Heartbeat

I adjusted the gain of the small, electret microphone until it began to feed back and then pressed it tightly against my chest. The deep, rhythmic pulses, which echoed out from my shoddy headphones, were strangely comforting.

****

I went to school with a girl whose heart failed her shortly after giving birth to her first and only child. She was fitted for a time with some manner of device that was to assist her broken heart. I recall newsprint photographs of her pulling the device behind her as she walked her newborn child outside of the hospital. In one article, she mentioned how she missed the beat of her own heart—how the assist pump would swoosh blood endlessly through her instead of push it along beat for beat.

This has haunted me.

She was to be fast-tracked for a donor heart, but given her petite frame (only a child’s heart would have fit well), she never received one.

She complained of a headache one night.

I sat and listened in horror as her little sister fell to pieces while reading her obituary at her funeral.

-mixtape

Empty-V

Admittedly, I’m no word-smith, but when it comes to catchy and/or novel temporary tattoo logo design, I’d like to think otherwise. You see, some Halloweens ago, with my plaid Krebstar™ hunting cap in hand, I set about my seasonal mischief disguised as Pete Wrigley, the beloved, younger co-protagonist of Nickelodeon’s Adventures of Pete and Pete.My costume was impressive, but sadly lacked one important detail: a full fore-arm tattoo of a Spanish flamenco dancer by the name of Petunia. I printed an ink-jet likeness of said dancing beauty and attempted to transfer it to my arm via licking and sticking, but was merely left with an intelligible, red smear (and a bad taste in my mouth).

I considered having a local tattoo parlor stencil on the design for me, but feared that in a moment of weakness, I might agree to just let them ink me for keeps. (For although I, myself, would have welcomed Petunia’s sweet company, there are those in my life that would have been less ecstatic about the development).

In the end, I stumbled across a do-it-yourself temporary tattoo kit and spent days designing quip logos . My favorite design (besides the bewitching Petunia) was just a simple phrase: Empty-V (say it aloud). I thought myself the grand architect of the catch-phrase that would ultimately unite the world against the tyranny of Sumner Redstone, CEO of Viacom™ (parent company of MTV™): my arch-nemesis.

Now imagine my dismay upon finding my contribution to the revolution already posted on the Urban Dictionary’s web-site. Part of me was naturally upset, but another, greater part delighted in the instant companionship I had in my anti-summner quest.

Open letter to Paramount™ (subsidy of Viacom™): RELEASE SEASON THREE OF PETE AND PETE ALREADY!!!

-mixtape

Post script: You bastards.

UbuntuStudio: Greatest thing since sliced bread!

Holy (insert qualifying explicative of choice)! I’ve just spent the last few days setting up UbuntuStudio, and sweet Georgia peaches; my eyes have been opened to a brave new world of tender loving functionality. I’ve glimpsed a hint of just what that Linux penguin is always smirking about and I like it. I know that this must sound stark, raving mad, but I honestly feel something akin to a changed man.

While traveling abroad as a student, some of my cohorts in crime would often speak of this semi-mythical occurrence known as your “European moment.” It was supposed to be the sum epiphany of understanding and fully appreciating another culture for the first time.

Standing in the center of Venice’s St. Mark’s Square, surrounded by pigeons and the ethereal musings of string quartets, it happened to me. I just wanted to grab hold of the first girl I saw and dance the night away.

I think that I’ve officially had my “Linux Moment.”

Counter-intuitively, I think that this whole Linux/GNU/open-source phenomenon actually does have everything to do with ownership. For the first time in my life, I feel that I have some personal stake in my OS. It just makes me what to go out, grab hold of the first penguin I see, and dance the night away.

-mixtape

Post Script: Many thanks to all the good folks that contributed to UbuntuStudio. You all go largely unapplauded for the creating the best thing since sliced bread!

Halloween Mixtape 2007

For the past few years, I have feverishly endeavored to assemble a mixtape-worthy collection of Halloween tracks. It has proven to be no easy task. For although there do exist a great many aural homages to All Hallows Eve, my inclusion criteria have been rather strict.

You see, like Neapolitan ice-cream, the usual Halloween mixtape fare comes in one of three flavors:
1. Songs from scary movies i.e. “Theme from Jaws” (strawberry).
2. Novelty Halloween Songs i.e. “Purple People-Eater” (chocolate).
3. Songs with some vague topical reference to something remotely related to Halloween i.e. Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper” (vanilla).

Call me crazy, but I just feel that a good Halloween mixtape ought to consist of songs that actually embody the spirit of the occasion. And for me, that spirit is one of pleasant mischief–so no Nick Cave songs here.

Here’s this year’s list:

1. Intro. (The opening monologue of the “Halloweenies” episode of “The Adventures of Pete and Pete”).
2. Waiting For October - Polaris.
3. “Sugar Baby” (Sound-clip from Army of Darkness).
4. We Only Come Out at Night - The Smashing Pumpkins.
5. Halloween - Siouxsie And The Banshees.
6. I Was a Teenage Werewolf - The Cramps.
7. Pet Cemetery - The Ramones.
8. Devil House - Shonen Knife.
9. Dead Man’s Party - Oingo Boingo (It just wouldn’t be right not to include this one).
10. Bad Moon Rising - Creedence Clearwater Revival.
11. This Is Halloween (From the Nightmare Before Christmas).
12. Remains of the Day (From Corpse Bride).
13. Boil, Boil, Toil, and Trouble (As sung by the pupils of Hogwarts).
14. Godzilla Montage (Blue Oyster Cult’s homage to the wily lizard as bookended by sound-clips from Godzilla 2000).
15. The Monster Mash - Bobby “Boris” Pickett and the Cryptkickers (The quintessential Halloween Song. May dear Mr. Picket [whom I saw perform this one live @ the 2005 NYC RFTC show] rest in peace).
16. The Wobblin’ Goblin - Rosemary Clooney (The First of two Clooney tunes that I literally spent months on ebay for).
17. Punky Pumpkin - Rosemary Clooney.
18. I Put a Spell on You - Screamin’ Jay Hawkins.
19. Song of the Volga Boatman - The Glenn Miller Orchestra.
20. Putting on the Ritz (From Young Frankenstein).
21. Toccata and Fugue in D Minor-Bach.
22. “The Great Pumpkin” (Linus and Chuck’s ending dialog from “It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown”).

Happy Halloween,

-mixtape

My Electro-Voice Sh1810ses

a.k.a. “What I Didn’t Do Over My Summer Vacation”

With summer now sadly far behind me, I sit and ponder all the tasks I neglected to accomplish over that blessed three-month span of heat, laziness, and procrastination. This act of sad pessimism is something of an annual rite of mine.

The cycle all begins the moment I complete my final, final examination. I purge all forced learning from my mind, sleep every moment possible for at least a week, and then begin to plan away what little extra time I believe to surely be in my future.

Some of this past summer’s goals included:

1. Completing a respectable black-and-white photographic portfolio and then selling my neglected dark-room on ebay.

2. Digitizing nearly a dozen wire-reel recordings for my Grandmother (I plan a separate post on that ordeal in the near future).

3. Configuring my so-called “Studio” to run on Linux (Also a future post, perhaps a column).

4. Assembling a respectable collection of hand-tools solely from killer yard-sale finds.

That was, in the end, just what this summer past was really supposed to be all about: The Summer of the Garage Sale Hop.

I’m not sure just why I so enjoy the company of Elderly knick-knack barterers, wide-eyed book-hounds, and mommy-mommy-can-I-have-this children. I am, by no means, a collector of junk. In fact, I still claim to be working towards that lofty goal of some day living solely out of a back-pack. Perhaps my kinship with the yard-sale lot simply has something to do with the thrill of the chase.

There was an episode of Daria™ in which Jane (hottest cartoon girl ever) described the allure of shopping as something akin to the fulfillment of a subconscious drive for hunting and gathering. Yeah, garage sales are kind of like that. And also, I’m poor.

In the end: my dark room is still neglected, the wire reels are a work in progress, Linux rocks, and I only went yard-sale hopping once—never purchasing a single tool. But imagine my scotch rear’s delight when I stumbled upon the find of the year: a set of free Electro-Voice Sh1810s PA speakers.

More on them soon,

-mixtape

Confessions of a CNN Zombie

or “How I spent my 9-11-01″

En route to economics, I overheard something about a plane crash in Manhattan, but thought little of it at the time. Some minutes later, my visibly distraught professor silenced our unusually talkative class with a frantic entrance and desperate imperative for us to all go home. He then stormed out of the lecture hall without offering any explanation whatsoever for his erratic behavior. I was left wondering just what the hell was going on.

A small number of my classmates fiddled with the in-class television to no avail. I walked outside and hopped a shuttle-bus, wherein I rode alone and learned from a local radio personality that my poor economic professor’s temple had been defiled. I later learned that a close associate of his had died that awful September morning.

I spent the following weeks affixed to various media spigots, all in a vain attempt of understanding the wherefores and the whys. I honestly felt ashamed at my inability to understand the whys, and rather overcompensated in my subsequent information search. To this very day, I find myself all too prone to hours of red-eyed CNN gluttony.

-mixtape

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Tags: Personal, Opinion, 9/11, CNN, Zombie

Earthquake Daydreams

It’s the kind of low rumbling that tires your ears without being the least bit painful—a sound that you feel far more than hear.

The University I attend (and we’ll use the term “attend” rather loosely here), is built directly atop a rather nasty geologic fault. I’ve been told that the fault runs directly below the visiting team’s seating of our football stadium. I’ve often daydreamed of the earth opening wide and swallowing whole the opposing team mid-victory celebration, and our scrappy team subsequently winning by forfeiture. I’m not exactly sure just what the rules are regarding indefinite game delay by way of the biblical annihilation of the opposing team, however; it might actually go in the books as a draw. I’ll have to check into it.

Anyway, having lived in the area for the greater portion of my life, I’ve received all the grade-school earthquake training that one would expect. Perhaps you know the sort: Crawl under your desk, assume the fetal position, and wait for the world to collapse around you. And so I thought myself prepared for the eventuality.

There I was, failing a quiz, when that deep, dark rumbling began. I looked at my fellow classmates to ensure myself that I had not just finally snapped, but that something was, in fact, awry. The uncertainty in my classmates’ eyes slowly turned to worry. For a brief moment, I too was anxious, but then peace overcame me. The thought literally occurred to me that even a fiery death by magma could be no worse that the quiz I was currently taking. Worry turned to hope, and I sat for a moment, eagerly awaiting the worst.

Nothing happened. I failed my quiz. My favorite building on campus (the old foreign language building) had been demolished by a wrecking ball in order to make way for a new, sate-of-the-art reason to yet again increase my tuition.

-mixtape

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Tags: Random, Earthquake, Story

Watermelons and Sudden Hearing Loss

It’s just an old game I suppose—something you play during the early stages of dating in order to avoid the threat of any serious conversation.

“If you were to permanently lose one of your senses,” it’s been known to begin, “which of them would it be?”

****

I once attended a watermelon bust of sorts. It involved firearms. In the ensuing chaos, which can only be described as redneck, I nearly lost my head. At the time, I wasn’t sure whether I had, in fact, escaped entirely unscathed. The concussion of the blast alone was painful enough to leave me checking my ears for blood, but pinky-fingers returned again as welcomely pink as ever.

Thankfully, I had not perforated my eardrums. I had, however, lost all hearing in my right ear. Not new to the upper exponential curve of sound pressure, I thought little of it and simply awaited the ringing that would preface the slow return of my hearing.

Days past, however; and I was as deaf as ever. I felt out-of-balance. It was exceptionally difficult to judge sounds’ points of origin. I grew tired of asking people to repeat themselves, and simply smiled and nodded rather often instead. Familiar music sounded foreign and discomforting.

I recall awakening one morning with a start. Fear had gotten hold of me. It was a goal of mine then to some day become a capable translator, but I knew in my quickly beating heart that that dream would now never materialize.

I researched sudden hearing loss on the Internet and was upset by what I read. Almost a week to the day, however, I began to hear, very faintly at first, that steady, welcome tone of forgiveness, and promised my ears to be kinder to them in the future.

****

Take my sight, it’s more trouble than it’s worth.

-mixtape

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Tags: Watermelons, Sudden, Hearing, Loss

My Own Personal Hell

Until tonight, I hadn’t walked out on a lecture since the Botany Ordeal of 2001. Of course, tonight’s little episode didn’t have all the glamor as that particular highlight in my educational career. I mostly just skulked this time—no impromptu door-slamming or anything.

****

I had a tooth abscess while residing in a small, former East-German town. I didn’t have enough money for Novocaine, just folded my arms about my stomach and held on for dear life. The searing heat of the drill, the unexpected taste of blood—I felt my face flush; sweat began to bead on my forehead, but I managed not to pass out.

A year earlier, while still stateside, I had a hole in my abdominal wall patched outpatient. Following surgery, I took my pain medication on an empty stomach. All in knots, I hobbled to the loo, but once there realized that it was simply far too painful to throw-up. It also happened to be far too painful not to. I sat between the toilet and the wall for hours and alternated dry-heaving and reeling in pain. I never could bring myself to do the deed.

In each of the prior instances, I truly believed that I had discovered hell on earth. Little did I know that my own personal hell would turn out to be a night course in Human Resource Management. The handshakes of glib jr. capitalists, the pop-psychology buzz-word spouting professor, the feigned emotion—it all brought me to fondly dream of the dentist’s chair.

-mixtape

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Tags: Random, Personal, Hell, Post

Dance, Dance Fever

There is a dance that only I know. It was born of photographic-dark-room-red-light induced boredom. It involves spazmatic head twitches, elements of skanking, and the swinging of an invisible pocket watch.

I have since caught myself cutting this veritable rug on a number of over-joyous occasions—none of which have thankfully reached beyond the confines of solitude. And so I labor to keep this so-called “dance” in check, but fear that someday a strong enough stimulus might elicit this jig-response uncontrollable, and quash my very reason for spinning it in the first place.

Dance on,

-mixtape

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Tags: Random, Dance, Fever