Film and Music:

the title of Will Straw’s fall seminar, also sums up my weekend. Three nights of movies (tonight will be War of the Worlds) , and many hours logged in the studio.

One thing tthat sucks about doing it as a hobby is that you have to do all the maintenance stuff yourself. I’d been putting off a software update and then got a notice about a week ago from Waves (they make software plugins) that I had to do it in the next couple weeks or pay (you get a year to do free updates when you buy their software). Actually, if I didn’t LIKE some of the Waves stuff so much (both sonically and in terms of very well designed interfaces, as opposed to “fake” knobs on a screen), I would stay away from them like the plague. They have an elaborate copy-protection scheme on their software (based on the expectation — probably correct — that lots of people will try to pirate it) which means that, essentially, if they ever go out of business or if I update beyond a certain point (new machine, new OS), I will no longer have access to the plugins I have legally purchased. I don’t use Kracks mainly because I want everything to work as perfectly as possible and I want tech support when I have a problem (it’s a hobby — I’d prefer not to have to tinker more than necessary), but Waves just begs for it. Their copy protection scheme essentially punishes users for buying the product legally. You can imagine that I’m pretty hostile to Digital Rights Management in mp3s, but that’s another story. . . .

Anyway, after all the maintenance and learning a new secret-weapon plugin (it was complicated enough that I had to actually spend a few hours doing their tutorial), I have “finished” a song, and I’m now planning to focus on recording for the next week or two to try and get this lo-boy CD fully drafted. Then Mike can have a listen, I can make changes, go get it mastered (time to acquaint myself with the top mastering engineers within driving distance) and then we decide how to release it.

Moving/Canada Day Addendum

Walking in the neighborhood Friday night and Saturday, we saw lots of people in the process of setting up or taking down a new home. In several cases, it looked like new tenants had to throw out objects left by old tenants: chairs, couches, beds, and even a few appliances. There is a new tenant in our building, or at least evidence of one — a fragment of a cardboard box outside our door, and the doormat had been placed up against the wall, probably so someone didn’t slip while carrying a heavy object up to the 4th floor. Desperation, exhaustion, abandonment. That’s why it was almost exclusively large objects and little pieces of things, and almost nothing inbetween. As I know well from last year, moving is the time when you consider your relationship to objects.

Isotopes 21, False Consciousness 12

Another week, another loss. At least our ERA is consistent. However, it’s not how you win or lose, but how you play the game.

Coach Greg gets kudos for two homers, some awesome fielding and excellent moral support. Heidi was also MVP calibre, with outstanding fielding and a bunch of hits. Other notables include two singles each by Andrea and Tamara, Greg’s cousin Peter’s left fielding and massive hits, and another spectacular catch by Carrie in the outfield (from the shortstop position). She was a woman in the right place at the right time. Vera and I both hope to catch foul balls next game. We both came close. Greg and Dana joined us as a spousal team.

As for me, a single and zero errors at first base. Gotta work on the hitting, though. I’m swinging early and getting under the ball.

The Isotopes were really cool. Physicists. They were in good humor the whole game and several guys chatted me up at first base. Gotta like that.

But the real story of this game for me, anyway, was pain. Somehow I didn’t notice how years away from team sports affected my body, but this week the chickens came home to roost. Academics talk all the time about psychic pain, but physical pain has not been a big part of my world for a long time apart from a sore back from moving and so forth. Earlier this week, I pulled a muscle in my leg and though it felt fine to walk, bend, etc., it hurt like hell to run. Holy shit, I had no idea how much it was going to hurt. In true meathead sports fashion, I played through the injury, though I was really slow on the base running. There was one throw I would have beaten last week.

It wasn’t just me. Heidi was limping for a good part of the game and had similar issues (though she seemed faster than me). Poor Jessica stopped at least one ball with her leg for the second week in a row. Andrea was wearing knee braces.

I too am sore in weird places. Less so than last week, though. And it feels kind of good. It’s almost like it means something different when it’s connected with team sports.

Muscle pain is old-school. There is an exquisiteness to its sophistication and variety. This must be how wine enthusiasts feel about wine.

And a small work-related thought

Since the new book is a short book, I’m skipping around from section to section as I write. Thing is, I find myself obsessed with the introduction. part of it is even pretty good (which is really early for this to be happening) but I am at once captivated by the need to work on it and at the same time haunted by the fact that whatever I write will be invalid by the time I finish the rest of the book.

This must be what they mean by neurosis.

At the Grocery Store

and now another post about domestic labor.

When I need a supermarket, I shop at this huge, lovely Loblaw’s over in the old train station on the east side of town (rue Rachel, for the locals). Although Carrie sometime comes with, I’ve done the majority of grocery shopping for years now. Shortly before I left Pittsburgh, I noticed that at the Giant Eagle store they started moving stuff around. Like every week. It was hugely frustrating, as it meant I had to think about where to find things and spend more time in the store, rather that doing my chore and getting out. Which was, I imagine, exactly the point. Anyway, the Loblaw’s on Rachel is like that, except that I think a crazy person, or someone who really enjoys hallucinogenic drugs, is in charge of their stocking. It’s not just that stuff gets moved around but that from week to week it is impossible to predict on what days there will be diet soda in stock, good quality produce, or various veggie-meat products in stock that are favored by our household. Never mind using the same conditioner or deodorant from week to week. I thought maybe (and forgive me for saying this), it was some kind of laid-back Quebec thing I didn’t get. But today, as I was walking out, I noticed that the magazine shelves were almost completely empty. Which is clearly some kind of screwup because it looks bad and doesn’t get anybody to spend any extra time in the store. Why don’t I shop somewhere else, you ask? Because I’m lazy. Actually, I like to hit the marche maissoneuve for produce and fresh goods whenever possible, but sometimes you need a supermarket.

Case in point: Today, in the cleaning goods aisle, I am loading four(1) containers of the rubber-nipple covered swiffer liquid into my cart when a woman asks me, in French, if my wife likes the swiffer wet jet. At least that’s what I think she asked me (i know she said “femme” at one point). I said “oui oui! ce tres bon!” but that doesn’t really capture it, now does it? I thought it odd that she assumed that I didn’t do the mopping, but then it’s really not that odd, is it?

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One for the spam archives: I just got a “Nigerian Scam” email with the subject like “please I need your urgent ass”

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1. While we were gone, they had to jackhammer the concrete in the laundry room to replace a pipe. There’s a lot of cleanup to do.