Saw: Journey to the Center of the Earth
1963 screen adaptation of the Jules Verne classic becomes another contributing factor to the nagging suspicion that I may be losing the soft spot in my heart for the campy 60s. A collection of one-dimensional characters I care nothing about thrown into a disjointed storyline with plot holes galore are definitely not overcome by what is, admittedly, a pretty dazzlingly colorful backdrop. Not recommended. 2 out of 5 Netflix stars.
Saw: Dr. Who: In the Beginning
First set of episodes (you know - the Dr. Who's, as I discover, are produced as a series miniseries), including the original pilot episode, which introduces the characters of the Doctor, his granddaughter, and the two science teachers, and follows their adventure as they are thrown backwards into time to witness, and become involved with, a series of cavemen with British accents discovering fire. I was really looking forward to this. Unfortunately, the crappy writing, trite storyline, and marginal acting left me really flat. Really. Another knock on the campy 60s. Also, 2 out of 5 Netflix stars.
Saw: MST3K: The Dead Talk Back
Saw this with a friend, while somewhat inebriated. The potential would seem to have been there, with a mad scientist who solves crimes after creating a radio that can talk to the dead. Unfortunately, the crew was either not up to their usual standards of excellence or else the raw material just wasn't there. For whatever reason - I did not enjoy this one nearly as much as I usually do. I have yet to meet the man or woman who enjoys MST3K as much as I. But this one was a mere 3 of 5 Netflix stars.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Thursday, September 06, 2007
A Quick Read and Last Stand for the 19" Sharp
Read Montessori Insights for Parents of Young Children: This longish book/booklet was recommended to all parents of students at Lucy's school, as it covers pratical ways of creating a Montessori environment in the home; both as a way to supplement and support what's going on in the classroom, as well as to foster an environment generally conducive to learning. I'm not going to go on one of my personal parenting philosophy rants I may have been guilty of a couple of years ago, but I will simply say that, for anyone considering having kids, I would highly recommend at least exploring the Montessori method (really, as much about lifestyle and philosophical choices as an academic program), and the ideas behind sensitive periods of learning and the absorbent mind. I hope the terminology doesn't make it sound like Scientology or anything. It's all stuff that seems very intuitive (to me). It's just been nice to discover an entire system of learning seemingly designed around my personal beliefs and value system. Plus, it's nice whenever I can learn about some of the psychological and scientific theory behind the philosophy. It's a subject I'd be very happy to speak more about with anybody, in person. Or feel free to borrow the book.
Watched Bourne Supremacy: Alas, this was pre-new TV. What can I say? This is not the sort of movie I am normally drawn to, but it's a type I can certainly get drawn into. A couple of friends (friends that are "a couple") invited us over for a movie watching a year or two ago, and Bourne Identity was the feature in play. It was good. Really good, in fact; though I got the sneaking suspicion that there's about a dozen or so movies that come out every year that don't differ a whole heck of a lot from that formula. You know: Espionage. Blow-ups. Secret CIA missions so complex you know our bumbling government agencies couldn't possibly be capable of such machinations is real life. Anyway, the sequel (Bourne....SUPREMACY!!! Effing-YEAH!) is more of the same. Also very riveting, and very well done. Not much more to add than that. Four stars on Netflix.
Also Watched: Rashomon: Beautifully shot, a bit sluggishly paced. Storyline (five versions of the "truth;" who do you believe?) was perhaps groundbreaking in it's day, but I did not find that it stood the test of time as well as I'd hoped. As well as I'd even remembered, even; as I did see the film in college and remembered liking it quite a bit. This was the last film I saw on the old TV - I would love to have seen that stark and haunting cinematography on the New Widescreen, but we all want lots of things we can't have.
Watched Bourne Supremacy: Alas, this was pre-new TV. What can I say? This is not the sort of movie I am normally drawn to, but it's a type I can certainly get drawn into. A couple of friends (friends that are "a couple") invited us over for a movie watching a year or two ago, and Bourne Identity was the feature in play. It was good. Really good, in fact; though I got the sneaking suspicion that there's about a dozen or so movies that come out every year that don't differ a whole heck of a lot from that formula. You know: Espionage. Blow-ups. Secret CIA missions so complex you know our bumbling government agencies couldn't possibly be capable of such machinations is real life. Anyway, the sequel (Bourne....SUPREMACY!!! Effing-YEAH!) is more of the same. Also very riveting, and very well done. Not much more to add than that. Four stars on Netflix.
Also Watched: Rashomon: Beautifully shot, a bit sluggishly paced. Storyline (five versions of the "truth;" who do you believe?) was perhaps groundbreaking in it's day, but I did not find that it stood the test of time as well as I'd hoped. As well as I'd even remembered, even; as I did see the film in college and remembered liking it quite a bit. This was the last film I saw on the old TV - I would love to have seen that stark and haunting cinematography on the New Widescreen, but we all want lots of things we can't have.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
In the Can
OK, this one was done in about two hours today. It was actually easier, as there was only the merest skeleton of a guide as to how the music would go. I was pretty much free to do whatever the Hell I wanted to do within the context of the lyrics (again, by Valerie) and the idea it was to be a duet by two Work House inmates involved in the original building of the (now) historical TB Hospital. I took that to mean it would be something you'd expect to see in a modern musical.
Click here to listen to 'In-the-Can'
Click here to listen to 'In-the-Can'
Mississlonely
Guitar chords transcribed, all parts performed & recorded, song mixed, CD burned all in about three hours.
My theatre company is making our annual appearance at Mississippi Heritage Day, and our dramaturg, Valerie, penned some lyrics to be sung to the tune of "Mr. Lonely," by Bobby Vinton. Sharon (in sparkly, blue wig and long flowing blue gown) will be portraying The Mississippi River and singing a karoke version of this recording on Sept. 28.
For now, I threw in some vocals as a guide.
Much fun, as doo-wop is near and dear to my heart. But also one of my most productive, intensive, slapdash nights of recording ever; showing what one is capable of with a simple thing like a real deadline.
Click here to hear 'Mississlonely'
My theatre company is making our annual appearance at Mississippi Heritage Day, and our dramaturg, Valerie, penned some lyrics to be sung to the tune of "Mr. Lonely," by Bobby Vinton. Sharon (in sparkly, blue wig and long flowing blue gown) will be portraying The Mississippi River and singing a karoke version of this recording on Sept. 28.
For now, I threw in some vocals as a guide.
Much fun, as doo-wop is near and dear to my heart. But also one of my most productive, intensive, slapdash nights of recording ever; showing what one is capable of with a simple thing like a real deadline.
Click here to hear 'Mississlonely'
Friday, August 31, 2007
Thursday, August 30, 2007
"High" Sierra
Watched: High Sierra
Wasn't I recently talking about the "non-classic" movie? Sort of the way one might refer to "imperfect man."
Well, this Humphrey Bogart stinker survived through the years in spite of its sketchy premise, and a combination of bad acting and badly written dialog that had to haved seemed square and out-of-touch even in 1941. It had to have. Bogart, in his first starring role, still appears at least two and a half times the age of one of his two romantic interests, and is utterly unbelievable as a streetwise ex-con. Of course, the couple of ne'er-do-wells he hooks up with for a heist make guys that played crooks on Andy Griffith look like the entourage of Pacman Jones.
It might be worth it for you to catch this movie if you want to brush up on your Mystery Science Theatre 3000 "skewering skills," but other than that, don't waste your time.
Wasn't I recently talking about the "non-classic" movie? Sort of the way one might refer to "imperfect man."
Well, this Humphrey Bogart stinker survived through the years in spite of its sketchy premise, and a combination of bad acting and badly written dialog that had to haved seemed square and out-of-touch even in 1941. It had to have. Bogart, in his first starring role, still appears at least two and a half times the age of one of his two romantic interests, and is utterly unbelievable as a streetwise ex-con. Of course, the couple of ne'er-do-wells he hooks up with for a heist make guys that played crooks on Andy Griffith look like the entourage of Pacman Jones.
It might be worth it for you to catch this movie if you want to brush up on your Mystery Science Theatre 3000 "skewering skills," but other than that, don't waste your time.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Small Miracles
There is an old joke about a guy who is on top of his house with flood waters rising all about. A man in a rowboat happens by and asks the man to climb aboard. He replied, "No, thanks, my faith in God will save me." Next, a helicopter passes overhead and drops him a rope ladder. "No, thanks, my faith in God will save me." And so on and so forth. Of course, the guy drowns. Up in heaven, he asks God why he didn't save him and God replies, "What's the matter with you? First I sent you a boat, then I sent you a helicopter...."
I forget what, exactly, was this impetus for this - perhaps a series of discussions Sharon & I had about how people tend to make their own luck - but Sharon decided, a little under a month ago (when we were facing out latest monetary crisis of realizing all of the water supply pipes in our house will need replaced), that she would stop sort of wafting through life, reacting to disaster and challenge as they arose, but instead begin actively seeking out 'miracles,' with a goal of a miracle a day. Mind you - this is not 'miracle' in the religious sense, though maybe the cosmic sense. And some would be as small as discovering Minnesota-grown apples on sale for $1.19/lb, but miracles on a larger scale would certainly be welcome, and even expected.
So far, it seems to have been an unqualified success. A lot of minor tribulations of life seem to be sorting themselves out, but the crowning achievement of 'miracles' has been what's going to happen with Lucy's $485 month tuition for school, which starts next month: Sharon has been hired on again to do a monthly naturalist program for $100 a shot (knocking tuition cost cown to, effectively, $385/month). We just also just made our last payment on the Saturn (minus another $129 - down to $256). Then, the biggest 'miracle' of all: in the spirit of this new endeavor, Sharon actually filled out a need-based scholarship application & submitted it to the school. Exceeding our wildest expectations, they granted us a $135/month scholarship. Essentially, we have to find a way to come up with $121 beyond what we were finding in the budget through the majority of the summer. We can totally do that.
Thank heavens for small miracles.
I forget what, exactly, was this impetus for this - perhaps a series of discussions Sharon & I had about how people tend to make their own luck - but Sharon decided, a little under a month ago (when we were facing out latest monetary crisis of realizing all of the water supply pipes in our house will need replaced), that she would stop sort of wafting through life, reacting to disaster and challenge as they arose, but instead begin actively seeking out 'miracles,' with a goal of a miracle a day. Mind you - this is not 'miracle' in the religious sense, though maybe the cosmic sense. And some would be as small as discovering Minnesota-grown apples on sale for $1.19/lb, but miracles on a larger scale would certainly be welcome, and even expected.
So far, it seems to have been an unqualified success. A lot of minor tribulations of life seem to be sorting themselves out, but the crowning achievement of 'miracles' has been what's going to happen with Lucy's $485 month tuition for school, which starts next month: Sharon has been hired on again to do a monthly naturalist program for $100 a shot (knocking tuition cost cown to, effectively, $385/month). We just also just made our last payment on the Saturn (minus another $129 - down to $256). Then, the biggest 'miracle' of all: in the spirit of this new endeavor, Sharon actually filled out a need-based scholarship application & submitted it to the school. Exceeding our wildest expectations, they granted us a $135/month scholarship. Essentially, we have to find a way to come up with $121 beyond what we were finding in the budget through the majority of the summer. We can totally do that.
Thank heavens for small miracles.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
One Big, Not-So-Happy Family (Husbands & Wives and the Children of Húrin)
Read: Narn i Chîn Húrin (The Children of Húrin)
GREAT. Great, great, great, great, great. For the (legions of) people who appreciate the character-driven, powerful portrayal of daily trials, personalities, and themes of friendship and loyalty found in The Lord of the Rings, and for the (somewhat smaller number of) people who appreciated the sweeping, cataclysmic majesty of The Simarillion; The Children of Húrin is a most satisfying blend of the two. Set against the giant, almost Biblical backdrop of the 'First Age' of Middle Earth as depicted in the Simarillion, The Children of Húrin is far more accessible (quite a quick read); expanding upon the tragic character of one Túrin, son of Húrin, as he does his heroic best to aid the the races of men & elves against what is essentially the forces of an evil, fallen god; yet, by rash disregard of wise counsel or plain ill fortune, ultimately brings ruin to everyone and everything he holds dear. Lord of the Rings will forever make my blood run swiftly, inciting noble thoughts of friendship, heroism, and perserverence. The Children of Húrin will always break my heart. A small and beautiful, yet heartbreaking little tale against an annihilative backdrop involving the fall of Kings and the fall of cities, ever in the background but inexorably tied to Turin's doom.
Seen: Husbands and Wives:
Well, it's tough to follow that. But this was a really good Woody Allen character film. Fairly recent, it follows two married couples and examines the forces that to drive the unions apart and keep them together through typically (for Allen) witty dialogue and clever story-development. Not unlike Crimes & Misdemeanors (which I actually preferred, as a movie), in it's cynicism, but it definitely throws some interesting characters into the blender - even if (like in most Woody Allen movies), I can't really relate to very much of his uptown-Manhattan lifestyle.
GREAT. Great, great, great, great, great. For the (legions of) people who appreciate the character-driven, powerful portrayal of daily trials, personalities, and themes of friendship and loyalty found in The Lord of the Rings, and for the (somewhat smaller number of) people who appreciated the sweeping, cataclysmic majesty of The Simarillion; The Children of Húrin is a most satisfying blend of the two. Set against the giant, almost Biblical backdrop of the 'First Age' of Middle Earth as depicted in the Simarillion, The Children of Húrin is far more accessible (quite a quick read); expanding upon the tragic character of one Túrin, son of Húrin, as he does his heroic best to aid the the races of men & elves against what is essentially the forces of an evil, fallen god; yet, by rash disregard of wise counsel or plain ill fortune, ultimately brings ruin to everyone and everything he holds dear. Lord of the Rings will forever make my blood run swiftly, inciting noble thoughts of friendship, heroism, and perserverence. The Children of Húrin will always break my heart. A small and beautiful, yet heartbreaking little tale against an annihilative backdrop involving the fall of Kings and the fall of cities, ever in the background but inexorably tied to Turin's doom.
Seen: Husbands and Wives:
Well, it's tough to follow that. But this was a really good Woody Allen character film. Fairly recent, it follows two married couples and examines the forces that to drive the unions apart and keep them together through typically (for Allen) witty dialogue and clever story-development. Not unlike Crimes & Misdemeanors (which I actually preferred, as a movie), in it's cynicism, but it definitely throws some interesting characters into the blender - even if (like in most Woody Allen movies), I can't really relate to very much of his uptown-Manhattan lifestyle.
10
Sharon & my 10-year anniversary today.
For lack of babysitter resources and time for planning, we are not actually going to be able to do anything tonight other than spend some brief moments together after the kids are in bed. But I think that is really representative of the stage of our family right now (e.g. preschooler & infant In The House), as well as the general course of our married life together, to this date: our time together may be hard to come by, but it is precious, and never taken for granted.
We're hoping to get out this weekend to see a play and eat a good meal. The Coast 2 Coast hike in northern England will have to wait a few years.
For lack of babysitter resources and time for planning, we are not actually going to be able to do anything tonight other than spend some brief moments together after the kids are in bed. But I think that is really representative of the stage of our family right now (e.g. preschooler & infant In The House), as well as the general course of our married life together, to this date: our time together may be hard to come by, but it is precious, and never taken for granted.
We're hoping to get out this weekend to see a play and eat a good meal. The Coast 2 Coast hike in northern England will have to wait a few years.
Monday, August 20, 2007
In Memory of Saraki (Squeaky)
Long, long overdue. A photo tribute has been on Sharon's agenda for the past half a year, but the demands of stay-at-home motherhood did not allow her to finally finish it until this past week. You'll be seeing this caption free, but it pretty much covers her first day in this world to her final day. No surprise here to animal lovers, but she brought us love, joy, laughter, and friendship in equal measure, and was a companion ("friend" might be stretching it) to Kuna-i through all the long years.
To which anyone who has been very close to an animal in their lives can attest, Saraki and Kuna-i were our "kids" before we had kids. They were the centerpoint of our lives, and an integral part of the crazy, vivid, earliest years of our marriage. And it has been difficult, at times, to come to terms with the fact that we are a now family without a pet. Crazy, too, that - despite no shortage of photographic evidence and stories, Kuna-i (that sweet & steadfast girl who welcomed a new baby into the house and - even in her blindness and dementia - kept a watchful vigil over a sleeping newborn) is steadily and surely fading from Lucy's memory, if not gone altogether. Almost certainly, Saraki will follow down that same path. And Rose, when all is said and done, will have only been alive for the four final months of Saraki's life.
New pets will eventually move in and fill a place in the hearts of our daughters, but I'm determined to keep memories of these two founding members of "Minneapolis Hyltons" family unit alive for as long as I'm alive. Thank God for photos. And thank God for a personality that can't get enough of reminiscing to begin with. Anyway, I'm pleased to share with you this tribute.
(Now, originally, I just embedded the slideshow itself. But I think the captions Sharon added are helpful for anyone who'd appreciate a little more context- so the photo below is actually now just a link to the actual web album. Be forewarned - the slide show is a little long. But Sharon put all the pictures in there for a reason, so get off her back.)
To which anyone who has been very close to an animal in their lives can attest, Saraki and Kuna-i were our "kids" before we had kids. They were the centerpoint of our lives, and an integral part of the crazy, vivid, earliest years of our marriage. And it has been difficult, at times, to come to terms with the fact that we are a now family without a pet. Crazy, too, that - despite no shortage of photographic evidence and stories, Kuna-i (that sweet & steadfast girl who welcomed a new baby into the house and - even in her blindness and dementia - kept a watchful vigil over a sleeping newborn) is steadily and surely fading from Lucy's memory, if not gone altogether. Almost certainly, Saraki will follow down that same path. And Rose, when all is said and done, will have only been alive for the four final months of Saraki's life.
New pets will eventually move in and fill a place in the hearts of our daughters, but I'm determined to keep memories of these two founding members of "Minneapolis Hyltons" family unit alive for as long as I'm alive. Thank God for photos. And thank God for a personality that can't get enough of reminiscing to begin with. Anyway, I'm pleased to share with you this tribute.
(Now, originally, I just embedded the slideshow itself. But I think the captions Sharon added are helpful for anyone who'd appreciate a little more context- so the photo below is actually now just a link to the actual web album. Be forewarned - the slide show is a little long. But Sharon put all the pictures in there for a reason, so get off her back.)
 |
| Squeaky |
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Suspicious? You Should Be. Baudolino Lies.
Read: Baudolino
My 2nd read of Umberto Eco is one I would highly recommend to anyone that loves historical fiction; particularly of the sort that comes from a mind that is mind-bogglingly versed on that particular slice of history (European Crusades, in this case). With the sort of lush backdrop, as well as luscious mixture of veneration and mockery of the history of Western religion, this book is superbly crafted. A fictitious character; behind the scenes and with the ear of the Emperor and a gift of language and lies, plays a significant and in pretty much all the major happenings between the 3rd and 4th Crusade. All the historical events are right on (I Wiki'd many of them), but the details are pulled out of an ass. And then - after it has been, if a bit far-fetched, quite realistic; the final third of the book takes the reader on a fantastical journey beyond the world known to Europeans at the time in search of a mythical far-Eastern Christian Emperor, Prestor John. A fun, rollicking adventure. Tales in a backdrop of cataclysmic war has never been so light and playful. Great 2000 interview on Baudolino with the brilliant Eco, here.
Watched: Suspicion
Directed by one A. Hitchcock and starring Cary Grant & Joan Fontaine, this 1941 suspense flick (woman woo'd by rascally man-about-town, only later to suspect he is planning to kill her) had all the pieces in place for me. Blast it, but I just didn't think the writing was all that great. I enjoyed it, but not nearly as much as I was expecting to; fine performances (particularly, by Fontaine) and the hand of The Master couldn't elevate it to classic status for me. If I could have given it 3 1/2 on Netflix, I would have.
My 2nd read of Umberto Eco is one I would highly recommend to anyone that loves historical fiction; particularly of the sort that comes from a mind that is mind-bogglingly versed on that particular slice of history (European Crusades, in this case). With the sort of lush backdrop, as well as luscious mixture of veneration and mockery of the history of Western religion, this book is superbly crafted. A fictitious character; behind the scenes and with the ear of the Emperor and a gift of language and lies, plays a significant and in pretty much all the major happenings between the 3rd and 4th Crusade. All the historical events are right on (I Wiki'd many of them), but the details are pulled out of an ass. And then - after it has been, if a bit far-fetched, quite realistic; the final third of the book takes the reader on a fantastical journey beyond the world known to Europeans at the time in search of a mythical far-Eastern Christian Emperor, Prestor John. A fun, rollicking adventure. Tales in a backdrop of cataclysmic war has never been so light and playful. Great 2000 interview on Baudolino with the brilliant Eco, here.
Watched: Suspicion
Directed by one A. Hitchcock and starring Cary Grant & Joan Fontaine, this 1941 suspense flick (woman woo'd by rascally man-about-town, only later to suspect he is planning to kill her) had all the pieces in place for me. Blast it, but I just didn't think the writing was all that great. I enjoyed it, but not nearly as much as I was expecting to; fine performances (particularly, by Fontaine) and the hand of The Master couldn't elevate it to classic status for me. If I could have given it 3 1/2 on Netflix, I would have.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Tagged
by Aaron
7 "Interesting" Facts About Me (which I'm interpreting to mean items you may not know about me and, if you didn't know, might surprise you)
1. The extent to which I fail to reach my own toes when stretching puts me in the bottom 10th percentile amongs all men in my age group.
2. I have an advertising minor.
3. I have Tourette's Syndrome.
4. My grandfather lived to be 102. My grandmother (on the other side) lived to be 98.
5. I write beer reviews at BeerAdvocate.com. Feel free to send me samples for review.
6. I know far more about Microsoft Excel than you realize.
7. I've biked a 34 mile round trip into work once a week since mid-June. I will continue to do so as long as the weather holds. Three weeks ago, I entered the Bike2Benefits eight week challenge.
7 "Interesting" Facts About Me (which I'm interpreting to mean items you may not know about me and, if you didn't know, might surprise you)
1. The extent to which I fail to reach my own toes when stretching puts me in the bottom 10th percentile amongs all men in my age group.
2. I have an advertising minor.
3. I have Tourette's Syndrome.
4. My grandfather lived to be 102. My grandmother (on the other side) lived to be 98.
5. I write beer reviews at BeerAdvocate.com. Feel free to send me samples for review.
6. I know far more about Microsoft Excel than you realize.
7. I've biked a 34 mile round trip into work once a week since mid-June. I will continue to do so as long as the weather holds. Three weeks ago, I entered the Bike2Benefits eight week challenge.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Out in the Open on Feedback
OK - a good & probably necessary discussion has made itself evident as a result of my recent post about Creating Into the Void and Mixdorf's response which, thankfully, did not end up being. "'Boo fuckin' hoo." Overall, I guess this post will be directed primarily at Mixx, with whom I've danced around this issue of feedback for a number of years, but others who count themselves among my friends can certainly take note...
Essentially, you are wary of offending with anything less than positive about a creation that is so personal to me. And if I could sum up a rebuttal in so few words myself, it would be simply:
If not you, who?
Ahh, such is the life of an artist yearning for feedback. It almost reminds me of those folks who, after the loss of a loved one, find that all their former friends are avoiding them as a result of not knowing exactly what to say. It's lonesome down here in Camden Studios, as the extent of my feedback truly comes from only Sharon & Pat G (Pat having experienced, through his career the same "wall of ambivalence," and willing to reciprocate the feedback and discussion over creation for which we both so yearn).
We've established that precise musical tastes are highly subjective, and I'm not going to see eye to eye with very many people in this huge world. But ultimately, if I'm ever going to do anything, music-wise (and Lord knows, I've not given up yet), I'm going to have to make music that will appeal to someone other than just myself and Mighty Tom. And it would be most helpful, somewhere along the line, to have other music fans hearing my stuff with objective and fresh ears, giving me their impressions and thoughts.
But on a more basic level (believe it or not) it's far more damaging to my self esteem to put my hopes and dreams into all the cords and mics and such and have it float off into the void without a bit of acknowledgement that it exists, than it is to hear "I'm sorry, but that one isn't doing it for me." I would assume that you wish all the luck and success for me in the world. As such, I would assume I can count you among my one of my supporters & backers and, dare I say, "fans?" I would like to think that is the case, whether you think all my stuff is great, or most of my stuff is just OK, or whatever. And, if you think I make nothing but Shit Sandwiches, I think our friendship can survive that.
On a side note - trying to crack the local club scene is a game for the young, and one I never could crack even when I was young. If something happens for me at this point, it's going to be as a result of either the right pair of ears hearing my music or some crazy grassroots wildfire, based on a particular song or two generating buzz around the internet. And while I'm hardly the guy to author a book on "how to be successful in a band," I know that either of these possbilities are highly more likely if they start with a dedicated group of supporters. I'm not asking anyone to give up a day job here, but if I could just ask you to listen to these early mixes of songs I'm making and IF (and only if) you feel that you can be honest with yourself in doing so ....spread the word! "Hey, a friend of mine is recording an album - I think this is a pretty good song. See what you think." Or something like that. I have a couple of ideas of how I'm going to try and promote myself when this thing is released, but only a couple. Over the years, the ol' fan base has shrunk to....well, apparently Sharon & Pat G (that's not exactly true - I can usually get a few people to come out when I play live). But still, I could use all the help I can get.
And if not you, who???
on a side side note: Indeed, you do not need a MySpace account to hear songs or read blog posts, only to comment. So if anyone wants to just listen, and occasionally check in, it's not necessary to say anything in that forum. (I may end up disabling comments on the MySpace blog, anyway, as a way of obscuring how small the "fan base" truly is...) If you want to send me some feedback, you can post it here...or even just send me an email. Anything to let me know that I'm not creating into the void.
http://www.myspace.com/danhylton (and I finished another rough mix - From July to April - and posted it just tonight)
Essentially, you are wary of offending with anything less than positive about a creation that is so personal to me. And if I could sum up a rebuttal in so few words myself, it would be simply:
If not you, who?
Ahh, such is the life of an artist yearning for feedback. It almost reminds me of those folks who, after the loss of a loved one, find that all their former friends are avoiding them as a result of not knowing exactly what to say. It's lonesome down here in Camden Studios, as the extent of my feedback truly comes from only Sharon & Pat G (Pat having experienced, through his career the same "wall of ambivalence," and willing to reciprocate the feedback and discussion over creation for which we both so yearn).
We've established that precise musical tastes are highly subjective, and I'm not going to see eye to eye with very many people in this huge world. But ultimately, if I'm ever going to do anything, music-wise (and Lord knows, I've not given up yet), I'm going to have to make music that will appeal to someone other than just myself and Mighty Tom. And it would be most helpful, somewhere along the line, to have other music fans hearing my stuff with objective and fresh ears, giving me their impressions and thoughts.
But on a more basic level (believe it or not) it's far more damaging to my self esteem to put my hopes and dreams into all the cords and mics and such and have it float off into the void without a bit of acknowledgement that it exists, than it is to hear "I'm sorry, but that one isn't doing it for me." I would assume that you wish all the luck and success for me in the world. As such, I would assume I can count you among my one of my supporters & backers and, dare I say, "fans?" I would like to think that is the case, whether you think all my stuff is great, or most of my stuff is just OK, or whatever. And, if you think I make nothing but Shit Sandwiches, I think our friendship can survive that.
On a side note - trying to crack the local club scene is a game for the young, and one I never could crack even when I was young. If something happens for me at this point, it's going to be as a result of either the right pair of ears hearing my music or some crazy grassroots wildfire, based on a particular song or two generating buzz around the internet. And while I'm hardly the guy to author a book on "how to be successful in a band," I know that either of these possbilities are highly more likely if they start with a dedicated group of supporters. I'm not asking anyone to give up a day job here, but if I could just ask you to listen to these early mixes of songs I'm making and IF (and only if) you feel that you can be honest with yourself in doing so ....spread the word! "Hey, a friend of mine is recording an album - I think this is a pretty good song. See what you think." Or something like that. I have a couple of ideas of how I'm going to try and promote myself when this thing is released, but only a couple. Over the years, the ol' fan base has shrunk to....well, apparently Sharon & Pat G (that's not exactly true - I can usually get a few people to come out when I play live). But still, I could use all the help I can get.
And if not you, who???
on a side side note: Indeed, you do not need a MySpace account to hear songs or read blog posts, only to comment. So if anyone wants to just listen, and occasionally check in, it's not necessary to say anything in that forum. (I may end up disabling comments on the MySpace blog, anyway, as a way of obscuring how small the "fan base" truly is...) If you want to send me some feedback, you can post it here...or even just send me an email. Anything to let me know that I'm not creating into the void.
http://www.myspace.com/danhylton (and I finished another rough mix - From July to April - and posted it just tonight)
Funky Adventure and Ruminations on 'The Heart Meter'
As T-Clog embarks upon an heroic exercise program that will allow him to complete a 5k trail run in late September, so I continue on one of my own. Due to the new lease on my own fitness life brought about by my introduction to cross training via cardio-machines at my workplace's fitness center, combined with a gel band I have to add structural stability to my runner's knee, I am finding it increasingly comfortable and exhilerating to get out on the trails for running, my true exercise love.
Yesterday, at the tail end of a 5-day vacation stint with my family, I was granted a couple of hours to have some "Dan time," and I elected to head out to French Regional Park, home of "Challenge Hill" (which should really be plural - think of the hill at Afton. Maybe about half the height, but repeated about four or five times). It was a muggy 86 degrees and I had water belt hitched up, along with a plan that would have me swing by a fountain at a picnic area after a half hour for a refill.
Well, things felt great at first and I went out a little fast, but the hills kicked my ass a bit. And made me ruminate, thus: A runner is like a character in a Nintendo game. You have a little set of hearts in the upper right corner of your screen that are all filled red. Very slowly (or quickly, depending on your level of fitness), your heart meter will begin to inch it's way down, just by virtue of cruising along at a constant speed.. However, there are many things that you can do that will knock a few points of that heart meter instantly, such as sprinting, jumping over a log, or running up a hill. If you're in decent shape, once you crest a hill - even one that was making your thighs scream for mercy - the five or six hearts you suddenly lost will begin to fill back in slowly, so that, after a while more of relatively level surface running, you'll feel like you didn't miss a beat. You did, though. Replenished though you may feel, that hill has taken a toll on you and those hearts are not truly back up to where they were before you started up. Over time, the hills add up. I've learned this through a lifetime of running, but never was it so driven home to me than at the Afton Trail Run 25K, which I've done twice. Both times, though I was fully capable of running the distance on roads, I ended up with cramps at about mile 12 (probably about 20-21k). Those hills'll kill you.
Just something to keep in mind, T-Clog. I don't remember the terrain & trails at Eagle Bluff, but based on the part of the state it's in, I have no doubt it's extremely hilly. If we come across a hill that's batshit insane, there's no honor lost in walking it.
Now - the funky adventure. I'd run for about forty minutes before making it to the drinking fountain for a fill up and check of my watch. I had a little bit of an upset stomach, so decided to cut my original plan (1 hr, 10 min) down a bit; I'd do one more little loop. However, just after starting down the new trail, I realized my stomach was really fairly sloshy - something bad was potentially brewing, and I thought it best to just call it a day. I turned around and headed back to the visitors' center. There was something in the trail in front of me - "wait -that looks like a mound of wadded up newspaper - oh SHIT (just as I began to leap over) BALD FACED HORNET NEST!!!" I was immediately set upon by about three of the little fuckers. I gave a scream and tore off at a quick pace, trying to remember my old nature readings: "How fast can a hornet fly? 10 mph? Can I run that fast? " Well, either I can run that fast, or they had nothing more to prove, cause they let me go. Exhausted, queasy, and stinging.
I headed back to the car and checked the pound on my water belt to get the key for the car. Key gone. double shit. I retraced my steps back up to the picnic area water fountain (where I'd gotten out my watch and where, presumably, the key had tumbled out). Nothing. Going through the whole area with a fine-toothed comb. Nothing. Back to the visitors' center for a call to Sharon. Not there. Triple shit. Left a message: "If you get this message, come and pick me up. I'll be on the way home." And - what could I do - I started running home, along Rockford Rd (Country Rd 9/42nd Ave). And, proving what a man can do (particularly, the King of Men) when he really has to, I'd made about three miles (about two of which were up a ridiculously long incline) before the little Toyota Corolla with all my girls came cruising up alongside and offered me a ride.
Last night was a night of rehydration and moving in slow motion.
Yesterday, at the tail end of a 5-day vacation stint with my family, I was granted a couple of hours to have some "Dan time," and I elected to head out to French Regional Park, home of "Challenge Hill" (which should really be plural - think of the hill at Afton. Maybe about half the height, but repeated about four or five times). It was a muggy 86 degrees and I had water belt hitched up, along with a plan that would have me swing by a fountain at a picnic area after a half hour for a refill.
Well, things felt great at first and I went out a little fast, but the hills kicked my ass a bit. And made me ruminate, thus: A runner is like a character in a Nintendo game. You have a little set of hearts in the upper right corner of your screen that are all filled red. Very slowly (or quickly, depending on your level of fitness), your heart meter will begin to inch it's way down, just by virtue of cruising along at a constant speed.. However, there are many things that you can do that will knock a few points of that heart meter instantly, such as sprinting, jumping over a log, or running up a hill. If you're in decent shape, once you crest a hill - even one that was making your thighs scream for mercy - the five or six hearts you suddenly lost will begin to fill back in slowly, so that, after a while more of relatively level surface running, you'll feel like you didn't miss a beat. You did, though. Replenished though you may feel, that hill has taken a toll on you and those hearts are not truly back up to where they were before you started up. Over time, the hills add up. I've learned this through a lifetime of running, but never was it so driven home to me than at the Afton Trail Run 25K, which I've done twice. Both times, though I was fully capable of running the distance on roads, I ended up with cramps at about mile 12 (probably about 20-21k). Those hills'll kill you.
Just something to keep in mind, T-Clog. I don't remember the terrain & trails at Eagle Bluff, but based on the part of the state it's in, I have no doubt it's extremely hilly. If we come across a hill that's batshit insane, there's no honor lost in walking it.
Now - the funky adventure. I'd run for about forty minutes before making it to the drinking fountain for a fill up and check of my watch. I had a little bit of an upset stomach, so decided to cut my original plan (1 hr, 10 min) down a bit; I'd do one more little loop. However, just after starting down the new trail, I realized my stomach was really fairly sloshy - something bad was potentially brewing, and I thought it best to just call it a day. I turned around and headed back to the visitors' center. There was something in the trail in front of me - "wait -that looks like a mound of wadded up newspaper - oh SHIT (just as I began to leap over) BALD FACED HORNET NEST!!!" I was immediately set upon by about three of the little fuckers. I gave a scream and tore off at a quick pace, trying to remember my old nature readings: "How fast can a hornet fly? 10 mph? Can I run that fast? " Well, either I can run that fast, or they had nothing more to prove, cause they let me go. Exhausted, queasy, and stinging.
I headed back to the car and checked the pound on my water belt to get the key for the car. Key gone. double shit. I retraced my steps back up to the picnic area water fountain (where I'd gotten out my watch and where, presumably, the key had tumbled out). Nothing. Going through the whole area with a fine-toothed comb. Nothing. Back to the visitors' center for a call to Sharon. Not there. Triple shit. Left a message: "If you get this message, come and pick me up. I'll be on the way home." And - what could I do - I started running home, along Rockford Rd (Country Rd 9/42nd Ave). And, proving what a man can do (particularly, the King of Men) when he really has to, I'd made about three miles (about two of which were up a ridiculously long incline) before the little Toyota Corolla with all my girls came cruising up alongside and offered me a ride.
Last night was a night of rehydration and moving in slow motion.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Alice & Rimmer
I finished up a first-ever reading of Alice in Wonderland, a few nights ago. I'd been reading the book, more or less a chapter a night, to Lucy. One of the first things you pick up on in taking on a chapter book in this venue, even one like Alice..., which is ostensibly written for children and from a child's perspective, is how dificult it is for a four year old to get her head around all the moving pieces. In fact, it is doubly and triply the case with this book, since many characters are introduced and then forgotten (until the trial near the end, if you're familiar with the story). Plus, there's all these bygone terms and expressions from early-part-of-the-century England, which bear constant explaining, defining, and putting in context. I don't know. There's a lot of kids out there Lucy's age that are just plopped in front of PG movies and left to drift from one moment of stark, physical comedy (man makes a man's pants fall down, penguin burps, etc.) to the next. My sense has always been that it's an odd, almost demeaning sort of feeling that 77% of literature/entertainment is just simply something you're not going to get and so just deal with it. So, if there's something in the DVD player and Lucy's watching it, we are sitting next to her (or have already at some point, with that particular piece of entertainment), pausing and explaining/talking about things. Constantly. Well, that was happening in Alice.... Constantly. Anyway - looking back at the experience, I'm not sure I would have taken it on, knowing what I know now. And I wonder if a part of my interest had been selfish in nature. I, personally, felt it was high time to make it through this classic tale; from which I can see innumerous cultural trappings that are the fruits of its literary loins. But as for the tale itself (and maybe this is after an experience of trying to make it reconcile with the mind of a surprisingly logical four year old girl), I simply can't believe how pointless/plotless? the whole thing was. I'm not even sure if that's a critique, or simply a rumination of surprise because I did find it fun. Perhaps truly the first in a long line of "it was all just a dream!" in the arts, the whole series of barely-connected scenes played out like (with apologies to Joseph Gehaw), simple, unmotivated bizarreness. Trippy. Mind-blowing, it seems, that it gained such popularity in America's infamously grim and stogy classrooms of the mid-century. How did that happen?
Red Dwarf: I'll make this a lot shorter. BBC sci-fi comedy from the 80s, available on Netflix' "Watch Now," so I thought I'd take a chance. Not all that impressed after the first episode or two, but (realizing that sometimes comedy series have to come into their own a bit) stuck it out for an entire six. If it picks up steam in season 2, I'll never know. Life is too short, and too full of wonderful BBC series such as Father Ted and Blackadder, that are delivering pause-and-watch-again-worthy bellylaughs from the get-go.
Red Dwarf: I'll make this a lot shorter. BBC sci-fi comedy from the 80s, available on Netflix' "Watch Now," so I thought I'd take a chance. Not all that impressed after the first episode or two, but (realizing that sometimes comedy series have to come into their own a bit) stuck it out for an entire six. If it picks up steam in season 2, I'll never know. Life is too short, and too full of wonderful BBC series such as Father Ted and Blackadder, that are delivering pause-and-watch-again-worthy bellylaughs from the get-go.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Creating Into the Void
So much for the IPO.
Posts remain unread. MP3s that are the result of blood & labor remain unheard. And I remain friendless.
"My" Space has never seemed so truly accurate a name...
Posts remain unread. MP3s that are the result of blood & labor remain unheard. And I remain friendless.
"My" Space has never seemed so truly accurate a name...
Hug Those Kids!
Last night as I got home from work, Sharon & the girls were in the backyard pool. I headed inside to do my usual ritual (various clothes and accessories from work in their respective places, and a change into comfortable clothes). I had just headed upstairs to our bedroom, when Sharon called my name out - in an odd and sort of desperate tone. I rushed downstairst o see Sharon in the entryway, and in tears, holding a slightly dazed and off-pallored Rose.
Apparently, there had been an incident in the pool where Rose seemed to be choking on something (Sharon assumed it was water), but then quickly turned a violent shade of blue and went limp in her arms.
Sharon freaked but had presence of mind to flip her over in position to vomit, which is what happend. Affer that point, it was just a matter of a few minutes of recovery time, but Sharon was understandably shaken, and in tears.
Dear God, but with respect to the often-used "every parent's nightmare," that - friends - is it. There were a number of occasions with Lucy, as she was transitioning into solid foods (as Rose is beginning to), where there were momentary instances of choking. All manner of terrors pass before your eyes at that moment, as you fly into action to fish the offending bit of food out of their mouth, or take alternative actions. In all cases, whether by your helping hand or without, the issue was resolved in seconds. But J.C.. that does send a daddy to reeling and reflecting for a short bit.
And that was just during mealtime. Lucy was generally a very stationary baby; and when she did start to move, she was a parent's dream in terms of avoiding trouble. She never had an issue with sticking things into her mouth or exploring things better left alone. Rose is the complete opposite. Crawing a full four months before her older sister did, she is a little Indiana Jane, seeking adventure and treasure all the time and at every turn. It's a whole new level of accountability we have for keeping dangers off our floor and away from her reach; particularly in light of our traditionally lazy housekeeping style.
Not much more to say about all that. Just ruminating this afternoon, as a momentary flashback and chill passed across my spine.
Apparently, there had been an incident in the pool where Rose seemed to be choking on something (Sharon assumed it was water), but then quickly turned a violent shade of blue and went limp in her arms.
Sharon freaked but had presence of mind to flip her over in position to vomit, which is what happend. Affer that point, it was just a matter of a few minutes of recovery time, but Sharon was understandably shaken, and in tears.
Dear God, but with respect to the often-used "every parent's nightmare," that - friends - is it. There were a number of occasions with Lucy, as she was transitioning into solid foods (as Rose is beginning to), where there were momentary instances of choking. All manner of terrors pass before your eyes at that moment, as you fly into action to fish the offending bit of food out of their mouth, or take alternative actions. In all cases, whether by your helping hand or without, the issue was resolved in seconds. But J.C.. that does send a daddy to reeling and reflecting for a short bit.
And that was just during mealtime. Lucy was generally a very stationary baby; and when she did start to move, she was a parent's dream in terms of avoiding trouble. She never had an issue with sticking things into her mouth or exploring things better left alone. Rose is the complete opposite. Crawing a full four months before her older sister did, she is a little Indiana Jane, seeking adventure and treasure all the time and at every turn. It's a whole new level of accountability we have for keeping dangers off our floor and away from her reach; particularly in light of our traditionally lazy housekeeping style.
Not much more to say about all that. Just ruminating this afternoon, as a momentary flashback and chill passed across my spine.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
HPATOOTP and Powell
Finally got out to the latest Harry Potter movie. Both Sharon & I thought, contrary (it appears) to the vast majority of reviewers, that it was the first step backwards in the ever-goodening franchise. It wasn't so much that there were glaring flaws in the general filmmaking, only that they finally have gotten to that point in the story where the plot is no longer linear - or at least easily portrayed in linear fashion (e.g. we need to solve this, then this will become clear, after which we can do this, etc.). There was just more subtley, nuance, and unspoken intricacy in the book than could be covered in a couple of hours of screen time. To me, it seemed that vast sections of necessary exposition and character/plot development were sacrificed (in favor of gratuitous reaction shots, Sharon would add). Such is the fate of the book reader. My impression would be that certain plot developments or character actions would seem inexplicable or jumpy, without that exposition. But that's obviously not the case, as the film was received quite warmly by Joe Q filmgoer. I don't know. I have a tough time separating myself from the notion that a faithful reproduction of what I read is what needs to be in a book-inspired movie, and just accept movies for what they are: 90-150 minutes of self-contained art.
I didn't intend to say that much.
On the book: Down the Great Unknown: John Wesley Powell's 1869 Journey of Discovery and Tragedy Through the Grand Canyon was something I stumbled across as a result of my trip down into the very nearby canyon country of Escalante, last year. Like Mixdorf, I really groove on true stories of great feats of endurance and adventure; though there is definitely a tricky art involved with telling the tales. To what extent does the author fill in the blanks and make assumptions in order to paint a more descriptive, colorful picture? The success with which an author/researcher achieves this balance becomes at least as imporant as actual writing ability. And, dedicating years of life to reasearching colorful characters in history - I can imagine it would be hard for one to not start feeling as if they truly know these guys, and justified in making such assumptions. But, in the case of this book, the author (a former writer for the Boston Globe) opts for ONLY detailing that which is outlined in a series of journals by various members of a crew of 10 guys that set out to make the first boat trip through the 800-900 miles of the Green and Colorado Rivers over a period of 99 days. Through those journals alone, mind-blowing acts of courage, resourcefulness, and hardiness are portrayed; however -perhaps to fill space, he goes on sometimes nearly inexplicable tangents; and he expounds endlessly on the dangers of white water rafting and general river lore, sometimes stringing together a succession of simile, example, and expounding that would make Herman Melville blush. Overall, a gripping read; a real page-turner. Though it could have been a good 100 pages shorter and I would have been able to come away with an appropriate level of appreciation for the power of the mighty Colorado and the accomplishment of these men, all (but Powell) now lost to obscurity of the ages.
I didn't intend to say that much.
On the book: Down the Great Unknown: John Wesley Powell's 1869 Journey of Discovery and Tragedy Through the Grand Canyon was something I stumbled across as a result of my trip down into the very nearby canyon country of Escalante, last year. Like Mixdorf, I really groove on true stories of great feats of endurance and adventure; though there is definitely a tricky art involved with telling the tales. To what extent does the author fill in the blanks and make assumptions in order to paint a more descriptive, colorful picture? The success with which an author/researcher achieves this balance becomes at least as imporant as actual writing ability. And, dedicating years of life to reasearching colorful characters in history - I can imagine it would be hard for one to not start feeling as if they truly know these guys, and justified in making such assumptions. But, in the case of this book, the author (a former writer for the Boston Globe) opts for ONLY detailing that which is outlined in a series of journals by various members of a crew of 10 guys that set out to make the first boat trip through the 800-900 miles of the Green and Colorado Rivers over a period of 99 days. Through those journals alone, mind-blowing acts of courage, resourcefulness, and hardiness are portrayed; however -perhaps to fill space, he goes on sometimes nearly inexplicable tangents; and he expounds endlessly on the dangers of white water rafting and general river lore, sometimes stringing together a succession of simile, example, and expounding that would make Herman Melville blush. Overall, a gripping read; a real page-turner. Though it could have been a good 100 pages shorter and I would have been able to come away with an appropriate level of appreciation for the power of the mighty Colorado and the accomplishment of these men, all (but Powell) now lost to obscurity of the ages.
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