text: I'm used to the headphones that came with my SJ-33. I really like the volume control along the wires. But it's connection at the PDA sticks straight out of the hole. Since the TH-55 has the headphone jack on the side, it would be nice to have a pair of headphones that are at 90 degrees there. Some have criticized the sond quality of even these headphones, but I found them more than adequate. Does anyone know of any brands/models that would have all these properties?


text:
Latin-Esque was the first album recorded with total stereo separation -- two separate orchestras in two separate studios performed, connected by headphones.Though, if you were stuck with a monaural system, there was a mono edition also released.
I defy anyone (including Lou) to listen to five minutes of Metal Machine Music. It is an exercise in auditory torture that Reed issued to give the finger to his record company.I'm twelve minutes in, and see no reason to stop.
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For further information about our services, or to enquire about a booking please complete the form below, ensuring that you give us as much information as possible. Alternatively you may contact us using one of the more traditional methods laid out below. You can also ask us questions via our facebook page, which can be found by clicking on the link to the right!
Telephone: 01524 733 831


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Our concierge can help reduce demands and stresses during your hospital stay.
For your convenience you can pay your hospital bills online and manage your account.
Take a virtual tour and experience CRH in an exciting new way.
Join a progressive, quality-focused medical staff in a favorable malpractice state.
(HealthDay News) -- The muscles supporting the hip may become strained from overuse or an injury. You're more likely than the average person to develop a strained hip if you've already had a similar injury, if you don't warm up before exercise, or if you overdo it and injure your hip.
The American Academy of Orthopaedic Surgeons says warning signs of a hip strain may include:
Pain in the hip area, which is the most common symptom.
Pain during use of the hip muscles.
Swelling, a symptom of a more severe strain.
Weakness in the hip muscle.


text:
How To: Make a Solar-Powered Garden Fountain
As spring and summer get closer, we're dreaming up our ideal patio and garden. There are of course eco-friendly lanterns, lots of edible vegetation growing from our containers, and the sweet sound of a tiny babbling brook coming from a D-I-Y fountain.
Installing a solar-powered pump for a backyard pond or fountain not only saves energy, but also omits the need for an electrician's help to bury a line...saving you money on all fronts. Jump below for resources and fountain ideas!
First, decide on a design. You can make a fountain out of anything, but first you'll need a waterproof basin to serve as the base and to hold the pump--you can bury it, or you can choose a basin that you like, such as a ceramic crock, and let it sit out on the porch or in the garden. Then, gather found objects for the water to flow down (think local rocks, or maybe a set of bowls rigged at an angle....get creative!).
Take a cue from This Old House and follow their great installation tutorial. They say the project will cost $100-$200, but we think you can do it on the cheap by using thrifted or found objects to build your fountain.
Solar fountain pumps fall in the inexpensive range--we found most sources priced under $30--and if you use thrifted objects, we imagine you can do the whole thing for less than $50. Here are some of those sources for small solar-powered pumps. These may not send the water gushing through your fountain, but will give you a tender "bubbling brook" feel. Make sure you look at the gallons per hour the pumps offer; This Old House says that for a fountain, you don't need anything over 250.
Solar Powered Water Fountain Pump $29.95
Pacific Hydrostar Solar Powered Fountain Pump $19.99
Silicon Solar pumps, $15.95 and up
Photo by Brad Stoney via sxc.hu, adapted.
2 Comments
Thanks for this great how-to! My husband and I have really wanted to have something in our backyard. We were thinking maybe solar flood lights and this would add to our solar theme--since we don't have a large yard and we don't have a lot of money. This looks like it will end up saving us some money in the long run. One thing that we found that will really change up the fountain is to put colored rocks in the fountain. It looks really nice. Thanks for the article!
which battery do it need?None or a lithium batteries?


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For just $299, they received 82 designs from 14 designers.
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Tosh Law Firm, PLLC
We represent plaintiffs in medical malpractice and nursing home abuse and neglect cases.
Attorney & Law
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I'm not particularly interested in "scales of justice" or a gavel, but would consider it if you can do something less traditional with it.
It is not required to use the slogan in the logo, just thought I'd put it in there to see if anything could be done with it.
connecting 885,290 designers with customers seeking design services.
I need something designed I'm a designer


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"As High as the Sky" a first-time, independent feature from writer-director Nikki Braendlin, is a beautifully nuanced film that explores the fragile bonds between sisters. Made on a SAG Indie Ultra-Low budget, the film packs an emotional and memorable punch with notable performances by Caroline Fogarty ("Big Love" and "Desperate Housewives") and Bonnie McNeil ("Sympathy for Delicious").
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This Presidio bench from SONOMA outdoors is perfect for storing blankets or other essentials. In brown.
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text:
Rummaging records back-to-back wins
Rummaging (quartered colours) comes to claim Greek Canyon with Lord Kenmare (red)
(Healy Racing Photos)
Conor Hoban tracked the leaders on the 11/10 favourite (9/4 in morning) before producing him to challenge over a furlong out.
He got the better of front-runner Greek Canyon inside the final furlong but then had to hold the late charge of Lord Kenmare by a half length.
< Rummaging was following up on his maiden success over a furlong shorter here last month.
"He's a lovely straight-forward genuine horse," said Halford of the winner.
"With it being his first run in a handicap you are always wondering a bit but he loves the surface.
"We'll keep him campaigning here and he could run again on Friday.
"It's a pity he had to beat another one of ours - who has been unlucky not to win one lately."
(Additional reporting by Alan Magee)
See also
» Meeting Review for Dundalk, Wed, 12th Dec, 2012
» Result - Dundalk 6.00, 12th Dec Dundalk - Light Up Your Night App. H'cap
» All news for Wed, 12th Dec, 2012
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text: Serape, ca. 1850. United States, Southwest, Navajo. Wool; tapestry weave. The Weisel Family Art Foundation, L12.103.20 September 16, 2014 - 12:30pm Textiles Gallery Tours meet at the exhibition entrance. Ticket Information Tours are free after general museum admission. No reservations. If you would like to book a private tour, please call the Group Sales office at 415.750.2620. Contact Information firstname.lastname@example.com (415) 750-3638


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Rhodia develop biomass projectsNews release
Paris, France, December 1st, 2010 --- Rhodia announces its first business development in bagasse-based biomass* projects by signing a binding agreement with Paraiso, a privately-held company.
Located in Brotas city, Brazil, Paraiso disposes of a plant that produces ethanol and sugar from sugar cane. According to this agreement, Rhodia Energy Services will upgrade and operate the cogeneration unit using the plant's biomass as a raw material to produce electricity. On the other hand, Paraiso has committed to supply Rhodia with all bagasse and other sugar cane solid waste on an exclusive basis. Most of the electricity generated by the cogeneration unit will be sold to the grid, while the Paraiso site will also be supplied with electricity and steam by the new unit.
The unit will have an installed capacity of 70 MW, and will produce electricity that could feed a city of approximately 200.000 houses or 600.000 people.
This project is an important step in the execution of Rhodia Energy Services' strategy to develop Climate Care solutions by leveraging its unique expertise in energy optimization and CO2 emission reduction into the growing biomass-to-energy domain.
(*) Biomass is a renewable energy source. It is a biological material from living, or recently living organisms, such as wood, waste, (hydrogen) gas, and alcohol fuels. Biomass is commonly plant matter grown to generate electricity or produce heat. In this case, we will use the bagasse that remains after sugar cane crushing.
Rhodia is an international chemical company resolutely committed to sustainable development. As a leader in its businesses, the Group aims to improve its customers' performance through the pursuit of operational excellence and its ability to innovate. Structured around six Enterprises, Rhodia is the partner of major players in the automotive, electronics, flavors and fragrances, health, personal and home care markets, consumer goods and industrial markets. The Group employs around 13,600 people worldwide and generated sales of €4.03 billion in 2009. Rhodia is listed on Euronext Paris.
Rhodia Energy Services is a Global Business Unit (GBU) of the Rhodia chemical group. It is in charge of energy supply management for the Group as a whole and responsible for managing projects initiated by Rhodia with a view to reducing its greenhouse gas emissions and to combating climate change. Energy supply management includes the purchase, production and sale of energy. Rhodia Energy Services manages energy procurement activities for a total of approximately €1 billion worldwide. It is a founding member of Exeltium, a consortium set up to purchase electricity generated from nuclear energy in France.
In the area of CO2 abatement, Rhodia Energy Services registered in 2005 two of the largest Clean Development Mechanism (CDM) projects completed under the Kyoto Protocol, enabling it to obtain one of the largest portfolios of carbon credits in the world. Since 2009, Rhodia Energy has consolidated its expertise by investing in renewable sources of energy.
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text:
My mind would spill out my ears should I ever have the opportunity to make my interactions at any convention as dense as (read: even moreso than they already are) I would like, easily overpowering the earbuds that act as corks during my meditative drive home. Seven generously lonely hours were startlingly appreciated while I processed and divided a whole new set of memories comprised of the faces of my favorite people in the world brought together by a passion for making and consuming nourishing things.
If I don't make an active attempt at keeping my emotions in check they'll overwhelmingly spur me to brashly and unrealistically set out to build an impossible empire of sorts where I can spend all of my time with all these people, forcing their slow orbits around the globe to swing more forcefully in my direction and selfishly declaring that we should all be together, which is to say, everyone should surround me all of the time. I'm not going to quit my job and move to a big city where one pocket of friends I see mere days out of the year reside, but in the days of post-con depression that I'm thoroughly entrenched in (the fact that I've been home for mere hours yet notwithstanding) that are sure to follow, such things seem unreasonably attractive and perfectly rational things to do.
Old adventures were relived this weekend with a high success rate, and many, many new adventures were found.
Most of them have specific names behind them, and I will likely gush thanks in their general direction for years and years.
The energy of creative (and therefore terribly handsome) people propels me to new, even greater heights every year, inspiring me to contribute more to the world somehow, as if I had the power to do so for some stranger in the world in such a specific way that any of my heroes (if I may use such a word) have to me.
Then again, with seven billion of us, it's a statistic inevitability that anything anyone produces will delight at least one person absolutely - but to have one person so consistently make things that delight you and then putting a face to them, hearing words come from their lungs and witnessing as their ideas are formulated in real time not just near you, but at you, swells me with some strange muse-like creature that makes me unable to consume anything new. I cannot read, cannot converse, cannot listen or breathe any new air until I release the pressure of this new energy.
On the drive home while I was thoroughly enshrouded in my decompression chamber of semi-sad music and asphalt, my mother called with updates on my dying aunt, and I literally screamed at the phone before answering it. I had no more room. I was busy sorting through the mess in my head, making it more orderly, and placing it on hold and pushing it aside, snapping back to the real world with real problems amounting to more than "which friend do I engage in next" is necessary, of course - but I selfishly wanted to continue to wallow in the come-down from the sheer euphoria found in being surrounded by folk I adore so.
I want to, or at least feel ready to, put even more nourishing things in my brain out of fear that if I let the things between my ears settle, they'll slip through the cracks and precious details will be lost before I have a chance to record them. Spying my stack of books fills me with a kind of hope, sort of, but another, completely sovereign fear says No, More Will Not Be Good.
And I realize now that that's the first time I've told myself such in five days.
There is a song somewhere in my iTunes library that I want to hear, but I know not its name or artist.
I can describe it. I can tell you the instrumentation. I can even play a part of it. But I can't hear it. Not all the way. Not for real.
I can tell you that there's ambient tonal sounds oscillating within an A major 7.
Twelve thousand songs. The ones I've heard, the ones not gifted to me by friends by the discography like how piles of books accumulate in a warm and anxious way, I can name within seconds of hearing it. Clicking on a tiny gear and describing some heuristics reveals that songs I haven't heard amount to a mere two thousand. I have heard and have a copy of ten thousand songs. I have here documentation that I have heard ten thousand songs.
I can't not listen to music without constantly indexing every part of it. Not the fidelity or the equipment used or anything useful like that, but the colours and emotions and shapes and textures and memories associated with it. Sometimes the lyrics are important to me - more often than not, they are a delivery system for more notes. I care the most about the notes.
This track doesn't have lyrics. The "ambient" tag bears no fruit, either.
It's a collection I've nurtured since eighth grade, since mp3s were a Thing that you could Have and Take With You. Somewhere, someone has bought a pair of boy-sized jeans from a Goodwill with a perfectly round outline of a stretchmark in the pocket, left by my orange, rubberized portable mp3-CD player. I was the hippest fucking kid on the school bus1.
Every day for a week, the class bully would ask me before I even sat on the green seat of the bus in the morning if he could listen to Daft Punk. Whenever I let him listen, I wouldn't get it back until the bus pulled into the school lot. It was the nicest he ever was to me. He was a person, then.
The ambient loop is in the eighth octave. It's plinky - echoing more than a sustain pedal on a piano would allow. It's full of yellow sevenths, giving a twang of desperation to the quiet swelling of each nondescript phrase. It's like breathing.
Sometimes bands in my mind that are discovered at the same time are lumped together as a single entity. Animal Collective was the same band as Annuals for a while. From Good Homes still bleeds over into Matt Pond PA. Radiohead is Helvetica: everywhere, not worth talking about anymore - bringing either up seems to make people bored these days. Doesn't make them any less important, I suppose.
The guitar part is just three notes in a slow, lazy strum, complimenting the glass-like loop that may be in 7/8. A, E, G#. Green, yellow, and a darker yellow. Together they make green velvet against black milk, the backdrop always fluid, moving, in a hurry but not because it has someplace to go, but merely because it is liquid. Just present and moving. Present and moving.
One hundred fifty years ago if you wanted to hear a song, you had to procure a copy of the sheet music, hire musicians to learn it, and sit in attendance while they played it for you live. Now every song ever is a touch away. I keep using 'tinysong' as a verb. It doesn't work, but my friends know what I mean.
The guitar resolves to the fourth, which isn't really resolving at all. A, D, F#. Alone it's plain drywall. Eggshell, or some comparably concise pantone nomenclature for "a type of white". But when played atop the major seven chord it's busy, woodgrain, black and darker black and porous and cool to the touch, like the plastic imitation wood used in the CD racks every grownup had in their living room in the 90s. Major-fourth-on-major-first has been my favorite dissonance as of late. Four on one. It shouldn't be right, but I relish it.
Years from now, while traversing my library for an unrelated musical query, this song will play. Everyone in the room will be forced to be at once ecstatic and calm with me. Rapture will fill my eyes and fingers in this rediscovery, combating the tranquility of the song.
And it will be delicious.
No I wasn't. ↩
I spent the night dancing with dingoes and dragons and tigers. My blood and face and clothes were both hot and cold from Kevin's gin flask. He'd already gone up to bed, and Michael and I staggered across Pittsburgh at three in the morning to our respective rooms. I was excited about sleep.
"Is she alright?" I thought aloud upon seeing a lump of a blouse on her side on the grass outside the Double Tree. I knew that the faster I went to bed, the sooner the world would stop spinning. The adrenaline I willed into my veins kept me alert, reactionary and rambling.
The girl sat up. "Oh, good." She smiled. She was pretty with black hair over face. Two sets of noodle straps, one black and one white, adorned her slender shoulders. She caught my gaze and patted the grass next to her, brushing the hair from her eyes while beckoning me to sit. "Hahah, no thanks dude, I'm good." Mike and I had already shrugged off one beggar that night, and I was in full beeline mode: priority number one was Go To Bed. Immediately I regretted my reflexive dismissal of the nice-looking girl. Why did I call her "dude"? I passed through the revolving door and was on the elevator before it occurred to me that I could go back - Mike had his own room to get to, and my roommates were still partying. I should go back, I thought in the elevator. Go back to the girl in the grass. My drunken brain was unable to parse the suggestion before priority one was in my sight.
I sat in my bed with my laptop illuminating the room. The towels on the floor made the room smell like chlorine. I checked Twitter in a trance while trying to will away the energy preventing my body from sleeping away the exhaustion of another day filled with sparkling, shimmering creatures. I thought about that girl while not-reading the goings-on of people I know or wish to know, thought about going back and sitting next to her on the grass in front of the hotel. "Hi," I'd say. "Hi," she'd say back. We'd sit there, on the grass, staring at skyscrapers that stood like tree trunks whose leaves were unmoved by the dank breeze of the city. We would sit there while I slowly sobered up, her too, maybe, and I'd make another friend, another person to add to the list of people I desperately wanted to populate the rest of my life with.
I've never been afraid of talking to strangers. I'm never afraid of singing in the car when other drivers might see me. The chances of me ever meeting whoever saw me are practically zero. The chances of meeting said person with either of us recognizing the other is even smaller. If we were to meet without memories attached to the other person, then the event never happened. It wouldn't be the same person as our first encounter if there are no experiences associated with one another's face. For all intents and purposes, I think whenever someone cuts me off in traffic, or catches me swaying my hips to some tune in my head in the checkout line, I'll never see you again for the rest of my life.
Last year, three thousand people were at this convention. There were more this year, probably.
I will never see that girl again for the rest of my life. I thought this while swaddled in my pocket of crisp hotel sheets, and for the first time in recent memory, the thought made me slump.
My roommates arrived soon after that. We breathlessly recounted the events that took place in the short period we spent apart before collapsing into our beds. There were still two whole days left, I thought, momentarily forgetting about the girl.
The low point of my trip was a moment's regret in not talking to a stranger on the street.
Needless to say, it was a pretty special weekend.
Thanks for making it great, guys.
Everyone stared.
If the sound of my heels sliding on gravel didn't turn their heads, the collision did: my forehead bounced once on the concrete before my cheek broke the second impact.
It didn't knock me out. Nor did I feel surprised or alarmed. I anticipated the slip moments before it happened, but I failed to take action to minimize the damage. I laid there, ass in the air, while I calculated my next action.
Self-assessment, the doctors said. It's a new thing. I still think it's pointless, so I kept my old cron jobs at high priority, resulting in the newly-added process to take longer than it was designed to. My resources are better spent elsewhere.
I laid there relishing the sensation of pain on my skull and in my neck, cataloging the experience until my assessment completed. The cold pulses of discomfort starkly contrasted the warm blood pooling around my lips and ear.
A minute passed before I pushed onto my hands and knees. Gravity pulled my lips and face towards the browned sidewalk. I slid my tongue over my teeth and sat up, resting my ass on my heels, and looked around. Sitting upright seemed to be justification enough for the other pedestrians to not intervene. They unfroze, and resumed walking. I don't blame them. I would have too.
I climbed to my feet, looking to the ground still - both to examine the fluid I've lost, and to keep any further fluid from landing on my shirt. After altering my course to the nearest service station, I too resumed walking.
I arrived ten minutes later. The blood on my forehead had yet to completely clot, but the bleeding had slowed enough that I was confident to stand upright without fear of ruining my blouse. I entered the garage's entrance and a welder whistled, lifting his mask. He grinned around an expletive, then pointed me toward the door at the back of the garage.
Around the corner I sat in a dirty chair. The waiting room smelled like oil. Through the glass pane I could see other machines being serviced. One of them, a female, had her left arm completely removed. She stared at it blankly while her technician applied a magic wand to its exposed connectors. Blue sparks made her fingers spasm and clench.
A man was on his back behind her, raised 9.66 meters into the air. There were cables and intestines hanging below him. A little girl, perhaps 8 or 9, appeared to be braiding them. A potbellied man in a stained white jumpsuit supervised, nodding approvingly.
The little girl looked up and saw me through the window. She smiled. I smiled back, and saw fluid-stained teeth in my reflection. A large globule of blood dropped from my lip and landed on my blouse. The little girl giggled and resumed braiding.
Outside a car backfired. The machines jumped. The workers didn't. Their organic eardrums no longer functioned at optimal levels thanks to the tools of their trade: drills. Saws. The roar of kilns. The technicians didn't share the luxury of upgradeable parts. The did hard work with no reparations to its hazards. Still, they were happy to be here. Happy to be employed. Happy to be left alone.
A young woman in a pony tail snapped her fingers, loud enough for me to hear from the waiting room. She pointed at me through the glass then stuck her thumb over her shoulder, summoning me. I walked through the door, across the garage and towards where she stood. She inhaled through her teeth sympathetically while unfolding a metal chair for me.
"Had a nasty spill, didja?" she said, cigarette hanging off her mouth. She pulled a towel out of a plastic barrel and started wiping my face before I even sat down.
"Cron daemon priorities are all messed up." I winced when her rag passed over the gash on my head, but immediately relaxed when the chair's cool surface distracted my nerves.
"Apparently. Your equilibrium daemon up to date?"
I looked her over while I checked the changelog. She looked fit. Twentysomething. "Yeah, looks like it. I had better luck with the beta, I think, but that directory's not public anymore."
"Ah, probably an IP fuckall somewhere, I bet."
It took me a full quarter second to parse that she meant not bandwidth or DNS errors, but patents. I nodded in agreement, and she blinked.
"You ain't kiddin' 'bout your crons, are ya? Lie back, lemme poke around a bit."
I put my hands on my knees and slumped in my chair. The cold metal pressed to my neck helped to distract from the pain even more than it did through my clothes. The repairwoman turned away briefly to pull a bus cable from her utility cart, then unhooked a bulky monochrome handheld from her belt. Her brow sullened once her scanner was interfaced.
"Hm. Your motor daemon doesn't seem to be getting along with the latest assessment process. When'd you get that updated?"
"The doc did it for me," I said. "I told him the one I had was just fine, but he wouldn't let me leave until I upgraded."
"Fuckin' scam artists. Bet it cost a pretty penny to get it, too, dinnit?"
"More than that," I laughed. "It took me half an hour before I got my blood pressure regulated again."
She puffed on her cigarette and shook her head, reading the screen some more. "Fuckin' scam artists," she said again.
I looked to my left and saw the little girl from before standing on a stool. She was pulling one cable from the man's back while another one lifted towards his spine, like a pulley. She was using so much of her body weight that her butt was practically on the concrete floor. When only a meter of looped intestine remained she jammed her fist on the lift controls in a practiced motion, and the man's table lowered. She jammed another button and it stopped above her head. Then she gingerly tucked in the last of the roping hardware, folding it delicately between his spine and lungs. With a satisfied smile she put her hands on her hips, nodded, then turned to Potbelly. He beamed, and patted her on the head.
"There," my technician said. "Found it." She bent over with the screen turned towards me. "The new version of your assessment job kept booting your motor subprocess from the RTP resource. Looks like this version never learned to share before the vendor pushed it for sale." She tapped her stylus on the screen a few times. "That should do it. I changed the permission settings on the resource. It's flexible enough to be used by at least thirty processes - no idea why your self-assessment job decided he needed it all to himself."
I smiled. She smiled back. "Oh you poor thing - here, let me get Len over here and he'll clean you up, eh?"
"Thank you." I sat up as she pulled the cable from my jawline free. She gave a playful salute while hopping back on her heels, then turned to whistle to a stick of a man across the garage. He perked, waved, and saw the wetwear tech beckon him over. After grabbing his clipboard he jogged over, narrowly avoiding a golf cart pushing spare parts across the garage. Its tiny trailer was full of limbs and cables, dirty with blood and oil. A thigh still connected to a hip was hanging over the edge, and it whirred and clicked while kicking in the air. Pink flesh was charred with burns where the knee should have been. It sounded old. Mechanical.
"Whatcha got, Jen?" The mechanic lifted a pair of swimming goggles from his eyes and snapped them onto his forehead. They looked like they use to be pink.
"This one here scraped her face pretty bad. You think we got some spare graft we can hook her up with?"
Len looked me over. I smiled, but not wide enough to expose my teeth this time. He was handsome. "Yeah, sure," he said. "I got a pigment that'll match close enough, I think. Be right back." Len jogged around the table holding male model from before, who was lying face-down now. The little girl was up on the table with him, standing in a straddle over him while she stitched up his back.
On his way back from the skin-bin Len almost got taken out by the same golf cart from before.
"Yeah," he huffed, catching his breath. "This oughta do it, I think." He turned to Jen, proudly holding fistful of drooping flesh up to my face. "You?"
Jen looked up from her handheld and smiled. "Damn near perfect, I think."
Len beamed. "Alright beautiful, let's get you lookin' right. You mind standin' for me?" He offered his hand to help me rise to my feet. "Thanks. Alright, let's get you cleaned up a bit before I graft— whoa!"
I fell back onto my chair, bounced once, then landed hip-first on the smooth concrete. Hard. It hurt.
"Whoa there girl, you alright?" Len scrambled towards me and reached for my arm. "Jen, get over here and take a look at her equilibrium cron and see if -"
"I'm fine." I waved them off. "Really -"
"Naw sweetie," Len said, grabbing my forearm. "That was clearly a problem. Just let Jen take another look-"
"I said I'm fine." I sighed, then smiled up at them reassuringly. "It's nothing. I just," Len offered his arm and I hoisted myself up with a grunt. "I don't trust this version of the assessment daemon the doc gave me, and I'm still trying to figure out how many cycles I want to give it." Jen looked just as skeptical as Lem did. "I took too much away from my equilibrium cron that time is all. I've worked it out now, though." I smiled again, brushing my hair from the sticky wound on my forehead. "I'm good. Promise."
Len didn't look convinced. "Alright," he said, and nodded slowly. "Alright, if you say so."
Jen crossed her arms with a smirk and shook her head. Len caught her eye and jerked his head to the side. She got the message, graciously bowed, and started walking backwards. "Okay. Well, you stay upright, girl, y'hear?"
"Thanks," I said. "I will." She snapped a finger gun at me before turning to walk towards some other emergency in the garage.
Len pulled another towel from the bin and started dabbing at my wound. I turned to look straight ahead, as if I was getting a haircut. I tried to stay still while resisting the urge to overcorrect minutiae movements. Though my eyes were staring straight ahead, Len was soon in front of them. His tongue stuck out a little as he concentrated.
"So…" He kept his eyes on his hands while he dressed my wound. "What's your name?"
"Tam," I said. "Tammeron."
"Nice to meet you, Tam." He smiled, still not really looking at me. He had a nice smile. "I'm Lenny."
I felt my cheeks flush. "Hi Lenny," I whispered. At only 11.1 decibels, I doubt he heard me above the 86.7 db buzz of the tablesaw 64.8 meters to my right. His smile widened, though, demonstrating that he'd seen me say it.
"Hi Tam." He said back, then finally met my eyes. "What say you we getcha patched up then, eh?"
I pursed my lips and I smiled back, nodding. I'll be damned if he sees my teeth still covered in blood, I thought.
Objectively Good
Is criticism a suggestion on how to gear one's work into being objectively good, or what appeals most widely to consumers?
"Objectively good" is a set of qualities established by the few whose creative output overcame the difficulty in creating what they aspired to create.
Put another way: is the criticism that you receive, whether it be for your music, writing, or even your performance at work, gearing you towards the popular end of the spectrum (in other words, pandering specifically to the interests of your critics), or towards becoming a "classic" (adhering to the rules set by the pre-MySpace era of makers or, alternately, the ISO Standard)?
Take typesetting, for example: Those few with access to the printing press established the guidelines of "taste" - not just the aestheticism and artistry, but the readability and practicality of both the end result (type) and of the process (the letterpress itself). They were the deciders of canon, what Best Practices should be used, what was acceptable and what wasn't. There are rules for this sort of thing, they'd say. Not just any one can do the things we do, they said.
And then, well, MySpace happened, and suddenly everyone had a printing press, and everyone and their their mother rebelled by creating the most garish monstrosities they could dredge up in some sort of subversive protest.
Let's take another example:
A band is insanely popular all over the world. They get extensive radio play, sold out concert venues, and multi-platinum record sales. Refusing to acknowledge their success is foolish, and if you claim to dislike them, you are accused of contrarianism. That is, not forming an actual opinion, but instead choosing to challenge or self-identify by the opposition of the general public's opinion.
There are two possible explanations for this band's success:
They are objectively good. The band acts as an organism that thrives in a studio, and its members create hit records by turning themselves inside out next to a microphone, exposing the artistry within them. They are beautiful people who need not embellish what they have the most fun doing before it is accessible by the rest of the world. They are objectively, innately, good at what they do.
Lowest common denominator. They create music specifically so that it sells. They are intelligent, but business-minded: they engineer pop music that will appeal to the masses at large. They have identified the lowest common denominator in popular music, and rehashed and tailored it until it was unique enough to build a brand upon.
There are, of course, gray areas. For example, when one band changes their sound from their first record to the next, obviously following popular trends so that they can stay alive as musicians without needing to go back to waiting tables, they are considered to have "sold out".
If their sound is measurably improved with each additional resource garnered over their organic commercial growth, then they are "true artists" (whatever that means). But those are social variables - what I'm talking about is an artist's absolute, measurable appeal. Art or work that is mathematically quantifiable as a "classic", or the Golden Ratio of an aesthetic.
Try this: can you attribute the following bands' success to their being objectively good, or by merely appealing to the lowest common denominator?
- Coldplay
- Radiohead
Well? What's your knee-jerk reaction? And how much of that reaction is based on how you want to present yourself to the rest of the world, and how much of that is actual attraction or repulsion of those artists' aesthetics? Is groupthink telling you to like or dislike it, or can you make the distinction of your own tastes without the cultural metadata attached?
Artists tend to be their worst critic, and there's a very simple reason why: because they create art for themselves. When a designer makes something, they are trying to make something that they enjoy. "Would I hang this in my own house?" says the painter. "Would I listen to this song?" says the musician. And every time their answer is "No, I would not," the artist is determined to learn more about and further develop their skill-set to achieve an output that adheres to their own personal aesthetic. That is how personal taste is formed.
But commercial art is a different beast. When the public decides that an artist's output is no longer representative of their personal taste, that's when they are considered inauthentic. If an artist's misrepresentation - or inappropriately premature display - of their taste results in commercial success, all the other artists will call them "evil" - often publicly:
But [Kenny G] did show a knack for connecting to the basest impulses of the large crowd by deploying his two or three most effective licks (holding long notes and playing fast runs - never mind that there were lots of harmonic clams in them) at the key moments to elicit a powerful crowd reaction (over and over again).
According to Metheny, Kenny G is to jazz as Comic Sans is to design.
Perhaps the larger issue at hand is: are these two metrics, objective worth or commercial success, separate to begin with? Isn't the objective of commercial art to be successful? What variables are at play when determining Radiohead's success to be more or less earned, honorable or valid than Lady Gaga's? If, out of everyone on the playing field, these players are the most appealing - how does one decide that their success was less "deserved"?
When someone breaks the rules and the results are popular, they are called visionaries. If someone breaks the rules and the results are unpopular, they're called hacks and quickly fall into obscurity.
And, perhaps the most volatile, when someone breaks the rules, the results are popular, but someone decides that the public is somehow wrong for enjoying it… then who's the loser?
So, how do we separate the bad ones from the good ones?
More importantly: how do you?
American Idol Syndrome
For a while, American Idol was my favorite sport. It's still the favorite sport of a lot of Americans, because it has all the qualities of a good competition: protagonists, antagonists, referees and merchandise, favorites and underdogs.
After the first season, the show started digging into the lives of contestants. Before the 12 finalists were revealed, we were shown footage of the players' hometowns. Viewers were given the resources to become emotionally invested in contestants that would eventually be our weekly entertainment. Sure, we saw mini-biographies of contestants who eventually didn't make the cut, but the network made sure we had seen plenty of footage of the final round of contestants so that we cared about them when they arrived onstage. It's drama.
We chose our picks and we rooted for them. And unlike Amateur Night at the Apollo, the audience never booed an off-key singer. Viewers appeared to finally be equipped with enough empathy to wish the best of every contestant, not just their own pick. I mean, totally great, right? American Idol was totally great.
When I watched the X-Games as a little kid, I saw competing skaters rooting for each other, even though they were all competitors. That was the first time I'd seen that kind of sportsmanship. I remember rooting for, along with the rest of the world, Tony Hawk to do the first ever 900. Even though the clock had run out, the crowd cheered him on - and after eight or nine failed attempts, all the other skaters put their hands on him, encouraging him to try it just one more time. And then he did it. And it was lovely - just fucking lovely. American Idol, in the beginning, felt like that: a community of genuine, happy, pretty people doing and encouraging each other to do genuine, happy, pretty things. That camaraderie among competitors was present from the beginning, and it was just great.
But then something happened: Fox introduced a flavor of schadenfreude to the show that encouraged - harvested, even - harsh, useless ridicule that has shaped the tone of a lot of media elsewhere.
Instead of culling for footage to give the viewers a sense of connection with future-finalists, producers realized that the most talked about events on the show were explosions of conflict. This is hardly some grand epiphany - reality television by definition is the voyeuristic spectacle of real life conflict, vicarious ups and downs of people who somehow seem to be more relateable, more genuine than the characters of a scripted soap opera. Of course, how genuine the conflict we end up seeing is debatable: Craig Ferguson demonstrates how basic film splicing can alter the tone of any conversation.
And besides, Big Brother is, what, 15 years old now? Like I said, this is hardly new. But this shameless embrace of schadenfreude, this pointing and laughing at the "other", is something I've seen in a frightening amount of New Media like Gawker, LATFH and the plethora of FAIL blogs, to name a few. It's a gag reel that's as useful as it is tasteful - and it's something that I can trace back to about the third season of American Idol.
I call this effect American Idol Syndrome.
"Dreadful. Absolutely dreadful."
"Sorry, dawg, but it's just not good."
The shock on the faces of contestants when they're told this speaks volumes. How did this happen? How did these people not know that they were so incredibly bad?
We can rule out living in The Bubble for the more, erm, intellectually oriented individuals like William Hung. So if superficial privilege wasn't the source of this confidence, what was?
The answer is actually quite simple: they were lied to. These contestants were lied to by every single person in their life whose opinions they respect. They were so convinced by their family, by their friends and teachers and classmates, that they went all the way to open auditions thinking - believing that they were going to go far - because they were lied to. So effectively, so convincingly, that they waited in line for hours - days, even! - to show off their talent to anyone that would listen.
Eventually, though, these contestants would perform in front of one particular set of judges. And these judges, unlike everyone else before them, won't lie.
Which makes for some fucking great television.
"Awful. Absolutely terrible. That is quite possibly the worst performance I have ever seen."
Producers and lower-tier judges leverage these contestants' poor performances by graduating them to the next tier, shouting Great! Wonderful! You might be the next American Idol, producers said. You totally graduate to the next round!
And around season three, Fox discovered that nothing gets ratings like Simon making some kid cry on camera. Suddenly, no longer was American Idol about hope and joy, showcasing the genuine talent of lovely, (mostly) humble performers. Now it was a show about bullying and tears, filled with more crushed spirits than a Tolkien novel.
In the same spirit we, as a culture, embrace ridicule as a pastime. We encourage the public humilation of those we deem "less fortunate". It promotes not charity or self-improvement, but pointing, laughing and then continuing on your way. That itself is pretty shitty, right? But even more insidious, I think, is the lies, this social acceptance of coddling. The American promise of You can do anything, Don't listen to the naysayers.
Don't tell me what I can't do!, Locke screamed from his wheelchair. And everyone cheered.
This terrifies me. This terrifies me like nothing else in the world. I'm terrified that throughout my life, despite whatever I might've been told to the contrary, I am actually terrible at everything. I'm terrified that all my friends and family think that they're just "being nice" by "encouraging me to do what I love", and all that other bullshit. I'm terrified how it's become socially acceptable to lie to people to their face about their strengths and weaknesses. It's not about tact: it's about the removal of any and all friction. Shouldn't everyone be terrified of this?
So here's my request to everyone, particularly to anyone whose opinions I respect enough to befriend: If I am shit at something - at anything, in any way shape or form - fucking tell me. Tell me immediately. Make me cry before I make a fool of myself in front of people that aren't my friends. I promise that it'll only make me want to do better.
And I hope that you recognize that when I tell you that you're shit - and I assure you it will be in the kindest, most constructive way possible (please don't misconstrue this as an attempt to give myself a free "Be a Dick" pass) (I'm really quite rubbish at being a dick anyway, it's actually kind of hilariously sad) it's because I love you and I truly think that doing the opposite - that telling you that you're a unique snowflake who can live your dreams no matter what they are (which is dangerous career advice for any one) - is not only a disservice to you, but is one of the most unkind things I could ever do to someone that I care about.
If everyone were constructive and honest and nice about the reality of any one person's ability in anything, I think a lot of problems would get solved. It'd create a few problems, too, but I think that it would solve a lot more.
When something I'm doing is shit, tell me it's shit.
When I'm doing something shitty, call me on my shit.
And, most importantly, tell me how I can fix my shit.
Because the last thing I ever want to be is cocksure.
I see sounds.
Describing how I perceive music in so many words is still a struggle for me. The inadequacy in saying that I "see" sounds, how there's no word in my lexicon of descriptors for how it really works in my head, the need for these words, is only as new as my knowledge of how unique it is. Each attempt to describe it feels like sparring, words and I, in a match arduous and stubborn. We're both stubborn - the words in their elusiveness and me, determined as I am to find them. The fight is tiresome and exhilarating.
The assignment was to write a paper about a unique phenomenon or disease or disorder or malfunction of some sort - a project ostensibly designed to build empathy. The course was held in one of the carpeted classrooms of my school, so it couldn't have been a Science or Biology class. Social Studies, maybe. A girl with not-black hair whose name I don't remember went to the front of the room, wearing jeans and no glasses. She was bright. I liked her.
She wrote her paper about a phenomenon called synesthesia, where neurons carrying data from the input of a perceptive sense crosses paths with another sense's pipeline on its way to the brain's processing center, resulting in a "mixing" of the senses - touch, smell, sight, etc. Sense-signals are delivered to the wrong decoding facility, basically.
One form of this phenomenon, she said, was sound-to-color synesthesia, in which some or all auditory information is sent not just to the hearing-center of the brain, but to the visual center as well, which in this case results in every sound having a unique color.
"Wait, wait, wait," I said, interrupting her - it was a pretty informal class - "you mean everyone doesn't have that?"
Fear and Hate
Rands is one of my very favorite people on the Internet. Earlier today he tooted the following:
I, respectfully, disagree. I think Rands may be confusing fear with hate - which itself is an extension of fear.
Fear is involuntary.
Fear is an evolutionary process that helps us differentiate between the potentially-dangerous, potentially-edible and potentially-fuckable. Fear is a reaction: "Oh no! A new thing with which I am unfamiliar!", or "Oh no! A thing that I have previously encountered that resulted in unpleasantness in the past!" What one does with that fear is another beast entirely.
I'm not nitpicking for the sake of contrarianism - I genuinely think it's irresponsible to not acknowledge the biology of emotions and the human brain in general, both for interpersonal relationships and general happiness. The brain has a reason for every signal it sends - and deciding between acting on or ignoring these signals is a learned skill that benefits the lives of managers, engineers, artists and athletes alike.
That said, embracing and/or confronting your fears has become as much of a business-world trope as being "fearless". The act of being afraid is something that occurs outside your control, but its results can be conquered or quelled. The act of worrying, however, is something entirely within one's control - and worrying is useless.
Either act, or don't. But don't whinge.
I was a strong-willed kid who didn't like being sick. And refused — vehemently — to take medication. My parents tried every trick in the book and I fought back with new ones.
Eventually, after all of their cajoling and threatening and bargaining didn't pay off, they took me to the doctor in the hopes that this figure of authority would tell me I had to.
[…] Here's what the doctor said:
"You don't have to take the medicine. But then you don't get to complain."
I took the medicine. It was worth it not to have to stop complaining.
Those who complain without action - even through an ostensibly harmless passive-aggressive toot - are people that I don't have time for. Which brings me to my counter-assertion to Rands' toot:
Hate, not fear, is a decision.
When your fear manifests as repulsion and avoidance, it's reasonable to argue that this too is an act of self-preservation. But the definition of hate is the accumulation and acknowledgment of select memories and opinions that are more negative than positive. When you are afraid of something, that is a preliminary reaction. When you hate something or someone, you are choosing to act on that fear. More on that "choice" part in a moment.
Everything that exists in your life has at one point rendered an experience or memory in your mind. What you choose to canonize about any person or thing or idea or event is just that: a choice. I'm not suggesting hopeless optimism, or selective memory for the purpose of making you or your life appear better than it really is where real change would be beneficial - nor am I condoning the repeated tolerance of unbearable, toxic people. Hate is what occurs after you've decided that your fear of something that's new or different from yourself is something that should remain and dictate your actions.
"Well, relationships are all about a shared history, right? If that's forgotten, all that's left is a stranger."
"That's true. You can't really love OR hate someone without at least knowing enough about them to inspire that emotion in the first place!"
"So to really hate someone, I have to put in at least SOME effort into making the memory of why I hate them in the first place."
When you say that you hate something, you have made a decision to be unhappy.
Think about that for a moment. If you say that you hate something, you're saying that you have and will continue to allow something or someone make you unhappy.
If you have a friend that makes you feel like shit, you don't let them keep making you feel like shit, do you? So why should you let anything else in the world make you feel like shit? Either change it, change yourself, or instead choose to be happy elsewhere.
Yes, I am quoting a webcomic about dinosaurs but Ryan North is one of the smartest people I know of so shut it. ↩
A large portion of the music I listened to in 2008 was spawned from the Helvetica soundtrack.
Sam Prekop (Helvetica track listenable here) is one of the artists on that compilation, and just recently I learned of a band he is in called Sea & Cake. This track in particular I want listen to on headphones on repeat while lying on my back in a room with those carpeted-concrete floors that were never really that comfortable, industrial but presentable and dirty but intimate and authentic and practical and hell on your backbone and shoulderblades when you're trying to get a quick nap in the band room before the busses arrive for the next competition in whatever city this week's marching band competition was in.
I met the members of El Ten Eleven in a dive bar adjacent to one of my favourite concert venues in Ohio - they were very kind, and encouraging and humble when after their show I told them that they were equal parts inspiring and soul crushing in their display of talent and joy in music making.1 There were only 30 or so skinny white boys in the crowd that night, and my drinking buddy (also the owner of this delicious spawn) and I were right up at the front of the tiny little stage. In between each song it was dead quiet, everyone present evidently such fans of the two performers on stage that their excitement after applause was displayed through stunned, rapturous attention to the stage to see and hear how these sounds were made from just these two people (answer: double neck Gibson and a loop pedal.2). In an attempt to break the strange tension created by the shoe gazing white boys shiftily standing before delightfully bouncy math rock I had muttered "Reaganomics!" at the trailing end of a round of applause. The band heard me and laughed, commenting on it, saying "That's great! Who said that, that's awesome" and I just grinned some, but didn't raise my hand or anything because, man, skinny white boys be judgmental like skinny white boys be and I didn't want anyone to think that I was trying to be the "outrageous" guy at a concert, even though muttering such a thing, trite and tiny as it was, was clearly the action of someone trying to be "outrageous" in a public setting in this particular instance, at least in comparison with everyone else there, so I never really identified myself and just shifted a little where I stood, grinning until the corners of my mouth were shaking because in tandem with the liquor I was genuinely happy to be here, in front of these musicians I admired so, and now having made them laugh, even anonymously, filled me with more joy than it should have, probably, and I had been grinning all night already, so much and so long that my entire face hurt but in that cathartic way that makes you think, This pain is a direct result of being happy, This is a good pain to be thankful for, Remember this pain in your cheeks and your temples and your teeth, Remember and associate it with all the other times that your face hurt from prolonged genuine grinning, and while standing there in front of them I secretly hoped that my utterance would become a story that they tell other bands they go on tour with, or a story they tell on stage while tuning a guitar in between songs in some far off city.
There were a couple of drone-y electronic songs on the aforementioned soundtrack, one of which was Motohiro Nakashima's "Meow" that I had 4-starred, which means "Download More" in my iTunes library3. The album that track belonged to was fairly nice, and I was searching for more places to get some of this guy's (girl's?) stuff, and upon further googling, I found someone had upped an album of his/hers that I hadn't been able to find on Amazon or iTunes).
And it's basically The Loveliest.
Which I suppose is the opposite of the rudest.
I sent the download to a friend of mine and told him such, complete with reference followed by the accompanying link for reference to which I was speaking (which was in turn a reference to yet something else), and then commented to him how difficult for me it is to imagine a world in which obscure references died in obscurity, rather than propagate through exposing the source of it after mere seconds of inquiry, and the original intent of this post was to say just how great it is to be able to have access to and share information with anyone, instantly, forever, and how the unit of measure, the modicum of encapsulation of all bytes, memes, whatever of information can be from a second-hand account, at worst.
Which, in turn, reminded me of this:
[The Tuyuca language] requires verb-endings on statements to show how the speaker knows something. Diga ape-wi means that "the boy played soccer (I know because I saw him)", while diga ape-hiyi means "the boy played soccer (I assume)". English can provide such information, but for Tuyuca that is an obligatory ending on the verb. Evidential languages force speakers to think hard about how they learned what they say they know.
— Difficult Languages, The Economist — which is sadly now-paywalled which I guess kinda detracts from my "information is freely available everywhere these days" bit, but there ya go.
"Nono, I bet someday we'll be opening for you!" That's what he said to me! I mean, good gracious, just how lovely those two were, I can't say enough. Also they had a very lovely merch girl who gave me a discounted shirt because I had spent all my cash on bourbon. ↩
"Sheer badassery" would also have been an acceptable answer. ↩
I have several smart playlists populated by rated songs, with the 5 starred tracks being sorted into "Completely Great", and the remaining ratings into "Download More", "Revisit!", "Fix Metadata", and "Yuck", respectively). ↩
My mother moved again. This means she needs someone not-her to move furniture. This weekend's not-her was, as is usually the case, me.
She had classical music playing on the television when I walked in. It stayed on as I moved couches, lifted potted plants, hung blinds and wrestled with the butcher slab that has been around my whole life. It's been missing a leg for nearly a decade. It's finally on the curb.
It was a good table.
Listening to classical music, I could hear where all the musicians were emulating what was on the page. That's when there was a crescendo, I'd think. They're trying to be mezzo-piano, but that second trumpet is a little too eager.
There be staccatos all up in there.
I'm no longer able to parse joy from classical music. I dissect it critically, and only hear the interpretation of the song - not the intent of the song's composer.
A friend of mine once told me that when he goes to a concert, he wants the band to play their songs exactly like the album versions. I can understand that. He's a systematic person who wants to see how this music happens, to feel it on his face as he stands there witnessing it first hand.
I prefer the opposite.
I think too many musicians feel obligated to give a completely predictable performance. "I made this song," they say. "The album version is canon. Any deviation from this is no longer the same song."
Academic music programs reinforce this notion from grade school. "Play this song how it was intended to be played," they say. "What's written on the page is canon. If you don't play what's on the page, you're playing it wrong."
After 15 years of rehearsals and recitals and concertos and competitions - I've decided that I really, really hate that.
Music is as fluid as humans are fleeting. Playing a logarithmic retelling of the same story will get old very quickly. I respect Broadway performers tremendously, as they aren't allowed the artistic freedom to deviate from the pre-determined plot, which must be performed impeccably, passionately, every single performance - sometimes for years.
I'm no longer interested in classic plays or old movies. I'd rather go to an improv show. I don't want to hear Tchaikovsky's Thirteenth Whatever again. I've heard it all my life. It's original context is lost. When we hear Public Domain Concerto #29 we think of Christmas, or of a jewelry commercial, or of an old cartoon. All of these shared memories are sometimes destructive to art, I think. Everyone agreeing that this thing is a happy thing, that's great. Everyone agreeing through sheer commercial conditioning that this song is now associated with a product or a brand, that's terrifying to me. Having other people decide what this thing that a person made for his or her own reasons should be associated with is what art has been reduced to in popular culture. Classical music, with its convenient lack of licensing fees, has been perverted this way. All of the contexts of the agreed-upon "greats" have been decided for us before we've even heard the song.
I'd rather go to a jazz show and watch people make something on stage - something that's never been made or seen or heard before. I want spontaneity. I want tangibility. I want conversation.
When I go to a concert, I don't want to hear a mechanical recreation of a four hundred year old pop song. I want to hear you.
You, the person standing in front of me.
You, alive - alive! living! breathing! thinking! - with thoughts and feelings and memories and experiences and stories and gestures. You are infinitely more interesting to me. There are two decades of memories and experiences in my head - and you have that many - probably more! - that are completely different that mine. I want to hear what you, a person both complete and completely sovereign from me, have to say.
I want your brain splattered on the stage. Not Schumaker's. Not even Mozart's. I've heard and played Mozart all my life. You, though - you I've just met.
I can't wait to meet you.
I've only ever been in orchestras and symphonies and choirs and shit where the objective is to perform an exact replica of what the composer of a piece has tried to represent on the page.
I'm getting serious about music again after a long while, and while I greatly admire and am somewhat guilty of idolizing singer-songwriters like Andrew Bird, Sufjan Stevens, Sondre Lerche, Bon Iver, St. Vincent and so on and so forth, the concept of a band - a collective that exists together to make music, is something that I've never had the pleasure of trying.
Being like the aforementioned acts and conceiving a piece of music from beginning to end, then auditioning for a touring band is what I always imagined - or, rather, fantasized - what I'd do someday. But the concept of being in a band, being in a room full of people who are all trying to make a new sound, and everyone in the room eventually all agreeing what the sound is and ought to be - that's magical to me.
My favourite bands, you can hear the chemistry of them. You can hear how they act as an organism, their group think, the hivemind, no words needed much more than "here, listen to this" and then one dude joins in then another and an hour later they finish, they've made it, this thing, from all of their brains collaborating on this new original thing.
Sometimes you can hear the band having fun while recording (Matt & Kim). Other times you can hear all the history, where all the revisions and cuts were made as they worked to write their opus, something specific needed to be engineered from the ground up to express what's in their mind(s) (Flaming Lips, Radiohead), and other times you can tell it was just the second or third take and magic just happened (Elbow, Spoon).1
I know that there's drama. And I know that there will always be disagreements. But to find a room full of people - or just one or two others - whose musical tendencies aren't necessarily similar to one another, but complement one another, and perhaps even challenge one another, and then get them all to sit in a room and Make - together - that's magic.
I think I wanna start a band.
Miles Davis' Kind of Blue was famously recorded in a single take with no rehearsal. That's not just improvisational jazz, that's chemistry. That's magical. I will never not be in awe when I think of this while listening. ↩


text:
Discover Your Next Favorite Song:
4 Great Music Sites
At times when I'm working on things that are repetitive, like resizing images or sending an email invitation to a couple hundred recipients, music is my savior. Sometimes it's nice to also give your brain a break and just plug in the music and work through those types of tasks. Pandora and Spotify are already my go-to sources for listening to music I've curated for my tastes, but if I'm looking for something new, here are a few sites and apps I use.
Sylqi: Sylqi is a music discovery site that curates covers, remixes and mashups to suit your music taste. I have many friends who love listening to and watching covers on popular songs and all of them loved Sylqi when I shared it with them. It's a great site for discovering new artists and you can search for similar songs or more by the artist who posted their cover.
Beatport: Beatport is an online music store for people DJs and people who love discovering new tracks by DJs. Hundreds of new songs are added daily, and Beatport is equipped with their own music discovery tools so you're always discovering new songs or artists. Most songs start at $1.99 for those who want to support their favorite DJs.
SoundCloud: Most of my friends who create their own music upload their work onto SoundCloud, so this is my favorite site to go listen and support them. I like how the interface is user-friendly and it's easy to select a specific spot in a song to listen to. To me, SoundCloud is where the hardcore audiophiles hangout.
Soundrop: When I'm listening to Spotify, sometimes I like to create a Soundrop room with my friends so we can share and listen to music at the same time. The best new music I discover usually comes from my friends, which is the beauty of Spotify's Facebook connect because we're always sending each other tracks. Soundrop just lets us listen and share in real time together.
What is your go-to music discovery source?
(Images: 1. Photo taken by Julienne Lin, other images as credited above)
10 Comments
If you're mentioning music discovery and don't list Songza, something is wrong. Terribly wrong.
Songza is so amazing that iheartradio ripped it off entirely.
Another great website is Hype Machine (hypem.com). It is a blog aggregator, so it showcases songs from all kinds of awesome music blogs. Check out their remixes section, they are awesome!
You should check out Blastanova.com too. It gathers the latest audio and video from great music blogs all over the internet every day. Lots of great indy stuff.
What about Noisetrade? I've discovered quite a few new favorites there. Caters to alt rock and folk rock, but has lots of genres represented.
8tracks is amazing. you get to make old fashion mixes & listen to mixes other people make as well. totally legal & the app is fantastic.
Soundhound is an app like shazam but i personally prefer soundhound, it's so convenient when they don't tell you names of the song on the radio or you hear a nice tune you like.
A second the Songza suggestion. I love how it has a concierge to make suggestions of playlist for the time of day. They have a bunch of options for honestly every situation/event you can imagine. All the playlists are made by professionals and you can really tell by the quality of the selections. Since discovering it i've been using it exclusively and...it is FREE! :D
Songza is really, really good and everyone should give it a go. For music discovery it's much better than spotify and pandora put together!
Turntable.fm is great for this purpose as well, with a great community as well. Certain rooms specifiy that songs played must be below a certain threshold of plays for the room, so you don't hear the same Teardrops On Roads Remix every hour
and I second/third/fourth Songza, it's playlists may not be the longest but if you just want to throw on some background music, its perfect.
Since I listen to music all day long, it's quite hard for me to renew my playlists.
But there's a pretty cool website that speads Rare Music , it's called playlistunes:
The design is quite poor but the playlists are amazing. I very rarely find something that I already knew, and this means that they do their job very well.
Enjoy !


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(BUZZFEED) — Americans' aversion to voting for Mormons has spiked since Mitt Romney's first presidential bid in 2007 — and that the people most wary of Mormon candidates are not Evangelicals, but rather political liberals and non-religious voters, according to new research from a leading scholar of anti-Mormon attitudes.
The overall increase in anti-Mormon attitudes among liberals may be an unanticipated consequence of the "the continuing candidacy of Mitt Romney and Mormon activism against same-sex marriage," the study suggests. And its findings may be alarming to the Romney campaign because among the study's other findings is that voters' perceptions of Mormonism are closely tied to whether they'll vote for him.


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Join us for a wonderful community art show at the Village Center
beginning with its neighborhood opening Sunday August 4th, 2013 and
running through Sunday August 25th, 2013. The exhibit includes a
variety of mediums such as photographs from DC and Maryland, etchings,
sculptures and paintings. Please join us to meet many of the emerging artists
Sunday 11:30am to 1:30pm for the opening reception.
This is a video trailer of the show featuring a limited number
of the exhibitors http://youtu.be/u9XOIFCxjxM
Art at the Village Center
Opening Reception
August 4th, 11:30 am - 1:30 pm
Friendship Heights Village Center
4433 South Park Ave.
Chevy Chase, MD
301.656.2797 Village Center
Go north on Wisconsin Ave. NW. One block above Western Avenue
where Gucci and Tiffany's come together at South Park Ave, make a left on South
Go one block and you will see the statue of a police officer.
The building behind the police statue is the Village Center.
Request for more information and interview requests
Please contact Lew Berry (202) 966-2936


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The pattern for the Nerodia Cardigan (baby/child version) is now available! I created this design in honor of the Chinese Year of the Snake (although it would also be appropriate for a member of Slytherin House!).
The Chinese zodiac is a 12 year cycle, with a different animal for each year; in addition, each year is also associated with one of five elements (wood, fire, earth, metal or water). 2013 is the year of the Water Snake, and since water snakes belong to the genus Nerodia, I thought this would be a good name for this design.
I also have a good friend who had a baby boy this spring, so I designed the cardi with him in mind (it is meant to be suitable for boys OR girls). After using stranded colorwork for my Year of the Rabbit design (the Bunny Yoke pullover), and lace for my Year of the Dragon design (the imaginatively named Dragon Lace Pullover), I decided that the Year of the Snake would be a great opportunity to get creative with cables.
The basic idea of the snake cable is that the cable crosses alternate in direction, so that one cable is always on top, and appears to be undulating. But there are many variations, including how many stitches to cross, how often to cross them, and background (whether the cable crosses over another cable, or simply over a reverse stockinette stitch or other background). I sketched vertical snakes, horizontal snakes, and coiled snakes, and then I started swatching. After multiple swatches, I decided the most snake-like version was a 3-stitch single cable, crossed over reverse stockinette. Then I experimented with the snake head and tail, and finally with how many snakes, and how to arrrange them; eventually I hit upon a staggered repeat that seemed more...slithery...than a bunch of perfectly synchronized snakes!
To keep the focus on the snakes, I kept the rest of the pullover fairly simple, with stockinette body and sleeves and no waist shaping. The only refinement I added during knitting was the beaded eyes and embroidered tongues. I just decided that the little reptiles needed a bit more realism (but those embellishments could certainly be omitted).
And it's only partway through the Year of the Snake, which means I still have time to finish the Nerodia Cardigan for women (working on it right now), and maybe even start planning my Year of the Horse design for 2014.
Please purchase my patterns from Ravelry.com until I get download link issues resolved! And do not use the "Contact Me" Link--it is not working! Email me at firstname.lastname@example.com with any questions or comments.
Featured pattern: The generously sized Oscilla Wrap is shaped with short rows to curve around the shoulders, and takes full advantage of lightly variegated yarn, with smooth stockinette contrasted with swirling lace. See more patterns


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Broward Health Imperial Point's Man Van is taking men's health screenings across Broward. Find out more »
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Human bites can easily become infected due to the number of bacteria in the human mouth. In fact, human bite wounds are more likely to become infected than dog or cat bites. A doctor should check any human bite that breaks the skin.
Remain calm and reassure your child that you can help. Specific treatment for a human bite will be determined by your child's doctor. Treatment may include:
If the bite is bleeding, apply pressure to it with a clean bandage or towel to stop the bleeding.
Wash the wound with soap and water under pressure from a faucet for at least five minutes, but do not scrub, as this may bruise the tissue.
Dry the wound and cover it with a sterile dressing. Do not use tape or butterfly bandages to close the wound, as this could trap harmful bacteria in the wound.
Many times, human bites are treated with antibiotics to prevent infection. Call your child's doctor to find out if additional treatment or a tetanus booster is needed.


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Bullying is GOOD for Kids
Guest blogger Mom De Plume: Is a schoolyard bully necessarily a bad thing?
My daughter is in preschool and doing very well. She gets along with other kids and has even cultivated a "best friend" who I'm told she pals around with much of the day. I am so happy with the school and the teachers.
Recently one of the teachers pulled me aside and told me there was one child in the class who was hitting and biting the other kids. "Has he hit my daughter?" I asked, concerned. "Yes, a couple times today" she said. "He hits all the kids." All the time. He's becoming a problem. My first instinct was to be upset, I glared at the little tow-headed culprit across the room. He was playing blocks on the floor. He looked harmless enough.
I looked back at my daughter and asked her what she did when that boy hit her. Did she cry? "No I didn't!" she said bravely. "I said NO I don't like that!" she demonstrated, holding her tiny little hand in a "stop" position.
Looked good to me. Like she was handling herself just fine. Way better than I handled stuff like that when I was I kid. I was always a wreck -- kids picked on me constantly and I was quick with the tears. Could it be that a preschool bully could benefit my child?
I've always noticed my friends who routinely got beat up by their older siblings were the scrappiest. One woman I know has five older brothers. She doesn't take sh*t from anyone. Unfortunately, my daughter won't benefit from any sibling rivalry, being an only child.
The other day the preschool teacher told me the little tough guy was going to another school. It seems the school had enough of the kid's aggressive behavior and he had been essentially expelled. When I heard the news, I have to admit I was just a little bit sad. I want her to learn to stand up to people -- but what if there's no one around to stand up to?
Do you think a LITTLE bit of bullying is good for a kid?
Remember that song A Boy Named Sue? It worked for that guy.
No, I don't think bullying is good for a child. My daughter was harassed and choked on the bus when she was in prekindergarten. She knows how to handle herself, but seriously, should she be put in that position at such a young age?
I do not agree with this at all. As a parent of children that are being bullied now, I disagree. My daughter who is only in 6th grade is being picked on by a boy in the 9th grade. That is just plain wrong…. It is teaching her to be affraid of school. How can that be good ????
Bullying is terrible! Heck, thanks to evil schoolmates, I went through my school years thinking I was "lower" than everyone else because 1 or 2 people took time out of their day to make me feel that way.
Some people DO become tough as nails due to being hurt, others go the other direction. There are positive ways to work on your childs self-esteem that doesn't include being bullied.
I think I understand what you're getting at but I don't think bullying is the way for kids to learn how to stand up for themselves. I feel that parents, extended family, and friends who build confidence are better, positive ways to do it - bullying might toughen some people up but at what cost?
Bullying just ends up destroying too many people.
Absolutely not!
Bullying should not be tolerated like it was in your daughter's preschool. While it may look like it wasn't tolerated since he was eventually expelled, it should have been dealt with instantly, the first time he hit someone not after he had been allowed to hit all of the kids in the class. By tolerating the bullying, the school has essentially taught him that he can hit other kids. If this trend continues as he ages, he very well could grow up to be an abuser of his wife and children.
Your daughter did an excellent job of standing up for herself. However, had the bullying continued or if others pick up and bully her throughout her life, she'll may very well lose that strength. She may learn that her "no" and "stop" won't be listened to anyway so why bother.
Children should learn that all people need to respect them and that they should respect all people. Bullying has no place in society and should not be tolerated at any level.
I was bullied, and I didn't stand up as much as I could have.
But I agree with this anyway! Having conflict grows one's self, and makes you stronger. You may fail the first few times you are faced with conflict, but that only makes you want a good outcome even more.
A life is only destroyed by bullying if the person being bullied doesn't ever stand up- either to the bully or conflicts later in life.
And if the person has their whole life destroyed by the bullying… then the problem isn't the bully. That person has a problem with confidence, and the bully was the simply the first one to prey on it.
This is the most moronic thing I've ever read.
You're assuming firstly that it is possible for every kid to be able to stand up to every other kid. There are kids strong enough to beat the crap out of you no matter what you do to defend yourself. When an adult does it to another adult, it's called Assault. We have laws against it for a reason.
You're also assuming that the bully is acting alone. Bullying is often a group activity, and the idea of "learning to stand up to" a group of kids only makes sense to people who've watched too many martial arts movies. Again, in adult society we call it Assault. Why would the rules possibly be different for kids?
While you don't state it explicitly, the logical endpoint of your argument would be for schools to allow bullying. As adults, it is our job to show children how they are supposed to behave. If we send the message that assaulting another human being is acceptable, then we deserve the violent society that we get.
The next time someone knocks you in the head on the way to work, just remember, it's good for you!
I understand completely what you are saying. As a mother of 6 however I strongly disagree. The entire premise is built on something that we are always told from the beginning not to do. Positive reinforcement goes a lot further than negetaive reinforcement, right? So, in light of that, bullying (which would be considered negative reinforcement) will ultimately do more harm than good.
Now, several of my children have already gone through dealing with bullies. When our oldest son started pre-school, someone in 3rd grade pulled his pants down on the school bus. He was mortified. On another ocassion when he was in 2nd grade, a girl pushed and hit him while walking home from the bus. He came in crying. When asked what happened, he explained and then said he didn't do anything to stop her because "I'm not supposed to hit her because she's a girl." A BULLYING girl. Neither of those situations could possibly help his self-esteem.
Just as everyone else has already commented, there are only two things that can happen to a child as a result of bullying: they will toughen up or they will be beaten down. The ones that toughen up usually end up very aggressive themselves. They develope that "I'm not going to let anyone pick on me" attitude, which isn't the same as self-esteem at all. The ones that are beaten down end up being stepped on most of their lives. Actually, a third scenario could also happen. The child could become someone who "goes along" just so that it "won't be me" who gets picked on. In that case, they may "go along" for years to come, winding up in trouble and with serious moral conflicts going on inside their head - they know what's right but can't do it for fear of reprisals.
The best way to build your daughter's self-esteem is, whenever a situation arises where there is a real bullying situation going on, you stand up for her. You let her know that you're not just going to let someone invade her personal space. That you WILL be there to step in and that she can count on you. THAT will build her self-confidence more than anything else in the world.
Is bullying ok for kids? Really what a dumb question and thing to say. Absolutely NOT!
From your daughter's perspective she may have had an opportunity to stand up for herself, and if it worked for her than bravo. But the other kids in the class may not be so lucky. Also, the bully's behavior should not be tolerated. If he were around to "train" the other kids how to assert themselves against the bully, what kind of values is he learning?
It's sad but bully's do seem to be a pervasive fact of life. Is it unavoidable? Bullying seems to happen at all ages, even to adulthood and it's only self esteem that really can combat against it.
As a mother of 3 bullying is never,never
Since a recent study showed that bullies actually get physical pleasure out of watching others experience physical pain, then NO, the idea that bullying is good for kids is just plain wrong. It's not good for the bully and not good for the 'victim' either. Kids can learn to be assertive in other ways, they don't need a bully to help them get there…
Renae, I was a girl bully, I used to get mad because i was not treated like an equal, and most of the time boys would psychologically bully me causing me to go into a depression and really messing me up, but hitting me was a taboo. What is the difference, I was bigger and stronger then most of the guys in school and when i tried to pick a fight they would act all nobel. Hitting girls should only be considered wrong when hormones kick in and girls have boobs that weigh them down and boys get a surge of testosterone making them buff. Up til that point there is almost no difference between boys and girls. Call it femminist but I dont like that sort of attitude. I think that anyone with any self respect would not hit someone considerably weaker then themselves, therefore the same should appy to boys and girls, some girls are stronger then boys, sometimes, vise versa.
Any amount of bullying is bad for anyone. It destroys self-esteem and confidence. It can emotionally scar anyone. When I was in 11th grade, a boy pulled up my skirt with a bunch of other students around. This did not help me learn to "stand up to people", as the author suggests. In fact, I was completely humiliated. No one should have to tolerate being bullied.
Kids pick on kids. These situations are to be expected. The child that needs to stop hitting will soon get the message from his peers, teachers or parents. Behavior like this is not tolerated in schools. Children should learn to take up for themselves it's call self esteem. It's wrong for a child to bully. It's wrong for a child not to protect themselves. Once they grow up there will be times as an adult they will need to protect themselves. A small dose of reality will not scar your child. We live in a world where we want to put our kids in a bubble and have someone take care of problems for us. That's not reality, prepare your kids for other children's bad behavior. There probably isn't anything really extreme going on in an average school. Be aware if your child is in a school where this behavior is tolerated. That would be a bigger issue. Is the school generally safe? Adults that survive attacks are the ones that act to protect themselves and don't freeze up. Learning young that some people are mean will only help prep your children for the real world. Good article and realistic.
I guess a little bit of bulling is good for a child in a long term angle because with bullying a child's personality becomes strong from within which help him/her later in life as this world is a cruel and challenging one
There is a difference between 'being bullied' and 'having a confrontation with a bully'.
Your daughter had a confrontation. Kids who suffer from bullying aren't going to be helped.
The bully had nothing to do with your daughter's reaction…that was her personality and things that you've taught her.
Don't thank to bully!
Thank the teacher for letting your daughter handle things on her own.


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Jeff Probst blogs 'Survivor: Gabon' Episode 13 at EW.com
I don't know who should win the acting award, but both Bob and Kenny gave stellar performances. I don't believe Bob was sorry for one second. He is playing the game. Just like Kenny. On the other hand, Kenny's sad "poor me" performance was so understated, so restrained that it almost warrants a spot at the final tribal council. Bob was never going to give him the necklace, but damn, I do appreciate Kenny's bravado. […]
CRYSTAL MESS: Sugar's Idol is Sweet Relief for Matty
"The Good Guys Should Win in the End" After nearly making a game-killing deal with Kenny, Bob takes a personal confession from Sugar to heart, renegotiates with Kenny, and shifts alliances along with Sugar – who plays her Hidden Immunity Idol in an unexpected way.
Corinne's Post-Boot Interviews: "What you're seeing is a lot of luck of the game"
What you're seeing is a lot of luck of the game. These people are not any smarter than what you're watching.
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More About SEMUNKY
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Recipes I've Shared:
Bulgogi marinade with pork instead of the traditional beef.
Green onion, cabbage, and clams
Mixed with Bok Choy, Kale, and a little bit of ground beef in a japanese inspired broth. Substitute the beef for any meat or omit and add more greens/vegetables/or potatoes as desired!
Serve as is or over/with noodles! Ramen noodles cooked in the broth are a delicious addition making it a full meal!
Fast, easy, no knead bread. Delicious and quick-can be modified with extra ingredients as you wish.
Vegetarian, lactose free, sugar free (if you so choose), low fat
The best Black Bean burgers I've ever had. The Blue Moose Cafe in Morgantown, WV makes this and has posted their recipe-allowing others to also post as needed. Seriously. Try it.
Lately I substitute quinoa for the rice to cut out the carbs, adding a more healthy alternative. It's still incredibly tasty though the rice addition makes the pattys hold better once it's cooked in the pan.


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Have a sundae on Sunday courtesy of Winnebago Buy Local.
The Totally Local Ice Cream Social featured Rockton's Dairyhaus ice cream along with a lot of toppings from local businesses.
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The Vigo County School Corporation and the Vigo County Teachers Association announced the Vigo County Teacher of the Year.
Jodi Southard is a first grade teacher at Deming Elementary School.
School officials say that Southard is a dedicated, innovative teacher that consistently and continually goes above and beyond what is expected of a teacher, especially in this time of educational reform.
Her classroom is exciting and a trusted learning environment for children.