Depression always hits me this time of year. Small criticisms and failures take on looming proportions, injustice and stupidity press down. And I just want to crawl under the bedclothes and never come out again.
I don't know how many courses of study and projects I've abandoned because it's February or March and suddenly I can't cope. I know it's coming and I know it distorts my perceptions, but I've never found any way to bypass or minimize it.
So, I have some good frienships, a small que of young men who want to have pleasantly casual sex with me, a family who put up with a lot, no end of political causes to fight for, music to make and books to read. It's just that none of this will mean much in the coming weeks.
There must be a way to avoid it, or at least control it. But willpower, drugs, distraction, cruising, chocolate, and trying to find an all consuming hobby haven't worked so far.
Moozik
The university library sent me an invoice a week ago, for two books that I borrowed while in their employ. After being dumped for inconveniently succeeding when I was set up to fail, I wasn't in the mood to return them, so put them to one side to read later...and completely forgot about them.
Well, six months later, they noticed the loan on their records, and politely asked if I could either return the books or pay replacement costs - £15 each for volumes 1 and 2 of Introduction to Music Theory by Eric Taylor.
Seeing as it's an out-of-print standard work, and they have 5 or more other copies, and these remain unborrowed by other students - possibly because the university doesn't have a music department - and because I think they're very interesting...I've paid the 'replacement' costs. First books I've bought in years.
-----
The song is in, Nick likes it, I'm pleased with it, and now there's the wait for new titles. I need to work more on compression and EQ for vocals - at the moment I just apply one of Audition's standard vocal compressors, add a little reverb, and leave the frequency distribution alone.
I really ought to take a week off songfighting, to concentrate on other musical projects.
-----
Objectivism remains one of my favourite crank philosopies. I came across This site while surfing accounts of yet more splits and excommunications in the cult. Heavy stuff - like all defences of Capitalism it's really an attack on Marxism, and indeed vice versa. But it may be more than "The market hasn't solved the problems it created only because the governments haven't given it enough freedom."
-----
I've let the OU work slide. The first major assignment is due on March 22 - Nick's birthday, I think - and I need to get a move on.
Well, six months later, they noticed the loan on their records, and politely asked if I could either return the books or pay replacement costs - £15 each for volumes 1 and 2 of Introduction to Music Theory by Eric Taylor.
Seeing as it's an out-of-print standard work, and they have 5 or more other copies, and these remain unborrowed by other students - possibly because the university doesn't have a music department - and because I think they're very interesting...I've paid the 'replacement' costs. First books I've bought in years.
-----
The song is in, Nick likes it, I'm pleased with it, and now there's the wait for new titles. I need to work more on compression and EQ for vocals - at the moment I just apply one of Audition's standard vocal compressors, add a little reverb, and leave the frequency distribution alone.
I really ought to take a week off songfighting, to concentrate on other musical projects.
-----
Objectivism remains one of my favourite crank philosopies. I came across This site while surfing accounts of yet more splits and excommunications in the cult. Heavy stuff - like all defences of Capitalism it's really an attack on Marxism, and indeed vice versa. But it may be more than "The market hasn't solved the problems it created only because the governments haven't given it enough freedom."
-----
I've let the OU work slide. The first major assignment is due on March 22 - Nick's birthday, I think - and I need to get a move on.
SIng, scream, pant, munch
I have lyrics. I have a backing track. I have recording equipment and mastering software. I just can't sing. After three hours of trying I have a sore diaphram and no usable recording. So, stick last night's film on to encode, take a 3 hour break, eat something and try again later.
Not too much later - I'm capturing Texas Chainsaw Massacre at midnight :-). I once wrote a song which mentioned it, so it's about time I saw it.
There's so many good reasons to get fit. Feeling good, being able to move rapidly without panting, probably being able to sing better. And not being neurotic about one's appearance.
JS called. He's had the flu for the last few days, hence his disappearance. I should be looking at his computer and eating his curry on Friday. The fact that's he's a veteran soldier with blond hair has nothing to do with the subtitle of my song being Mein Blonde Soldatjunge. Well, not much.
Not too much later - I'm capturing Texas Chainsaw Massacre at midnight :-). I once wrote a song which mentioned it, so it's about time I saw it.
There's so many good reasons to get fit. Feeling good, being able to move rapidly without panting, probably being able to sing better. And not being neurotic about one's appearance.
JS called. He's had the flu for the last few days, hence his disappearance. I should be looking at his computer and eating his curry on Friday. The fact that's he's a veteran soldier with blond hair has nothing to do with the subtitle of my song being Mein Blonde Soldatjunge. Well, not much.
Bicycle Thief
I have my bike back. I stole it back.
I was walking past the library where it was stolen on saturday, on impulse looking at the bicycles chained to the railings and lamppost, on the million-to-one chance that one of them would be mine. And one of them was. It was attatched with someone else's chain to the lamppost. Same markings, same attatchments, same pattern of rust, everything.
After some hesitation, I walked to the police station to ask what on earth I could do about it. It was a risk, leaving the bike behind - while I was gone, the 'new owner' might reappear and ride it away - but what could I do if the came back while I was there? "That's my bike you're unlocking. Please give it back to me"? I don't think so.
There was, of course, a queue at the police station counter. Eventually, I spoke to PC2299, who asked me if I'd reported the bike stolen. Of course I hadn't - there had seemed no point. And of course I'd never got around to noting the serial number or marking it in some unerasable way.
Essentially, I was told to get some bolt cutters, and take the bike back. Having now reported it stolen and filled out a form, I now had the legal right to contest any charge of theft the might be made if I was seen on CCTV taking it back.
I walked back the the library, intending to telephone my parents about finding some bolt cutters, if the bike was still chained to the lamppost. It wasn't. So, feeling dejected but not surprised, I started to walk home.
And there it was, leaning against a sandwich shop, unchained. I must have spent half a minute checking it over in disbelief - it was definitely mine. I hesitated, and hesitated some more. Then I jumped on and pedaled away as fast as I could. It even made the same cranking noise from the rusty chain.
There's a saying about two wrongs and a right. And I can't work out whether it applies. I don't think I've ever stolen anything before - hey, I'm a neurotic middle class white bloke in his 30s. I was reminded of a line in some old western movie - "The one thing a community of thieves can't tolerate is stealing".
I was walking past the library where it was stolen on saturday, on impulse looking at the bicycles chained to the railings and lamppost, on the million-to-one chance that one of them would be mine. And one of them was. It was attatched with someone else's chain to the lamppost. Same markings, same attatchments, same pattern of rust, everything.
After some hesitation, I walked to the police station to ask what on earth I could do about it. It was a risk, leaving the bike behind - while I was gone, the 'new owner' might reappear and ride it away - but what could I do if the came back while I was there? "That's my bike you're unlocking. Please give it back to me"? I don't think so.
There was, of course, a queue at the police station counter. Eventually, I spoke to PC2299, who asked me if I'd reported the bike stolen. Of course I hadn't - there had seemed no point. And of course I'd never got around to noting the serial number or marking it in some unerasable way.
Essentially, I was told to get some bolt cutters, and take the bike back. Having now reported it stolen and filled out a form, I now had the legal right to contest any charge of theft the might be made if I was seen on CCTV taking it back.
I walked back the the library, intending to telephone my parents about finding some bolt cutters, if the bike was still chained to the lamppost. It wasn't. So, feeling dejected but not surprised, I started to walk home.
And there it was, leaning against a sandwich shop, unchained. I must have spent half a minute checking it over in disbelief - it was definitely mine. I hesitated, and hesitated some more. Then I jumped on and pedaled away as fast as I could. It even made the same cranking noise from the rusty chain.
There's a saying about two wrongs and a right. And I can't work out whether it applies. I don't think I've ever stolen anything before - hey, I'm a neurotic middle class white bloke in his 30s. I was reminded of a line in some old western movie - "The one thing a community of thieves can't tolerate is stealing".
Food, Interlood, and Improoved Mood.
I was supposed to work on JS's computer yesterday, but he never turned up, and still hasn't switched on his phone. Today, I did yet another re-install of Windows 2000 on SM's elderly 3rd hand system - it took 3 hours, mostly getting the USB ports to work for internet connection.
SM is broke, but a wonderful cook, and we sat down at 1600 to eat with two of his friends. His take on tagliatelli with cabonara was, like all his food, utterly sumptious and astoundingly high in fat. The two friends were Jaza - an Iraqi engineer who I think works as a hospital porter - and a lovely young slovenian fellow who's name I can never recall.
It was a very cheering experience to converse with people who actually understand politics through experience, instead of absorbing whatever idiocy is the current newspaper fashion. Living here in Portsmouth, where the lumpen proletariat are more lumpen than usual, it's easy to forget there are plenty of decent people around.
We spoke of the Russian mafia, the British conservative party, Kilroy-Silk, and (a particular favourite of SM and myself) Ayn Rand. And the Australian Temple of Set. Something else SM and I have in common is unsuccessful exercise regimes - according to his fancy high-tech bathroom scales, I have 44% body fat. Not ideal, as I should have about 22%.
Right. Now I just have to finish work on the backing music for Man Speaking German. I'm not sure there's time to make it as lavish as intended.
SM is broke, but a wonderful cook, and we sat down at 1600 to eat with two of his friends. His take on tagliatelli with cabonara was, like all his food, utterly sumptious and astoundingly high in fat. The two friends were Jaza - an Iraqi engineer who I think works as a hospital porter - and a lovely young slovenian fellow who's name I can never recall.
It was a very cheering experience to converse with people who actually understand politics through experience, instead of absorbing whatever idiocy is the current newspaper fashion. Living here in Portsmouth, where the lumpen proletariat are more lumpen than usual, it's easy to forget there are plenty of decent people around.
We spoke of the Russian mafia, the British conservative party, Kilroy-Silk, and (a particular favourite of SM and myself) Ayn Rand. And the Australian Temple of Set. Something else SM and I have in common is unsuccessful exercise regimes - according to his fancy high-tech bathroom scales, I have 44% body fat. Not ideal, as I should have about 22%.
Right. Now I just have to finish work on the backing music for Man Speaking German. I'm not sure there's time to make it as lavish as intended.
Intelligence
When we say that a person is intelligent, there's lots of vague and contradictory things we could mean. And when we say someone else is stupid, the same is true.
However there are, I think, two features of someone's psychological makeup that make them 'smart' or 'switched on'. And I think there are two corresponding features which make someone else 'dumb' or 'thick'. Everyday words are misleading when used as technical terms, but for convenience the words I'm using for the first two traits are Receptiveness and Skepticism, and for the second two, Arrogance and Gullibility.
Smart people do two things. They listen to ideas, and they think about them. They read, see and hear opinions, hyoptheses and reports - they display openness or Receptiveness. Then they critically evaluate this information, holding off acceptance or rejection until they've thought it over, and compared it with what they already believe and suspect. Then, they might accept the new information, perhaps modifying the old, or decide they don't know enough to decide. This is the proper meaning of Skepticm.
Stupid people display Arrogance - they just don't let much new information in. They display no curiosity about the world, let alone a sense of wonder - they are closed minded. On those occasions when new information gets in, it either gets uncritically accepted - slotted in next to other beliefs that may flatly contractict it - or uncritically rejected because some contradiction with prior belief is detected. 'Gullibility' only describes one side of this, but right now I can't think of a better word.
So, we have four features. Receptivity - an attitude of openness to new ideas, versus Arrogance - a hostility towards them. Skepticism - a carefulness about what is believed, versus Gullibility - a corresponding carelessness.
The question then arises, can these qualities be mixed up? Can a person be Receptive but Gullible? Yes, definitely they can. Consider the New Age mystic who packs their head with UFO abductions, CIA conspiracies, healing crystals, the Illuminati, pyramid power, lizard people etc etc. They are extremely receptive, but have no critical ability.
Could someone be Arrogant but Skeptical? Well yes, but their Arrogance means they have little information to be skeptical about. Someone who pours over theological manuscripts, analysing their content minutely, but never examining even the basic tennants of a different religion, might fall into this catagory.
There are two further remarks I'd like to make. The first is that these features of personality (which are only approximated by the labels that I've used for them) are the product of a person's life. Even Richard Dawkins would never claim there is a gene for blind acceptance of religion, or a genetic mutation that causes interest in the world around you. There is nothing innate or unchangable about these personality factors.
The second thing is that this model of human intelligence is obviously completely inapplicable to nonhumans. Chimpanzees, and indeed sheep, may have something that could be called 'Intelligence'. But human intelligence isn't simply 'animal intelligence but more of it', or 'animal intelligence but more complex'. Human intelligence is of a fundamentally different kind to other creatures.
Indeed, I think it's a bad idea to use the same word for the two. A gorilla might have 'intelligence' of some kind, but it doesn't have 'smarts'. It can't be 'sharp' or 'switched on' or 'brainy'. Humans can be incredibly stupid, but their stupidity is astrology, jingoism, celebrity worship, blaming gypsies for house prices, or joining the flat earth society.
However there are, I think, two features of someone's psychological makeup that make them 'smart' or 'switched on'. And I think there are two corresponding features which make someone else 'dumb' or 'thick'. Everyday words are misleading when used as technical terms, but for convenience the words I'm using for the first two traits are Receptiveness and Skepticism, and for the second two, Arrogance and Gullibility.
Smart people do two things. They listen to ideas, and they think about them. They read, see and hear opinions, hyoptheses and reports - they display openness or Receptiveness. Then they critically evaluate this information, holding off acceptance or rejection until they've thought it over, and compared it with what they already believe and suspect. Then, they might accept the new information, perhaps modifying the old, or decide they don't know enough to decide. This is the proper meaning of Skepticm.
Stupid people display Arrogance - they just don't let much new information in. They display no curiosity about the world, let alone a sense of wonder - they are closed minded. On those occasions when new information gets in, it either gets uncritically accepted - slotted in next to other beliefs that may flatly contractict it - or uncritically rejected because some contradiction with prior belief is detected. 'Gullibility' only describes one side of this, but right now I can't think of a better word.
So, we have four features. Receptivity - an attitude of openness to new ideas, versus Arrogance - a hostility towards them. Skepticism - a carefulness about what is believed, versus Gullibility - a corresponding carelessness.
The question then arises, can these qualities be mixed up? Can a person be Receptive but Gullible? Yes, definitely they can. Consider the New Age mystic who packs their head with UFO abductions, CIA conspiracies, healing crystals, the Illuminati, pyramid power, lizard people etc etc. They are extremely receptive, but have no critical ability.
Could someone be Arrogant but Skeptical? Well yes, but their Arrogance means they have little information to be skeptical about. Someone who pours over theological manuscripts, analysing their content minutely, but never examining even the basic tennants of a different religion, might fall into this catagory.
There are two further remarks I'd like to make. The first is that these features of personality (which are only approximated by the labels that I've used for them) are the product of a person's life. Even Richard Dawkins would never claim there is a gene for blind acceptance of religion, or a genetic mutation that causes interest in the world around you. There is nothing innate or unchangable about these personality factors.
The second thing is that this model of human intelligence is obviously completely inapplicable to nonhumans. Chimpanzees, and indeed sheep, may have something that could be called 'Intelligence'. But human intelligence isn't simply 'animal intelligence but more of it', or 'animal intelligence but more complex'. Human intelligence is of a fundamentally different kind to other creatures.
Indeed, I think it's a bad idea to use the same word for the two. A gorilla might have 'intelligence' of some kind, but it doesn't have 'smarts'. It can't be 'sharp' or 'switched on' or 'brainy'. Humans can be incredibly stupid, but their stupidity is astrology, jingoism, celebrity worship, blaming gypsies for house prices, or joining the flat earth society.
Shite Nite
Not the best night in the world. H texted me, inviting me to the pub with his fellow students. With some misgivings, I went. They're a mixed bunch, including a musician who might collaborate with me sometime.
One called Mark sat down next to me. I've met his kind a million times - regards discussion as a game to be won with verbal tricks. He started spouting racist idiocy, and parried objections with meaningless distinctions and demands for definitions. And this man wants to be a teacher. Of psychology.
I was very upset by this character, and things weren't help when I found my bike had been stolen. H and I walked to the cinema, but sat for 90 minutes before the film, drinking and talking about happiness and selfishness, selling out and living with yourself when you've done it.
Then we watched Sideways. Perhaps it was my mood, but I found the film to be a tedious overlong collection of stock comic situations - without much actual comedy.
He walked me home. He hugged me outside my house, and just for a few seconds I felt like there was some point in going on.
One called Mark sat down next to me. I've met his kind a million times - regards discussion as a game to be won with verbal tricks. He started spouting racist idiocy, and parried objections with meaningless distinctions and demands for definitions. And this man wants to be a teacher. Of psychology.
I was very upset by this character, and things weren't help when I found my bike had been stolen. H and I walked to the cinema, but sat for 90 minutes before the film, drinking and talking about happiness and selfishness, selling out and living with yourself when you've done it.
Then we watched Sideways. Perhaps it was my mood, but I found the film to be a tedious overlong collection of stock comic situations - without much actual comedy.
He walked me home. He hugged me outside my house, and just for a few seconds I felt like there was some point in going on.
Ich habe ein Kant
I've quite extensively rewritten Man Speaking German. I'll probably make some more minor changes, but this is (I think) more or less the final version. Translations from the German are in parentheses.
VERSE 1
Leiser Schatten in der schwarzen Nacht
(Silent shadow in the black night)
A few words and a friendship sparked
Ein Lieberslied
(A lovesong)
Erstmalig weg vom Haus, Er kann English klein
(First time away from home, he can speak english a little)
Soldatjunge, took him back to mine
(Soldierboy...)
Das ist ein Lieberslied
(This is a lovesong)
zuerst sprachen wir, dann Er kuessten Mich
(First we spoke, then he kissed me)
A few weeks together, we knew it would soon finish
Ein Lieberslied
(A lovesong)
Bald musste Er nach Heimat gehen
(Soon he had to go home)
Ich begriff but didn't want it to end
(I understood...)
Das ist ein Lieberslied
(This is a lovesong)
CHORUS
Die Schmerz verblassen mit Zeit
Liebe ist eine Sorte Verrücktheit
Du bist weit weg doch
Ich denke an Sie noch
(Pain fades with time
Love is a kind of madness
You are far away but
I still think of you)
VERSE 2
Unsere Zeit zusammen, Ging es so schnel
(Our time together, it went so fast)
a brief time together, got to know you so well
Ein Lieberslied
(A lovesong)
Ist dieses ein Phantasie oder ein Alptraum?
(Is this a fantasy or a nightmare?)
ich muss ruhe halten, i must stay calm
(I must stay calm)
Das ist ein Lieberslied
(This is a lovesong)
Wir haben ein Geheimnis, ja
(We have a secret, yes)
you could be close but it seems so far
Ein Lieberslied
(A lovesong)
Wir habe froelich Gedaechtnis
(We have happy memories)
and i will always remember this
Das ist ein lieberslied
(This is a lovesong)
VERSE 1
Leiser Schatten in der schwarzen Nacht
(Silent shadow in the black night)
A few words and a friendship sparked
Ein Lieberslied
(A lovesong)
Erstmalig weg vom Haus, Er kann English klein
(First time away from home, he can speak english a little)
Soldatjunge, took him back to mine
(Soldierboy...)
Das ist ein Lieberslied
(This is a lovesong)
zuerst sprachen wir, dann Er kuessten Mich
(First we spoke, then he kissed me)
A few weeks together, we knew it would soon finish
Ein Lieberslied
(A lovesong)
Bald musste Er nach Heimat gehen
(Soon he had to go home)
Ich begriff but didn't want it to end
(I understood...)
Das ist ein Lieberslied
(This is a lovesong)
CHORUS
Die Schmerz verblassen mit Zeit
Liebe ist eine Sorte Verrücktheit
Du bist weit weg doch
Ich denke an Sie noch
(Pain fades with time
Love is a kind of madness
You are far away but
I still think of you)
VERSE 2
Unsere Zeit zusammen, Ging es so schnel
(Our time together, it went so fast)
a brief time together, got to know you so well
Ein Lieberslied
(A lovesong)
Ist dieses ein Phantasie oder ein Alptraum?
(Is this a fantasy or a nightmare?)
ich muss ruhe halten, i must stay calm
(I must stay calm)
Das ist ein Lieberslied
(This is a lovesong)
Wir haben ein Geheimnis, ja
(We have a secret, yes)
you could be close but it seems so far
Ein Lieberslied
(A lovesong)
Wir habe froelich Gedaechtnis
(We have happy memories)
and i will always remember this
Das ist ein lieberslied
(This is a lovesong)
Ich Liebe Dich
I have a song. It's half in German (though maybe not grammatically correct german), and half in English. That is, each line is half and half. It took quite a lot of effort, but I'm not sure I even like the idea anymore of jumping between languages in the middle of a sentence.
Trotsky could do it in his notebooks, but he was writing dialectical analyses of substructural revolution, not wistful songs about Mein Blonde Soldatjunge. Anyway, I think of it as a sequel to Texas - seeing as they're both about love frustrated by geography.
----
Paul T is back to his cheerfully talkative self - I'm pleased he's feeling better, I just wish he wouldn't spend half an hour on the phone telling me about it.
I should be seeing the film Sideways with H tonight. His choice, my treat. I've tried, but for some reason I can't write lyrics about this particular relationship. Perhaps that's because it's very comfortable - relationships without stormy emotions don't make good songs.
Trotsky could do it in his notebooks, but he was writing dialectical analyses of substructural revolution, not wistful songs about Mein Blonde Soldatjunge. Anyway, I think of it as a sequel to Texas - seeing as they're both about love frustrated by geography.
----
Paul T is back to his cheerfully talkative self - I'm pleased he's feeling better, I just wish he wouldn't spend half an hour on the phone telling me about it.
I should be seeing the film Sideways with H tonight. His choice, my treat. I've tried, but for some reason I can't write lyrics about this particular relationship. Perhaps that's because it's very comfortable - relationships without stormy emotions don't make good songs.
Other people's dreams
I just had a very long, and strangely realistic dream. There was a houseshare between 5 gay men in their 30s, and one emotionally fagile lesbian. I met one of the men by chance on a bus, got talking, and wound up in his room talking about music.
There was no sex in this dream, though there was plenty of friendly and supportive hugging.
I got to know each of the inhabitants in turn and in combination, in a series of episodes spread over 3 or 4 days. We talked, compared lives, and charted the progress of their attitudes toward me from uncirtainty to warmth.
Each person had a distinct face, frame, choice of clothes, and a seperate personality. The man I first met was about 30, with a stubble, black straight limp hair, a fondness for synthpop, and a laid back manner. The woman was underweight, articulate and talkative, and had difficulty trusting people.
The final conversation was with a man of 38, with a shock of curly orange hair, a fondness for bright sweaters, a slightly weathered face, and a tendendy to laugh and smile.
The whole dream was, literally, from my point of view, and it was me as I am now behind the eyes. But each of the people had their internal lives, and relationsips with each other just as complicated and ambigious and difficult to define as theirs with me.
I note this dream beacuse (a) it was so realistically complex and (b) because I felt at home in that place.
There's one other thing. They all told me their names, but I can't remember any of them.
-----
Yesterday was spent mostly with The Strict Machines, recording them practice, so they could hear it back later and evaluate their own performance and progress. Paul T seems to have crashed into a midlife crisis, having gone in a week from prolix, wildly enthusiastic, and unthinkingly egotistical, to taciturn, depressive and hyper-self-critical. While still being unthinkingly egotistical.
Fabio was his usual quietly smart and competent self, letting other people's conflicts and problems roll off him like water off a duck. He's actually a very good drummer.
We've all had the same (respective) cold for the last month. Anna managed so sing quite well despite having 'snot up to here'. She is out of sympathy with Paul's moods - I think she should find another band.
She's rather envious that I'm going out with someone. Which is odd, because she has a great relationship with James, her long term boyfriend. He's an absolute brick - steady, reliable, supportive, and just a bit dull. The trouble is...well, most of the songs she writes are about brief, highly charged relationships with women.
-----
Right. Today I have to finish the latest song for SongFight. I'm in Man Speaking German, on the grounds the competition will be less for that title. So, as it turns out, is Nick.
There was no sex in this dream, though there was plenty of friendly and supportive hugging.
I got to know each of the inhabitants in turn and in combination, in a series of episodes spread over 3 or 4 days. We talked, compared lives, and charted the progress of their attitudes toward me from uncirtainty to warmth.
Each person had a distinct face, frame, choice of clothes, and a seperate personality. The man I first met was about 30, with a stubble, black straight limp hair, a fondness for synthpop, and a laid back manner. The woman was underweight, articulate and talkative, and had difficulty trusting people.
The final conversation was with a man of 38, with a shock of curly orange hair, a fondness for bright sweaters, a slightly weathered face, and a tendendy to laugh and smile.
The whole dream was, literally, from my point of view, and it was me as I am now behind the eyes. But each of the people had their internal lives, and relationsips with each other just as complicated and ambigious and difficult to define as theirs with me.
I note this dream beacuse (a) it was so realistically complex and (b) because I felt at home in that place.
There's one other thing. They all told me their names, but I can't remember any of them.
-----
Yesterday was spent mostly with The Strict Machines, recording them practice, so they could hear it back later and evaluate their own performance and progress. Paul T seems to have crashed into a midlife crisis, having gone in a week from prolix, wildly enthusiastic, and unthinkingly egotistical, to taciturn, depressive and hyper-self-critical. While still being unthinkingly egotistical.
Fabio was his usual quietly smart and competent self, letting other people's conflicts and problems roll off him like water off a duck. He's actually a very good drummer.
We've all had the same (respective) cold for the last month. Anna managed so sing quite well despite having 'snot up to here'. She is out of sympathy with Paul's moods - I think she should find another band.
She's rather envious that I'm going out with someone. Which is odd, because she has a great relationship with James, her long term boyfriend. He's an absolute brick - steady, reliable, supportive, and just a bit dull. The trouble is...well, most of the songs she writes are about brief, highly charged relationships with women.
-----
Right. Today I have to finish the latest song for SongFight. I'm in Man Speaking German, on the grounds the competition will be less for that title. So, as it turns out, is Nick.
Screen
This morning on television:
The Nazis: A Warning from History (Part 3)
A series about how an urbane, tolerant culture known for science and the arts became a genocidal police state in just a few years. The title warns: It could happen again, just as easily, anywhere. Followed by
Torture: The Dirty Business
How the 'Special Retrival Unit' kidnaps 'terror suspects' and leaves them with U.S allies who torture them. Followed by
The Boys from Brazil
A daft thriller about a Nazi plot to clone Hitler. Followed by
Torture: The Guantanamo Guidebook
A prurient reality TV show thinly disguised as serious journalism. People who approve of Guantamo Bay are imprisoned, humiliated and tortured. TV Go Home may be dead, but it's satire has turned into prediction.
There is no such thing anymore as irony.
The Nazis: A Warning from History (Part 3)
A series about how an urbane, tolerant culture known for science and the arts became a genocidal police state in just a few years. The title warns: It could happen again, just as easily, anywhere. Followed by
Torture: The Dirty Business
How the 'Special Retrival Unit' kidnaps 'terror suspects' and leaves them with U.S allies who torture them. Followed by
The Boys from Brazil
A daft thriller about a Nazi plot to clone Hitler. Followed by
Torture: The Guantanamo Guidebook
A prurient reality TV show thinly disguised as serious journalism. People who approve of Guantamo Bay are imprisoned, humiliated and tortured. TV Go Home may be dead, but it's satire has turned into prediction.
There is no such thing anymore as irony.
A little love. And a lot of other stuff
I've been in love just once. It was the most painful and ecstatic experiece of my life. And I don't have the strength to go through the same feelings again.
I just tried to write a song about it, but I couldn't. The words came easily enough, but something in me was shouting 'Don't go there'.
I'm not sure it's a good sign to cry when trying to write lyrics.
-----
There's plenty to take my mind off my own messed up emotions. The Strict Machines want to do a quick and dirty live EP, so tomorrow I'm lugging the laptop and microphones to the practice studio they're renting.
JS postponed our appointment for me to fix his computer till Saturday. His project to set up classes for amateur artists who want to know about art theory is now underway. He wants me to give my lecture on colour theory in a few weeks - which I'm happy to do.
I've set myself the modest goal of an hour's aerobic exercise per day. With my wierd sleeping pattern, the best time is between four and six in the morning, just before I go to bed.
I'm tweaking the lyrics and structure of my better songfight songs, so I can start rerecording them. There's plenty of hours in the day to do it, there's just not so many hours when I have the energy.
There is exactly one reason to make money from music. To buy new instruments and boxes. These people make me want to get rich, so I can give them my money, and make symphonies.
I just tried to write a song about it, but I couldn't. The words came easily enough, but something in me was shouting 'Don't go there'.
I'm not sure it's a good sign to cry when trying to write lyrics.
-----
There's plenty to take my mind off my own messed up emotions. The Strict Machines want to do a quick and dirty live EP, so tomorrow I'm lugging the laptop and microphones to the practice studio they're renting.
JS postponed our appointment for me to fix his computer till Saturday. His project to set up classes for amateur artists who want to know about art theory is now underway. He wants me to give my lecture on colour theory in a few weeks - which I'm happy to do.
I've set myself the modest goal of an hour's aerobic exercise per day. With my wierd sleeping pattern, the best time is between four and six in the morning, just before I go to bed.
I'm tweaking the lyrics and structure of my better songfight songs, so I can start rerecording them. There's plenty of hours in the day to do it, there's just not so many hours when I have the energy.
There is exactly one reason to make money from music. To buy new instruments and boxes. These people make me want to get rich, so I can give them my money, and make symphonies.
Pedal and Pant
Well, I got the song into songfight. The general tenor of the reviews so far is "Nicely produced, but the triphop groove doesn't fit with the rocky guitars, the singing doesn't fit with either, and the chorus is inaudible." Probably accurate. So far no one has accused me of glorifying terrorism or martyrdom.
-----
This morning I cycled for an hour with my eyes closed. Luckily the bike was stationary in the cellar. I'm finally trying to get fit (again). The advantages to being fit and active are many. H will stop needling me about being so unfit. Tom, the teenager who wants to meet and shag, will not be turned off. I will have to find a different reason to be insecure and shy. Oh, and I would stand less chance of a fatal heart attack at age 40.
-----
Oh bugger. I knew I'd forgotten something. There's another essay to write. And 200 pages to read in perparation. I haven't even looked at the questions yet. Just like being back at university.
-----
This morning I cycled for an hour with my eyes closed. Luckily the bike was stationary in the cellar. I'm finally trying to get fit (again). The advantages to being fit and active are many. H will stop needling me about being so unfit. Tom, the teenager who wants to meet and shag, will not be turned off. I will have to find a different reason to be insecure and shy. Oh, and I would stand less chance of a fatal heart attack at age 40.
-----
Oh bugger. I knew I'd forgotten something. There's another essay to write. And 200 pages to read in perparation. I haven't even looked at the questions yet. Just like being back at university.
We're so screwed
Today was a day of screwups.
I set some TV programmes up to record, but forgot that the 10 minute capture limit I'd put in place while testing the system, was still there. And I forgot to change the default capture resolution to the full 720x576.
I did manage to record vocals for Gallows Hill, but my voice wasn't very good. And listening back, the mixing isn't as good as I thought it was.
I messed up big time with the night's forum. It was on 'Why Immigration is not a Problem'. At least it would have been, if I hadn't completely forgotten that the room was double booked. I knew this a week ago, and meant to make alternative arrangements but, well, I was so wrapped up in getting people there, that I forgot to arrange it somewhere else.
Kapitano is thus not terribly popular with the local politicos at this moment.
-----
H and I are both feeling a bit awful - we've got these lingering colds, and I think I've eaten something that doesn't like me.
Being a cultured sort, he wants to see a production of 'Going Dutch' that's on at the theatre next week. Seeing as this month he's the more bankrupt of us, I'll look at getting tickets.
-----
JS called. He's got an elderly, sick computer, which I'll be either reviving or pronouncing dead on Wednesday. The price for my profession services - cost of any new software, and one of his famous slap-up curries.
I set some TV programmes up to record, but forgot that the 10 minute capture limit I'd put in place while testing the system, was still there. And I forgot to change the default capture resolution to the full 720x576.
I did manage to record vocals for Gallows Hill, but my voice wasn't very good. And listening back, the mixing isn't as good as I thought it was.
I messed up big time with the night's forum. It was on 'Why Immigration is not a Problem'. At least it would have been, if I hadn't completely forgotten that the room was double booked. I knew this a week ago, and meant to make alternative arrangements but, well, I was so wrapped up in getting people there, that I forgot to arrange it somewhere else.
Kapitano is thus not terribly popular with the local politicos at this moment.
-----
H and I are both feeling a bit awful - we've got these lingering colds, and I think I've eaten something that doesn't like me.
Being a cultured sort, he wants to see a production of 'Going Dutch' that's on at the theatre next week. Seeing as this month he's the more bankrupt of us, I'll look at getting tickets.
-----
JS called. He's got an elderly, sick computer, which I'll be either reviving or pronouncing dead on Wednesday. The price for my profession services - cost of any new software, and one of his famous slap-up curries.
Home Alone
My parents are away for most of today, so there's plenty of uninterrupted opportunity to record vocals for Gallows Hill and mix it right.
Tonight is a forum on immigration - which, as a good, loyal and committed socialist, I might skip to see H if he's feeling better. Though as the one charged with reminding others to turn up, there'll be an hour on the phone persuading others to be there.
I've stumbled across the notebooks I kept in the early 1990s. I kept them to record any philosophical questions and ideas that occured to me. About two thirds of the entries either trivially true or obviously false, but there's some interesting stuff in there. When I find a bit of time, I plan to transcribe some of the more interesting mini-essays here.
Three quarters of the stuff from my bedroom is in boxes in another room. So why has one quarter of the mass produced the same level of mess as before?
Tonight is a forum on immigration - which, as a good, loyal and committed socialist, I might skip to see H if he's feeling better. Though as the one charged with reminding others to turn up, there'll be an hour on the phone persuading others to be there.
I've stumbled across the notebooks I kept in the early 1990s. I kept them to record any philosophical questions and ideas that occured to me. About two thirds of the entries either trivially true or obviously false, but there's some interesting stuff in there. When I find a bit of time, I plan to transcribe some of the more interesting mini-essays here.
Three quarters of the stuff from my bedroom is in boxes in another room. So why has one quarter of the mass produced the same level of mess as before?
Is the pope in a coma?
Before you do anything, you've got to do six other things first. And any unexpected free time will immidiately be occupied by something that wasn't urgent when you didn't have time to do it.
Anyway, I've got my secondary TV and film recording system set up and running nicely, plus a filing system for it. I found the dictaphone while looking for something else, so perhaps my blatherings will go into that instead of this blog for all the see.
Oh, and the studio is now finally set up to record. I just haven't actually given myself time to record the song I set it up to record. Do it tommorrow. Yeah.
H is feeling rotten again - either he's got my recurrant cold or I've got his. Hence he's lying in bed sniffing and studying, while I'm sitting here sniffing and surfing. Seeing each other is the other thing that's being put off till tomorrow.
Oh yes, there's a documentary soon called 'Is torture a good idea?'. Watch out for 'Eugenics: The forgotten ideal', 'Why we have too much freedom', 'Homosexuals: Sick or just criminal?' and 'Should we gas gypsy scum?'
Anyway, I've got my secondary TV and film recording system set up and running nicely, plus a filing system for it. I found the dictaphone while looking for something else, so perhaps my blatherings will go into that instead of this blog for all the see.
Oh, and the studio is now finally set up to record. I just haven't actually given myself time to record the song I set it up to record. Do it tommorrow. Yeah.
H is feeling rotten again - either he's got my recurrant cold or I've got his. Hence he's lying in bed sniffing and studying, while I'm sitting here sniffing and surfing. Seeing each other is the other thing that's being put off till tomorrow.
Oh yes, there's a documentary soon called 'Is torture a good idea?'. Watch out for 'Eugenics: The forgotten ideal', 'Why we have too much freedom', 'Homosexuals: Sick or just criminal?' and 'Should we gas gypsy scum?'
Happy Now
I have reached a small conclusion. That trying to run an old capture card with old drivers through experimental third party software running a notoriously buggy codec...is unlikely to start working soon. And that by spending 24UKP on a new card with it's own software I can save myself some headaches. So that's what I've done. A Leadtek Winfast 2000XP-RM.
The other reason I'm happy is that a 6'2 19 year old wants to have sex with me. I just want to stop sniffing and lose a stone before meeting him.
The other reason I'm happy is that a 6'2 19 year old wants to have sex with me. I just want to stop sniffing and lose a stone before meeting him.
Blah, Blah, Blah
It's bloody cold, and I'm sick of technology that doesn't work. I'm sick of hardware that doesn't do what it says on the box, and software that crashes.
And while we're in the mood, I'm not entirely happy with being trapped living here with my parents because the only job I can find doesn't pay enough to let me move away. I'm tierd of feeling too fat and self concious to have the sex or relationships that are offered me. And I'm bored with a commumnity of people who seem congenitally incapable of thinking.
Yes, I know. I'm not living on the streets, I have parents to come home to, I have enough to eat, friends and lovers are within reach, and I'm not yet living in a police state. I'm grateful that I have the chance to get fat, use computers, have sex, fall in love, read books and persue what interests me - don't think I'm not.
It would just be nice if my life weren't mostly taken up with trying to sort out my life. End of rant.
-----
There's almost always a point in the production of a song, where you think it's 95% finished, with just a few elements to tweak. And you spend 50% of the total production time tweaking. Which sometimes results in the entire track being rewritten.
I've been 'tweaking' Gallow's Hill. Taking out a synth line, adding a third guitar, rewriting the middle 8 several times, and inserting extra bars here and there. The lyrics are still the same, but sung in a different way, and hopefully they'll get recorded today.
As sometimes happens when everything gets planned except the essentials, I have three good microphones, and no microphone stand. This is probably synechdochic. Unless I mean metonymic. Or indicative. Or just bloody typical.
-----
On a whim, I checked my gaydar account. M left me a message last week. He just wants to know if I'm alright. He can't possibly still be holding a candle for me. I'm not sure if I should even respond.
-----
Tomorrow night I'm seeing H. Must see if there's any decent films or bands playing.
And while we're in the mood, I'm not entirely happy with being trapped living here with my parents because the only job I can find doesn't pay enough to let me move away. I'm tierd of feeling too fat and self concious to have the sex or relationships that are offered me. And I'm bored with a commumnity of people who seem congenitally incapable of thinking.
Yes, I know. I'm not living on the streets, I have parents to come home to, I have enough to eat, friends and lovers are within reach, and I'm not yet living in a police state. I'm grateful that I have the chance to get fat, use computers, have sex, fall in love, read books and persue what interests me - don't think I'm not.
It would just be nice if my life weren't mostly taken up with trying to sort out my life. End of rant.
-----
There's almost always a point in the production of a song, where you think it's 95% finished, with just a few elements to tweak. And you spend 50% of the total production time tweaking. Which sometimes results in the entire track being rewritten.
I've been 'tweaking' Gallow's Hill. Taking out a synth line, adding a third guitar, rewriting the middle 8 several times, and inserting extra bars here and there. The lyrics are still the same, but sung in a different way, and hopefully they'll get recorded today.
As sometimes happens when everything gets planned except the essentials, I have three good microphones, and no microphone stand. This is probably synechdochic. Unless I mean metonymic. Or indicative. Or just bloody typical.
-----
On a whim, I checked my gaydar account. M left me a message last week. He just wants to know if I'm alright. He can't possibly still be holding a candle for me. I'm not sure if I should even respond.
-----
Tomorrow night I'm seeing H. Must see if there's any decent films or bands playing.
Open Channel D
I did something this morning I haven't done for weeks. I went to bed before 0700, and woke up before midday. Then I did something I haven't done for years. Watched a Man from U.N.C.L.E film - The Spy in the Green Hat.
It's one of those movies I grew up with, but could never remember anything about. Great fun - cold war, high camp, low plot, high tech, James Bond spoof. Oddly, it's worn better than Get Smart.
I tried to capture it, but once again the software locked up, as I half expected it would. So from now on, all captures in MPEG2, at least until I can get more stable software. Or a mac.
-----
Nick has recorded a song for Gallow's Hill. It's fairly typical of his stuff - the lyrics are the most important part, the melody is piano led, and the whole track could do with a damn good remix.
Nick is a good songwriter who wants to be a better producer. I'm a good producer who wants to be a better songwriter. Sounds like a team to me.
It remains to be seen whether his song about a vengeful god or my song about terrorism gets the most hostile response from American's who think they're liberal.
-----
If I'm going to be self employed, I'd much rather it be as a remixer than a technician. I'll have to investigate the possibility.
However, right now it's nearly 1700, and, having got up at 0800 for the first time in a month, my eyelids are drooping and my mouth is yawning. Time for a little nap.
It's one of those movies I grew up with, but could never remember anything about. Great fun - cold war, high camp, low plot, high tech, James Bond spoof. Oddly, it's worn better than Get Smart.
I tried to capture it, but once again the software locked up, as I half expected it would. So from now on, all captures in MPEG2, at least until I can get more stable software. Or a mac.
-----
Nick has recorded a song for Gallow's Hill. It's fairly typical of his stuff - the lyrics are the most important part, the melody is piano led, and the whole track could do with a damn good remix.
Nick is a good songwriter who wants to be a better producer. I'm a good producer who wants to be a better songwriter. Sounds like a team to me.
It remains to be seen whether his song about a vengeful god or my song about terrorism gets the most hostile response from American's who think they're liberal.
-----
If I'm going to be self employed, I'd much rather it be as a remixer than a technician. I'll have to investigate the possibility.
However, right now it's nearly 1700, and, having got up at 0800 for the first time in a month, my eyelids are drooping and my mouth is yawning. Time for a little nap.
Pluck, strum, distort
I've come up with a backing track for this week's Songfight. It's mainly an excuse to get familliar with the Revitar guitar synthesiser - which is lucky, as the four available titles are complete rubbish, and so's the track.
No lyrics yet, and indeed no choice of title. And I'm not sure I'll be able to sing it anyway - the effects of my cold are still lingering. So, this is probably a 'learning experience' i.e. an exercise that's pointless in itself, but generates skills useful for the future.
No lyrics yet, and indeed no choice of title. And I'm not sure I'll be able to sing it anyway - the effects of my cold are still lingering. So, this is probably a 'learning experience' i.e. an exercise that's pointless in itself, but generates skills useful for the future.
Love is...
Night out with H. We disagreed about radio comedy, british attitudes to royalty, and the precise meaning of 'neotony'. Rather worryingly, we agreed completely on George Monbiot, David Bellamy, and the stresses of school trips :-). Same again next week.
Six months ago, I could happily go for a two hour bike ride and not get out of breath. Last night, I was breathless and in pain after a minute. That the pain was sharp, stabbing, and in the chest is not a good sign - and taking 30 minutes to fade isn't encouraging either. H said I should go the the GP about it, though I imagine the response will be "You're fat and unfit - take some exercise".
Six months ago, I could happily go for a two hour bike ride and not get out of breath. Last night, I was breathless and in pain after a minute. That the pain was sharp, stabbing, and in the chest is not a good sign - and taking 30 minutes to fade isn't encouraging either. H said I should go the the GP about it, though I imagine the response will be "You're fat and unfit - take some exercise".
Baseline and Bassline
I've got a 4 CD backup of my system with all programs installed and running correctly, and a 1 CD backup of just Windows 2000, Service Pack 4, Internet Explorer 6, and the various security fixes. So now, if it all goes disasterously wrong, I can go back to one or the other.
-----
Nick and I spoke on IRC for nearly two hours. The upshot is that
(1) We are now in positions to start writing more material but without pressuring ourselves with deadlines.
(2) The idea is to produce music mastered to professional level, not just demo tracks. In (1) and (2), the intent is to produce quality over quantity.
(3) We aim to perform live at a music festival in June.
He described our target musical feel as 'Electronica with soul'. I could add 'Synthpop with intelligence'.
-----
I've dug out my old SK5 sampler - amazing that after nearly two decades, my seminal toy synthesiser works perfectly. I'm halfway through sampling it's onboard sounds - I want to submit them to the wonderful Hollow Sun site.
They've already got SK1 samples, and a whole raft of sounds from classic and obscure analog synths.
I made music with that keyboard for about a decade, with it's 8-bit sampling and 6 predefined ADSR envelopes. It seems incredible now. But it also seems incredible that I paid £400 for a drum machine (the Kawai R50 - also at Hollow Sun) in 1990, and upgraded to a Gravis Ultrasound soundcard on a 200MHz machine.
But now, guided by horrible old cassette recordings of music made with this stuff, I can recreate the best of it, and make it like it was supposed to be. The strange thing is, when I was pottering around with a Tascam 244, a Casio SK1 and a Kawai R50, I knew that I was creating demo versions of tracks that wouldn't exist for years to come, maybe even decades.
-----
Nick and I spoke on IRC for nearly two hours. The upshot is that
(1) We are now in positions to start writing more material but without pressuring ourselves with deadlines.
(2) The idea is to produce music mastered to professional level, not just demo tracks. In (1) and (2), the intent is to produce quality over quantity.
(3) We aim to perform live at a music festival in June.
He described our target musical feel as 'Electronica with soul'. I could add 'Synthpop with intelligence'.
-----
I've dug out my old SK5 sampler - amazing that after nearly two decades, my seminal toy synthesiser works perfectly. I'm halfway through sampling it's onboard sounds - I want to submit them to the wonderful Hollow Sun site.
They've already got SK1 samples, and a whole raft of sounds from classic and obscure analog synths.
I made music with that keyboard for about a decade, with it's 8-bit sampling and 6 predefined ADSR envelopes. It seems incredible now. But it also seems incredible that I paid £400 for a drum machine (the Kawai R50 - also at Hollow Sun) in 1990, and upgraded to a Gravis Ultrasound soundcard on a 200MHz machine.
But now, guided by horrible old cassette recordings of music made with this stuff, I can recreate the best of it, and make it like it was supposed to be. The strange thing is, when I was pottering around with a Tascam 244, a Casio SK1 and a Kawai R50, I knew that I was creating demo versions of tracks that wouldn't exist for years to come, maybe even decades.
Definitely working now. Promise.
Never overlook the little things. Like checking to make sure the 'Line In' and 'Line Out' ports in your video capture card weren't labeled the wrong way round by the manufacturer. That way, you stand less chance of recording a week's worth of television with no sound.
-----
Tonight was the second classroom lecture on my course. I learned more in an hour about greenhouse gasses than in the past decade. It's not surprising people get confused.
Trying to explain to someone on the street that the window of Infra-Red absorbtion between CO2 and H2O is filled by N2O and CCI3F, which let through high frequency IR but partially absorb and re-emit reflected low frequency IR, but that CCI3F (aka CFC) destroys O3, which filters UVA...
Anyone who understand that paragraph will already be aware of the danger. So that presumably excludes David Bellamy.
-----
On the way home, I listened to a cold war spy thriller on my (slightly buggy) N-Pod. While gently lusting after the procession of young men in track suits getting on and off the bus.
Oh, and resisting the impulse to put bricks through the Tory party's election posters. "If you put more police on the streets, they'll catch more criminals." "It isn't racist to restrict immigration." "No one has an absolute right to freedom."
One of these sentences isn't being used on the posters. Which one?
-----
H really is stupendously overworked right now. Writing a textbook and simultainously doing intensive teacher training and learning French would tax anyone - and amazingly, he thinks he's the disorganised one. If he's got the strength, and if we're both feeling okay, we'll have the chance to veg out to a dumb movie on Saturday.
And then we can drink, disagree on a political issue, hug, and part happy till next time.
-----
Possible song title: Deaf In The Family
-----
Tonight was the second classroom lecture on my course. I learned more in an hour about greenhouse gasses than in the past decade. It's not surprising people get confused.
Trying to explain to someone on the street that the window of Infra-Red absorbtion between CO2 and H2O is filled by N2O and CCI3F, which let through high frequency IR but partially absorb and re-emit reflected low frequency IR, but that CCI3F (aka CFC) destroys O3, which filters UVA...
Anyone who understand that paragraph will already be aware of the danger. So that presumably excludes David Bellamy.
-----
On the way home, I listened to a cold war spy thriller on my (slightly buggy) N-Pod. While gently lusting after the procession of young men in track suits getting on and off the bus.
Oh, and resisting the impulse to put bricks through the Tory party's election posters. "If you put more police on the streets, they'll catch more criminals." "It isn't racist to restrict immigration." "No one has an absolute right to freedom."
One of these sentences isn't being used on the posters. Which one?
-----
H really is stupendously overworked right now. Writing a textbook and simultainously doing intensive teacher training and learning French would tax anyone - and amazingly, he thinks he's the disorganised one. If he's got the strength, and if we're both feeling okay, we'll have the chance to veg out to a dumb movie on Saturday.
And then we can drink, disagree on a political issue, hug, and part happy till next time.
-----
Possible song title: Deaf In The Family
Breathe
I can breathe again. My nostrils are (mostly) unblocked, my throat no longer rattles (much), and the headache is (almost) gone. Feels wonderful. Nose is still a bit sore though.
One reason I record all those science fiction serials is so I can watch them while ill or too tired to do anything else. This virus got me through the first two seasons of Farscape.
-----
The N-Pod seems to have a bug. After it's been fully charged, the MP3s on it all play silently, until it gets connected via USB to a computer, after which they play as before. Very strange, and rather annoying. The FM radio and other functions still work fine, but the most important one - playback - doesn't.
This, and the rather limited fastforward and rewind, and the small number of filename characters displayed, and the lack of delete or move functions, and the relative quietness of playback, mean I'm not completely over the moon about it. It is a good piece of kit - with some annoying ideosyncrasies.
-----
Nick has recorded a good little song for SongFight, titled Hollywood Fantasy. Imagine a melancholy grungy reggae lounge ballad. No, I can't either, and I've heard it :-). It's good, and it makes me realise how much I've missed making music for the last few months.
One lyric I must work into a song someday: "One night of cockbang makes a strong man stumble."
-----
Oh lord, it's 0500. How did it get to be five in the morning?
One reason I record all those science fiction serials is so I can watch them while ill or too tired to do anything else. This virus got me through the first two seasons of Farscape.
-----
The N-Pod seems to have a bug. After it's been fully charged, the MP3s on it all play silently, until it gets connected via USB to a computer, after which they play as before. Very strange, and rather annoying. The FM radio and other functions still work fine, but the most important one - playback - doesn't.
This, and the rather limited fastforward and rewind, and the small number of filename characters displayed, and the lack of delete or move functions, and the relative quietness of playback, mean I'm not completely over the moon about it. It is a good piece of kit - with some annoying ideosyncrasies.
-----
Nick has recorded a good little song for SongFight, titled Hollywood Fantasy. Imagine a melancholy grungy reggae lounge ballad. No, I can't either, and I've heard it :-). It's good, and it makes me realise how much I've missed making music for the last few months.
One lyric I must work into a song someday: "One night of cockbang makes a strong man stumble."
-----
Oh lord, it's 0500. How did it get to be five in the morning?
Sneeze
Right. I'm tanked up on Day Nurse and Lemsip and one or two other cold treatments. And I've still got a head full of cotton wool, a mouth full of wood shavings, and a nose full of concrete.
The plan is to do all the professional stuff and get the cold over, by Friday. Then see H and start writing music again. I've given my immune system the deadline, and I'll have a word with God about time later.
-----
I've found a way to prevent the computer crashing when I capture TV. It's to use the software that came with the capture card. Yes, I know.
The thing is, the software captures only in MPEG2, which is one of the least friendly formats for editing and transcoding. I want to capture in MJPEG - one letter different, big usability difference.
I'll even settle for low-ish quality realtime DivX captures, but they crash too.
-----
I've completed the first assignment on my course. Question 3 was "Describe briefly the process of sweating in humans and explain how sweating cools the human body." Here's my answer:
When heat is fed into liquid water, it can either increase in temperature, or retain the same temperature but become vapour.
The latter is evaporation, which can occur at any temperature below boiling point (approximately 97 degrees Celsius). At boiling point, the probability of evaporation is 100%, but it can occur at levels below this, the probability decreasing with heat level.
Sweating is the secretion of water (and dissolved salts) onto the external surface of the skin. When humans sweat for any reason, the water in it will be warmed by the skin. Given time, the probability is that the water will evaporate, drawing a comparatively large amount of heat from the skin to do so.
Thus when sweat evaporates, skin cools.
I'm not quite sure what else I could have said.
The plan is to do all the professional stuff and get the cold over, by Friday. Then see H and start writing music again. I've given my immune system the deadline, and I'll have a word with God about time later.
-----
I've found a way to prevent the computer crashing when I capture TV. It's to use the software that came with the capture card. Yes, I know.
The thing is, the software captures only in MPEG2, which is one of the least friendly formats for editing and transcoding. I want to capture in MJPEG - one letter different, big usability difference.
I'll even settle for low-ish quality realtime DivX captures, but they crash too.
-----
I've completed the first assignment on my course. Question 3 was "Describe briefly the process of sweating in humans and explain how sweating cools the human body." Here's my answer:
When heat is fed into liquid water, it can either increase in temperature, or retain the same temperature but become vapour.
The latter is evaporation, which can occur at any temperature below boiling point (approximately 97 degrees Celsius). At boiling point, the probability of evaporation is 100%, but it can occur at levels below this, the probability decreasing with heat level.
Sweating is the secretion of water (and dissolved salts) onto the external surface of the skin. When humans sweat for any reason, the water in it will be warmed by the skin. Given time, the probability is that the water will evaporate, drawing a comparatively large amount of heat from the skin to do so.
Thus when sweat evaporates, skin cools.
I'm not quite sure what else I could have said.
Cough
Here's the plan:
1) Format the disks, then Reinstall Windows 2000, with Service Pack 4, Internet Explorer 6, and the various bugfixes currently available from (spit) Microsoft. Then use NovaBackup to make a snapshot of a completely clean basic Windows installation.
2) Install all the drivers and software that I use, and take a second snapshop.
3) If the system goes the way of the pear again, take the system and program partitions back to the second backup - to a time when they were working but not pear shaped.
4) If there's a serious problem, go back to the basic installation.
If I had any sense, I'd have done this a year or more ago. Speaking of which, I'm listening on my N-Pod to a recording of The Breezeblock from the fourth of January, 2004. I've been recording radio shows since the beginning of last year, but it's taken me this long to get around to getting a portable device to play them back.
1) Format the disks, then Reinstall Windows 2000, with Service Pack 4, Internet Explorer 6, and the various bugfixes currently available from (spit) Microsoft. Then use NovaBackup to make a snapshot of a completely clean basic Windows installation.
2) Install all the drivers and software that I use, and take a second snapshop.
3) If the system goes the way of the pear again, take the system and program partitions back to the second backup - to a time when they were working but not pear shaped.
4) If there's a serious problem, go back to the basic installation.
If I had any sense, I'd have done this a year or more ago. Speaking of which, I'm listening on my N-Pod to a recording of The Breezeblock from the fourth of January, 2004. I've been recording radio shows since the beginning of last year, but it's taken me this long to get around to getting a portable device to play them back.
Sniff
Two things I don't especially need at the moment are a bad cold and mysterious computer problems. However, intermittantly crashing software and a voice like a thrash singer is just what I have.
The forum last night was quite a success. Pete Morgan (editor of Socialist Review) spoke about the elections in Iraq, and the continued resistance to occupation. Five new people turned up - who asked intelligent questions and actually listened to the answers.
Still got that dratted essay to write. But as that requires thought, and my head is full of treacle, I'll do something that requires no thought whatsoever - just some patience. I'm going reinstall all my nonworking software.
The forum last night was quite a success. Pete Morgan (editor of Socialist Review) spoke about the elections in Iraq, and the continued resistance to occupation. Five new people turned up - who asked intelligent questions and actually listened to the answers.
Still got that dratted essay to write. But as that requires thought, and my head is full of treacle, I'll do something that requires no thought whatsoever - just some patience. I'm going reinstall all my nonworking software.
You can't make it up
I switch on the television. There's an advert for some female beauty product - moisturiser or make up, I don't remember. The music is a classic piece of 80s synthpop.
It's Tainted Love. A product that hides blemishes, with a song about imperfections. A product about romance, with a song about a failed relationship.
There's not a trace of irony in the presentation. It's not one of those 'clever' adverts that exploits people's mistrust of advertising by pretending to subvert itself.
-----
I've got an N-Pod. £128.00 for a combined MP3 player, dictaphone, FM Radio reciever and recorder, basic ebook reader, and portable 20GB hard disk.
So now, with a bit of forward planning, I can record what I want from DAB, and listen to it during those hours spent on busses, trains and pavements.
-----
Nathan Barley was rubbish. Just horrible. Fresh as an egyptian mummy, subversive as Phil Collins, eloquent as George Bush, and subtle as a lead brick.
I've probably used the quote before, but, I think it was Tom Paulin who said, "It's a horrible thing when an artist's work matures."
-----
I've got to phone around to remind people of the forum tomorrow. It's about the fraudulence of the Iraq elections.
I know that my list of telephone numbers is somewhere in one of five boxes of stuff that I moved when clearing out my bedroom. So I think I'll listen to some of last week's radio while rifleing through it all.
It's Tainted Love. A product that hides blemishes, with a song about imperfections. A product about romance, with a song about a failed relationship.
There's not a trace of irony in the presentation. It's not one of those 'clever' adverts that exploits people's mistrust of advertising by pretending to subvert itself.
-----
I've got an N-Pod. £128.00 for a combined MP3 player, dictaphone, FM Radio reciever and recorder, basic ebook reader, and portable 20GB hard disk.
So now, with a bit of forward planning, I can record what I want from DAB, and listen to it during those hours spent on busses, trains and pavements.
-----
Nathan Barley was rubbish. Just horrible. Fresh as an egyptian mummy, subversive as Phil Collins, eloquent as George Bush, and subtle as a lead brick.
I've probably used the quote before, but, I think it was Tom Paulin who said, "It's a horrible thing when an artist's work matures."
-----
I've got to phone around to remind people of the forum tomorrow. It's about the fraudulence of the Iraq elections.
I know that my list of telephone numbers is somewhere in one of five boxes of stuff that I moved when clearing out my bedroom. So I think I'll listen to some of last week's radio while rifleing through it all.
This is how it begins
I don't have many childhood memories. Almost nothing before ten, and not much before 15. Three of them occur in 1985, when I was 13, and they're musical.
The first was while watching a TV programme about pop music - an article about what was breaking in the american charts. They played a minute or so of a very dense and chaotic animated video - too many things happening to take in at once. And the music was...bizarre. I remember thinking something like "This should not be music. But it is music, and it's fascinating.".
I was captivated by the sonic possibilities that opened up. There was no structure of verses and chorues, nonsensical lyrics, and sounds that belonged in scrapyards, streets and factories.
The voiceover went on to introduce other acts, but I didn't notice them. I knew nothing of samplers and little of synthesisers - it seemed miraculous that music could be made without pianos, or electric guitars, or singers. The band was The Art of Noise, and the track was Close (to the Edit).
The second was when my cousin Mark made a cassette copy for me of The Art of Noise's album. Every weekday I came home from school for lunch with my parents, and went back in the afternoon. This lunchtime some cassettes had arrived in the post, with a letter from Mark.
I put the cassette into a crummy old mono tape player, and felt those same sensations again. A whole album of impossible music. Going back to the little world of Status Quo strumming their guitars and endless blond woman singers singing about love - it was like going back to a pogo stick after flying a fighter plane. Functional but dull and so limited.
All this probably seems quite strange now to anyone reading it. Perhaps I was nieve, but it's a wonderful feeling when the world suddenly seems to get bigger, and there are exotic new terratories to explore.
The third was the same feeling again. The show was Top Of The Pops, and the song was '19' by Paul Hardcastle. Minimal production, all syntheised sounds, and - the audacity! - recorded speech where the singer should be. Plus, there was an actual message in the song.
I discovered a lot of other things when I was 13. I found that I liked boys more than girls. And that for some reason, other people had a problem with that. And, even more baffling, they didn't know why they had a problem.
1985. This was the year that made me. I stumbled upon sexuality, began to ask questions about philosophy, science, and what made people tick, and decided that what I really wanted to do was make music. Music from sound.
The first was while watching a TV programme about pop music - an article about what was breaking in the american charts. They played a minute or so of a very dense and chaotic animated video - too many things happening to take in at once. And the music was...bizarre. I remember thinking something like "This should not be music. But it is music, and it's fascinating.".
I was captivated by the sonic possibilities that opened up. There was no structure of verses and chorues, nonsensical lyrics, and sounds that belonged in scrapyards, streets and factories.
The voiceover went on to introduce other acts, but I didn't notice them. I knew nothing of samplers and little of synthesisers - it seemed miraculous that music could be made without pianos, or electric guitars, or singers. The band was The Art of Noise, and the track was Close (to the Edit).
The second was when my cousin Mark made a cassette copy for me of The Art of Noise's album. Every weekday I came home from school for lunch with my parents, and went back in the afternoon. This lunchtime some cassettes had arrived in the post, with a letter from Mark.
I put the cassette into a crummy old mono tape player, and felt those same sensations again. A whole album of impossible music. Going back to the little world of Status Quo strumming their guitars and endless blond woman singers singing about love - it was like going back to a pogo stick after flying a fighter plane. Functional but dull and so limited.
All this probably seems quite strange now to anyone reading it. Perhaps I was nieve, but it's a wonderful feeling when the world suddenly seems to get bigger, and there are exotic new terratories to explore.
The third was the same feeling again. The show was Top Of The Pops, and the song was '19' by Paul Hardcastle. Minimal production, all syntheised sounds, and - the audacity! - recorded speech where the singer should be. Plus, there was an actual message in the song.
I discovered a lot of other things when I was 13. I found that I liked boys more than girls. And that for some reason, other people had a problem with that. And, even more baffling, they didn't know why they had a problem.
1985. This was the year that made me. I stumbled upon sexuality, began to ask questions about philosophy, science, and what made people tick, and decided that what I really wanted to do was make music. Music from sound.
Notworking
Today I tried to transfer a gigabyte of data from a desktop to a laptop. Sounds reasonably simple. The laptop (called 'Rincewind') can't be networked. The desktop (called 'Greebo') can be - and is - networked, but only on one network at a time.
So, I disconnect the BNC cable from Greebo, and connect the RJ45 to both. Nothing. I reset both, and Greebo mysteriously asks several times for the MS-Office 2000 installation disk. But...Rincewind recognises Greebo, and they spend a happy half hour copying files.
I switch off Rincewind, and try to disconenct Greebo. And can't. The RJ45 cable is stuck fast in it's slot. And half the icons have disappeared from the desktop. And all my emails have vanished, together the Internet Explorer favourites list, and all Outlook Express settings. GAH!
All the software seems installed, but reset. Even the windows colour scheme is back to default. Mysterious, annoying, and worrying. Is this going to happen every time I move files to my little laptop?
Anyway. I'm set to record the first episode of Nathan Barley. I haven't seen a single positive review, but hey, this is a Chris Morris project. He's my absolute favourite commedian, and it generally takes the mainstream media a few months to 'get' his work. Before they copy it badly.
Also to be recorded - The Rocky Horror Picture Show! It all looks curiously innocent and harmless now. It might just be me getting old, but I now enjoy the music more than the costumes, jokes, and attitude. Nick? Are you reading this? Bet you'll be watching it! "I'm just a beat trance-vestite."
Oh yes, and I'm thinking of getting an N-Pod. Not an I-Pod, an N-Pod. Half the price, none of the cool, and more of the functionality. I'm recording all these radio music shows and documentaries, but can only listen to them with a computer. There's no shortage of time to hear them, but most of it's spent traveling or sitting in waiting rooms. So, a portable MP3 player seems a good idea.
So, I disconnect the BNC cable from Greebo, and connect the RJ45 to both. Nothing. I reset both, and Greebo mysteriously asks several times for the MS-Office 2000 installation disk. But...Rincewind recognises Greebo, and they spend a happy half hour copying files.
I switch off Rincewind, and try to disconenct Greebo. And can't. The RJ45 cable is stuck fast in it's slot. And half the icons have disappeared from the desktop. And all my emails have vanished, together the Internet Explorer favourites list, and all Outlook Express settings. GAH!
All the software seems installed, but reset. Even the windows colour scheme is back to default. Mysterious, annoying, and worrying. Is this going to happen every time I move files to my little laptop?
Anyway. I'm set to record the first episode of Nathan Barley. I haven't seen a single positive review, but hey, this is a Chris Morris project. He's my absolute favourite commedian, and it generally takes the mainstream media a few months to 'get' his work. Before they copy it badly.
Also to be recorded - The Rocky Horror Picture Show! It all looks curiously innocent and harmless now. It might just be me getting old, but I now enjoy the music more than the costumes, jokes, and attitude. Nick? Are you reading this? Bet you'll be watching it! "I'm just a beat trance-vestite."
Oh yes, and I'm thinking of getting an N-Pod. Not an I-Pod, an N-Pod. Half the price, none of the cool, and more of the functionality. I'm recording all these radio music shows and documentaries, but can only listen to them with a computer. There's no shortage of time to hear them, but most of it's spent traveling or sitting in waiting rooms. So, a portable MP3 player seems a good idea.
Who watches the royal watchers?
Charles Winsor is to marry Camilla Parker-Bowles. The media is full of it (so to speak), but the public don't seem very interested. Compare the general public reaction to this engagement, with the last time Charles got engaged.
Then, reactions from the mainstream in the main street ranged from mild approval to tearful joy. Now, they range from mild disapproval to a shrug of the shoulders.
Royal-watching - taking great interest in royalty, their public appearances, and their commemorative mugs - was considered a mild eccentricity in the early 1980s. Most people were pro-royal in a vague, noncommittal sort of way, but collecting royal facts and memorabilia was thought a little strange. Now, the dominant attitude seems to be disinterest. Strong anti-monarchism is rare, but so is any strong attitude at all about the royal family.
When Charles married Diana (1981?) most people in Britain didn't realise it was a sham. Anyone used to thinking critically about politics and the media of course saw that it was arranged, and probably loveless from the outset. But way back then, that kind of thinking was vanishingly rare.
When Diana died (1996?), there was a vast manufactured public outpuring of grief. Real emotions, but artificially stimulated. In just a few years since then, the public have become less easy to manipulate, as demonstrated by the completely lack of public interest at the deaths of Princess Margaret and the Queen Mother.
We are not now living in a nation of skeptics. If we were the support for Tony Blair and the occupation of Iraq would be nonexistent, as opposed to just low. Nor (I believe) are we living in a nation of apathetics.
Think of the compassionate reaction to the asian tsunami, the virulent wave of racism against immigrants, the anti-war demonstrations, the mouthfoaming about terrorists, and the exaggerated fear of street crime. The politics in people's heads may be confused, contradictory, and sometimes repellent, but there is strong political consciousness.
So, the public don't care, and the media is trying to make them enthusiastic. What will be interesting is to see how far public attitude can now be changed by television, radio, newspapers and magazines. Can the general public be whipped up into yet another frenzy, like they were when Diana died? Can they be made to support this marriage, even if only weakly?
The marriage of two upper-class twits is of no consequence in itself. But the maleability of the public on this issue will be an index of their stubbornness, gullibility, and capacity for independent thought on other issues.
Then, reactions from the mainstream in the main street ranged from mild approval to tearful joy. Now, they range from mild disapproval to a shrug of the shoulders.
Royal-watching - taking great interest in royalty, their public appearances, and their commemorative mugs - was considered a mild eccentricity in the early 1980s. Most people were pro-royal in a vague, noncommittal sort of way, but collecting royal facts and memorabilia was thought a little strange. Now, the dominant attitude seems to be disinterest. Strong anti-monarchism is rare, but so is any strong attitude at all about the royal family.
When Charles married Diana (1981?) most people in Britain didn't realise it was a sham. Anyone used to thinking critically about politics and the media of course saw that it was arranged, and probably loveless from the outset. But way back then, that kind of thinking was vanishingly rare.
When Diana died (1996?), there was a vast manufactured public outpuring of grief. Real emotions, but artificially stimulated. In just a few years since then, the public have become less easy to manipulate, as demonstrated by the completely lack of public interest at the deaths of Princess Margaret and the Queen Mother.
We are not now living in a nation of skeptics. If we were the support for Tony Blair and the occupation of Iraq would be nonexistent, as opposed to just low. Nor (I believe) are we living in a nation of apathetics.
Think of the compassionate reaction to the asian tsunami, the virulent wave of racism against immigrants, the anti-war demonstrations, the mouthfoaming about terrorists, and the exaggerated fear of street crime. The politics in people's heads may be confused, contradictory, and sometimes repellent, but there is strong political consciousness.
So, the public don't care, and the media is trying to make them enthusiastic. What will be interesting is to see how far public attitude can now be changed by television, radio, newspapers and magazines. Can the general public be whipped up into yet another frenzy, like they were when Diana died? Can they be made to support this marriage, even if only weakly?
The marriage of two upper-class twits is of no consequence in itself. But the maleability of the public on this issue will be an index of their stubbornness, gullibility, and capacity for independent thought on other issues.
Thanks Mum
Aren't mother's wonderful? This morning I woke up briefly when she looked in on me. I mumbled something about needing to upgrade computers with RAM. She agreed, and I went back to sleep. Then I wake up at midday to find she's gone and bought us both some RAM for our computers.
With my memory capacity doubled to 1024MB, I run a few tests. And find the same crashes with the same error messages as before. So, stuck for anything else to try, I install a different MJPEG codec, and now it's all running perfectly.
So now it's all set up to record Farscape and Anatomy for Beginners - an intetesting combination.
Oh, I notice a new Freeview channel - Teachers TV. From the website it looks crushingly dull, patronising, but occasionally useful for someone who might end up being a teacher - like me or H. I'll offer to record some programmes for H, though something tells me the opportunity to study even more rubbish about teaching theory won't appeal to him.
Right. I have eight days to write a short essay on the role of water in human biology. It's not difficult, and is therefore not very interesting, and will therefore be left until the night before the deadline. But I can at least read the source book.
With my memory capacity doubled to 1024MB, I run a few tests. And find the same crashes with the same error messages as before. So, stuck for anything else to try, I install a different MJPEG codec, and now it's all running perfectly.
So now it's all set up to record Farscape and Anatomy for Beginners - an intetesting combination.
Oh, I notice a new Freeview channel - Teachers TV. From the website it looks crushingly dull, patronising, but occasionally useful for someone who might end up being a teacher - like me or H. I'll offer to record some programmes for H, though something tells me the opportunity to study even more rubbish about teaching theory won't appeal to him.
Right. I have eight days to write a short essay on the role of water in human biology. It's not difficult, and is therefore not very interesting, and will therefore be left until the night before the deadline. But I can at least read the source book.
Capturing those golden TV moments
Guess what time it is? That's right. It's exactly four in the morning. Again.
Today, I have tried to capture five television programmes. The software (WinVDR Pro and VirtualDub) crashed during four of them. And I think I know why. I need more RAM.
To capture TV broadcasts in real time you need:
* A lot of hard disk space. I recommend an empty partition of at least 50GB, if possible on a seperate physical drive from the OS. If you're going to recode the capture, it helps if the destination drive of the transcoding is on a seperate physical drive. Write speed and read speed is less important than lack of data fragmentation.
* A fast CPU. In principle, a 1.7GHz machine can do realtime MPEG4 encoding of a full resolution capture while encoding the sound to MP3. In practice, 3GH is probably needed.
* Lots of RAM. You might get away with 512MB - though today I didn't. 1024MB should be enough. Speed of RAM is less important than size.
If your RAM is too slow to process the incoming signal, your capture will drop frames. This also happens if your CPU is too slow. If your RAM is too small to handle the large amount of data involved, even for a single frame, you will probably get a crash.
So, I'm going to spend some more of that money I don't really have, and get me some extra RAM chips. And this is one of those cases where too much is far preferable to too little, because too much is merely redundant at worst, while too little is worthless.
Today, I have tried to capture five television programmes. The software (WinVDR Pro and VirtualDub) crashed during four of them. And I think I know why. I need more RAM.
To capture TV broadcasts in real time you need:
* A lot of hard disk space. I recommend an empty partition of at least 50GB, if possible on a seperate physical drive from the OS. If you're going to recode the capture, it helps if the destination drive of the transcoding is on a seperate physical drive. Write speed and read speed is less important than lack of data fragmentation.
* A fast CPU. In principle, a 1.7GHz machine can do realtime MPEG4 encoding of a full resolution capture while encoding the sound to MP3. In practice, 3GH is probably needed.
* Lots of RAM. You might get away with 512MB - though today I didn't. 1024MB should be enough. Speed of RAM is less important than size.
If your RAM is too slow to process the incoming signal, your capture will drop frames. This also happens if your CPU is too slow. If your RAM is too small to handle the large amount of data involved, even for a single frame, you will probably get a crash.
So, I'm going to spend some more of that money I don't really have, and get me some extra RAM chips. And this is one of those cases where too much is far preferable to too little, because too much is merely redundant at worst, while too little is worthless.
A Lewd Act
An actor is performing onstage as a character in a play. At some point, the character cleans their teeth, and therefore so does the actor. In a sense, therefore, the actor isn't pretending to clean his or her teeth - they are actually doing it.
The same goes for smoking a cigarette, being naked, shouting, dancing, and kissing. Indeed, most of what the actor does on stage isn't actually faked.
There are a few cases where the real thing can be substituted with something that is 'near enough'. A high-tar cigarette might be replaced with a herbal cigarette, a punch will narrowly miss it's target, melodramatic crying might have all the right external componants except the tears - or the tears might be chemically induced. Obviously dying and (usually) the harming of others or oneself are simulated.
However, most of what occurs can't be simulated. The acts of moving and walking, talking and showing emotion, entering, exiting, and handling objects are all 'real'. The objects handled might be fake, but the handling itself isn't - except where 'slight of hand' is involved.
So what about a performance is always fake? In other words, what factors are always present in all acting that distinguish it from the real thing? What is it about acting that makes it acting?
An actor can pretend to cry, but even if they produce real tears from their own sorrow, it isn't the character's sorrow. They can display rage, love, lust, insanity, or even apathy, but even the method actor who generates these emotions inside himself for greater believability, doesn't display the characters emotion - he displays his own.
The interiority of the actor - their emotions, thoughts and history - can never be those of the character they play. There's two things to say about this.
The first is that it doesn't leave us with much fiction in our portrayals. If everything happening on stage can, in principle, be real, then there isn't much that distinguishes viewing a stage production from viewing a real event - even if the event is highly surreal.
The second comment is that the vast majority of acting never approaches this high level of realism. Props are made of cardboard, gestures are somewhat overdone, lines get fluffed, and actors muck about as much as they can get away with.
The same goes for smoking a cigarette, being naked, shouting, dancing, and kissing. Indeed, most of what the actor does on stage isn't actually faked.
There are a few cases where the real thing can be substituted with something that is 'near enough'. A high-tar cigarette might be replaced with a herbal cigarette, a punch will narrowly miss it's target, melodramatic crying might have all the right external componants except the tears - or the tears might be chemically induced. Obviously dying and (usually) the harming of others or oneself are simulated.
However, most of what occurs can't be simulated. The acts of moving and walking, talking and showing emotion, entering, exiting, and handling objects are all 'real'. The objects handled might be fake, but the handling itself isn't - except where 'slight of hand' is involved.
So what about a performance is always fake? In other words, what factors are always present in all acting that distinguish it from the real thing? What is it about acting that makes it acting?
An actor can pretend to cry, but even if they produce real tears from their own sorrow, it isn't the character's sorrow. They can display rage, love, lust, insanity, or even apathy, but even the method actor who generates these emotions inside himself for greater believability, doesn't display the characters emotion - he displays his own.
The interiority of the actor - their emotions, thoughts and history - can never be those of the character they play. There's two things to say about this.
The first is that it doesn't leave us with much fiction in our portrayals. If everything happening on stage can, in principle, be real, then there isn't much that distinguishes viewing a stage production from viewing a real event - even if the event is highly surreal.
The second comment is that the vast majority of acting never approaches this high level of realism. Props are made of cardboard, gestures are somewhat overdone, lines get fluffed, and actors muck about as much as they can get away with.
Numbers
How did it get to be four in the morning again? Oh well, no sooner do I get a system of video capture set up, than BBC3 start showing Farscape - a show I always enjoyed, but only saw patchily.
I've got a two-tier system for capturing video from Freeview. For programs like documentaries where crystal clarity of picture isn't essential, a realtime encoding of the live signal into DivX (925kbps, 'Standard' speed, Deinterlacing source) and MP3 (128kbps, 44.1KHz, Mono). For films and special serials, an encoding of the signal to MJPEG (quality level 18) and PCM WAV (44.1KHz, Mono), then a recoding of that to the same settings as the realtime capture, except at 'Slow' speed, with Psychovisual processing and cropping as necessary.
That paragraph will mean nothing to anyone who hasn't run a similar operation.
What's it called when you're tierd and want to sleep, but mysteriously can't? I lie down in bed and completely fail to drift off. Whatever it's called, I've got it. And my brain is too fuzzy to do any useful reading.
AS has sent me an email again. He's asian, shy, and wants to have sex with me. If I hadn't put on so much weight and got so busy the last few weeks, I'd do it without hesitation. As it is, I have an essay to write by the 17th, and something like 35 pounds to somehow lose.
I've got a two-tier system for capturing video from Freeview. For programs like documentaries where crystal clarity of picture isn't essential, a realtime encoding of the live signal into DivX (925kbps, 'Standard' speed, Deinterlacing source) and MP3 (128kbps, 44.1KHz, Mono). For films and special serials, an encoding of the signal to MJPEG (quality level 18) and PCM WAV (44.1KHz, Mono), then a recoding of that to the same settings as the realtime capture, except at 'Slow' speed, with Psychovisual processing and cropping as necessary.
That paragraph will mean nothing to anyone who hasn't run a similar operation.
What's it called when you're tierd and want to sleep, but mysteriously can't? I lie down in bed and completely fail to drift off. Whatever it's called, I've got it. And my brain is too fuzzy to do any useful reading.
AS has sent me an email again. He's asian, shy, and wants to have sex with me. If I hadn't put on so much weight and got so busy the last few weeks, I'd do it without hesitation. As it is, I have an essay to write by the 17th, and something like 35 pounds to somehow lose.
Remind me why I'm doing this?
The afternoon nap managed to last nearly 5 hours, and I awoke refreshed and alert. It's now four in the morning again, and after spending several hours installing and deinstalling codecs and drivers and software, my head is again full of porridge. BUT I now know the cause of the problem.
Of two identical looking but slightly different PCI cards, I've got the wrong one installed! So it's just a simple matter of deinstalling all the drivers, opening up the computer, changing over the cards, reinstalling the drivers, and going through all the tests again to make sure it works properly.
Unfortunately, I've lost the screwdriver.
So I think I'll go and have some early breakfast instead. H said I ought to look after myself - sleep regular hours, exercise, and eat sensibly. I'm sure it is possible to do all these things and not turn into a person so boring it would turn a Jehovis Witness to stone. It's just...as Saint Augustine said, "Oh Lord, make me pure. But not yet."
EDIT: It's 0645 and all the hardware is working perfectly with all it's software. So now I can turn it off until I actually have a reason to use it. H is right about sleep, but as it's another 18 hours until normal people go to sleep, I think I'll do it now.
Of two identical looking but slightly different PCI cards, I've got the wrong one installed! So it's just a simple matter of deinstalling all the drivers, opening up the computer, changing over the cards, reinstalling the drivers, and going through all the tests again to make sure it works properly.
Unfortunately, I've lost the screwdriver.
So I think I'll go and have some early breakfast instead. H said I ought to look after myself - sleep regular hours, exercise, and eat sensibly. I'm sure it is possible to do all these things and not turn into a person so boring it would turn a Jehovis Witness to stone. It's just...as Saint Augustine said, "Oh Lord, make me pure. But not yet."
EDIT: It's 0645 and all the hardware is working perfectly with all it's software. So now I can turn it off until I actually have a reason to use it. H is right about sleep, but as it's another 18 hours until normal people go to sleep, I think I'll do it now.
Typing and Typolgy
I've just finished transcribing 5972 handwritten words - some of it not entirely legible, some of it about things I don't understand. As a result, my head is currently full of porridge. When the porridge turns back into brain, I may be able to think better.
Last night I went out with H. There were no decent films on, so we sat in Portsmouth's two gay pubs, he with his cider and me with my bacardi-and-coke, disagreeing about everything from theories of teaching to the justifyability of war. We sat drinking tea in his room afterwards having a very interesting discussion on the concept of 'subspecies' - I'll write about that at some point later.
H is a very switched on and educated man, and, like a lot of people with detailed knowledge and good skeptical attitudes in his specialisms, he's curiously nieve in other areas. He knows more than me about tribal conflict in Africa and religious tension in the Middle East, but can't explain where these problems come from, or why tensions can be dormant for generations, then suddenly flare up into genocide.
I suppose it's unsurprising. If the history books you read attribute tyranny to the evil of the tyrant, economic revival to the charisma of a president, and war to the spontainous collective insanity of the country, then you'll get a picture of history as one mysterious event after another. A tale told by a madman, full of anacdote and hand waving, signifying nothing.
Right. I now have backache from hunching over this keyboard for hours, and a computer that needs a few dozen programs reinstalling. I could do that, or I could have an afternoon nap. Hmmm.
Last night I went out with H. There were no decent films on, so we sat in Portsmouth's two gay pubs, he with his cider and me with my bacardi-and-coke, disagreeing about everything from theories of teaching to the justifyability of war. We sat drinking tea in his room afterwards having a very interesting discussion on the concept of 'subspecies' - I'll write about that at some point later.
H is a very switched on and educated man, and, like a lot of people with detailed knowledge and good skeptical attitudes in his specialisms, he's curiously nieve in other areas. He knows more than me about tribal conflict in Africa and religious tension in the Middle East, but can't explain where these problems come from, or why tensions can be dormant for generations, then suddenly flare up into genocide.
I suppose it's unsurprising. If the history books you read attribute tyranny to the evil of the tyrant, economic revival to the charisma of a president, and war to the spontainous collective insanity of the country, then you'll get a picture of history as one mysterious event after another. A tale told by a madman, full of anacdote and hand waving, signifying nothing.
Right. I now have backache from hunching over this keyboard for hours, and a computer that needs a few dozen programs reinstalling. I could do that, or I could have an afternoon nap. Hmmm.
Don't You Wish You Were More Like Me? I Do.
It's 0431. The entire room is cleaned and rearranged. The computer has a brand new installation of Windows 2000. And after four straight hours of running through permutations of cables, cards and drivers, I can record TV programs on the computer. Or could if the right codecs were installed.
Unfortunately, I've no idea which combination made it suddenly start working after hours of nothing. If there's one thing I hate almost as much as being unable to solve a problem, it's not knowing exactly how I solved it. I have a perverse urge to deinstall everything and start again, just so I can know what I did right.
Time for sleep. The downside of tomorrow (later today, after sleep) is that I have 6000 words of almost illegible handwriting to deciper and transcribe. And it's urgent. The upside is that I'm seeing H afterwards. Goodnight.
Unfortunately, I've no idea which combination made it suddenly start working after hours of nothing. If there's one thing I hate almost as much as being unable to solve a problem, it's not knowing exactly how I solved it. I have a perverse urge to deinstall everything and start again, just so I can know what I did right.
Time for sleep. The downside of tomorrow (later today, after sleep) is that I have 6000 words of almost illegible handwriting to deciper and transcribe. And it's urgent. The upside is that I'm seeing H afterwards. Goodnight.
Not the Theory of Human Labour
I think work expands by meiosis and mutation. Every task divides into several smaller tasks, which then grow to the size of the original the more you examine them, before dividing again. They also change, so an idea about recording freeview broadcasts on your bedroom computer becomes a plan to rearrange the entire room so the arial can go next to the window.
There are also recessive tasks that suddenly become dominant. A few days ago I said I wouldn't mind transcribing a handwritten essay into digital form. This morning I get a quietly panicked phone call that the essay is finished, but late. And 6000 words. And neither of us can think of anyone else who (a) knows their way around a keyboard and (b) could actually understand the essay.
Note to self: You're much better at diagnosing technical problems than political ones. Your task in history is act as technical support and amenuensis to much greater thinkers. Some day, after the revolution, someone will write a slim biography of you - Kapitano: Screwdriver Of The Masses.
There are also recessive tasks that suddenly become dominant. A few days ago I said I wouldn't mind transcribing a handwritten essay into digital form. This morning I get a quietly panicked phone call that the essay is finished, but late. And 6000 words. And neither of us can think of anyone else who (a) knows their way around a keyboard and (b) could actually understand the essay.
Note to self: You're much better at diagnosing technical problems than political ones. Your task in history is act as technical support and amenuensis to much greater thinkers. Some day, after the revolution, someone will write a slim biography of you - Kapitano: Screwdriver Of The Masses.
DIary of Wasted Time
Not the most productive day in the world.
It started at 01:00, when I tried to install a video capture card in my computer, and set up a freeview reciever box with my arial booster. My family already have a system for capturing television to divx, and my idea was to set up a secondary capture system - for recording the occasional programme which they can't capture because it clashes with another one.
The Freeview box couldn't detect any digital signals at all, one of the pins on the S-Video cable broke, and the soundcard stopped working. I did, however, tune in to BBC1, which was relaying George Bush's address to the nation. As my metaphorical jaw descended towards the rhetorical floor, Baby Bush spouted a stream of unconnected sentences, seemingly generated by a Chomsky grammar machine.
My particular favourite sentence was "Freedom will ensure Peace." It wouldn't be difficult to recreate the algorithm, a produced sentences like "God gives Succour to Eye-Ran.", "Terror shall destroy Democracy.", and "The enemies of Justice shall not prevail against the right to Vote."
Okay, if it really was meaningless, it wouldn't be scary. Specific threats against Iran and Syria, and ageneral threats against any country that 'gives suppport' to 'terror'. Plus a committment to keep troops in Iraq until the population stops killing them.
After all that I went to sleep. And woke at 0900 to the news that I had a pointless meeting booked for 1030. After the pointless meeting, I walked home, buying a new S-Video cable and some microphone clips on the 2 hour journey.
What was I saying about the personal and the political?
After an afternoon spent failing to get the sound and video cards to work, I went to the first lecture of my new physics course. Like all introductory lectures, it was all about the course structure, essay writing, and the importance of deadlines. So no actual physics.
Walking to the bus stop, I realised I'd forgotten to bring any money. So, to get money for the bus, I walked to the nearest cashpoint. Which was out of order. So I bought some junk food from the co-op with my debit card, asking for £10 'cashback'. They were happy to do this, provided I bought a minimum of £3 worth of junk food.
After first mistyping my withdrawl was £20, and then as £1, I got my £10 in loose change. And sat at the bus stop munching my crisps and chocolate. The last bus of the night arrived, and took me to within 20 minutes walk of where I wanted to go. Along the same route I'd walked earlier.
The plan for today was to tidy up and rearrange my bedroom, reinstall peripheral drivers, and get the Freeview box working. It's now 0011, and I'm about ready to begin. Just as soon as I drink the Red Square from the co-op.
I haven't seen H for nearly 3 weeks. He should be reasonably free on Friday (today), or the weekend. I hope so - even if it's just to see a dumb movie and disagree about genetic reductionism.
Red Square is vodka, caffine, and taurine. Cheers.
EDIT: It made me want to dance, while removing the co-ordination to do so.
I now have a number of things to do. Set up a business account, speak to the Job Centre about Tax Credits, Rearrange my bedroom, finish digitising the 4-track archives of music I made years ago, continue digitising the cassettes of music made by other people, edit this week's DAB recordings, learn to use Sonar 4, apply for the Media Technician job at the university, get an exercise regime together, finish the maths course, do the first assignment of the physics course, call up H and spend some time with him away from all this insanity.
It started at 01:00, when I tried to install a video capture card in my computer, and set up a freeview reciever box with my arial booster. My family already have a system for capturing television to divx, and my idea was to set up a secondary capture system - for recording the occasional programme which they can't capture because it clashes with another one.
The Freeview box couldn't detect any digital signals at all, one of the pins on the S-Video cable broke, and the soundcard stopped working. I did, however, tune in to BBC1, which was relaying George Bush's address to the nation. As my metaphorical jaw descended towards the rhetorical floor, Baby Bush spouted a stream of unconnected sentences, seemingly generated by a Chomsky grammar machine.
My particular favourite sentence was "Freedom will ensure Peace." It wouldn't be difficult to recreate the algorithm, a produced sentences like "God gives Succour to Eye-Ran.", "Terror shall destroy Democracy.", and "The enemies of Justice shall not prevail against the right to Vote."
Okay, if it really was meaningless, it wouldn't be scary. Specific threats against Iran and Syria, and ageneral threats against any country that 'gives suppport' to 'terror'. Plus a committment to keep troops in Iraq until the population stops killing them.
After all that I went to sleep. And woke at 0900 to the news that I had a pointless meeting booked for 1030. After the pointless meeting, I walked home, buying a new S-Video cable and some microphone clips on the 2 hour journey.
What was I saying about the personal and the political?
After an afternoon spent failing to get the sound and video cards to work, I went to the first lecture of my new physics course. Like all introductory lectures, it was all about the course structure, essay writing, and the importance of deadlines. So no actual physics.
Walking to the bus stop, I realised I'd forgotten to bring any money. So, to get money for the bus, I walked to the nearest cashpoint. Which was out of order. So I bought some junk food from the co-op with my debit card, asking for £10 'cashback'. They were happy to do this, provided I bought a minimum of £3 worth of junk food.
After first mistyping my withdrawl was £20, and then as £1, I got my £10 in loose change. And sat at the bus stop munching my crisps and chocolate. The last bus of the night arrived, and took me to within 20 minutes walk of where I wanted to go. Along the same route I'd walked earlier.
The plan for today was to tidy up and rearrange my bedroom, reinstall peripheral drivers, and get the Freeview box working. It's now 0011, and I'm about ready to begin. Just as soon as I drink the Red Square from the co-op.
I haven't seen H for nearly 3 weeks. He should be reasonably free on Friday (today), or the weekend. I hope so - even if it's just to see a dumb movie and disagree about genetic reductionism.
Red Square is vodka, caffine, and taurine. Cheers.
EDIT: It made me want to dance, while removing the co-ordination to do so.
I now have a number of things to do. Set up a business account, speak to the Job Centre about Tax Credits, Rearrange my bedroom, finish digitising the 4-track archives of music I made years ago, continue digitising the cassettes of music made by other people, edit this week's DAB recordings, learn to use Sonar 4, apply for the Media Technician job at the university, get an exercise regime together, finish the maths course, do the first assignment of the physics course, call up H and spend some time with him away from all this insanity.
Stupid White Men
Just when I feel like giving up completely, I stumble on something like this. It's a photo essay of protests against Bush, his wars, and policies.
You can judge an idea from the calibre of attacks made on it. In this case, the attacks made on the essay looked like this:
Comment #7 from 'Mike'
I think you folks have bats in your belfries.[...]
Socialism is roundly [sic] considered a complete failure. It is a dead system which has no political capitol [sic] anymore. It has ceased to exist. It is a non-parrot. It has joined the choir invisible. If you idjits hadn't nailed it to the perch it would be pushing up daisies already!
Comment #38 from 'Paul':
Capitalism creates wealth. Without wealth, no money for tsunami victims.
You liberals are "either or" people.[...]
Nice pictures, but billions are not protesting!!!!!!!
Comment #216 from 'Brad':
OMG, get over yourself you libral idiots.[...]
Pull you heads out of your idealogical asses and smell the realism.[...]
WE RULE THE ECONOMY OF THE WHOLE FUCKING GLOBE, GET OVER YOUR PETTY COMPLAINTS.
So this is what the pro-Bush camp can produce. Non-sequiteurs, misspelled insults, strawmen, a Monty Python reference, and a row of seven exclamation points.
You can judge an idea from the calibre of attacks made on it. In this case, the attacks made on the essay looked like this:
Comment #7 from 'Mike'
I think you folks have bats in your belfries.[...]
Socialism is roundly [sic] considered a complete failure. It is a dead system which has no political capitol [sic] anymore. It has ceased to exist. It is a non-parrot. It has joined the choir invisible. If you idjits hadn't nailed it to the perch it would be pushing up daisies already!
Comment #38 from 'Paul':
Capitalism creates wealth. Without wealth, no money for tsunami victims.
You liberals are "either or" people.[...]
Nice pictures, but billions are not protesting!!!!!!!
Comment #216 from 'Brad':
OMG, get over yourself you libral idiots.[...]
Pull you heads out of your idealogical asses and smell the realism.[...]
WE RULE THE ECONOMY OF THE WHOLE FUCKING GLOBE, GET OVER YOUR PETTY COMPLAINTS.
So this is what the pro-Bush camp can produce. Non-sequiteurs, misspelled insults, strawmen, a Monty Python reference, and a row of seven exclamation points.
Past
Last night I had one of my 'Soap Opera' dreams. The kind where you wake up several times, then go back to sleep, and the story continues with a new episode of an endless story.
In the dream, I'm a teenager at college. Hundreds of students are gathered in a large audatorium, for some kind of 'talent night'. One of the acts is a young fellow singing to backing tapes.
He's singing one of my songs. It's 'Let It Be', which I wrote for and about D. I generally say it's the only sincere song I've ever written - about being completely in love while knowing the relationship can't work. It's a disco/rave version of my ballad.
I meet a boy in the crowd. He's probably sightly younger than me. He's small and frail looking, bitter and resentful about being bullied by his peers.
Although I'm not much more sorted in my mind that he is in his, I take him under my wing. All I can do is listen, give what little advice I can drag from my limited experience, and hug him close.
I get to know his family. They're a crowded group of ground-down working class folk - decent but weary. They guardedly accept me as friend and awkward mentor for the boy.
Then I lose him. After carrying him back from somewhere to his family, carrying him like a sleeping child, I find that what I've been carrying home isn't him at all. It's a collection of small mysterious objects.
Years later, we meet again by accident, but somehow we're the same age as before. We renew our friendship. Again, the only things I can do to make his life more bearable are listen, talk, and hold him.
Then, while randomly reading other people's weblogs, I find one from his boyfriend. He never mentioned that he had one. It describes him as shallow, manipulative and a liar. I'm shocked and don't know whether to confront my nameless friend with what I found.
Then I woke up, and couldn't get back to sleep.
In the dream, I'm a teenager at college. Hundreds of students are gathered in a large audatorium, for some kind of 'talent night'. One of the acts is a young fellow singing to backing tapes.
He's singing one of my songs. It's 'Let It Be', which I wrote for and about D. I generally say it's the only sincere song I've ever written - about being completely in love while knowing the relationship can't work. It's a disco/rave version of my ballad.
I meet a boy in the crowd. He's probably sightly younger than me. He's small and frail looking, bitter and resentful about being bullied by his peers.
Although I'm not much more sorted in my mind that he is in his, I take him under my wing. All I can do is listen, give what little advice I can drag from my limited experience, and hug him close.
I get to know his family. They're a crowded group of ground-down working class folk - decent but weary. They guardedly accept me as friend and awkward mentor for the boy.
Then I lose him. After carrying him back from somewhere to his family, carrying him like a sleeping child, I find that what I've been carrying home isn't him at all. It's a collection of small mysterious objects.
Years later, we meet again by accident, but somehow we're the same age as before. We renew our friendship. Again, the only things I can do to make his life more bearable are listen, talk, and hold him.
Then, while randomly reading other people's weblogs, I find one from his boyfriend. He never mentioned that he had one. It describes him as shallow, manipulative and a liar. I'm shocked and don't know whether to confront my nameless friend with what I found.
Then I woke up, and couldn't get back to sleep.
Present
On the relationship between the personal and the political - a stream of late night philosophical conciousness.
The political situation - be it local, national, or international - has one kind of furniture. Economics and ideology, trade unions and governments, guns and bombs, media and mass opinion, elections and big business.
The personal situation - be it professional, sexual, social, or intellectual - has a different kind of furniture. Friends and associates, loyalties and family, hopes and fears, music, conversation, and work.
However, these are not two autonomous worlds. Each can be collapsed into the other - treating 3rd world debt as essentially an extension of the meannes of the local bank manager, or interpreting the racism of a neighbour as a product of alienation from the means of production.
The former of these - treating the political as the personal, but writ large - leads to resistance taking the form of lifestyle politics. Ecodisaster is 'prevented' by using 'ecofriendly' washing powder, and 3rd world hunger 'combated' by boycotting cirtain brands of fruit in the supermarket.
The latter - treating people's personal lives and psychologies as determined by the global situation - leads to the view that depression, apathy and pathology can only be effectively combatted by removing their ultimate cause, which may be labeled Globalisation, Capitalism, or even Human Nature.
The relationship between the personal and the political is possibly that the divide between the two is false. They could be viewed as two sides of the same coin.
This is half an answer - the other half needs a lot more work.
The political situation - be it local, national, or international - has one kind of furniture. Economics and ideology, trade unions and governments, guns and bombs, media and mass opinion, elections and big business.
The personal situation - be it professional, sexual, social, or intellectual - has a different kind of furniture. Friends and associates, loyalties and family, hopes and fears, music, conversation, and work.
However, these are not two autonomous worlds. Each can be collapsed into the other - treating 3rd world debt as essentially an extension of the meannes of the local bank manager, or interpreting the racism of a neighbour as a product of alienation from the means of production.
The former of these - treating the political as the personal, but writ large - leads to resistance taking the form of lifestyle politics. Ecodisaster is 'prevented' by using 'ecofriendly' washing powder, and 3rd world hunger 'combated' by boycotting cirtain brands of fruit in the supermarket.
The latter - treating people's personal lives and psychologies as determined by the global situation - leads to the view that depression, apathy and pathology can only be effectively combatted by removing their ultimate cause, which may be labeled Globalisation, Capitalism, or even Human Nature.
The relationship between the personal and the political is possibly that the divide between the two is false. They could be viewed as two sides of the same coin.
This is half an answer - the other half needs a lot more work.
Future
The componants of a police state are now in place. Surveilance, trial without jury, and 'emergency' police powers in the state aparatus. Paranoia, scapegoating and patriotism in the ideological sphere.
As with Naziism and MaCarthyism, the great majority of the population display no resistance at all, or even conciousness of what is occuring.
It is not too late to reverse the tide, and this time the left is not complacent, but it may be too weak.
As with Naziism and MaCarthyism, the great majority of the population display no resistance at all, or even conciousness of what is occuring.
It is not too late to reverse the tide, and this time the left is not complacent, but it may be too weak.
This is me. Hello me.
According to this, I am this:
Free Jung Personality Test (similar to Myers-Briggs)
Introverted (I) 80.65% Extroverted (E) 19.35%
Intuitive (N) 53.66% Sensing (S) 46.34%
Thinking (T) 78.79% Feeling (F) 21.21%
Perceiving (P) 53.13% Judging (J) 46.88
Somehow, gibberish calculated to two decimal places is more reassuring than gibberish without numbers.
EDIT:
I wonder if there's a psychological test for skepticism versus gullibility.
| INTP - "Architect". Greatest precision in thought and language. Can readily discern contradictions and inconsistencies. The world exists primarily to be understood. 3.3% of total population. |
Introverted (I) 80.65% Extroverted (E) 19.35%
Intuitive (N) 53.66% Sensing (S) 46.34%
Thinking (T) 78.79% Feeling (F) 21.21%
Perceiving (P) 53.13% Judging (J) 46.88
Somehow, gibberish calculated to two decimal places is more reassuring than gibberish without numbers.
EDIT:
I wonder if there's a psychological test for skepticism versus gullibility.
Every time it rains, it rains pennies from heaven.
In one hour I am obliged to attend a forum - I may even have to chair it. It's about the crisis in the pensions system, probably specifically about how an unplanned economy can't hope to reliably provide pensions, nor a government created oasis of planning within an unplanned economy like ours.
I think this is far more interesting.
I think this is far more interesting.
An interlude
I miss H. I miss Nick.
I've tried three times to write about the demo, but can't. It was a strangely depressing experience. Now, I just feel like sleeping.
There's so much to do. Maintaining three of the computers here at home, Maths, Physics, being supposedly self-employed, getting the photos of the demo to people who want them, copying tapes, arranging tomorrow's forum, publicity for the upcoming tsunami benefit gig. I'm supposed to be fighting for a better world and building a belated career for myself - and all I want to do is cuddle with H and write songs with Nick.
I've tried three times to write about the demo, but can't. It was a strangely depressing experience. Now, I just feel like sleeping.
There's so much to do. Maintaining three of the computers here at home, Maths, Physics, being supposedly self-employed, getting the photos of the demo to people who want them, copying tapes, arranging tomorrow's forum, publicity for the upcoming tsunami benefit gig. I'm supposed to be fighting for a better world and building a belated career for myself - and all I want to do is cuddle with H and write songs with Nick.
A Day Like Any Other
I kept my sex appointment with TC this afternoon. It was all quite pleasant, but for some reason I found myself getting bored. He's a nice fellow, with the endearing habit of taking off his wedding ring before climbing into the marital bed with another man.
My brother visited in the evening, and we ate far too much chinese food to mark my father's 69th birthday.
Tomorrow is the big day. A demo and march against the deportation of Laren Suleman - the 14 year old kurdish schoolgirl. It's my job to photograph the event.
My physics course starts on Feb 3rd, which is awkward, as I haven't finished the preparatory maths course yet.
I'm copying all my 80s and 90s dance music compilation cassettes to mp3. There's some tracks I'd completely forgotten about, and a few soulful ones that annoyed me at the time but now work better.
My brother visited in the evening, and we ate far too much chinese food to mark my father's 69th birthday.
Tomorrow is the big day. A demo and march against the deportation of Laren Suleman - the 14 year old kurdish schoolgirl. It's my job to photograph the event.
My physics course starts on Feb 3rd, which is awkward, as I haven't finished the preparatory maths course yet.
I'm copying all my 80s and 90s dance music compilation cassettes to mp3. There's some tracks I'd completely forgotten about, and a few soulful ones that annoyed me at the time but now work better.
Lunatics Taking Over The Asylum
Tonight, while Channel 4 is showing Farenheit 9/11, BBC2 show a sympathetic profile of Natal Sharansky. Sharansky is one of those lunatics who divide the planet into 'free world' and 'fear world' - black and white, good and evil, us and them, no shades of grey. In his book The Case For Democracy, he advocates 'exporting democracy' from the Free World (i.e America) to the Fear World, 'by any means necessary".
This thinking is hardly new - whenever the leadership of a regime dream of a world empire, the same ideology emerges to justify the dream in ethical terms. What is surprising is how ineffective the usual checks and balances have been. Even when the political leadership is composed largely of lunatics, the military leadership can keep a cool head to counterbalance. George Bush and Condoleeza Rice are offset by Dick Cheny and (to some extent) Colin Powell.
So, why is Saudi Arabia being threatened with sanctions, and Iran with invasion or bombing, when Iraq is still proving such an expensive disaster? Is it just more sabre rattling - making threats to intimidate, to keep these countries in line?
Ordinarily, I would say it is. Iran can't be invaded, because there is no stable nearby base to invade it from, and because Iran has a sizable and well armed army which could inflict casualties reminiscent of Vietnam. Bombing Iran (possibly using Isreal as a proxy) would achive nothing. It would create massive hostility from the american people, plus the rest of the world, would upset the economy, and cirtainly not provoke 'regime change'.
Iran couldn't fight a war with America, but it could easily create and/or finance terrorist groups. Ironic, that the war-on-terror would create terrorism. As has been pointed out by much more astute people than myself, global power politics is only possible if only the superpowers have great destructive ability - right now, anyone can build a bomb.
Ronald Regan was paranoid that Russia was just about to attack, and funded Edward Teller's worthless 'Star Wars' project so he could get in his retalliation first, without fearing the consequences. But even then, I was pretty sure he wouldn't be allowed to push the big red launch button. Now, I'm not so confident.
This thinking is hardly new - whenever the leadership of a regime dream of a world empire, the same ideology emerges to justify the dream in ethical terms. What is surprising is how ineffective the usual checks and balances have been. Even when the political leadership is composed largely of lunatics, the military leadership can keep a cool head to counterbalance. George Bush and Condoleeza Rice are offset by Dick Cheny and (to some extent) Colin Powell.
So, why is Saudi Arabia being threatened with sanctions, and Iran with invasion or bombing, when Iraq is still proving such an expensive disaster? Is it just more sabre rattling - making threats to intimidate, to keep these countries in line?
Ordinarily, I would say it is. Iran can't be invaded, because there is no stable nearby base to invade it from, and because Iran has a sizable and well armed army which could inflict casualties reminiscent of Vietnam. Bombing Iran (possibly using Isreal as a proxy) would achive nothing. It would create massive hostility from the american people, plus the rest of the world, would upset the economy, and cirtainly not provoke 'regime change'.
Iran couldn't fight a war with America, but it could easily create and/or finance terrorist groups. Ironic, that the war-on-terror would create terrorism. As has been pointed out by much more astute people than myself, global power politics is only possible if only the superpowers have great destructive ability - right now, anyone can build a bomb.
Ronald Regan was paranoid that Russia was just about to attack, and funded Edward Teller's worthless 'Star Wars' project so he could get in his retalliation first, without fearing the consequences. But even then, I was pretty sure he wouldn't be allowed to push the big red launch button. Now, I'm not so confident.
Less, We Forget
Today is Holocaust Rembrance Day. Television screens full of elderly men and women, trying to describe the almost indescribable things they experienced when young, while journalists make it as unreal as a film script with 5-second cliches.
We see tears, mute inability to explain, and endless eloquent solemnity from pundits. But we never see anger. It is as though the passionate determination that nothing like the holocaust should ever happen again is being smothered with a uniform liturgical intoning.
Who was it wrote that the purpose of memorials is to enable forgetting? It might have been Baudrillard, or Barthes, but appropriately, I forget. Cirtainly there are subtexts to the speeches made by the politicians standing in Auschwitz:
* The holocaust was incomprehensible, therefore causeless, therefore no one is to blame.
* The Nazis were a bit like terrorists, and America led/leads a just war on both.
* Let's preserve the memory by mumifying it.
Yes, of course we must remember what happened. But that isn't enough to prevent it happening again. We need also to remember why it happened - not as a moment of unique evil, but as a political event that could have been prevented. That's the only way to recognise the signs of a buildup to another genocide.
We see tears, mute inability to explain, and endless eloquent solemnity from pundits. But we never see anger. It is as though the passionate determination that nothing like the holocaust should ever happen again is being smothered with a uniform liturgical intoning.
Who was it wrote that the purpose of memorials is to enable forgetting? It might have been Baudrillard, or Barthes, but appropriately, I forget. Cirtainly there are subtexts to the speeches made by the politicians standing in Auschwitz:
* The holocaust was incomprehensible, therefore causeless, therefore no one is to blame.
* The Nazis were a bit like terrorists, and America led/leads a just war on both.
* Let's preserve the memory by mumifying it.
Yes, of course we must remember what happened. But that isn't enough to prevent it happening again. We need also to remember why it happened - not as a moment of unique evil, but as a political event that could have been prevented. That's the only way to recognise the signs of a buildup to another genocide.
Phatness and Fatness
Yay! I've got a new cassette player. And it doesn't even chew up tapes like the old ones. So now I've just got to sample my 200 music cassettes, filter out the noise, convert to mp3 and put onto CDRs. And then do the same thing for the tapes of radio serials. And then for mother's hundred or so maths and science study tapes.
And then ask anyone whether they have any cassettes they want transferred to CD.
I haven't seen H for nearly two weeks, and I'm really missing him. We exchanged text messages - he can't see me for another week because, like me, he's rather good at putting off 'official' work to do 'hobby' work, until the last minute. So now he and I both have great big towering backlogs of study to get through, and no time to do it. I knew there was a reason I liked him.
I am definitely not going to say how much I weighed today. But if I were a bit more femme (or had more energy), I'd have thrown the scales out of the window. As a teenager, I was a fan of Peter Lorre films - somehow I never expected to end up more like Sidney Greenstreet.
And then ask anyone whether they have any cassettes they want transferred to CD.
I haven't seen H for nearly two weeks, and I'm really missing him. We exchanged text messages - he can't see me for another week because, like me, he's rather good at putting off 'official' work to do 'hobby' work, until the last minute. So now he and I both have great big towering backlogs of study to get through, and no time to do it. I knew there was a reason I liked him.
I am definitely not going to say how much I weighed today. But if I were a bit more femme (or had more energy), I'd have thrown the scales out of the window. As a teenager, I was a fan of Peter Lorre films - somehow I never expected to end up more like Sidney Greenstreet.
Busy but not Active
Last night I promised myself I'd begin some sort of exercise regime this morning - go for a cycle, or at least a brisk walk. This morning I woke up to stiff painful muscles in the back and neck, and an extremely cold day outside. So I spent the day hunched over various computers, no doubt making the problem worse.
I've got about 200 music cassettes, and one semifunctional tape deck - it plays most tapes without chewing them up, but won't fastforward or rewind, or record. The cheapest new deck costs £99. So, just for the moment I'll use the old one to sample my old cassette collection to WAV, clean up the hiss and rumble, and convert to mp3. Before the tapes degrade further, or players become completely unavailable.
Oh yes, and there's maths and physics to study. Why is it I can find a dozen tedious things to do - cataloguing CDRs, testing permutations of driver combinations for software, editing MP2 sound files from DAB - all of which take me away from things I'm actually interesting in - reading new ideas and making music?
The headline in todays local rag is "Panto Star In Sex Probe". The Conservative Party leader has made a speech saying there's no room in this country for immigrants - presumably he means people like his father, or the invisible people who do the jobs no one else will do. There's a rally on Saturday, in support of a 14 year old schoolgirl who's being thretened with extradition.
My back hurts and I feel like a cup of tea with three chocolate buscuits.
I've got about 200 music cassettes, and one semifunctional tape deck - it plays most tapes without chewing them up, but won't fastforward or rewind, or record. The cheapest new deck costs £99. So, just for the moment I'll use the old one to sample my old cassette collection to WAV, clean up the hiss and rumble, and convert to mp3. Before the tapes degrade further, or players become completely unavailable.
Oh yes, and there's maths and physics to study. Why is it I can find a dozen tedious things to do - cataloguing CDRs, testing permutations of driver combinations for software, editing MP2 sound files from DAB - all of which take me away from things I'm actually interesting in - reading new ideas and making music?
The headline in todays local rag is "Panto Star In Sex Probe". The Conservative Party leader has made a speech saying there's no room in this country for immigrants - presumably he means people like his father, or the invisible people who do the jobs no one else will do. There's a rally on Saturday, in support of a 14 year old schoolgirl who's being thretened with extradition.
My back hurts and I feel like a cup of tea with three chocolate buscuits.
A Bit Strange
A brief visit from Paul T. I told him what I was doing - listening through headphones to snippets of soundtrack recorded 20 years ago. With Dr Strangelove on the left channel and Zardoz on the right. He found this greatly amusing, saying he'd known one other person who sat listening to two things at once. And this other had been paranoid schitzophrenic, known to friends as Eraserhead or Mad Dave.
I suppose it is rather strange to record TV soundtracks and use them to make music. But no stranger than tying six metal strings between two points, and feeding the vibrations through a digital box that simulates the failure of analog circuitry to deal with overlarge amplitude.
I suppose it is rather strange to record TV soundtracks and use them to make music. But no stranger than tying six metal strings between two points, and feeding the vibrations through a digital box that simulates the failure of analog circuitry to deal with overlarge amplitude.
Old and New
I've sampled one spool to mp3 - two blocks of 45 minutes, each taking 40 or so megabytes. These sounds were recorded when a 40MB hard disk was considered extravegant, when mp3s didn't exist, and the speed needed to encode them in real time was a fantasy. A mere decade ago.
Sadly, I've called off the 'longfight' collaboration with Nick. If either of us had the inspiration free flowing, there might be time, but our muses are away having flihgs with other musicians. Plus I have one of those lingering low-level colds that make you feel somewhat drowsy all the time and kill the singing voice.
Anyway, these are the lyrics I did manage to complete. Hopefully to be part of some future project:
Did a man come back to life
Three days after the end?
And is he coming back in the year
Two thousand and ten?
Secret plane or UFO?
Did the CIA kill JFK?
Will something bad happen if you step on the cracks?
And will you get rich if you chant every day?
What do you believe?
When you're calling me nieve
When the jig is up and the chips are down
And there's no one else around
Lying on a leather couch
Telling last nights dream
Reveal forgotten childhood rage
Or so it seems
Will this drug turn you into a sex god?
Were we brothers in an earlier life?
Will you live as long as the lines on your hand?
Did you see a flying sled on christmas night?
They say man is the dream of the dolphin
They say man is a hairless ape
They say man was created in the image of god
And the truth is a matter of faith
What do you believe?
When you're calling me nieve
When the jig is up and the chips are down
And there's no one else around
What do you believe?
What do you believe?
Sadly, I've called off the 'longfight' collaboration with Nick. If either of us had the inspiration free flowing, there might be time, but our muses are away having flihgs with other musicians. Plus I have one of those lingering low-level colds that make you feel somewhat drowsy all the time and kill the singing voice.
Anyway, these are the lyrics I did manage to complete. Hopefully to be part of some future project:
Did a man come back to life
Three days after the end?
And is he coming back in the year
Two thousand and ten?
Secret plane or UFO?
Did the CIA kill JFK?
Will something bad happen if you step on the cracks?
And will you get rich if you chant every day?
What do you believe?
When you're calling me nieve
When the jig is up and the chips are down
And there's no one else around
Lying on a leather couch
Telling last nights dream
Reveal forgotten childhood rage
Or so it seems
Will this drug turn you into a sex god?
Were we brothers in an earlier life?
Will you live as long as the lines on your hand?
Did you see a flying sled on christmas night?
They say man is the dream of the dolphin
They say man is a hairless ape
They say man was created in the image of god
And the truth is a matter of faith
What do you believe?
When you're calling me nieve
When the jig is up and the chips are down
And there's no one else around
What do you believe?
What do you believe?
Granpa
I've been making music since I was 13. Much of my musical development was influenced by my grandfather. Not because I took musical influences from him - I didn't - but because the recording equipment available to me came from him.
My grandfather was a great electrical hobbyist. He rewired his house several times, managing to install all the light switches upside down, and making it an exercise in Kafkaesque experimentation to discover which permutation of switches on which floor would activate which lightbulb. He spent his retirement taking apart nonworking tape decks and canibalising them into...tape decks that half worked. Some of the time.
I remember one system he concocted. By a series of switches, you could play a cassette on one deck, but if you wanted to rewind you had to transfer power to a different deck that could only fastforward. You could record from the radio to a reel-to-reel deck, playing through mismatched speakers.
One day when I was about 17, having actually got a reel-to-reel deck working perfectly, he said he couldn't find a use for it, so offered to sell it to me. I paid £70, and got a wooden box I could barely carry and a stack of dusty spools.
I fixed the deck up to the speaker output of my parents large television, and recorded sound effects and dialogue from TV shows. When I'd composed some music on my Tascam cassette 4-track, I carried the deck upstairs, and selected snippets of television sound to dub over the music. This was my vocal - I never thought of trying to sing, rap, or speak. I made a dozen or so albums that way.
Recently, I've decided to try to recreate the most successful tracks from this early work, using technology I could only dream of at the time. So, sitting in front of me is a stack of analog spools, containing roughly recorded sections of soundtrack from 80s and 90s television.
Tomorrow, I plan to dig out that old tape deck, and sample those cut up snatches of mass media that form most of my pleasant teenage memories.
My grandfather has been dead for over a decade. I have only a few memories of him, as a kindly man, a tinkerer, and a reader of bizzare mystical trash. He died just as I was getting to know him. We had two interests in common - taking things apart to make them work, and music.
My grandfather was a great electrical hobbyist. He rewired his house several times, managing to install all the light switches upside down, and making it an exercise in Kafkaesque experimentation to discover which permutation of switches on which floor would activate which lightbulb. He spent his retirement taking apart nonworking tape decks and canibalising them into...tape decks that half worked. Some of the time.
I remember one system he concocted. By a series of switches, you could play a cassette on one deck, but if you wanted to rewind you had to transfer power to a different deck that could only fastforward. You could record from the radio to a reel-to-reel deck, playing through mismatched speakers.
One day when I was about 17, having actually got a reel-to-reel deck working perfectly, he said he couldn't find a use for it, so offered to sell it to me. I paid £70, and got a wooden box I could barely carry and a stack of dusty spools.
I fixed the deck up to the speaker output of my parents large television, and recorded sound effects and dialogue from TV shows. When I'd composed some music on my Tascam cassette 4-track, I carried the deck upstairs, and selected snippets of television sound to dub over the music. This was my vocal - I never thought of trying to sing, rap, or speak. I made a dozen or so albums that way.
Recently, I've decided to try to recreate the most successful tracks from this early work, using technology I could only dream of at the time. So, sitting in front of me is a stack of analog spools, containing roughly recorded sections of soundtrack from 80s and 90s television.
Tomorrow, I plan to dig out that old tape deck, and sample those cut up snatches of mass media that form most of my pleasant teenage memories.
My grandfather has been dead for over a decade. I have only a few memories of him, as a kindly man, a tinkerer, and a reader of bizzare mystical trash. He died just as I was getting to know him. We had two interests in common - taking things apart to make them work, and music.
Four Bands and a Fun Time
Last night I went to a gig. The sixth 'Unite Against Fasism' concert in Portsmouth. I was asked along to help The Strict Machines with equipment moving, setup, and checking - which as it turned out they didn't need. I bought my video camera and filmed what I could of the event.
First up were my friends The Strict Machines. Anna the singer had had one hell of a day at work, and was feeling stressed and upset. She's a real trooper and a perfectionist - or if you prefer, incapable of admitting weakness until it overcomes her, and never happy with her own performance. Paul the guitarist was his usual self - extremely enthusiastic, randomly resentful, and with a talent almost as big as his ego. Fabio the drummer was his usual phlegmatic Italian self.
Second were a thrash band - Ashes to Empires. Their wall of guitar fuzz and gutteral roaring was actually very effective, because it was puntuated with some well played and tuneful passages. The lead singer 'sang' with a deep throaty roar that would get respect from Extreme Noise Terror. And spoke between tracks in a sweetly clipped, middle class voice. I spoke to them briefly afterwards - friendly teenagers with pierced faces. Oddly professional in their outlook.
Next was Goffman. Excellent blues-funk - most of the audiance got up and danced. I'd decided to film them from floor level - so it's hardly my fault that a lot of gyrating figures unexpectedly started grooving around the shot. Or that I was directly underneath a pair of very nice teenage buttocks. Anyway...
Finally, Silicon Sun - probably the most musical and varied of the bands, but somehow the most boring. All kinds of guitar stumming from Simon & Garfunkel to Black Sabbath.
Unfortunately, the UAF organisers had somehow never got around to publicising the event, or organising for it. So the audiance consisted of the bands and their friends, there were no political flyers or leaflets, and no little speeches. The music was very good, but the 'point' of the gig was absent.
First up were my friends The Strict Machines. Anna the singer had had one hell of a day at work, and was feeling stressed and upset. She's a real trooper and a perfectionist - or if you prefer, incapable of admitting weakness until it overcomes her, and never happy with her own performance. Paul the guitarist was his usual self - extremely enthusiastic, randomly resentful, and with a talent almost as big as his ego. Fabio the drummer was his usual phlegmatic Italian self.
Second were a thrash band - Ashes to Empires. Their wall of guitar fuzz and gutteral roaring was actually very effective, because it was puntuated with some well played and tuneful passages. The lead singer 'sang' with a deep throaty roar that would get respect from Extreme Noise Terror. And spoke between tracks in a sweetly clipped, middle class voice. I spoke to them briefly afterwards - friendly teenagers with pierced faces. Oddly professional in their outlook.
Next was Goffman. Excellent blues-funk - most of the audiance got up and danced. I'd decided to film them from floor level - so it's hardly my fault that a lot of gyrating figures unexpectedly started grooving around the shot. Or that I was directly underneath a pair of very nice teenage buttocks. Anyway...
Finally, Silicon Sun - probably the most musical and varied of the bands, but somehow the most boring. All kinds of guitar stumming from Simon & Garfunkel to Black Sabbath.
Unfortunately, the UAF organisers had somehow never got around to publicising the event, or organising for it. So the audiance consisted of the bands and their friends, there were no political flyers or leaflets, and no little speeches. The music was very good, but the 'point' of the gig was absent.
Complicating, Circulating, New Life
I've written half a song, the lyrics and melody 'inspired' by Losing My Religion. Nick says he likes what I've written so far, so the song when it's finished is his to sing.
My birthday gift from mother was the Revitar guitar physical modelling synthesiser. I can cirtainly see it being very useful in future productions provided (a) I can get to grips with guitar chord theory and (b) I can fathom how to use Sonar, the sequencer that I'm using to run it.
I started cataloguing my mp3 collection, discovered peppermint tea, and studied a little maths. In all, a pleasantly uneventful day. Tomorrow, lets see if I can keep somewhat better to my new life resolutions.
My birthday gift from mother was the Revitar guitar physical modelling synthesiser. I can cirtainly see it being very useful in future productions provided (a) I can get to grips with guitar chord theory and (b) I can fathom how to use Sonar, the sequencer that I'm using to run it.
I started cataloguing my mp3 collection, discovered peppermint tea, and studied a little maths. In all, a pleasantly uneventful day. Tomorrow, lets see if I can keep somewhat better to my new life resolutions.
Note on Rand
Ayn Rand tries to bridge the is-ought divide by pointing out the base-superstructure relation between the two. The physical world and it's laws are a necessary precondition for the existance of ethical laws - there would be no morality if there were no people.
However, she uses a linier model of superstruture determination by the base. She relies on the notion that the form of the base determines the form of the superstructure. This isn't the way determination works.
The base determines which superstructures cannot spring from it, and to some extend which ones are more or less likely from the vast array of possibilities. Determination is negative, but Rand requires it to be positive.
She also relies on a kind of moral superimperative - that actions be 'life positive'. This is an ethical skyhook, coming from nowhere and determined by nothing - not even the physical base.
However, she uses a linier model of superstruture determination by the base. She relies on the notion that the form of the base determines the form of the superstructure. This isn't the way determination works.
The base determines which superstructures cannot spring from it, and to some extend which ones are more or less likely from the vast array of possibilities. Determination is negative, but Rand requires it to be positive.
She also relies on a kind of moral superimperative - that actions be 'life positive'. This is an ethical skyhook, coming from nowhere and determined by nothing - not even the physical base.
Kappy Birthday
Right. The gig went quite well. At least I think it did. I had a cold and a sore throat, so some notes were off. And the backing track skipped a few times, which messed up the rhythm. But I got a respectable applause at the end, and the comment "That was very good, even if you did plunder every cliche of cheesy 80s pop."
When I got home, I found the computer wouldn't boot. So, after reinstalling Windows 2000 a few times, I installed an old 16GB hard disk to be the system drive, and installed my software setup yet again.
Chatted on IRC with Nick on Friday. We're going to try to put together a song for the 'longfight'. Each of us writes one song, plus one set of lyrics for the other to sing and compose backing for, then we segue the four into a mix. I have no inspiration whatsoever, but it does sound like a good project. Hopefully I'll have some ideas by the time we chat again on Monday.
Monday is my birthday, and it starts in 1 hour. I'll be 33. It seems like a good day to try implementing some of the things I've been promising myself I'd do. The usual things - give up chocolate, do exercise, study more regularly, try again to find a job, keep sensible sleeping hours, and all good worthy stuff. Oh, and update audio diary and blog more often.
I plan to get myself a small birthday gift - the Revitar 2.0 VST guitar synthesiser from http://www.cuttermusic.com. The demo version looks very impressive, though I'd need to know more about guitar chord theory to use it properly. Strange that after two decades of being into synthesised dance music, I'm lining up to record boy-and-guitar songs.
I've just come back from chairing a seminar on Bob Dylan. The speaker was Pat Stack, who's always a brilliant speaker - well informed and passionate. Unfortunately no one else in the audiance wanted to say much in the discussion, so I made a complete tit of myself trying to galvanise a discussion for half an hour.
So. Put on a CD of ambient mp3s, lie down in bed, drift off to the gentle music, and wake up one year older.
When I got home, I found the computer wouldn't boot. So, after reinstalling Windows 2000 a few times, I installed an old 16GB hard disk to be the system drive, and installed my software setup yet again.
Chatted on IRC with Nick on Friday. We're going to try to put together a song for the 'longfight'. Each of us writes one song, plus one set of lyrics for the other to sing and compose backing for, then we segue the four into a mix. I have no inspiration whatsoever, but it does sound like a good project. Hopefully I'll have some ideas by the time we chat again on Monday.
Monday is my birthday, and it starts in 1 hour. I'll be 33. It seems like a good day to try implementing some of the things I've been promising myself I'd do. The usual things - give up chocolate, do exercise, study more regularly, try again to find a job, keep sensible sleeping hours, and all good worthy stuff. Oh, and update audio diary and blog more often.
I plan to get myself a small birthday gift - the Revitar 2.0 VST guitar synthesiser from http://www.cuttermusic.com. The demo version looks very impressive, though I'd need to know more about guitar chord theory to use it properly. Strange that after two decades of being into synthesised dance music, I'm lining up to record boy-and-guitar songs.
I've just come back from chairing a seminar on Bob Dylan. The speaker was Pat Stack, who's always a brilliant speaker - well informed and passionate. Unfortunately no one else in the audiance wanted to say much in the discussion, so I made a complete tit of myself trying to galvanise a discussion for half an hour.
So. Put on a CD of ambient mp3s, lie down in bed, drift off to the gentle music, and wake up one year older.
Chicken Tonight
I'm playing a gig tonight, supporting the Strict Machines. I've got the backing tracks processed and laid down on CD, lyric sheets, and all the hardware and cables I'm likely to need. The only thing lacking is my voice - I've just practiced, and my singing is abysmal.
I don't know whether I can give a good performance tonight. It's the first time a lot of people I know are going to hear me sing, and I've a horrible feeling I'm going to mess it up. Still, given the organisation of the Strict Machines, and the fact that there were supposed to be two other bands, and the misunderstandings over publicity, and the small detail that we don't yet know the exact electrical layout of the venue, maybe any mistakes I make won't be so glaring.
What's the worst that can happen? I make an utter tit of myself in front of people I respect, plus a lot of strangers. Oh well, I'll let you know how it went.
I don't know whether I can give a good performance tonight. It's the first time a lot of people I know are going to hear me sing, and I've a horrible feeling I'm going to mess it up. Still, given the organisation of the Strict Machines, and the fact that there were supposed to be two other bands, and the misunderstandings over publicity, and the small detail that we don't yet know the exact electrical layout of the venue, maybe any mistakes I make won't be so glaring.
What's the worst that can happen? I make an utter tit of myself in front of people I respect, plus a lot of strangers. Oh well, I'll let you know how it went.
Fuck Me Again You Animal
If we see one male lion mounting another, there are a large number of possible interpretations. For instance:
* They are lovers and long term partners
* This is consensual gay sex
* It's rape
* It's a display of social dominance and submission
* It's social bonding
* It's the result of no females being available
* One is practicing for reproductive sex, using the other for a 'dry run'.
* They are playing
What seems to be an obviously sexual act, can have plausible (and perhaps even true) nonsexual functions.
However, the converse is also true. If we take a human activity like smoking, marathon running, drinking beer with friends, demonstrating against the government, or engaging in 'retail therapy', all these have possible sexual explanations. Indeed, much of the pseudoscientific side of psychoanalysis is concerned with positing such explanations.
In a world where girls fall in love with popstars and ponies, and boys read magazines about guns or bodybuilding, the various disciplines of psychology, sociology, and cultural theory are in the dark ages.
* They are lovers and long term partners
* This is consensual gay sex
* It's rape
* It's a display of social dominance and submission
* It's social bonding
* It's the result of no females being available
* One is practicing for reproductive sex, using the other for a 'dry run'.
* They are playing
What seems to be an obviously sexual act, can have plausible (and perhaps even true) nonsexual functions.
However, the converse is also true. If we take a human activity like smoking, marathon running, drinking beer with friends, demonstrating against the government, or engaging in 'retail therapy', all these have possible sexual explanations. Indeed, much of the pseudoscientific side of psychoanalysis is concerned with positing such explanations.
In a world where girls fall in love with popstars and ponies, and boys read magazines about guns or bodybuilding, the various disciplines of psychology, sociology, and cultural theory are in the dark ages.
Fuck Me You Animal
There are two reasons animal behavior is studied. The first is to gain understanding of the natural world, sometimes to control it. The second is to answer ethical questions about human behavior. The first is useful, the second misguided.
The reasoning might be that, because some animals engage in same-sex sexual activity, it is natural for humans to do so to, therefore not morally wrong. However, there are different, equally valid inferences which can be drawn from the same data.
One is that "homosexuality" in animals - and indeed sexuality in general - is more about social bonding than reproduction, and therefore sexuality in humans is similar, and therefore social restrictions against homosexuality, polygamy, and "Sluttishness" are counterproductive.
A third possible interpretation is that animals show a moral degeneracy, contracted from contact with immoral humans, and therefore humans should try to set them a better example. A fourth is that homosexuality is part of primative animal sexuality, and therefore humans who do it are unevolved brutes.
All these lines of reasoning are nonsensical because they try to derive 'what ought' from 'what is' - they try to base ethics in empiricism. Indeed, they treat each fact as having an indissoluable ethical value - that animals are 'less evolved', that human society is 'corrupt' or 'ungodly', or that 'alturism is desirable'.
Facts do not contain values. Values are not a type of fact. Facts can be observed and interpreted, values can only be ascribed.
Another problem is the selectiveness of the reasoning. Someone may argue that, because some anthropoids practice something analogous to polygamy, the notion of monogamous marriage is untennable. The problem is that some anthropoids practice infanticide, but parallel reasoning is not used here.
It is entirely possible to reach a correct (or "just") moral conclusion be reasoning invalidly from correct empirical statements. Conservative attitudes towards homosexuality and polygamy are indeed incohearant, insupportable, and do great harm. My point is that using evidence from animal behavior to attack these positions must fail.
It fails because (a) it is illogical and (b) diametrically opposed conclusions can be drawn using the same illogical reasoning from the same evidence.
The reasoning might be that, because some animals engage in same-sex sexual activity, it is natural for humans to do so to, therefore not morally wrong. However, there are different, equally valid inferences which can be drawn from the same data.
One is that "homosexuality" in animals - and indeed sexuality in general - is more about social bonding than reproduction, and therefore sexuality in humans is similar, and therefore social restrictions against homosexuality, polygamy, and "Sluttishness" are counterproductive.
A third possible interpretation is that animals show a moral degeneracy, contracted from contact with immoral humans, and therefore humans should try to set them a better example. A fourth is that homosexuality is part of primative animal sexuality, and therefore humans who do it are unevolved brutes.
All these lines of reasoning are nonsensical because they try to derive 'what ought' from 'what is' - they try to base ethics in empiricism. Indeed, they treat each fact as having an indissoluable ethical value - that animals are 'less evolved', that human society is 'corrupt' or 'ungodly', or that 'alturism is desirable'.
Facts do not contain values. Values are not a type of fact. Facts can be observed and interpreted, values can only be ascribed.
Another problem is the selectiveness of the reasoning. Someone may argue that, because some anthropoids practice something analogous to polygamy, the notion of monogamous marriage is untennable. The problem is that some anthropoids practice infanticide, but parallel reasoning is not used here.
It is entirely possible to reach a correct (or "just") moral conclusion be reasoning invalidly from correct empirical statements. Conservative attitudes towards homosexuality and polygamy are indeed incohearant, insupportable, and do great harm. My point is that using evidence from animal behavior to attack these positions must fail.
It fails because (a) it is illogical and (b) diametrically opposed conclusions can be drawn using the same illogical reasoning from the same evidence.
...four, three, two...
One long day. What wasn't spent sleeping was spent with FDISK, Partition Magic, Windows 98, Windows 2000, and a hard disk that refused to format in NTFS. I finally have a workable system, with the boot partition formated to FAT32, and the others to NTFS.
Tomorrow there's a film viewing of Battleship Potemkin which I am being regularly reminded to attend. And the day after, I get to meet my new jobsearch advisor. Just when I don't need more pointless things to do.
Tomorrow there's a film viewing of Battleship Potemkin which I am being regularly reminded to attend. And the day after, I get to meet my new jobsearch advisor. Just when I don't need more pointless things to do.
...seven, six, five...
Sometimes it's useful to have more than one computer. I've just spent the last six hours trying to reinstall Windows 2000 on my own system, and after two complete installs, numerous uses of the MS-DOS FDISK and FORMAT commands, and several partitioning schemes, I don't have a hard disk that works, let alone an operating system. I'm writing this on my mother's computer.
It is my life's ambition to have a computer that doesn't slow down to a crawl every few months, or contract nonremovable spyware and popups, or crash at odd moments with no more explanation than an impossibly cryptic error message. It would also be nice if it didn't become senile just when I need it most.
It is my life's ambition to have a computer that doesn't slow down to a crawl every few months, or contract nonremovable spyware and popups, or crash at odd moments with no more explanation than an impossibly cryptic error message. It would also be nice if it didn't become senile just when I need it most.
Ten, nine eight...
Chatted for the first time in ages on IRC with Nick. I'd forgotten how much I missed his company - even on the other side of a screen filled with words. He's got two gigs coming up, the second one a benefit concert for the tsunami appeal, and we may be able to perform together. The stage debut of our much delayed synthpop duo 'The K Twins'.
Okay. I can now finally get around to reinstalling windows. After making sure that all the files are backed up. And then making sure the backup disc isn't corrupt. And then finding a few files I'd forgotten to back up.
I'm singing in a pub with some other bands on the 12th, which gives me about a week to put together 17 minutes worth of backing material, some of it from scratch. Though I'm supposed to be studying my maths books. Oh well, if absolutely necessary, I'll reuse the backing CD from the SFUK2004 gig.
While wasting time browsing through other people's blogs, I found http://nodirtykitty.blogspot.com/. A gay arts graduate with little tolerance of pretention - which I can cirtainly identify with. And a superfit HIV+ black man living in Texas, which is more difficult.
Okay. I can now finally get around to reinstalling windows. After making sure that all the files are backed up. And then making sure the backup disc isn't corrupt. And then finding a few files I'd forgotten to back up.
I'm singing in a pub with some other bands on the 12th, which gives me about a week to put together 17 minutes worth of backing material, some of it from scratch. Though I'm supposed to be studying my maths books. Oh well, if absolutely necessary, I'll reuse the backing CD from the SFUK2004 gig.
While wasting time browsing through other people's blogs, I found http://nodirtykitty.blogspot.com/. A gay arts graduate with little tolerance of pretention - which I can cirtainly identify with. And a superfit HIV+ black man living in Texas, which is more difficult.
Trivia
Where there are minor difficulties, there are those who exagerate them into insurmountable catastrophes. Where there are major disasters, there are those who trivialised them.
Some people trivialise by making an international situation reflect their personal gripes. It may be true that corporate greed cause your local bus service to be cut, making you stand for 30 minutes in a bus shelter. But the same greed causes millions to die of AIDS in Africa because they couldn't pay the full (inflated) price for the drugs.
The mass media trivialises an earthquake by focusing on a pair of holidaymakers who escaped.
And then there are the conspiracy theorists and alien colonisation nuts. Here's part of an email I recieved today, from the REDPOLITICS list.
>With a sadistic psychopath surrounded by nazionistic psychopaths
>in the white house, ANY hitherto unthinkable crime can and must
>be considered a realistic possibility.
>
>Like their test piece, 9/11, a tsunami catastrophe implies very
>great strategic opportunities for their imperial and depopulation
>schemes,
[snip pages of incohearant rambling]
130,000 people dead through a meaningless act of god. No malice, no evil, just geology. The tokenism of help from other governments could indeed be described as evil. But to treat the forces of nature as a manifestation of global greed - that trivialises both the force of the tsunami and the loss of life, by turning both into a finger pointing accusingly at some politicians.
I'm quite fond of dumb conspiracy theories - as a tourist in the land of the mad. They are a good barometer of fashions in obsession and hangups. This kind of thinking was expected, but it's still uncomfortable.
Some people trivialise by making an international situation reflect their personal gripes. It may be true that corporate greed cause your local bus service to be cut, making you stand for 30 minutes in a bus shelter. But the same greed causes millions to die of AIDS in Africa because they couldn't pay the full (inflated) price for the drugs.
The mass media trivialises an earthquake by focusing on a pair of holidaymakers who escaped.
And then there are the conspiracy theorists and alien colonisation nuts. Here's part of an email I recieved today, from the REDPOLITICS list.
>With a sadistic psychopath surrounded by nazionistic psychopaths
>in the white house, ANY hitherto unthinkable crime can and must
>be considered a realistic possibility.
>
>Like their test piece, 9/11, a tsunami catastrophe implies very
>great strategic opportunities for their imperial and depopulation
>schemes,
[snip pages of incohearant rambling]
130,000 people dead through a meaningless act of god. No malice, no evil, just geology. The tokenism of help from other governments could indeed be described as evil. But to treat the forces of nature as a manifestation of global greed - that trivialises both the force of the tsunami and the loss of life, by turning both into a finger pointing accusingly at some politicians.
I'm quite fond of dumb conspiracy theories - as a tourist in the land of the mad. They are a good barometer of fashions in obsession and hangups. This kind of thinking was expected, but it's still uncomfortable.
And so it begins. You have forgotten something.
Nick and I both got our songs finished and submitted. He says his is in the vein on Nick Cave (and, presumably, The Bad Seeds), but as I can't call to mind their sound, I can't judge. It's a good little song of lost love, somehow mawkishly bleak. I really wish I could write lyrics that easily.
Mine came out pretty well, with two small problems. First the vocals are mixed too low. And second, all the production tricks that I used to make it loud...seemed to make it quiet.
So, I spent several hours today revisiting and refining softknee compressors, hard limiters, and the mathematical artistry involved in using them. I still don't really understand them well enough to know which paramaters are helpful for which genre.
An email arrived from H. He thinks I'm as grumpy in cyberspace as in real life - which is probably true. Sometimes he's so kind, intelligent, and modest about it I could happily spend each night cuddled up to him. And sometimes he's so blithly life-affirmative I want to grind my teeth. Sounds like a lot of successful couples I've met.
Oh yes. The new year's party. I have vague recollections of getting very drunk very quickly, arguing about the laws of probability applied to extraterrestrial life, arguing about whether or not the english are accent snobs, communally hating George Bush and the whole 'empire' attitude, embarassing Jon Snape by kissing him, embarassing Max by kissing him, and getting home with a muzzy headache and a mouth like mouldy newspaper.
I've just reinstalled Windows 2000 yet again on one computer, and now I'm going to reinstall it on this computer. Happy New Year. Goodnight.
Mine came out pretty well, with two small problems. First the vocals are mixed too low. And second, all the production tricks that I used to make it loud...seemed to make it quiet.
So, I spent several hours today revisiting and refining softknee compressors, hard limiters, and the mathematical artistry involved in using them. I still don't really understand them well enough to know which paramaters are helpful for which genre.
An email arrived from H. He thinks I'm as grumpy in cyberspace as in real life - which is probably true. Sometimes he's so kind, intelligent, and modest about it I could happily spend each night cuddled up to him. And sometimes he's so blithly life-affirmative I want to grind my teeth. Sounds like a lot of successful couples I've met.
Oh yes. The new year's party. I have vague recollections of getting very drunk very quickly, arguing about the laws of probability applied to extraterrestrial life, arguing about whether or not the english are accent snobs, communally hating George Bush and the whole 'empire' attitude, embarassing Jon Snape by kissing him, embarassing Max by kissing him, and getting home with a muzzy headache and a mouth like mouldy newspaper.
I've just reinstalled Windows 2000 yet again on one computer, and now I'm going to reinstall it on this computer. Happy New Year. Goodnight.
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