Rock ’til you … Re-Take

I had a good day and bad day with regards to music. The good day came when I realized that former Helmet founder, Page Hamilton, had started a band called “Gandhi”. Rock. Heard some demo types of songs. Double rock. Unfortunately, I missed them when they performed at the Middle East in Cambridge on 10/24/2002. Oh well. Can’t win ‘em all.

Now, I’ve been following a few recording-related journals recently. One of my favorites is by Mixerman on Pro Sound Web.

Ever since the Napster thing, I’ve wondered — really — how much of commercial music is really mired in scandal, in stark contrast to its over-produced sound. Well, quite a bit, actually.

It’s been mentioned to me, more than once, in my suggestion of Lars Ulrich being a terrible drummer, that he could barely play on any of the albums after “… And Justice for All”. That rang true, since I found his drumming to be unlistenable on most of those songs. But further, it seems like evidence of razoring (that is, splicing together a take of a song that’s on tape by slicing it with a razor and taping it together) appears to have surfaced on the Metallica “1 and a half years” video that chronicles the making of “the Black Album”. I will rent this video and see for myself.

So, let me get this straight… Lars Ulrich was so bold as to accuse people of stealing his work on Napster, when in fact: (a) he never actually recorded the parts in question and (b) he doesn’t own one bit of the work, as the label does.

A drummer that I formerly was in a band with, Ira, used to play Metallica songs to jam with, or to warm up with, so that leads me to ask: why can’t bands play the songs that they’ve written? And why don’t we have a recording contract if we’re truly able to play?

Because we’re ugly, too Indian, and too Jewish. But at least we only use razors for shaving.

From the desk of “E. NOJOY”

I’ve alluded to how great I think buying stuff on the ‘net is, and how crappy I think retail is … in the past. Actually, I try to do just about everything that I can on the internet now. Frankly, I think that it allows me to be a better planner. Hell, I don’t even balance my checkbook anymore, and checks have continually NOT bounced. Go figure.

Dating, on the other hand, has mixed results when you mix it with the internet.

I met up with B about a month ago. All was fine… at first. She was pretty cute, actually, and not my type. And I? Not her type at all. But the funny part is how things ended. It was by email, where she wrote:

“Hi, I know that I’m chicken for doing things this way, but I didn’t have the heart to tell you that I don’t find you attractive and that we had basically no chemistry. I don’t want to see you again. So, Bye.”

Oooookay. Not a totally unexpected result, but a surprise that it was conveyed virtually.

Then, I met P. P was cool, and we exchanged a volume of really interesting email during the course of our dating. And then, we didn’t touch base during Thanksgiving (due, in large part, to my not contacting her), and our subsequent interactions were, well, terse. I could understand where she was coming from, yet, we’d had that famous chat about “seeing other people”, so I didn’t feel compelled to do an exclusive thing like calling her over the holidays. Dumb of me? Yeah, probably. But you haven’t seen Exhibit A, “From the Desk of P”:

“Hi, I’m sorry to have to convey the message to you in this way, but I’ve found someone else and I think that our relationship has the potential to be serious and go somewhere. I think that you’re terrific, and I’m totally attracted to you, but I don’t think that things are going to work out. — P”

I can’t tell you how far (or for how long!) my jaw stayed open after I read this email, but it was a surprise, because she’d apparently fallen madly in love with someone else over the course of a week. Not to say that such things are unheard of, but previously she’d asked me to slow things down a bit. Hmmm.

Okay, so I’m not mad about any of this stuff at all. It makes for great stories, I think, and since it’s been awhile since the Noopy has been updated, why not add these bits?

Further, both B and P really inspired me. Or maybe it was “empowered”. They empowered me to feel good about buying groceries, audio gear, and bidding on auctions online. They made me realize that I could also start and end relationships online. Actually, starting and ending relationships online could be construed as being “free”. What a time, agony, and money saver!

I couldn’t wait to share my new-found gift! It was almost like having a box of mixed chocolates that someone would bring into the office. Did I get a malamar? How about a coconut-filled? Peanut butter? Angst with caramel?

Unforunately, the first person with whom I shared this box of mixed goodies with was A. A and I had been friends for about 10 years, and recently went through this really confusing (then frustrating!) exchange about whether or not we’d end up in a relationship. In the end, we stopped speaking, which sucked (or at least it did at first). But then I was fine with the change, and had started dating P. I heard back from A, who asked where I’d been, and if she’d offended me. I explained myself. A apologized. And then I sent her some mixed goodies. Haven’t heard a word since.

“Dear Reader, Thank you for reading the Noopy. I feel terrible that I haven’t written. But I do think that there are other good blogs out there, most definitely ones far better than this one. But, come again! — N”

F.U. for Being Reasonable

This morning was another of whack-ass traffic commuting in to work. I figured that traffic was light, and that I was actually running early. Nice theory. Unforunately, it seems that Boston runs major telecom infrastructure under the central artery of the city, so they block off several lanes each and every time someone has to do any work. Lucky for me, they set it up on my way to work today!

This meant that people were funneled into one lane of traffic, which never works out well when you consider that Boston is the kind of town where people will voluntary create another lane for traffic if there are jam ups, even if freeing things up involves driving on a sidewalk or lawn. I joke not.

So, after losing 30 minutes in traffic, and dealing with further whacked drivers, I reached the parking garage. Now, I don’t know what it is with parking garages in Boston, and those catchy yellow arrows, but they appear to be just decorations at times. This morning, some supergenius decided to back out of a parking spot (which took 3 minutes, and involved pulling out in front of my vehicle), then driving in my direction, which involved going the wrong way. Instead of attempting to go around him in a narrow lane, I waited. Dumb for doing this, but I did it anyways. Finally, after he negotiated his complex backing out of his spot, and squeezed past me by going the wrong way, he waved at me. I didn’t wave back. In my mind’s eye, the waving did not compute. Sure, I was gracious enough not to mangle his sub-compact car with my monster truck, but I don’t like to oblige dumb and selfish acts of humans. He stopped his car and waved again. I didn’t wave back… again. I started driving, and negotiated my way past him. He gave me the finger. I shot him the devil sign and stuck my tongue out. He glared at me and drove off.

Now, I won’t suggest that you be unreasonable, but being reasonable does have the tendency to suck … A LOT.

Shtuff it

My company has just undergone Yet Another re-org. This was of particular interest on my behalf, since — while I have 2 perfectly capable managers sitting within 20 feet of me — both of my new managers are at least 400 miles away. “Two managers?!”, you ask.

Yes, two managers. One is called the “person care” manager, who deals with “daily” things like expense reports and personnel matters. The other is called the “capability” manager who deals with my technical issues as related to the systems I support at work. I met my “person care” manager by phone earlier.

Me: Hi, this is <so and so> from Boston.
He: Oh, hi!
Me: How are you?
He: I’m fine. Let me check my chart. Hang on while I find it and my brain.
Me: OK.
He: So, you’re <so and so>
Me: Yes.
He: And you’re from Boston?
Me: Yes.
He: And what kinds of shtuff do you do in your daily job?
Me: I do this and also this.
He: That sounds like you have a lot of shtuff on your plate.

(Note: I hate the “having a lot on the plate” quip. It makes me feel like a molested parishoner who’s decided to steal a few extra wafers during communion. “Why yes, I have a guilty conscience and two extra wafers on my plate. Amen and thank you, Father!”)

Me: Yes, I guess I do.
He: So, can you tell me what kinds of training you’ve taken… and shtuff?
Me: Truthfully, I know that we’re allocated 52 hours, but I’ve opted not to take any of it.

(Note: I’m an abundant reader/writer of tech books, so I’m often busy reading, writing and learning inside and outside of work. Micromanaging my time with things like training isn’t acceptable to me, because to complete the training would mean that I’d be playing a game with my company, and not learning anything from the training. So, why expend the time or money?)

He: (shuddering) Well, uhh. Well. Uhhh. That’s a, well, really honest answer.
Me: You bet.
He: Well, do you think that you’re going to take any training or shtuff?
Me: I had been scheduled for this and that, but budget is a concern.
He: And the online training?
Me: Maybe. I don’t know.
He: Well, okay. Is there any other shtuff that you’d like to talk about? I mean, I just kind of fell into this role.
Me: Well, I just need to know when I should be calling you, as opposed to when I’d call my other manager?
He: Oh, for this and this. And maybe this, but I’m not sure. Call me anyways. And, if I have questions, I might just call you.

Fuck. Well, okay. But my guess is that I’ll never hear from this person, basically ever.