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Posts for the date of Friday, August 30, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 7:39 AM |
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Today marks the one-year anniversary of “Confessions of a Geek.” One year of writing this . . . um . . . stuff.
We’ve been through at least seven designs, a few aborted attempts at new formats, and several weird-linking situations. In that year I’ve some how managed to top 7000 visits to this crappy little site and, I have to ask, why?
I mean, sure, sometimes I say some funny things. I make an ass of myself, that’s my forte. But, really, what has this site offered to the world?
Well, we’ve discussed the concept of Wang Chung, body pillows, irrational fears, hot dog conspiracies, robo-rats, purple fuzz monkeys, toothbrush technology, breastfeeding and much more. Too much more.
How far we have come from my first entry that stated:
“This is my first blog. More later. Ack. Ack.”
Right. Um, yeah. What was I thinking?
Since I’ve blogged my family has grown by one (young Gertrude) and Matilda has burned through first grade and started second. I’ve left one horrible, terrible, no good job and started off on my own. Plus, I’ve read three and one half Harry Potter books.
Most importantly, however, is that I’ve been writing pretty much every day. Every single day. That’s good. I haven’t done that since college. Now that I do this I have ideas and things to write about, even if they have nothing to do with this site. I’ve got book ideas, film ideas, and proposals for NASA on why I should command the next shuttle mission. Not bad for someone who previously hadn’t completed any writing since 1995.
But, now I’m back. And for this I blame GeekFriend, for showing me Blogger and James Lileks himself for inspiring me to be the idiot I am.
And I have you to thank, dear reader. For some reason you come back every day. Even when I’m not being particularly witty and insightful. And sometimes you email to give me some encouragement or thanks. And that means a lot.
So, have a good long weekend (those of you in the US). If you’re one of my pregnant readers, tell your husband to treat you right this weekend. Put your feet up and let him get you whatever you want.
And if you’re one of my breastfeeding mom readers, give your little tyke a hug for me and tell them they have a good mom.
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Posts for the date of Thursday, August 29, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 8:55 AM |
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Well. I was up late last night, worked hard all day yesterday and will rinse, lather and repeat today. Except for now, of course. I’m goofing off right now.
One has to wonder why “goofing off” is a horrible thing. Why must we be so serious all the time? What greater good does it serve to be a scowling grouch during work? Sure, I understand being serious about your work. That is necessary. But why is it wrong to sing, air guitar and leap from your chair dancing to release some excess energy?
Not that I’ve ever done that. Really. I’m a very quiet reserved human being. That’s why I no longer work in the office. I just can’t handle that wild office life of eating yogurt, scheduled bathroom breaks and water cooler water.
I think, if I ever open my own office, I’d insist on high quality work and a complete disregard for seriousness outside of that work. Right now I’m doing very good work for my clients. They seem to like it. Do they know that right now I’m wearing a green crocodile visor from the zoo? No. Because everything I write for them is nice and serious. And I don’t wear it when I go to see them because, well . . . it would disturb them.
And if they ever make shoes with blinky lights for adults, I'd wear those too.
My lovely wife stayed home with me while I worked once. She wondered if I always acted that way. I said, “yes.”
“That way” consisted of the following:
· Talking to myself in an English accent
· Referring to the computer as “Trevor”
· Dancing to a particularly groovy song
· Disagreeing with myself and subsequently firing me. I was later rehired as it was deemed that the employment pool in our house was too shallow.
· More dancing
· Talking like Mickey Mouse
· Saying, “Uh huh huh ha ha wee wooo!”
· Dancing with my chair as a partner
· Hiding under the windowsill and peeking out the window whenever a white van drove by and screaming, “They’re here! My God they found me!” and then putting on a tin foil hat so they couldn’t read my thoughts.
But I got my work done, hit my deadlines and drank WAY too much coffee (which leads to bad, bad dancing).
When I worked in an office, I always had various toys on my desk, along with my now defunct Fargo Snow Globe (moment of silence). I also had a PT Cruiser hot wheel, a Mickey Mouse figurine, a giant coffee cup, a signed photo of Harrison Ford, and an odd alien that squirts water. Oh, and a motorized replica of the Walt Disney World monorail (pull it back and watch it zoom!). However, the greatest addition to any desk I could ever have came after I worked in public (sigh).
For my birthday this year GeekFriend gave me (among other things) an oddly decorated glass jar. It contains black and white pictures of tribal piercings, mummies, monkeys and more. When you open the jar it is dark and black. Then you see it. A replica of a dismembered human ear (see Blue Velvet for the reference). I could really freak out some office mates with that one. Heh.
I wonder why I’m always the “office weird guy”?
I’ve met one person in my life who shared my love for office mayhem. His name is Ken and he had more toys than I did. He’s my office hero. He could tease someone and it would take them weeks to figure out the he was making fun of them. As far as I know, I was his greatest ally and nemesis rolled into one. When we played “one-up” I could keep it going, at his expense. He loved it. I loved it.
The greatest thing in Ken’s office was a stuffed monkey that hung from the ceiling.
“What’s that,” I innocently asked one day. Ken looked at me with a malicious grin.
“That’s Spank. My monkey,” he said.
Pure, evil brilliance.
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Posts for the date of Wednesday, August 28, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 8:07 AM |
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Today is Wondermints day in the O’Brien household. I’ve ripped all the CDs onto my hard drive, put them on shuffle and am enjoying the wonder that are the wonderful Wondermints. If I could only share with you the visceral enjoyment that is “Arnoldo Said.” Alas, you’ll just have to go out and buy “Bali.”
Before I get into my usual self-important drudgery, I feel I have to say something. Yesterday, John did something insanely nice for me. Because of John’s intervention, I will now be able to watch the Sopranos fourth season real time, rather than via DVD a year later. However, I have to get caught up first (hurry up mail!!!!).
John’s act of generosity is rather interesting, when you think about it. Truth is, we’ve never met. I’ve never seen John face to face. Yet, over the last three years, we’ve done a lot of work together thanks to the magic of the Internet. He helps me with my computer, we come up with amazing ideas (some of which we’ll actually do someday) and work on his website. Despite the fact that my experience with him has been on the phone or via email, I feel that I’ve grown rather close to him. The fact that we live 1200 miles away from each other is irritating. For example, when he was building his new server I bet I would have been handing him tools like Igor if we lived a few blocks away rather than a few states away.
I hope to see him face to face early next year as we launch our latest and greatest project for world consumption.
Anyway, thanks John. For your kindness, support, the knowledge you’ve imparted upon me and, of course, your friendship.
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So, what have I learned since yesterday’s blathering about music? Not a hell of a lot, to be honest. I’ve gotten some really great recommendations ranging from indie lo fi to instrumental gospel. Each act was accompanied by some wonderful superlatives about the particular attributes that make them special. I look forward to checking them out and following the threads that are connected to them.
It’s a horrible moment when an explorer discovers a dead end. And yesterday I felt that way. I’ve gone so far as to turn down an Elvis Costello concert. My love for Elvis has not diminished a bit. However, there were extenuating circumstances that I couldn’t bear.
First, I couldn’t get the seats I wanted. And to be honest, I’ve come to far in life to stand on the floor smelling other people while I’m trying to listen to the music. Secondly, I recently missed a concert I desperately wanted to see because of extenuating circumstances (That would have been Stew, for those keeping score).
I’m not upset about Elvis because, well, I’ve seen him. He and I have had a long relationship. So, I think he’ll understand if I don’t show up. Actually, Elvis was the second act on a whirlwind few years where I got to see every member of my “Must see before I die” list. (Roger Waters, Elvis Costello, David Byrne, Brian Wilson). Between August 1999 and October 2001, I saw all four. I also threw in Bruce Springsteen for good measure (and many others, but those were the important ones).
Plus, after too many concerts to count, I feel like I may be done with the big-ticket guys for a while. Of course, I’d see Brian Wilson again without question.
Now I want to focus on seeing people like Stew live. I missed The Apples in Stereo last year. And Guided By Voices (not one of my favorite bands, but watching Robert Pollard self-destruct on stage has a certain car-wreck appeal). And a few others like The Flaming Lips.
I hear Stew will return. I won’t miss it this time. I also hope The Wondermints (guys, you need a homepage! Talk to Patrick.) wander through my little town. And Splitsville, Sparkle*Jets UK, The Orange Peels, Hutch, Apples in Stereo, Steve Ward and more. And hey, a certain guy named Steve is supposed to be coming out with an album. Hurry Steve! I like what I've heard. I like songs about Science and Love!
One can hope, can’t he?
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Posts for the date of Tuesday, August 27, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 7:53 AM |
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I feel like I’m in a rut. A musical rut. I can’t seem to find a comfortable place where music makes me happy and I can listen for hours on end in happiness.
There was once a time when I could listen to the same album over and over and over and over until it was worn out and I could play each part on its respective instrument without bothering to know how to play said instrument.
In fifth through seventh grade it was Van Halen. I was a total addict. I wore the shirts and hats and had Eddie Van Halen plastered all over my walls. I wanted to dress like him, act like him and marry Valerie Bertonelli like him. I didn’t, however have a desire to have a cocaine and alcohol problem or be an arrogant ass. So I grew out of it (though my inexplicable love for their music lasted until my freshman year of college).
In high school it was Led Zeppelin. Constant listens to Physical Graffiti somehow gave me a new level of consciousness. I was cool and hip and groovy, even though I never said groovy. I could quote the dreamy lyrics of Robert Plant the way some people can quote the bible.
High school also meant Jimi Hendrix and any other guitar god known to man. Jeff Beck, Clapton, Stevie Ray Vaughan and blues legends like Buddy Guy and BB King. I was learning how to expand my horizons but I was still limited to the familiar.
In college I got into Springsteen and Dylan. I was moving toward the intellectual. Then I discovered Elvis Costello. Elvis is the one musical act that most people identify me with. I don’t think I look like an Elvis Costello fan, but I must have the smell or something.
I continued my love for blues and cultivated my love for off-the-beat-path music.
Then my brother introduced me to Pet Sounds by the Beach Boys and I became enamored with the amazing sounds of Brian Wilson’s genius and insanity (Sweet Insanity, to be specific).
Around the same time a friend from work started introducing me to music that was so far off the beaten track that you had to go to specialized stores to find it. Yet another friend was showing me contemporary classical music. And yet another friend was trying to get me into French pop.
And it happened. My musical identity fractured and exploded. I had no identifiable music, per se (though Power Pop seems to be what most people peg me for). Rather I am a musical schizophrenic. My hard drive is filled with various music that I play all day long as I work. An example of any give hour:
Ben Folds, Antonio Carlos Jobim, Loud Family, Coldplay, Radiohead, Elvis Costello, Aimee Mann, Cherry Twister, Moby, Rocking Teenage Combo, Beach Boys, The Faces, Velvet Underground, Stew, Wondermints, Splitsville, Belle and Sebastian, Call and Response, Linus of Hollywood, Charles Mingus, Louis Prima, Air, Arling & Cameron, Sterolab, High Llamas, Bruce Springsteen, The Flaming Lips, Michael Nyman, Damon Albaron, Apples in Stereo, Cornelius, Ramones . . .
It goes on. I like myself now, musically. I enjoy knowing all these bands as a group rather than being stuck in a genre. I like the fact that I knew who Ryan Adams, Ben Kweller and Norah Jones were long before the masses picked up on their talent. I like that I’m told that I listen to the weirdest music only to then be told that my CD compilations are works of genius. I like handing someone a CD I made and watching their face as The Kinks deftly fade into The Magnetic Fields before you’re assaulted with The Flashing Lights.
But lately . . . I feel too fragmented. Too far spread across the musical map. Too undefined. Do they have prescription drugs for this?
I’m looking forward to the new Negro Problem CD and the new Wondermints. But those are one and two weeks off from release. I’ll listen to them until they’re worn out, that’s for sure.
I realized that I’m addicted to discovery and I’m running out of avenues to trod. I went on a musical bacchanal for the last several years and I’ve just woken up with an aural hang over. I don’t know where I am or where to go.
Any ideas? Know any good music that cannot possibly live without? (Thanks to John for his latest recommendation, by the way.)
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Posts for the date of Monday, August 26, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 8:04 AM |
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What runs through the mind of a baby when it dreams? What thoughts occur to that slumbering mind? Are they based on what they know or do they ascend to a different level of consciousness where they can interpret what they see through a more sophisticated eye?
This morning, Baby Gertrude lay slumbering in our bed while we waited to get into the shower, the alarm only minutes away from buzzing. If she had been put back in her bed she surely would have woken up again, after her pre-dawn food. So it was for our sanity that she slept between us.
I awoke to find her head planted firmly in my back with her little hand grasping my arm. She was quiet and content. But, I was hanging off the bed, so she had to be moved, lest I fall and crack my skull on the nightstand.
She was moved into a position that was parallel to mine and she stirred. A little back scratching and she was slumbering once again. With her held in my arms, a contentment which most of the world surely cannot understand, I fell back into slumber.
And was interrupted by the alarm. I leaned over and shut it off, cursing the forward movement of time in moments as perfect as this. Why must I give up a cuddling baby for the purposes of work and obligation? Would my talents not serve me better here? Should I not shirk all other duties and simply love this child with all my might?
She began to whimper and stir, but did not awaken. Rather, she seemed troubled in her sleep as she kicked her chubby little feet and furrowed her cute little brow.
She was having a nightmare. A nine-month old’s version, at least.
What could she have been dreaming about? Running out of food? Being left in a room alone? An uncomfortable diaper?
And yet she dreamed. No thoughts of crime, punishment or taxes. She probably wasn’t dreaming of mortal danger or accidentally going to her sitter’s naked. She likes being naked. So, what was bothering her? What process was that little mind running? Where were her thoughts?
I’ll never know the level of sophistication of her little brain waves, I suppose. All I can do in those moments, awake or asleep, is hold her. Assure her that she is safe and loved.
And that’s what I did. I put my arm around her to let her know that daddy was there. She cuddled up closer to me and heaved a contented sigh.
And then she farted.
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