August 17th, 2002

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Art!

I finally finished the mixing of my CD. I got something fun in the mail, and it inspired me to creativity. It took a lot of effort, but boy the effort paid off. The result exceeds my expectations. I am excited about getting it burned on CD and copied. I play a mean kazoo.
But not as good as Scott's nose flute.
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When exuberance turns to realization, plus an Important Poll

I am not at my most careful at 2 in the morning. Last night, I was on some adrenalin and caffeine high, assiduously finishing the mix down from 4 track to 2 track of the cool music which Scott M and I did last month. I carefully recorded, and then listened, recorded and then listened. When I was done, I thought that I had two "mixed" tapes ready to be burned on CD. This morning, I opened presents that my wife had gotten me for my birthday last week, and then we settled in to "premiere" for her the album.
The first few songs were so fun! They were spontaneous, unedited, odd, and weird in the very best way. Then, after a half dozen songs or so, I had clearly made mixing errors. Songs repeated. One song, called "Gladiator Song", was all rhythm track (if a triangle, a slide whistle and an electric football field may loosely be called 'rhythm'), and no melody track (assuming two kazoos can be 'melody'). Some songs were lost altogether in the mix.

In short, this whole 4 to 2 track mixing is so simple, yet I must entirely do it over. This reminds me of why I do not do crafts things as often as others do. I get very frustrated when I work hard yet make simple, stupid mistakes. But I'm going to remix again, this time all at one sitting, and this time checking my work more carefully as I go on.

I was going to take the weekend off work, but now I find I have too much to do. So it's off to a shower and then to the office. I've work to revise and documents to generate.
I see I've pontificated a time or so here on LJ already this morning, so perhaps this setback is an appropriate chastening. For every moment of grace, perhaps a moment of trivial damnation is in order. I almost even commented to a joke I found offensive today how offensive I found it. That's getting carried away a bit.

I do have the gift of redemptive music, though. I am grateful today that I have new music to listen to! Good music. That helps.

But for those of you whom I know here on LJ, here is my latest "poll" question....

GURDONARK'S LOW TECH POLL:

Assume that your birthday was last week. Assume that you got a cool 25 dollar gift certificate from a cool sibling, to purchase whatever your heart desires on Amazon. What would you pick? Why? Documentation to all, prizes to none.
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work boombox blues

I notice that when my little Sony CFD S22 is playing a CD, I work much better than otherwise. Perhaps it's because the sound of music makes me feel that I live in a universe with an Intelligent Design (albeit a design I am not willing to impose on the public schools). The studies generally say that work productivity drops with workplace music, but I am at my best when someone I respect (or am learning to respect) is soundtracking my focus on document creation.
  • Current Music
    Lucinda Williams "Lonely Girls"
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Bad Poetry doth a Bad First Novel Paragraph Make

To resume the literary plot. I have for some months been inspired by how often good prose can be "altered" into even better poetry. I had some fun with this some months ago, and need to send that project to completion, as all the words work in my little notion is done, and it's just an art and decor matter.

But yesterday, I was intrigued with how my own poetry, which I'll charitably call bad, might make an excellent bad first paragraph to a bad novel. I know some folks enter into the Bulwer-Lytton contest, where folks compete to see who has the best worst bad first novel paragraph. But I have my own LJ, and need not await any contest judges' view. Here is my own personal bad first paragraph, which is a prosaicism of a bad poem posted in my memories section:

"I tearfully tried to sacrifice on the mountain. The myrhh was scented, by mechanical processes I never understand, with an additional enigmatic lilac tinge, a sweet impurity. The formerly jagged path up the mountain was fully automated now. The digital sin-stripped angel told me to go home, and that my offering was obsolete".

Now that is the best of bad first paragraphs. I believe it will be the first portion of a religious sci fi, in which benevolent aliens convert post-modern humanity to a new faith, and then everyone goes bowling.

I must begin my novel soon. I see a real future in this.