format
"priority" - mos def

songs i'll meet again, another day:
"the blind leaving the blind: 1st and 2nd movements" - punch brothers
"i was only going out" - loney, dear
"suite: judy blue eyes" - crosby, stills and nash
"lack of height" - caroline smith & the good night sleeps
"i feel it all" - feist

equanimity

2009-08-26T11:22:00.000-07:00

I'm still working out the specific details, but I'm fairly certain the key to life is hidden somewhere in the intersection of these two quotes:

"Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."
- John Lennon

"Enjoy your worries, you may never have them again."
- The Books

The simplest of truths are often the easiest to forget.

the rise of the hedonistas

2009-07-25T15:51:00.001-07:00

From time to time in life, I experience something that restores my faith in the human race, if at least temporarily. Situations in which it seems possible--just maybe--that humanity might not be the long march towards entropy that Nickelback's popularity might suggest. This happened last year at RAGBRAI; it happened again this year.

To wit, Wednesday's leisurely 44 mile ride from Indianola to Chariton. About 2/3 of the way in, we happened past an unassuming farm pond that was slowly accumulating riders. We pulled off, stripped down, and jumped in. The water was cold, murky, and smelled of clay and cow shit. It was perfect.

Some tossed around a nerf football, others practiced their deep-water treading, the majority practiced the time-honored tradition of diving-board one-up-manship. For forty minutes under the hot Iowa sun, we were all eight year olds at the local swimming pool, blithely savoring the taste of life without concern for the number of calories.

This is what RAGBRAI is all about. Enjoying the ride more than the destination. We've already got a Slow Food movement; RAGBRAI is a clarion call for the Slow Life movement. I declare myself a member.

Moderate SafeSearch is off

2009-04-20T13:47:00.001-07:00

Note to self: when working on a flyer design at the coffee shop, be careful about doing a google image search for "swallow".

(new) noise

2009-04-07T13:35:00.000-07:00

full disclosure: this is a cross-post from the western front blog...

I'd half-forgotten one of my all-time favorite youtube vids, but I happened to think of it the other night; this live performance of "New Noise" by Refused just floors me every time I watch it:

While watching, I noticed the link over on the side to a cover of the song by some band called Crazy Town; I didn't know who Crazy Town was, but I had a vague notion of them as being a band that would play OzzFest (which, by my admittedly stereotyping logic, gave them a 90% chance of being as-bad-as/worse-than Nickelback). Skeptical, I checked it out:

While watching, I found myself experiencing some strange amalgamation of anger/horror/disgust/sorrow. I think it was mostly sorrow; I felt bad for every kid that had ever heard this pathetic caricature of a monumentally important song (maybe I'm going out on a limb here, but I submit that Refused's "The Shape of Punk to Come" presaged later punk/hardcore music in many of the same ways as Ornette Coleman's "The Shape of Jazz to Come" would influence the avant-garde/free-jazz movement). Reading some of the user comments restored my faith, though; it seemed just about every comment was negative.

I think what disturbed me most about the Crazy Town cover was the manner in which the raw energy of the original had been co-opted and distorted into some sort of steroid-fueled locker room aggression. The rhetorical question "Can I scream" was no longer a statement of rebellion--a rejection of "ugly actions" and "bad paintings"--but one of blind rage. I suppose it's this delicate dichotomy that bothers me about contemporary hard-rock/metal. It would be short-sighted to deny that the energy and aggression of punk music never flows from the fount of rage; however, I think that punk/hardcore is more adept at bridling and directing this anger--it is able to give it a name and a direction (in this instance, the targets of institution and complacency). Popular metal, on the other hand, seems perfectly content to conjure this primal energy and allow it to flow where it may. To perform this magical act in the presence of a crowd full of young men and not give it a positive outlet is sheer recklessness.

Of course, the definition of "positive outlet" is a highly contentious proposition. But that's another post altogether...

fuck the police

2009-03-18T10:19:00.000-07:00

Joe and I had just left Donnelly's--immersed in the ped-mall and all of its St. Patrick's day glory. Bound for the Mill, we rolled the 15 yards to the street. He intercepted our path like a troll guarding a bridge; one of Iowa City's "finest" was incensed that we were rolling on his sidewalk (his words, not mine).

"Now, do you know why I stopped you?"

No, but I have a feeling you're going to tell us...

"Look, I really don't care that you're on the sidewalk--that doesn't bother me, but look, there are all these drunk people around, and if you're not careful, BAM! you just ran over some meathead's girlfriend's toe, and then there's gonna be a fight. I just don't want you guys to get your ass kicked."

Thanks asshole, for looking out for us poor, weak cyclists. Thank you for protecting us skinny effeminate nancies from the hordes of drunken Todds. I feel so stupid; here I was, thinking you were breaking our balls because we somehow transgressed your turf or inadvertantly challenged your authority. Here you are, protecting us!

Jerk-off.

the you tube

2009-03-02T19:38:00.000-08:00

Unlike many of the recently disappointed, my personal honeymoon with president Obama ended quite a bit sooner; my dreamy vision of him melted away with his support for FISA legislation. Of course, he really didn't have much of a choice in the matter; it was--politically speaking--his only option. Regardless, it was a disappointing day.

My hope had just a bit of its shine restored after reading about the Obama presidency's decision (after much criticism) to ditch Youtube as Obama's online vehicle of choice. Admittedly, this was an issue that probably would never have occurred to me, but I was fortunate to stumble upon this great article from Chris Soghoian. Mr. Soghoian lays out an excellent argument detailing the privacy concerns implicit in the president using Youtube to deliver his addresses. I got really worked up about the article for a while, telling all my friends about it. This was usually met with blank stares that landed somewhere between "what the fuck are you talking about" and "do something better with your time". Then I would log in to my Google Analytics account and give them a crash course in all the spooky shit you can learn about a person that visits your webpage. If I was lucky, their initial apathy changed (if at least a little) to concern.

The helicopter I have now seems perfectly adequate to me. Of course, I've never had a helicopter before. - President Obama

What excites me about this move is that it is the first time in my life that the president listened to his constituency. Holy. Shit. People complained about something the president did, and he rectified the situation. Of course, in a perfect world, this would go without saying. But, my friends, we do not live in a perfect world; we live in a world where cops beat 15 year old girls and Nickelback sells tickets. So, in lieu of utopia, I'll take this as a start. Just last week, under fire from John McCain, it seemed as if Obama was willing to consider canceling the upgrades to the White House helicopter fleet. Political posturing or not, it seems that this presidency is willing to admit (or at least quietly accept) that it isn't, as a matter of course, always right. That decisions can be changed in light of new information. If previous administrations had been willing to admit their own fallibility, we might not still be sacrificing our soldiers to the god of war in Iraq.

(quasi) Weekly guru.com WTF

2008-12-19T10:21:00.000-08:00

I think I missed a post last Friday, but hopefully today's will more than make up for it. I know I'm probably being insensitive to the sexual proclivities of others, but hey, if we can't exploit insensitivity and misunderstanding in the name of humor, what are we doing here?

Project title: Domestic Discipline / Fetish Software
Description:
Need software programmer to create integrative domestic discipline software for couples engaged in domestic discipline / spanking / etc. Windows based. Should include the following features -

"Punishment Book" for recording misbehavior and punishment

"Punishment Calculator": spanker inputs data about the misdeed, program calculates appropriate punishment

"TIme Keeper": spankee's schedule of personal and professional tasks for the day, week, month - including *when* the task should be done, and *what* will happen if it is not done by deadline.

"Money Matters": spankers and/or spankee determine and keep spankee's budget.

"Health and Fitness": health, diet, and excersise program personalized for the spankee. Input meals, exercise routine, etc.

The software, as I envision it, provides a way for spanker to regulate, control, and "check" spankee's daily activities, and for both parties to reflect upon the process.

It should be fun, sexy, and easy to use.

Fun, sexy, and easy to use. Ooooooweeee! What more could you ask for? I like that it needs to be a Windows app, as if anyone using Linux participates in S/M activities (or sex in general, for that matter). I really get a kick out of the "Time Keeper" functionality. Here we shift paradigms from simple techno-sex-toy to complete-marriage-management-tool. I love it: "*what* will happen if it is not done". Cue the dramatic music...Have a wife that's not doing the dishes? Slap her! It's ok! The Spanking Software told you to! Ladies, have a man that just won't get off his ass to mow the lawn? Pinch his nipples and squeeze his balls! It's fine! The Spanking Software told you to! This software is going to revolutionize marriage forever!

Weekly? guru.com WTF

2008-12-05T13:31:00.000-08:00

So hopefully this will become a regular thing--my quasi-weekly guru.com WTF. I'm a member of this site, guru.com, that matches freelance professionals with employers needing work done. I use it--with various levels of success--in an effort to completely remove myself from the physical working world. I get daily email notifications of job posts. Most are run-of-the-mill "i need a webpage to sell stupid shit that no one wants anyway" type requests, but there are also some real gems that cause me to become that creepy laughing guy in the corner of the JavaHouse. So here we go:

Category: Programming / Software / Database Development
Description:

Hello,

My name is REDACTED . I am looking for a company that can create a tool that can completely remove all porn and adult websites from my link directory .

Please submit your price quote .

thank you ,

REDACTED

Here's my bid; and it's free, to boot! Stop looking at porn at work! Don't get me wrong, I dig electronic smut as much as the next overly-libidinous male, but there's a time and a place, my friend.

Jingle Jingle

2008-12-03T16:43:00.000-08:00

This weekend was a grand ol' time. John and Bonkosi were in town for Thanksgiving/Jingle Cross. On Friday, we met for a few (too many) drinks at The Mill by way of Quinton's by way of the Dublin. We ran into Old Steve on the Ped Mall, which always adds an element of randomness to the evening (a Very Good Thing).

Saturday came bright and early, in preparation for Jingle Cross 2008. John, Joe and I raced the Cat 4 race, which started at 9:45. We had breakfast at Lou Henri and made our way to the Johnson County Fairgrounds. After a quick practice lap, we lined up and began our 35 minutes of hell. I discriminate fairly regularly against runners (running is for suckers), and I think the gods of running stuck it to me pretty bad. A little bit more aerobic stamina would have been good.

The amount of preparation I put in was precisely zero. Thus, I was a little nervous approaching my first barrier. I'd read over and over the correct dismount procedure, and I still managed to fuck it up. Coming up to my dismount point, I clipped out of my left pedal. Shit. Needless to say, it was ugly. I almost went down remounting, but I managed to pull it off (bruised ego in tow).

In the end, I placed 32 in a field of 57. My two goals--not crashing and finishing--were accomplished. A good time was had by all.

I sat Sunday out, in favor of hot cider and whiskey. It was an absolute blast to watch the races; it was snowing, so the course turned to pure mud. It was pretty comical. The highlight of the day was the descent from Mount Krumpit, which was basically a big mudslide. Joe was lucky to have his camera rolling for the sweetest crash of the day:

Geoff of Geoff's Bike and Ski definitely took the prize for gnarliest crash. And with a smile on his face the whole time. Pretty rad.

Pride.

2008-11-05T10:29:00.001-08:00

It's funny what being on a boat in foreign waters will do to your sense of patriotism. Or, in my case, how it can fill a once-vacant sense of patriotism. I'm not ashamed to say that, for the last eight years, I have had very little love for my country. Dubya--or more to the point, his fear-mongering--shattered any fleeting notions of my American Dream. The line between patriotism and jingoism became dangerously blurred. But being out there on the water, looking up and seeing that flag was reassuring. I can't explain it, but it made me feel a little bit more proud to have come from the U.S. Regardless of how fucked up it was.

"The true strength of our nation comes not from our the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope."
- Barack Obama

What I felt out there, bobbing around in the Caribbean, pales in comparison to what I felt last night, listening to President-Elect Obama's victory speech. Watching the faces in Grant Park, I felt a restored sense of pride and hope for our country. To participate in the election of the first African-American president of the United States...damn. Amazing.

I've been alive through four presidencies: Reagan, Bush Sr., Clinton, and Bush Jr. I've always wondered what it was like to have a president worthy of respect. A president whom I would shake hands with. A president worthy of the title. As far as I could tell, that hope died in 1963. I'm proud to be alive in 2008.

A Sunday in Heaven

2008-07-27T18:53:00.000-07:00

I'm back from RAGBRAI XXXVI. It was an amazing time. I learned a lot over the course of the week, and I'd like to share some insights with you:

It's harder than you'd think to get drunk when you're pedaling 70-80 miles a day. On Day One, I started drinking at the first pass-through town. I continued to drink at the second town. At the third town, after inhaling a vodka-lemonade, I started to wonder why I wasn't even buzzed. You burn a lot of energy--and apparently, alchohol--while riding.

A 24 ounce can of beer fits perfectly in a bottle cage. Necessity, as they say, is the mother of invention. The moment I figured this one out was one of those sublime lightbulb-over-the-head moments. I mean, how perfect: Gatorade in one cage, Speedweiser in the other. This helped mitigate the problem of between-town sobering. Drink at the towns. Drink on the road. I think next year I'll switch to vodka-Gatorade.

With all this drinking, it's important to stop for safety checks. As you roll past local cemeteries, you will see a group of people gathered in a loose circle under a nice shade tree. Make friends with these people. Do as they do. Puff as they puff. Pass as they pass.

Eat more. Do you know how much food you have to consume in order to not feel like complete shit around mile 50? I didn't. My two-meals-a-day routine fell flat on its face (as did I). Every booster club, scout troop, and firehouse in town spends a lot of time preparing a lot of food. Buy some of it.

RAGBRAI is not for vegetarians. I do not often question my vegetarianism; it comes as naturally as sleeping or sex. Holy shit was I tested this week, though. Pork chops. Pork loins. Pulled pork. Brats. Grilled chicken. Gyros. Hamburgers. Sausage breakfast burritos. Every direction I turned, someone wanted to sell me the best-smelling meat I'd ever experienced. Instead, I had to politely tell them No Thanks and spend the next 15 minutes trying to find the local Casey's to buy a slice of cheese pizza. Gnarly. God bless those Seventh Day Adventists selling vegetarian sloppy joes in North Liberty.

RAGBRAI is not the sex-fest that I was led to believe. After hearing stories of people shagging on pool tables in the middle of a crowded bar, I'd developed a certain mental image of RAGBRAI sexuality. I don't know if it was being at least ten years younger than the majority of the crowd, but I did not encounter any opportunities for billiard-table banging. The raciest thing I experienced was hearing the dude in the tent next to me climaxing. Neat.

Showering at the local swimming pool is a mixed bag. After 80 miles in cornfield humidity, $5 for a shower is not too much to pay. And gosh is soaking in the pool refreshing after a long ride. You will, however, be confronted, quite suddenly, by a room full of naked men. I haven't seen that much bush since the locker room post high school wrestling practice. I mean, it was bad. You've been warned.

Set your tent up on the west side of the nearest large object. Bus, van, tree--whatever. This will buy you at least three more hours of quality sleep before the sun turns your tent into a greenhouse. This is assuming that you're not one of those roll-out-at-6:00 tools.

Roll out before 11:00. While I see no need to leave at the ass-crack of dawn, it does pay to get out somewhere in the vicinity of 10:00. Otherwise you'll have problems getting food and (mucho importante) beer at the stops. You see, the state patrol dicks start coming in and shutting down the bars at a certain time, in an effort to broom the drunken stragglers through to the next town. Stay ahead of the man.

The paceline is your friend. Sure, you might get called a Wheel Suck, but you just got pulled halfway across the day's route, so fuck it. And there really is nothing greater than a being in a peloton of thirty some riders hammering down the left lane of an Iowa highway. You know you're going fast when you don't have to use your brakes to slow down--you just sit up a little straighter and let the wind do the work. I was fortunate to get behind the fastest team on RAGBRAI a couple times. Sure, I blew up my right knee big-ringing it, but I actually got into town before 6:00 on those days.

Iowa is hillier than you remember. Like, seriously. There are some monster hills in this state. On the worst day we had something like 5200 feet of climb. For those of you keeping score, that's damned near a mile. Train accordingly. Or make sure you've got a good granny gear.

Forget the garbage bag poncho. You're going to get wet regardless. At least you can not look like a douche bag while doing it.

Aluminum conducts electricity too. This may be a bit of an oddball, but I dedicate it to the lady who yelled at me for riding too close to her baby trailer in a thunderstorm. Concerned that my steel frame was somehow increasing the odds of a local lightning strike, Professor Mom somehow overlooked the fact that her baby was riding around in a metal cage. And that she was dragging her baby around in a fucking thunderstorm.

Ride RAGBRAI. This is the most important thing I could possibly say. Ride RAGBRAI. It's one of the most beautiful, rewarding things you could do with a week in July. I'll see you next year.

Bandit Riders

2008-07-18T19:22:00.001-07:00

For those of you keeping score (and I do hope this number is dwindling), petroleum prices are fucking ridiculous. In the last month, the band paid anywhere between $4.50 and $5.03 for a gallon of diesel fuel (the $4.50 was on an Indian reservation in NY). As a result of big oil's "responsibility" to its shareholders, tour has been cut short. Thank you, you corporate darlings.

The upside to this, though, is that we're now able to ride RAGBRAI. We leave tomorrow for Missouri Valley, IA. God willing, come Sunday, we'll be dipping our tires in the Missouri River.

We are not physically prepared for this ride. I've been living in a van for the last month point five, and I was not planning on a ride of this scope. In a last ditch attempt to not die on RAGBRAI, I've been putting in some miles this week. Holyshit did I fall apart on my first long ride. I suppose it was silly of me to begin my "training regiment" in one of the hilliest parts of the state, but hey, you take what you can get. I was rolling on a saddle I bought from John for a six pack of Boulevard; it was a great deal, I must admit, but I couldn't really feel my ass afterwards. I've since switched to a Vetta saddle that my sit-bones are much happier with. We'll see how it performs this week.

Physical-fitness aside, I'm really excited for the ride. I tell people I'm going on RAGBRAI, and the responses range from: "Did you get in your 500 miles?" to "Don't drink too much" to "Bring lots of condoms."

Oh, Iowa, how I love thee.

Taxonomy

2008-06-17T10:12:00.000-07:00

I'm currently in a coffee shop in the Elmwood Village in Buffalo, NY. The band is currently overstaying its welcome at our friend Bobby's house.

I love this town. Timothy Leary once remarked that the "space you occupy defines the time you're living in." While I don't know if I feel like I'm living in a different era, the space I'm occupying is definitely shaping my perceptions. To use another Leary term, my "reality tunnel" has been shifted.

People often ask me why I like to travel so much, or how I can stand to live in a van for three months at a time. It is precisely this shift in perception that spurs me do it. I forget the exact percentage, but our brain discards a large percentage of the signals that are sent to it. This is an evolutionary advantage; it behooved primitive man to ignore all the pretty little flowers and allocate more of his attention span to the large tiger in front of him. Luckily for me, I don't have to worry about saber-toothed cats, so I can devote a little more processing power to the "unimportant" things.

Tigers or not, however, my brain still manages to throw away much of what I "see". How much attention to I pay to the trees I pass every day on my way to campus? How often do I really look at the details in the buildings I see daily? We are pattern-matching animals, and we are exceedingly good at it. As soon as I have a word--a name--for something, I will never perceive that thing in the same way again. No longer do I see the historic brick building with interesting paint on the side and a unique wrought-iron fence covered in lush ivy that is beginning to encroach on the antique leaded windows that have seen a few too many years. Instead, minimizing what it has to devote attention to, my brain sees the building, matches it against a stored memory, and BAM! I see The Old Factory.

Thus, I find travel very interesting; no pre-existing symbols for my lazy mind to fall back on--I'm seeing it all with fresh eyes.

What I love so much about Buffalo is how much it reminds me of Iowa City. It gives me perspective; many of the things that I enjoy about Buffalo, upon further contemplation, are very similar in IC. Every time I return to IC after a summer of traveling, I see things in a new way. For a month or two, it's almost like I'm in a new city. Of course, I'm just paying more attention to everything I've previously taken for granted. Inevitably, though, I slip back into the routine of daily life, and my perceptions begin to atrophy. What I'm really interested in is finding a way to keep things new--to see everything with new eyes.

we are all a target demographic.

2008-03-20T20:37:00.000-07:00

I. Beginnings.

I think it started in fourth grade--brand awareness. Wanting to look cool. Wanting to fit in. Wanting to attract Sarah. Yes, as with most things in my life, it was sex that ultimately motivated me. No longer did the sweet purple tie-dye shirt that my mom bought me suffice. I was moving on to bigger and better things. I wanted Calvin Klein. I wanted Jordache. I wanted the holy grail: Nike. Just Do It, indeed. I heard a chorus of angels every time I saw it. Instant synesthesia--a white swoop or Handel's Hallelujah, it was all the same to me. Oh, that white swoop. It was burned into my mind's eye. But what was it about that curvilinear little checkmark that captured me so? What did that nimble little symbol represent? I certainly didn't care at the time; I just wanted it. It would help me attain my goal.

II. Beginnings of a Revolution.

For Pro-Ams, leisure is not passive consumerism but active and participatory, it involves the deployment of publicly accredited knowledge and skills, often built up over a long career, which has involved sacrifices and frustrations.
The 20th century witnessed the rise of professionals in medicine, science, education, and politics. In one field after another, amateurs and their ramshackle organisations were driven out by people who knew what they were doing and had certificates to prove it.
The Pro-Am Revolution argues this historic shift is reversing. We're witnessing the flowering of Pro-Am, bottom-up self-organisation and the crude, all or nothing, categories of professional or amateur will need to be rethought.

I first heard the term pro-am last fall, in this article. The executive summary of the paper goes like this: our culture is entering a new paradigm in which specialized fields are no longer dominated by trained professionals, but by enthusiastic amateurs with a true passion for what they do. Instead of downloading the latest Oakenfold remix--illegally--I can now log onto ccMixter and download the latest Grime remix from some kid in the UK. TV writer's strike? Fuck it. I've got AtomFilms. Armed with a sub-$1000 dollar video camera and a copy of the DV Rebel's Guide, amateurs are writing and directing short films that often exceed the quality of any network television. We are witnessing a shift; we, as a culture, are migrating from a top-down to a bottom-up model. Rather than a culture of media-consumers we are increasingly becoming a culture of media-producers. The internet is bringing each of us closer to Warhol's fifteen minutes than he could have ever imagined.

How is this happening? What is contributing to the rise of the amateur? While we could debate various and sundry societal factors that have catalyzed this change, I think the easiest answer is the Internet. With instant information recall, amateurs have access to what have until recently been guarded secrets. What was once handed down from teacher to apprentice is now handed down from Google to you. Of course, you can read any trade rag and listen to the old-timers complain about the dilution of knowledge, but those guys will soon be irrelevant. The connectedness and immediacy afforded by the Internet is giving anyone--and everyone--the tools to produce professional results.

III. The Right Tool.

I was struggling to get the bottom bracket out of an old French bike I bought the other day. The first step in this process is removing the crank (which requires a crank puller). Not having a crank puller, I punted; I grabbed a three-jaw puller normally used to remove engine pulleys. No dice. Over the next hour I tried all sorts of other kludges that are too embarrassing to note, but the end result was a bicycle with both cranks still attached. The next day I went to my Local Bike Shop and they had the cranks off in thirty seconds. The Right Tool.

As a musician who fancies himself a pro-am, I spend a lot of time thinking about the right tool for the job--what new device will enable me to realize my ideas? The right keyboard. The right control surface. The right audio processor. With the endless slew of products coming from the major manufacturers, it is a Sysiphean task to stay abreast of the latest technology. Where do I stop? At what point does The Tool I Have become The Right Tool? Is the newest tool the rightest (sic) tool? If it's new, it must be better, right? If tool X allowed me to accomplish N percent of my goal, then mustn't (new) tool Y allow me to accomplish at least (N + epsilon) percent of my goal?

It's an endless cycle. By design.

"Adolescence is a marketing tool." - Almost Famous

I keep asking myself if, as pro-amateurs, we are falling perfectly into the hands of Madison Avenue. Are we part of a historical movement--worthy of respect--or have we become nothing but another marketing category? Moreover, if we are nothing but another vector towards higher quarterly earnings, I fear we have become one of the most gullible demographics of all.

We know what we're talking about.

We are educated. We are informed.

We can't be fooled by mere marketing drivel. We see past that.

Bullshit.

We see precisely as far as the newest advertisement--tailor made to appeal to our "informed" outlook--allows us.

Maybe conservatism isn't always bad...

2008-03-06T12:13:00.000-08:00

Professors Robert Dewar and Edmond Schonberg recently published an article lamenting the current state of Computer Science education. Particular attention/derision was devoted to the growing use of Java as an educational language. The authors contend that Java is inappropriate as a first programming language, and argue that the result of this trend is a growing number of undereducated graduates. Being an anti-Javite of fluctuating fervor, the article resonated strongly with me. I've been cooped up in this ivory tower for about seven years now, and in that time, one of the most elusive mysteries has been the rise of Java. Like, seriously, I don't get it. I see more and more people using it. I hear more and more people talking about it. The breaking point was when a professor--presenting some algorithm that I've since forgotten--gave code samples in Java. What. The. Fuck.

Say what you will about C, but the fact remains that to be good at C, you've got to have your shit together. You have to understand memory management. You have to understand pointers. In short, you have to understand how a computer actually works. Let's face it; C is the de facto standard language--for better or worse, it is our lingua franca.

"Science proceeds one funeral at a time" - Max Planck

I've been thinking about this article, and the ramifications that it suggests. Where will we be in thirty or forty years when all the old school programmers are gone? When the new crop of Java disciples are calling the shots? Will the Gospel according to Kernighan and Ritchie survive? Will it be passed down in shadowed ceremonies, uttered only to the chosen few? Or will the Java trend fade away and die an unremarkable death. Something tells me that isn't going to happen.

DIY: How to Build a Kick Drum

2008-02-17T16:58:00.001-08:00

Introduction

A kick drum is round. A kick drum has two heads. A kick drum is usually made out of wood. A kick drum is struck with a foot-operated beater.

You have now amassed the same drum knowledge that I had before starting this project. I tell you this for two reasons. First: no whining about not knowing anything about drums. Second: I am completely unqualified to write a tutorial in drum building. I'm sure an experienced builder would laugh/cry/swear at many of things I will say. However, I'm a student of the New Jersey school. Worse is better.

I've been in need of a good kick drum for a while, and since I'm a broke college student, my choices were quite limited. Certainly not an Orange County or Spaun (upwards of a grand). So I did what I usually do when I find out that something I want/need is too expensive--figured out if I could build it myself for less. It turned out that I could--quite a bit less, actually. Excluding the shitty Tama pedal I bought, this drum cost about $360. And since I used the same shells that most of the custom shops all use (Keller), I have a drum that is on par with the best. Well, minus the plaid/polka-dot/whatever-crazy- pattern-you-can-imagine wrap. But I just wanted matte black, so that's fine.

So, where to start? First off, let's talk about the structure of a drum. In the most simplistic of terms, what is a drum? Let's start with this simple definition: a drum is a tensioned membrane attached to a resonant cavity. You hit the membrane, and the resonant cavity--well, it resonates. That's it. That's a drum. Sometimes you add a second membrane on the opposite side of the resonant cavity to help control the resonance of the drum. But that doesn't really change our simple definition.

So our first problem is clear: how do we attach the membrane (the head) to the resonant cavity (the shell)? Before I answer that question, let me pose an additional question: how do we tension the head? Both questions have the same answer: with rims (or hoops). The hoop comes down on top of the head and is pulled towards the shell to put tension on the head. Which brings us to our next question: how do we pull the hoop towards the shell? Well, we attach lugs to the shell, into which we insert threaded tension rods; these tension rods are then attached to the hoop. An illustration, hopefully, will make this all clear:

Note that this illustration--besides being horrifically not to scale--is specific to a kick drum; with a snare or a tom, the hoop is different, and no claw is used. So it goes like this: the head is laid down on top of the shell; the hoop is inserted on top of the head; and the tension rod is inserted through the claw, and then threaded into the lug (which is bolted to the shell). There are usually 8 or 10 lugs per side, laid out concentrically. I couldn't find any references describing if 8 or 10 was better, but I like the look of 10, so that's what I did.

That's it. That's a kick drum. The only remaining pieces of hardware are the spurs, which are the little feet that extend down to hold the drum upright on the floor. Pretty simple, huh? Let's be clear; this is not rocket science.

Parts Planning
or
The Shitty Part

Ok, we now know how a drum works, and how it is constructed. The next part is ordering parts. This really drives me up the wall. Nothing pisses me off worse than planning an order, placing the order, and then realizing I forgot something. This stage of a project often overshadows all others, time-wise.

Let's make a checklist of what we need:

1 x drum shell
2 x hoops
2 x spurs
20 x lugs
20 x tension rods
20 x claws

and the stuff I didn't tell you about yet:

40 x lug screws (attaches the lugs to the shell)
40 x lug bolt washers
20 x lug gaskets (a soft pad between the shell and the lug)
2 x spur gaskets (ditto)

That's everything.

First, we need to make a decision about the shell. Size. How big should it be? I'll let you spend ten hours browsing usenet discussions on shell sizes...ok...done? Good. I chose a 16 x 20 (that's depth x diameter). I didn't want a huge Bonham-esque boom, and I read that 16x20 gave a nice, punchy sound. Having chosen a size, you need to choose a shell material. Most non-recording kits are made of maple, so that's how I went. If you were building a solely-to-be-used-for-recording kit, you might go with birch. Next, number of plies. The number of plies determines the rigidity of the shell, and hence, its resonance characteristics. This is sort of a non-issue for a kick drum, as I was only able to find 8-ply kick drum shells from Keller. If it were a tom, you could choose between 6 or 8-ply, and for a snare, you can choose between 6, 8, or 10-ply.

The only other thing to be concerned about with the shell is the bearing edge. The bearing edge is the surface where the head actually touches the shell. You can imagine that the shape of this edge will impact the sound of the drum. The most typical appears to be a 45 degree cut (as shown in the diagram above). You can order shells with or without the bearing edge cut. I paid the extra $25 and had the edge cut for me.

Next up: hoops. This is pretty easy; just buy two hoops of the same diameter as your shell. Again, I went with maple.

Now for the hardware. You really just have to decide on a style and color that suits your aesthetic. I was going for the blacked-out look, so I went with all black hardware in a style that didn't look like it was from 1954.

Where to buy all your parts? There are a bunch of websites selling drumparts; I went with drummaker.com. They had great prices, and they shipped promptly. I recommend them.

Construction
or
What to do with all These Parts?

Now the fun part--putting it all together.

Let's establish a top-level view of what we need to do here. We've got a shell. We've got lugs. We need to mount the lugs to the shell. The lugs mount to the shell with screws We need holes in the shell for the screws to go through. Thus, our plan of procedure is:

1.) Layout holes
2.) Drill holes
3.) Mount lugs
4.) Profit. (I've only seen three South Park episodes in my life. -ed)

Ok. Step One. The Laying Out of the Holes. The first thing I did was make a shell layout mat. Like this one, only free. I started with two large sheets of paper taped to a sheet of plywood.

The first step was drawing a large horizontal line across the paper; this is the frame of reference. Next, I rekindled some elementary school memories, and I dug out a protractor, which I used this to layout the angles for the template. Assuming my math is correct, the magic angle is 360/10 = 36 degrees. (Note, if you were doing an 8 per side lug configuration, your angle would be different.) Given this angle, I aligned my protractor to the reference line and marked off four ticks at 36, 72, 108, and 142 degrees:

Leaving me with:

I then struck a line from each of the four ticks through the origin to the other side of the reference line:

giving me this:

The final step in constructing the layout mat was drawing marks indicating the shell radius. So I grabbed a tape measure and measured the precise diameter of the shell. Having done this, I measured out half that distance in each direction from the origin:

When all was said and done, I was left with this gorgeous shell layout mat:

The next step was transferring the angles on the template to the shell. Since I didn't want to get a bunch of pencil marks all over the shell, I taped it first:

Then I aligned the shell to the radius marks on the template:

Having centered the shell on the template, I was then able to transfer the marks to the shell:

I repeated this for each of the 10 lug positions:

This last picture just reminded me of something. See the seam running down the drum? If you're anal-retentive like me, you will want this seam to ultimately end up on the bottom of the drum, where no one will see it and think poorly of your craftsmanship. Take this into account when you first align the shell to the template. But I digress.

Having transferred all the marks, I then struck lines perpendicular to the front face of the shell. This, however, required more tape:

Using my trusty framing square, I extended the tick marks:

Extend this line all the way to the other side of the shell. If your framing square isn't long enough, get a straightedge long enough to reach.

The next thing I needed to figure out was where to actually place the lugs. I couldn't really find any good information on lug placement--specifically, the distance from the front face of the shell to the lugs. So I got online and started looking at drums, to see what looked best. I don't think it's too critical, you just have to take into account the width of your hoops and the length of your tension rods. I did a test fit to see how things lined up. Here's the shell with the head and the hoop:

I then checked the fit with a claw, rod, and lug:

Each lug mounted with two bolts, spaced at 1.5". I decided on a depth of two inches to the front hole:

I repeated this step for each lug. After that, I was ready to drill. I first measured the diameter of the lug mounting post:

The post turned out to be 15/64". I consulted my drawer-o-drill-bits and came up with this guy:

This is referred to as a "spur-point" bit, in theory it should leave a nice clean hole with little tearing of the wood. Putting it to the test:

My first hole didn't turn out the best, though, as can be seen here:

Not the nicest of exit wounds. In an attempt to mitigate this tearing, I only drilled through far enough to see the spur poking through the other side of the shell:

Once I saw the bit starting to poke through, I finished the hole from the inside of the shell:

This fixed the problem. Here you can see a comparison of both methods:

To verify that I got my hole spacing correct, I did a test fit with one of the lugs:

It fit pretty well. Not too tight, not too loose. Satisfied with everything, I drilled holes for the rest of the lugs:

Neat. All I had left were the spurs. I tormented myself for quite some time (by which I mean more than five minutes but less than thirty minutes) trying to decide where to mount the spurs. I surfed the Internets for a little while trying to see what others did, and the consensus--for 10-lug configurations--was to mount the spur just below the "90 degree lugs". That probably doesn't make sense; here's a picture:

The folks at drumfoundry.com are kind enough to provide a drilling template for the spurs. I'm not sure what I would have done without this. I would probably have a drum that sits crooked on the floor. Here's the template:

You tape it to the shell and transfer the holes. Pretty easy. The first step was mounting it to the shell:

Just make sure that the horizontal lines are parallel with the front face of the shell, and adjust to your desired depth. After positioning the template to my satisfaction, I marked the holes with a punch:

after which I drilled the holes:

A quick test mount showed that everything fit:

I know that I mentioned a spur gasket on the parts list earlier, but now I can't remember if they even sell those. Regardless, I didn't have one, so I had to make my own. A trip to the auto parts store produced a roll of gasket material. I traced around the spur, producing this:

after which I cut it out:

But how do I know where to drill the holes? Ummm...thinking...uhhh...then I remembered the paint marker I had. So I glopped a bunch of paint on the spur:

and transferred the marks to the gasket:

I cut the holes out of the gaskets and mounted the spurs:

And voila! a drum:

Pretty simple, right? It sounds great, and I'm really happy with the shell size I chose. I have a friend who works at a cabinet shop, he finished it for me with a stain called "satin". It's matte black, but it lets the grain show through. Nice.

Hammers and Nails

2008-02-07T09:49:00.000-08:00

A standard component in most undergraduate computer science programs is a semester course in programming language concepts. Now, I'm not a computer science major, but I did take the class last semester, and I really enjoyed it. I knew I was going to love the course when, on the first day, the professor's intro slide referenced the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis. You should take a few minutes to check out the Wikipedia link, but the CliffsNotes version is this: the language you use to communicate directly influences your conception of the world. A standard example of this hypothesis is illustrated by the language used by the amazonian Pirahã tribe; they do not count with numerals. They have no words for numbers, so--the theory goes--they cannot perceive numbers. Confronted with a pile of four pebbles and a pile of five pebbles, the Pirahã do not comprehend any difference. Of course, this is all just a hypothesis, but I've read enough Robert Anton Wilson, Korzybski and random buddhist texts to embrace the idea.

What in the world does this have to do with computer programming? Well, you program a computer using a programming language, right? Hmmm. Might the language you use to program the computer impact your fundamental conception of how to program the computer? Without going into nerdy details, the answer is--emphatically--yes. Stated simply, the tool you use to approach a problem directly shapes how you perceive the problem.

If all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. - Bernard Baruch

As a musician, this concept had immediate implications. Might the tools I use to create music directly shape my conception of music? Any multi-instrumentalist will immediately tell you that this is the case. Play a piano for ten minutes. Now play a guitar for ten minutes. Now play a clarinet for ten minutes. I guarantee you that you just saw the world (musically speaking) in three completely different ways.

As an electronic musician, this concept had even further implications. Might the software I use to create music directly shape the music I create? For the last 4-5 years, I've been a Pro Tools user. I loved it. It did what I wanted to do, and it did it well (besides the fairly regular crashes). In time, though, I started hearing about some new software called Ableton Live. It was supposed to be pretty revolutionary; I was reading some very positive feedback about the software. So I checked it out.

Let me say--emphatically--that it has changed my life. Live has changed the manner in which I approach the creation of new music. In Pro Tools' defense, it is very good at recording music. If you know what you want to record, and you know how you want to record it, Pro Tools is your go-to; its editing abilities are unmatched (don't take my word for it, just listen to any Top 40 radio and you'll hear the kinds of turds it can polish). But I'm more interested in creating music--in starting with a seed of an idea, and allowing myself to see where it will go. This is where Live shines. It is operating under a different paradigm than Pro Tools. Pro Tools is meant to operate like a virtual multitrack tape recorder; you hit the record button once, you play some music, and then you hit stop. Your music is laid out on the screen, left to right, in the order you recorded it. Very linear. Live, however, uses loops. You are presented with a grid of open slots, any of which can hold an arbitrary-length loop. You can layer, stack, rearrange, cut, chop, mix, dice and (insert any other verb) to your heart's content. It's very freeing. When you have something you like, you press the record button and it will record it all to a more linear form, just like Pro Tools. It's magical.

After working with Live for around a year now, I find it interesting--and useful--to go back to the Pro Tools world. Like I said, its editing capabilities are amazing. If you've ever had to comp eight vocal takes into a cohesive track, Pro Tools' playlist feature is indispensable. Try doing that in Live.

The point of all this is that the tool you use changes the way you do the job. Sometimes the job dictates the tool. Other times--and these are those important creative times--the tool dictates the job.

If a blog falls in the woods...

2008-02-05T10:40:00.000-08:00

A cursory scan of the post dates on this blog will show that I've only just recently started blogging in earnest. Digging slightly deeper will show that this blog had been around for nigh on two years without a single post. Why was that?

If I may posit a hypothesis, it's because I tend to think too much. About everything. I mean it. Everything.

We've all come across those two guys in the coffee shop, tirelessly pontificating on the most inane of subjects. The ones whose conversations play out like a glossary of terms from an Intro to French Philosophy course. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm as much a fan of post-structuralist debate as the next ego inflated academic, but these guys take self-aggrandizement to a new level.

Anyway. It seems those two clowns have taken up residence in my rationally thinking mind. "But what's the point? Nobody will read your blog." "It's so narcissistic; who do you think you are?" "Why a blog? Why can't you just write it in a journal like every other self-absorbed introvert?" Ad nauseum.

The point I am failing to make is that for two years I have allowed the peanut gallery to stop me from producing anything. Having posed a list of questions for which there are no possible right answers, I have been frozen in a state of inaction. I've recently come to accept, however, the Zen of Carmela Soprano--that "more is lost by indecision than by wrong decision."

And so here we are. Writing. Participating in this new literary paradigm that is The Blog. Publishing our personal thoughts, wrapping them up into bite-sized morsels, dropping them into the collective unconscious of the Interweb. Why? Not sure. Stopped caring. Just taking part in it.

I have an operating philosophy (what a more ontologically-rigid mind might call a belief) that everything I read (or hear, for that matter) comes to me only when I am ready to understand it. Maybe a little too Be-Here-Now-ish, but it works. Sometimes I try to force a book too soon, and it is only years later that I return to the book with a new set of eyes, finally prepared to wrap my head around the content. That being said, I wish I had stumbled upon this post by Steve Yegge a lot sooner. Mr. Yegge is a prominent voice in the computer programming community; he's a very polarizing blogger--the kind you either love or hate. In the post, he addresses--very well, I think--many of the unanswerable questions that plagued me for so long. He has brought closure to many of my reservations about blogging. If you have any interest at all in the "why" of blogging, do yourself a favor and check out Steve's post.

And then you can write about it in your own blog.

On the other hand...

2008-02-04T18:03:00.000-08:00

After yesterday's post, I thought it might be useful to add a pinch of good old fashioned cynicism. From two more of my favorite people:

"Anyone who is capable of getting themselves made President should on no account be allowed to do the job." - Douglas Adams

Richard Metzger: "If you were elected President, what's the first thing you would do?"
Robert Anton Wilson: "Resign"

Reassurance

2008-02-02T15:41:00.000-08:00

I support Barack Obama in the 2008 presidential election.

That being said, I do spend a certain amount of clock cycles wondering if I've just been caught up in a trendy candidate. Obama's approach to the young, internet-savvy generation is leaps and bounds ahead of any other candidate. The support I see for him sometimes reminds me of the hype that often accompanies new bands. Hype that is carefully orchestrated by shills.

My mind has been put slightly more at ease, however, after reading this article by Lawrence Lessig.

A disclaimer: I am an ardent Lawrence Lessig devotee. Like, big time. His views on copyright and its negative effects on creativity are the best I've read. His work with Creative Commons is inspiring. Discovering his talks on Google Video was a turning point in my life. I respect this guy. Like, big time.

In the article, Lessig discusses his support of Obama. He contrasts Obama's platform with Hillary Clinton's; calling attention to Clinton's recent opposition to free presidential debates. I was suprised to learn that Lessig actually knows Obama; his confirmation of Obama as "the real deal" is reassuring. And while I do disagree with his belief that "Barack is going to win this one easily," his hopefulness is refreshing.

Sexy.

2008-01-29T11:30:00.000-08:00

I really don't know what to say about this.

Other than Richard Stallman is my hero.

NaN

2008-01-25T17:50:00.000-08:00

I just checked the weather on the local news station's website; apparently it currently feels like NaN degrees outside. For the non-nerds reading, that's Not a Number. As in: does not compute. Welcome to Iowa. The irony of the situation is that 18 degrees is the highest we've seen in the last week; it is certainly a welcomed respite.

Despite this apparent glitch in the matrix, after 25 years in this state I feel that I've finally come to terms with the hellish abuse that is Iowa weather. Honestly, I've got no problem with the blast furnace humidity that exists from late June to early September. If you've ever hauled 600 pounds worth of amps and guitars into a windowless Phoenix coffee shop in mid-July, you know that any complaining about Iowa summers is feeble, at best. You also learn why native jungle dwellers are never wearing any clothes.

No, it's winter that has consistently deflated my balloon. This shit can really bring a soul down. I've never experienced Chinese water torture, but I imagine that it effects a similar madness as three months of Iowa winter. Apparently, the key to successful water torture is randomly timed drops. Too uniform a cadence, and it's not as effective. I think this correlates nicely with winter. It's the randomness that gets you in the end. Three days of nicer weather, and you're on top of the world. Everything is great. And then SLAM! you're inundated.

I'm getting better, though. This too shall pass. My brother has started a habit of not receiving any anesthetic before oral surgery. Some might call it masochism; he calls it learning that pain is as much an idea as it is a sensation. This outlook has informed my approach to winter. You've got to come at winter with an unflinching determination. You've got to look the motherfucker in the face and explain to it, in no uncertain terms, that it's your bitch. Suddenly, then, it doesn't feel as cold outside. Dress in layers, invest in some nice gloves and a scarf, and you'll be fine.

A gut full of Jameson doesn't hurt either.

this guy is smiling for a reason...

2008-01-23T21:06:00.000-08:00

I'm not a bike guy.

Or, rather, in the spirit of Korzybski's general semantics, I have never exhibited traits that would typically be attributed to a "bike guy".

I've always filed bike guys in in the same drawer as photographers. Great to talk to individually, but avoid groups at all costs. I suppose that's unfair; nothing is as bad as a group of photographers.

I have, however, seen the light. The bicycle light.

I blame John.

You see, John recently lent me his Gary Fisher single speed (a nice bike). I'd never ridden anything as light or as nimble. It's graceful. It's got one gear; there's no shifting. Upon seeing this, I was dumbfounded; how would I ever make it up a hill? You just do. It's a thing of beauty.

I'm not sure why John lent me the bike. It's not a disposable bike. It's not a cheap bike. It's not a bike you lend to someone as prone to alcohol-induced memory lapses as me. It was--to be sure--a generous act of faith. I can't thank him enough.

I'm not sure, but I do have my suspicions as to why he did it. I think these bike guys are on to something, and they want to share it. Like a Taoist that doesn't proselytize, but simply acts in a manner that others might emulate, I think John is spreading the Good Word in his own way.

So now I'm building my own bicycle. Like the yuppie in the picture, I'm the proud owner of a 1973 Schwinn Continental. I didn't pay a damned dime for it; some hippy left it in my backyard. It's going to be, in the inimitable words of Ms. Hilton, hot. A single speed. With a coaster brake (yes, just like you had when you were four). No brake cables to route. No shift cables to run. No derailleurs, no tensioner, no kickstand. A bare frame and two wheels. Perfect.

2006-02-20T13:38:00.000-08:00

This is a test post. We'll see what happens.