I drove up to Raleigh today to get another keyboard. This bluetooth keyboard is a good idea if it would just work as advertised. I spent $20 worth of gas to have the Geniuses put new batteries in it and told me it was fixed. I tried to buy a keyboard with a USB cable, but they wouldn't sell me one. They insisted my old keyboard was fixed now. I should quit acting like a crotchety old codger and quit bothering them. I got so disgusted with their patronizing attitude i just left the store.
I like this little keyboard. It has a small footprint and don't take up so much space on my desk. I never used the calculator keys on any keyboard I ever owned. They're extraneous and wasted on me. I'm not denying that if I had ever had a reason to use the calculator keyboard for any reason and go used to it, it might be very useful. My brother seems to use it a lot, but he uses a spreadsheet program a lot too. It's a business tool.
While i was at a large shopping center I looked for a new mouse. I scoff at the very idea of using the Apple Mighty Mouse. I'm addicted to the Logitech mouses. There was a large Best Buy store near the Apple store I went to about my keyboard, and the only mouses they had were the wireless type. I'm getting less and less fond of wireless devices, but it's all they carry on the store shelf these days. I ended up not buying a new mouse. They did have the Apple Bluetooth keyboards exactly like mine, but they didn't have the USB wired ones. Foiled again.
I was amiss the other day when I said that I was waiting to see if Apple would come out with a small computer that used a SSD storage device. I ignored the fact that the Asus EEE laptop comes with a small capacity SSD. The highest capacity they offer is 8 GB, but it hasn't come out yet, They have a 2GB model that sells for around $300. This seems like to me a development that will finally kill the desktop, except for people like me who use a computer for little more than a communication device. I am hoping next week Apple will announce a tablet computer with the same features as the iPhone, but just a little bit bigger and use an SSD exclusively for storage.
I'm beginning to realize that owning an iPhone might be all the computer I need. For good or ill, I only use a computer to be online with. I hardly ever get e-mail anymore, and oddly enough, have gotten fairly used to that. I realized the potential of a personal computer as a communication device very soon after I first went online. When I bought my first computer, a Mac Classic with a 9" B&W screen (but one of the first hard drives that was a huge, huge 40 MB capacity, I had some strange ideas about what I could or would do with a personal computer.
I couldn't really afford to buy that computer. I just wanted it. I was totally amazed that i could go to the store and buy one for myself. I can't even say I knew it's true value. My reasoning was that unless I owned my own computer I'm never know. I don't know now. I never truly understood what possessiveness meant until the fire was lit under my desire to own a computer. I never used my first computer to go online with. It was far too slow and didn't have enough memory to handle the traffic of a modem.
That's not exactly true about being possessive only about getting a computer. I wanted to own my own EEG machine with at least as much intensity. I become engulfed by sheer, unadulterated lust. I'm loath to admit that may have been the whole point. I used to love being consumed by lust. It was to die for. Literally. I took huge chances to experience uncontrollable lust. There was hardly any act of selfishness I couldn't lie at it's door without blame. Maybe I oughta be ashamed of my expressed wantonness, but it worked for me. In the past, it truly crippled me and made me so helpless to resist it's temptations only divine intervention could have helped.
Sometime, I think I got driven to those extremes by prejudiced, unseen witnesses just out to prove to me that I could do better outside of the safety of my familiar old rut. Usually, I will not to be driven out of my flow or my groove or even my own way of picking cotton. I like ruts, but getting stuck still happens occasionally. I like letting the reins go slack to allow the horse to find it's own way back to it's warm stall. i like grooves even mo' bettah than ruts. For some reason they just seem more elegant and sophisticated. I have mentioned my delusions of grandeur, have i not?
When I write about having spent nearly a decade bumming around the country hitch-hiking, I may not have made it clear how moving around like that most every day for sometime years could keep me from falling back in the ruts I was taught to think was okay for being a homeboy. I caught one ride in eastern California with a man who was driving to his mother's funeral in South Carolina, and it took less than three days to cross the entire country. Conversely, I have left the east coast and not gotten to the west coast for months, and then not leave the west coast for a couple more months, before taking six months more than that to get back to North Carolina.
I might catch 5-10 rides a day and travel anywhere from having to walk five miles to get across some large town to the other side where I could catch a ride, to riding 500 miles each day for a week in a row. I might ride with 50-100 different drivers a week, and one size did not fit all. I've lived a wasted life making no bones about it. it has been an absolutely wasted life. I haven't left much room for guessing about that.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
I just watched a local program on PBS I've seen several times. It's about four fiddle players who basically play blue grass. The final fiddle player featured is this young guy from Marshall, North Carolina, and he's the reason I watched the show again. The interesting aspect of how these fiddlers are compared comes to the fore with this young fiddler. It seems very obvious to me that he's had classical training. It shows. I like to watch lots of different kinds of performers who have done their homework. It seems to happen the other way round too. Players who don't have much formal training seem to seek it even after they've been successful in the business.
I'm very impressed with how doing the exercises on the ear-training web site has changed how I think about music. The most impressive aspect of it is how it's improved my hunt and peck sort of playing the keyboard. I'm still pretty bad at it, and any improvement no matter how small would be a blessing for my neighbors, but I do seem to be striking the exact right note on the keyboard more often.
I've been doing the exercises labeled Perfect Pitch not because I expect to find out I have perfect pitch, but because the exercises are there, and because I understand the instructions. There are other exercises on the web site I have not been able to practice because I don't understand what the criterion is.
The Perfect Pitch exercises is just what you might expect they would be. The server plays a note and the participant checks the box of the note they think it might be, and hit the Submit button to see if you're right. These exercises are the only proof I need that I don't have perfect pitch. I miss getting the right answer a lot, and so far practice don't lead me to think I'm ever gonna be perfect.
But, what else I got to do? Sometimes I actually guess the exact note and get a disquieting sort of "atta boy" from the server. I'll take all the atta boys I can get from practically any source at this juncture. I'm doing these exercises on the presumption that practicing them repeatedly might improve my sense of relative pitch over time.
That's what's going on with learning blues chords. I've been playing the chords to that one blues song for a few weeks now. I thought I'd be less patient than I have been to get the first song under my belt, and move on to conquer the known blues world in a few short weeks, but no, probably not.
I really struggled with getting my fingers to go to those strange keys on the keyboard, but as expected, over time, making my fingers obey me got a little easier. The most difficult part of the ordeal for me has been to get my fingers to go to the right keys, and to go their fast enough to make sense of what I was playing. The criterion for this specific endeavor being just to keep up with the same chords being played by the server.
I've gotten even more used to playing the chord progressions to Adam's Apple, and I've played them for so long now that I can not only keep up with the tune as it's played by the server, but am able to put my own hooks in where the idea appeals to me. What i haven't yet been able to do is fit a traditional turnaround in the 11th and 12th measures in place of the chords I've been playing.
One thing about this that tickles me more and more is that with the passage of time and the redundancy of my practice I am playing different parts of this blues song with more confidence, and that allows me to concentrate on the other parts that don't yet come as natural to me as I would like.
I have worked out a standard twelve bar blues progression with a standard turnaround for the left hand that counts out perfect every time to twelve bars. The turnaround is divided evenly between the 11th and 12th bars. I try to stick to an exact count so that I''ll be able to see what mistakes fits in when I'm practicing. I love making mistakes that sound interesting. It's the only way I know how to compose new stuff.
I'm very impressed with how doing the exercises on the ear-training web site has changed how I think about music. The most impressive aspect of it is how it's improved my hunt and peck sort of playing the keyboard. I'm still pretty bad at it, and any improvement no matter how small would be a blessing for my neighbors, but I do seem to be striking the exact right note on the keyboard more often.
I've been doing the exercises labeled Perfect Pitch not because I expect to find out I have perfect pitch, but because the exercises are there, and because I understand the instructions. There are other exercises on the web site I have not been able to practice because I don't understand what the criterion is.
The Perfect Pitch exercises is just what you might expect they would be. The server plays a note and the participant checks the box of the note they think it might be, and hit the Submit button to see if you're right. These exercises are the only proof I need that I don't have perfect pitch. I miss getting the right answer a lot, and so far practice don't lead me to think I'm ever gonna be perfect.
But, what else I got to do? Sometimes I actually guess the exact note and get a disquieting sort of "atta boy" from the server. I'll take all the atta boys I can get from practically any source at this juncture. I'm doing these exercises on the presumption that practicing them repeatedly might improve my sense of relative pitch over time.
That's what's going on with learning blues chords. I've been playing the chords to that one blues song for a few weeks now. I thought I'd be less patient than I have been to get the first song under my belt, and move on to conquer the known blues world in a few short weeks, but no, probably not.
I really struggled with getting my fingers to go to those strange keys on the keyboard, but as expected, over time, making my fingers obey me got a little easier. The most difficult part of the ordeal for me has been to get my fingers to go to the right keys, and to go their fast enough to make sense of what I was playing. The criterion for this specific endeavor being just to keep up with the same chords being played by the server.
I've gotten even more used to playing the chord progressions to Adam's Apple, and I've played them for so long now that I can not only keep up with the tune as it's played by the server, but am able to put my own hooks in where the idea appeals to me. What i haven't yet been able to do is fit a traditional turnaround in the 11th and 12th measures in place of the chords I've been playing.
One thing about this that tickles me more and more is that with the passage of time and the redundancy of my practice I am playing different parts of this blues song with more confidence, and that allows me to concentrate on the other parts that don't yet come as natural to me as I would like.
I have worked out a standard twelve bar blues progression with a standard turnaround for the left hand that counts out perfect every time to twelve bars. The turnaround is divided evenly between the 11th and 12th bars. I try to stick to an exact count so that I''ll be able to see what mistakes fits in when I'm practicing. I love making mistakes that sound interesting. It's the only way I know how to compose new stuff.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
I sure got up early this morning. I performed my morning routine before nine o'clock. Ben has been in and out several times today. He got something evil and probably sinful on his mind. I know all the signs and omens. It's no damn fun for him if he doesn't think he's getting away with something.
I know a lotta people like that. Myself, for one. I think I burned out on what I thought fun was by the time I reached the age of forty. After that I had to reinvent myself to have fun. I became what i needed to be to suit the occasion. What I do to amuse myself has gotten simple and easy. I know what counts, and only do that. Since it's my rules for what having fun is supposed to be like, and i can change them as I will in midstream, then, why would I not?
It might appear as if I might seem inclined to make up my mind about what the truth of any situation might be just from the sheer presence of it. Sometime i act like what's in my face is all there is to it. That, there is no wizard behind the curtain. I could swear that I see objects without the presence of they history or what they might become if I were god. The things I find sot before me are good enough until the moon comes over the mountain. Until then, I'll bide my time, and watch and prey.
Capturing drifting thoughts by writing them down is not in all ways the cat's meow. It's like trying to still remember last night's dreams at lunchtime. Dreams are drifting thoughts too. All the images we make into what we want them to be for our sake comes from the same source, and it's like an ever-flowing spring.
I experienced genuine hallucinations a lot even before I began using the sacraments. I've written more than once about having a heat stroke while I was plowing cotton with a mule when I was thirteen years old. I'd be glad to call seeing that puff adder a hallucination if it wasn't for the fact that the mule stopped and turned around to look at it too.
That's how I saw the snake in the first place. I followed the mule's gaze, and there it was. Yet, when I walked over to look closer at it, it was gone. It was fresh plowed dirt, and not nary a sign of no snake. No snake could have crawled on the fresh-turned dirt without leaving a sign.
The next thing I knew about was getting water poured all over me to cool me off. They found me unconscious at the end of the row. Dropping 400 micrograms of ol' Lucy is a lot easier on my body, and the snakes I see are psychedelic colors that glow in the dark. Sometime I form the opinion that all the neuronic movement in my brain and nervous system oozes throughout my body like disjointed snakes crawl. I think that's why real snakes can scare the shit outta me. How did they escape? It's hell doing the Medusa gig on cue, but turnabout is only fair play I suppose.
Some of the snakes I see while upsurged into an altered state of consciousness apparently don't appear to have to be snakes all the time. It wouldn't surprise me at all if my experience of winter was just a spell cast on me by the snakes taking residence within me during the cold months. When they return to they own cold bodies I feel like a boy again.
Saturn used to rule both Capricorn and Aquarius. Winter. Old age. Senility. Soft, crumbly bones. Repatriation. Mindlessness. Hopelessness dancing on the edge of the great abyss as if deprived of they senses. Then, a newly discovered planet called Uranus became the ruler of Aquarius, and they've been confused ever since. What happened to their snakes?
I know a lotta people like that. Myself, for one. I think I burned out on what I thought fun was by the time I reached the age of forty. After that I had to reinvent myself to have fun. I became what i needed to be to suit the occasion. What I do to amuse myself has gotten simple and easy. I know what counts, and only do that. Since it's my rules for what having fun is supposed to be like, and i can change them as I will in midstream, then, why would I not?
It might appear as if I might seem inclined to make up my mind about what the truth of any situation might be just from the sheer presence of it. Sometime i act like what's in my face is all there is to it. That, there is no wizard behind the curtain. I could swear that I see objects without the presence of they history or what they might become if I were god. The things I find sot before me are good enough until the moon comes over the mountain. Until then, I'll bide my time, and watch and prey.
Capturing drifting thoughts by writing them down is not in all ways the cat's meow. It's like trying to still remember last night's dreams at lunchtime. Dreams are drifting thoughts too. All the images we make into what we want them to be for our sake comes from the same source, and it's like an ever-flowing spring.
I experienced genuine hallucinations a lot even before I began using the sacraments. I've written more than once about having a heat stroke while I was plowing cotton with a mule when I was thirteen years old. I'd be glad to call seeing that puff adder a hallucination if it wasn't for the fact that the mule stopped and turned around to look at it too.
That's how I saw the snake in the first place. I followed the mule's gaze, and there it was. Yet, when I walked over to look closer at it, it was gone. It was fresh plowed dirt, and not nary a sign of no snake. No snake could have crawled on the fresh-turned dirt without leaving a sign.
The next thing I knew about was getting water poured all over me to cool me off. They found me unconscious at the end of the row. Dropping 400 micrograms of ol' Lucy is a lot easier on my body, and the snakes I see are psychedelic colors that glow in the dark. Sometime I form the opinion that all the neuronic movement in my brain and nervous system oozes throughout my body like disjointed snakes crawl. I think that's why real snakes can scare the shit outta me. How did they escape? It's hell doing the Medusa gig on cue, but turnabout is only fair play I suppose.
Some of the snakes I see while upsurged into an altered state of consciousness apparently don't appear to have to be snakes all the time. It wouldn't surprise me at all if my experience of winter was just a spell cast on me by the snakes taking residence within me during the cold months. When they return to they own cold bodies I feel like a boy again.
Saturn used to rule both Capricorn and Aquarius. Winter. Old age. Senility. Soft, crumbly bones. Repatriation. Mindlessness. Hopelessness dancing on the edge of the great abyss as if deprived of they senses. Then, a newly discovered planet called Uranus became the ruler of Aquarius, and they've been confused ever since. What happened to their snakes?
Monday, January 07, 2008
An interesting thing happened. The LiveJournal blog I've been writing on got sold to the Russians. Not that it means anything. I'm sure things will stay just the way they have been, but I was raised during the Cold War and all that propaganda must have prejudiced me. So, I started looking around for maybe a new place to write, and since Google bought Blogger.com the situation has really changed here.
I decided to go to the Settings and check out the changes. Everything about how this account is managed has changed. It's a lot easier to change things around now. I changed one of the links to represent my LiveJournal account on the right side of the page. That turned out well. I'm not competent in HTML, but it turned out okay.
In the picture I posted below of my class picture from the fourth grade, I'm the fifth kid from the left in the third row. This was the last time I was ever actually happy as a child. It astounds me there were so many Indians in the class. They didn't have a separate Indian school in that village. I was punished once for playing with one of the guys in this picture. I'm glad things changed. Children don't know they're supposed to discriminate against people until they're taught.
I'm impressed with what Google has done with Blogger.com. It's pretty easy to use by comparison when I set this account up four years ago. I've changed the settings to disallow comments here also. I don't give a damn what you think about the drifting thoughts I capture. I still love you, but I ain't about to be yo' bitch.
I decided to go to the Settings and check out the changes. Everything about how this account is managed has changed. It's a lot easier to change things around now. I changed one of the links to represent my LiveJournal account on the right side of the page. That turned out well. I'm not competent in HTML, but it turned out okay.
In the picture I posted below of my class picture from the fourth grade, I'm the fifth kid from the left in the third row. This was the last time I was ever actually happy as a child. It astounds me there were so many Indians in the class. They didn't have a separate Indian school in that village. I was punished once for playing with one of the guys in this picture. I'm glad things changed. Children don't know they're supposed to discriminate against people until they're taught.
I'm impressed with what Google has done with Blogger.com. It's pretty easy to use by comparison when I set this account up four years ago. I've changed the settings to disallow comments here also. I don't give a damn what you think about the drifting thoughts I capture. I still love you, but I ain't about to be yo' bitch.