Time is on My Side

Oy.

So on Sunday after mom and dad left to go home and after I changed out of my hot hot (in more ways than one) wool plaid pants, I ran out to CompUSA and dropped off my laptop.

For those who are not aware, the ole portable was getting quite worn down. Droppings by unknown persons have broken the latch rendering it unclosable, as well as causing the screen to be "shifted" upward leaving a 2-3mm black gap at the bottom. Perhaps most heinous of all is the loss of the "x" and "y" keys from the keyboard. This was most definitely caused by Roman's pouncing from her perch on the open laptop (remember, unclosable). Her claws dug underneath the buttons and popped them right off. Silly kitty.

Well, the final straw was the battery's stubborness in refusing to take a charge. So long as it was plugged in, the computer ran fine, but the battery would not exceed the level of charge it was at at the time.

To make a long story short. My computer is in ICU at CompUSA for an indeterminate amount of time. In the meanwhile, I'm reacquainting myself with the world of Microsoft on my roommate's PC. Really, it's not that bad. The interface still lacks a certain charm, but it's just as useful. I believe the only real hindrance is the addition of adware somewhere on his computer which means every 30 seconds to 2 minutes, I have to pause whatever I'm doing to delete the 15 or so windows that pop up.

At first I thought phallic enhancement wasn't for me, but after the last 300 or so pop-ups...

The two of us need look no more

Unless you play guitar or know how to "fake play a piano" (neither, I think, are the case with any people I know who would read this blog), then you are missing out on another aspect of the tyrancy of the RIAA.

Well, the Record Industry Association of America and the Music Publishers' Association, anyway.

It used to be that you could log on to any number of databases online and pick up a bit of tablature. Tablature, if you don't know, is a form of musical notation written out for the guitar with the chords to play or the specific pickings. Many aspiring musicians pick up their first skills through tablature- hearing a song they want to play, scouring the internet for the tablature, and then plunking their way to adequacy. I myself picked up most of my skills (*ahem*) this way, learning The Who's Tommy or any number of Weezer songs.

One day last week I searched for one of my favorite databases: http://www.guitartabs.cc/ only to be let down, discovering that the page was no longer up. Later that week, it returned, with a savaged library. I couldn't find any of the bands I'd normally seek out- Barenaked Ladies, David Bowie, Talking Heads, even my beloved Weezer.

What's going on here? More searching on the web proves again that these sites are more and more being stripped down dramatically. What I am confused about, however, is how exactly the RIAA and MPA can justify the tablature of a song as being a copyright infringement. Sure, one could say "Well, it is the artist's music and they have a right to keeping it theirs." Hmm. That isn't quite inclusive of what the government's copyright website says about it.

"The owner of copyright [to a musical piece] retains the exclusive right to do and to authorize others to do the following:

To reproduce the work in copies or phonorecords; to prepare the derivative works based upon the work; to distribute copies or phonorecords publicly by sale; to perform the work publicly; to display the copyrighted work publicly; or to perform the work publicly by means of digital audio transmission."

I may be off base here, but I don't see anything regarding the private tinkering of a beloved song by a fan on his/her guitar. Tablature is not authored by the artist, but is a manuscriptual representation of the song, easing the apprehending of its nuances. I myself have sat and plunked out the parts for a couple songs. Never, however, have I made a dime for someone else's song in this way.

Perhaps I'm walking thin ice here, my band Almost Positive learned many a song through tablature, but we never recorded or performed for profit any of those songs. According to the web page, though, we were in violation, but most certainly not in any respect due to tablature. We would have learned them anyway. Oh yes. We're that good.

So I've ranted my peace. In the end, I am simply frustrated that I can no longer look up how to play "Five Years", but have to dink it out on my own again, just as I will have to for most every other popular song I want to learn. One thing is for certain, I have definitely changed policies and am no longer inclined to pay a dime to any band signed onto a distributor for a song again. Even through iTunes. They've tread on me and I won't stand for it!

Left without the alternative of learning songs through tab, I must, therefore, learn it through repeated listening. If you have any interest in learning a song, please, go here:

http://www.bittorrent.com/
http://www.kazaa.com/us/index.htm (warning, spyware)
http://www.gnucleus.com/Gnucleus/
http://azureus.sourceforge.net/

Download whatever you want. Sure, it's illegal. But what isn't these days? You aren't hurting the artist, not if they can truly play their music live, anyway. And don't worry, if you do download something "illegally", the server will take the brunt of the blow, thanks to the Supreme Court's ruling in May with Grockster. You're cool, baby.

You're cool.

Gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-Gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi=Gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gin

Count me among the ranks of the spat upon. I yelled at a handicapped elderly woman. Seriously. Perhaps not so seriously, it was more an intense hissed-whisper than it was true yelling. Nevertheless, how many people can say that? That they've yelled at a handicapped person? Especially when it was their disabled nature that sparked part of the conversation?

No doubt, and rightfully so, you're wondering what on earth could have possessed me to do such a demonic and wretched act. It goes thusly: I was in the library attending on Jenn who was working at the time and had to tinkle in the worst way. So I made my way to the only bathroom on that floor, which happened to also be handicapped. One of those one toilet duel gendered doo-wahs. So I go in, lift the seat, do my dirty business, lower the seat, and wash my hands. Here's what's key: that I simply put my gloves on my wet hands and forewent using any paper towels.

Sitting down and reading Aristotle (oh the scholar am I), I later hear this cane clunking towards me from behind. A voice hisses catching my attention.

"You."

You? Someone is calling me "You"? That is somehow very unnerving, and already tickling whatever imp inside makes me boil.

"I was waiting to use the bathroom, and just want you to know that I am deeply offended by how you left the bathroom," hissed the old women, towering over me in the armchair.

"You don't like the way I exited the bathroom?" I asked. What, that I used it at all is offending her? I wondered silently to myself.

"Go look and fix it." She demands.

Upon inspection, I conclude (as you no doubt have already picked up by now) that there were paper towels scattered across the floor next to the trash can behind the door. So that's the hag's problem, she's upset that someone left their trash littered about and, since I was the last person she saw using the bathroom, she naturally assumes it wasn't me. Not someone who went in any of the preceding 13 hours that the library was open. How precise a pinning of blame, I marvel at her Sherlockish abilities.

Well, I left the bathroom, and I most certainly didn't clean up the dross- not out of spite, hear you me, but rather deterred by the bloody nature of the paper. Ew. I found the feeble woman sitting at a computer and walked up behind her, seething.

"You. I just left the bathroom and wanted you to know that I am deeply offended by how you approached me, ordered me, and blamed me. How dare you! That is not my mess and I am not touching it!"

Shaking with anger, I left the library that night, and now retroflect on the events. Why on earth was she so "offended", anyway? And it hits me, that she feels as if that bathroom is somehow especially her bathroom because she uses a cane. As if it is set aside for her privilege versus the rest of the able-bodied human race, and that I am merely a guest to her special water-closet. Conversely, I view it more as this facility is equipped and spatious enough to accomodate those who need it, but it does not exclude the rest of us. It's simply a... a "bathroom plus" of sorts. When one considers that there is no other bathroom on that floor of the library, I think it becomes especially clear. This is everyone's. Not just the handicap's. I would hope she doesn't get this upset at every restroom she visits in some state of messiness. If so, I can't imagine her ever leaving a bathroom at a mall (if she even goes to any), she could spend days waiting out the culprits for whoever that bastard was who turned the blow dryer upside down.

Done.

Trading Snakeoil for Wolftickets

My sleep schedule is very very askew. There's a lot of dirt in my right shoe from hiking earlier today. There's a jaunt-angled poster on my wall because someone has been stealing pushpins. I may or may not have a test in the morning in a class I haven't attended for over a week.

It's been some time since I've written a good song. Actually, I'm beginning to question whether I've ever in fact written a good song. The most oft quoted and preferred songs on our album are all Derrick's. But that's okay. He's a cool kid, that Derrick.

This blog, I realize, is terribly frustrating. One must come up with suitable material to write about which one, everyone would find agreeably interesting to read, and two, one must take care that that material is suitable for all eyes that may wander to it.

Such is my conundrum. I have something to say, but no one to say it to. Too bad, that.

So...yet another pathetic entry into the blog of my life. Hello family and friends. How are you?

I'm in such a strange mood. Perhaps I'll go for a walk.

The Hills are Alive

Things are going just swell lately, which is a twist from the beginning of the college years. Most of my apprehensions about returning to college and foregoing a mission have proven weak and more and more everyday I embrace this decision as the right one. After all, I still like myself and where I stand in the cosmological, metaphysical, and yes, theological sense of things.

It's early afternoon and I have just returned from one of the best rides on my bicycle I've had all year, second only to my first lap across the monument in Grand Junction.



This is what the monument looks like. Biking along the edge of that is a thrill to say the least (my dad can attest to that, go Re-Bike!)

But today...ah... Well, I huffed and puffed my way up to this lookout over the Wasatch Front that is... literally breathtaking. Sometime I'll need to find my digital camera to share with you folks just how... wonderful... it is up there. I'd like to take someone up there, but there's no real parking, so the only logistical way is via the veloped. Besides, there aren't too many around here who even brought theirs, let alone could keep up with me! Ha! That's right. I went there.

Today's grade: A for alberquerque.

The People All Call Her "Alaska"

Okay, so this time in the blogspace, I'm wanting conversation and comments from anyone who reads this on this grave and terribly important discussion Mr. J. Ro and I were just having.

What do you think of long-distance relationships?

What experiences have you had or heard of regarding this?

Is it more important for each party to continue dating other people while apart, or to remain "socially celibate"?

And finally, what do YOU think it was I saw in the night sky a week and a half ago?

My own opinion is that long distance dating works more often than people would expect for couples who TRUST one another. This seems to be essential. If this element is present than the issue of dating others is sort of null, wouldn't you say? Granted, I've never had a long-distance relationship (let alone dated anyone longer than a month). I suppose I'm more optimistic in regards to it than others. As for the light in the sky, I've decided it was some sort of flying machine. Yep, that's my stance. Whether it was terrestrial or extra, I couldn't say. But it was most definitely mechanical. Hmm.

These are just a few of the topics jeremy and I were talking about on our endeavor to Target just now. Please feel free to voice your...voice on the issue. Also, has anyone tried the Ginger Altoids yet? They're a trip. I think they're more for cleansing the palate versus making one's breath taste fresh-y, though. It seems this entry is an excuse to see if I can get an idea who reads this blog amongst mes familles and mes amis. Still.

Space is No Place to Raise a Kid

The night was peaceful... cool... and I was wearily unsuspecting.

Brandon's company had been very hospitable (a quick round of "dance" pong [a gentleman's game] and Jurassic Park), but I was weary and needed to retire, unusually early for a parentless week-end. Bidding one another adieu, Brandon retired behind his screen door with Smoky, his large black cat. I started my car and cruised out of his neighborhood, listening to Gary Jules' "Broke Window" and humming lightly.

Honestly, I was bouncy and happy- a good friend back in town whom I greeted earlier that day, I had had a great time at Brandon's, and was looking forward to not being reprimanded for my late homecoming that night. This lightheartedness was promptly squashed by the lights behind me.

I thought they were the searchlight from a cop car perhaps. Certainly bright enough to be. I slowed down to a stop (I was going to anyways, it was the turn lane to get into my neighborhood) and watched the approaching lights in the rearview mirror when it dawned on me: those are NO squad car's lights.

Silently they glided down the road (a motorcycle? No, too tall). Then they were out of the height of my rear view mirror- over my car. The bushes to my left and the suburbs to my right were momentarily lit up well out of range of my headlights. What is going on? I wondered. There it came- overhead and beyond my vantage point, clearly gliding above and along the road. I sat in silence, completely awestruck at this magnificent yellow-white light. Just as quick as it appeared, it was gone over the hill ahead.

What did I see? I don't know what it was. It lookes like a Coleman's lantern at night from a distance of maybe 10 feet. At least, the pattern of lights did, for whatever it was, it was most certainly far larger than any lantern. I only wish I had had my camera in hand to show you, my friends and relatives, exactly what it looked like.

Don't think I'm a nut, though. I don't think I am. Just, unable to explain it. But if you ever see anything like it, give me a ring. I would appreciate it.