Frustrations and Music Geekery
I was very productive yesterday, but, as is typical when I have to interact with bureaucracy and large clots of strangers at length, things went awry.
I managed to gas up my car without getting hassled for change or having to sell vital internal organs to afford the petrol, and that seemed like a good start. Then I went to the bank, and that, likewise, went well. I should have known better.
I got stuck in traffic on my way to a radio station meeting and arrived just as it was ending. It had apparently been a short gathering. I got trained on the new system (easy-peasy drag and drop MacOS programming database) by Rhys and arranged to drop off the usual "this doesn't fit my format" submissions from MySpacers to Robert and chatted with John about the lack of booking agents in Savannah (Tiny Team is the only one we know of; other booking agents appear to specialize in quarterly party nights, or clubs book on their own without outsider influence) and a mutual friend/acquaintance in Atlanta, Stomp'n'Stammer's Jeff Clark, my favourite muso-guru curmudgeon. I'd have spoken with the women, but they are a minority at the station, and the few I spotted were giggling dramatically about something they found hilarious. I think it was Brandyn's haircut. I didn't get the joke, but I wasn't meant to be in on it. Having never been big on being a giggler, I probably would have sucked at it had I tried it.
I also offered to drop some MP3s off in a folder for Robert to peruse and possibly add to the database. I've been meaning to pin him down about this for almost a year, so now I have to remember to bring my iAudio in with the relevant files so I can follow through.
I like my radio gig. More and more, I am considered a Music Trivia Expert. If I don't know, I can usually find out. Questions asked this week:
Q: That BP advert with the cartoon babies in it, the one that has the chorus "Say Hey"? Like, who did that song?
A: Like, Message of the Blues did that song, but the "Say Hey" version was done solely for BP. You can Google around to snag a copy of the song "L.A." which is the same tune, different lyrics, more Cheesemaster 6000 organ sounds. There are also ways to get a copy for free, but if I told you how, I'd have to kill you.
Q: That advert where the lady does magic tricks and a guy drives a scooter into a truck and a phone booth explodes into water? And it talks about music boxes or something? What's that song?
A: It's a snippet from Regina Spektor's "Music Box," but you will likely be disappointed with the song if you track it down, because she goes into some strange rant about drinking dirty, soapy dish water in the middle part. (WTF, okay?)
Q: There's an ad for a Mac iPod thingie and this lady counts to four and talks abotu teenage dreams and stuff, and I like the song. I think it is a video iPod or something. It's upside down in one scene.
A: Feist. "One Two three Four." Same woman who did "Mushaboom".
Q: What was that song in (about ten different adverts)?
A: Probably something by Persephone's Bees. I hear their songs (in about ten different adverts) all the time. It used to be Goldfrapp everywhere.
Q: Who does the theme song for House, M.D.? How about The 4400?
A: Massive Attack's "Teardrop", and Amanda Abazaid. I have no idea what the song title is, it was never released commercially (at least not before I tracked down and downloaded it).
Q: Is that an Oasis song in the AT&T commercials? Is that The Who in the opening credits for CSI (multiple versions)?
A: Yes. Yes, it is. Well-spotted.
Q: What were you playing when you parked your car? It sounded like the Cardigans, but had more screechy guitar stuff.
A: Probably Metric. I'll check. It should still be on the same song or the one after, as I stuck a bunch of stuff onto cassette months ago.
Then I asked some dumb questions about some CDs on prominent display that looked sucky just from the cover art. They were indeed on a Wall Of Shame for being utterly putrid and vile. I was surprised none of the unsolicited MySpace submissions I got which completely ignored my genre requirements were there. I have gotten angry, gothy alt-country rap before. Yes, all together. It was so bad I wanted to go back in time and kill all their grandparents so even their parents never existed. OMG BAD. Stop offending me with shit. What, after looking at the extensive artist list and playlists available, made these people think their music was even remotely relevant? Apparently the music director was feeling evil one day and gave their CD out as a promotion. Way to discourage listeners, d00d. I would have stuck it in a microwave.
Speaking of bad, I found "The Beachles" via a torrent and wow, do I ever regret downloading it. This is how mashups should NOT be done.
Lesson One: Do not stick songs in two different keys together.
Lesson Two: Do not stick songs of two different tempos together.
Lesson Three: Do not add video game noises for no apparent reason.
Lesson Four: Making a song seven minutes long does not make it better.
Lesson Five: When ripping off a recognizable phrase from a recognizable artist's recognizable song, do not do so in such a way that it sounds like a record is skipping.
Lesson Six: It helps if the songs have some relevance to each other.
Lesson Seven: Amateurs should never fuck with the Beach Boys' Pet Sounds.
Lesson Eight: No one at all should fuck with the Beatles' Sgt. Pepper.
My ears are still mad at me. It was a discordant horror. Occasionally I'd prick up my ears and think the mash-up-er had finally hit upon a winning formula, and he'd fuck it up! Crappy digidrums! Crappy editing! Out-of-time synching! Atonal overlaps! BAD!! Grrr!! God Only Knows what he was thinking.
There was also a long rant about how the record companies who own the rights to the recordings were all narked off at him. In this case, it was probably not the copyright infringement so much as how BAD the mash-ups were. A good concept gone horribly wrong. I think I could have done better, and I haven't ever even touched any mixing equipment in my life. HOT MESS, I say! Guys who do it right, even if I don't like everything they do, include The Kleptones (who ripped off Queen), Mark Vidlow (I think he's Go Home Productions), Lenlow (Luke Enlow), the guy who does "RX" (uses George Bush vocal sampling for MAJOR LULZ), John Irwin. I've even heard a few (gasp) MTV mashups that aren't totally horrendous. Sampling can be done well. Right off the top of my head: The Beatles used it (number nine! number nine!), Moby uses it, Black Grape, Propellerheads, Primitive Radio Gods, White Town, UNKLE, lots of electronica artists. Ash sampled kung fu movie sounds for their ode to Jackie Chan, "Kung Fu" and The Walker Brothers for "Candy" (brilliantly; we bonded over this and other things, such as me knowing who Patience and Prudence were, LOL). On the other hand, people like Puff Daddy actively destroy good songs (Kashmir? Ohnohedidn't!), and I loathe a lot of hip hop. But that is just me. Some artists get ripped off a lot (the drum introduction from Led Zeppelin's "When the Levee Breaks" shows up in songs by the Beastie Boys, Dr. Dre, Eminem, Mike Oldfield and Erasure), and some don't, but are used so distinctively that once you pinpoint the source, you can't "unhear" it and other artist will probably not try to snag the same source (the guitar riffs from Foreigner's "Hot Blooded" in Tone-Loc's "Funky Cold Medina"). And then there's theft. Vanilla Ice was reviled for his unauthorised use of a sample from the Queen/David Bowie hit "Under Pressure". Vanilla Ice claimed it was all totally legit because he added one single grace note not present in the original. In the late 1990s, The Verve was forced to pay 100% of their royalties from their hit "Bitter Sweet Symphony" for the use of an unlicensed sample from an orchestral cover version of The Rolling Stones' hit "The Last Time". In this case, it wasn't even a sample from the original, but a sample from a derivative work can still get you in legal hot water. Danger Mouse and Jay-Z both got C&D (cease and desist) orders from EMI over their use of Beatle song samples from The White Album.
Sorry, this is a subject which brings out geekery. Another topic I can get boring about is genre spoofs. Such as "Ming Tea" from the Austin Powers film, The Rutles (Beatles), The Kaisers (Cavern-era Beatles), The Penetrators (surf), Spinal Tap (various, but mostly HEVVY UMLAUTED METUL!!!EINZ!!!oneone1!), "Velvet Goldmine" (glam era), Hedwig & the Angry Inch (more glitter/glam), modern "Mod" groups, The Darkness (70s cockrock), Momus (you name it), et cetera. A good, smart, well-done genre spoof makes me happy. I like this sort of thing in books, too. Jasper Fforde sporks a lot of various Great Works (and not-so-great) Of Literature in his novels, but I can't discuss that with you until Big Martin gets here. I also get a little geeky over covers and versions of songs. I'm a real hit at parties. (Well, if some of the party-goers are musicians, we all co-geek, and thus that is not as sarcastic a statement as it was intended to be.)
You know what a cool job would be? Choosing the music for adverts and soundtracks. I need to find out what that job title is and how to get hired to do that. I assume it is tied in with music licensing.
My next task was to make sure my stupid security keycard would work, so I can actually DO my flarping radio show this week. I'd been to York several times over the summer and they were UTTER PHAIL at activating the blasted thing properly, so I had to go to Turner. That's always an adventure. You have to park a mile a way, then pass through the Bike Farm Maze. Undergrads are fond of their Schwinns and Huffies, and the difference between Turner in the summertime and Turner when the kids are in residence is dramatic. I haven't seen so many bikes even in a bike shop. Most of them ride around encumbered with Bluetooth phone clips on one ear and an MP3 earpiece on the other and weave in and out of traffic like embroidery floss through cloth, ignoring the colour of the traffic signals, just like the young immortals they perceive themselves to be. I dread going to Turner, because there's always at least a half dozen bikers popping out from behind buildings, parked cars and wormholes from other dimensions and missing one or both of my bumpers by micromillimeters. It's like my nerves get slowly nibbled to death by mice in bike helmets. If nothign else, it verifies that I still have adrenaline in my system. I'm typically pretty phlegmatic and calm by nature.
So I attempt to get my card done, and have to trek back over to York for a sticker. Not the original plan. I, and a cloud of gnat-like bikers, all got onto Liberty and headed that way. York has twelve parking spots to serve 14,000 or so students. Good planning, there. So I got sick of circling, then finding someone had left and a new person had taken the spot, and so I just hovered (imagine Snoopy on top of his doghouse pretending to be a fierce vulture, lurking) until someone left. This proved to be a satisfactory solution.
I was directed to log on and verify I really, really wanted (zig a zig ah!) to renew my parking pass. Since the alternative is paying thousands of dollars in parking and towing fines, I felt that yes, perhaps I would like to do so. The directions posted next to the computers that one must log into to re-re-re-verify that you really, really want (zig a zig ah!) to not have to visit the flippin' tow yard this quarter were almost completely wrong. I did better to ignore them and futz around and find the right spot on the intraweb myself. This year the stickers are on the outside of the windscreen, a decision I can immediately find a problem with. They can easily be peeled off and put on someone else's stupid car. Good planning there, SCAD. Yeesh.
I then foolishly decided I wanted to get my haircut before picking up some groceries. I went to the mall (the horror, the horror!) and on the way to the salon therein, espied some Pucci-esque printed tops. WANTed, so I bought some. Then I spotted a bra sale. WANTed that, too, so I bought MOAR. Then I waited for an hour an a half as the salon staff forgot I was there and then decided that they couldn't manage a simple trim and shape. Gloriosky. I was annoyed, and they asked if I'd come back tomorrow. Um, no, I'll get a pair of hedge clippers or something and trim it up myself and save myself the cost, time, aggravation and angst, thank you. Yeah, I can't wait to come back and be ignored for another hour and a half. Hold me back, my eagerness might otherwise be unseemly.
So I fussed off to the Kroger, Purse-snatcher Central, Savannah. I actually had a little cash in my wallet and didn't want to deal with the shitfulness of being ripped off, so I was more anal-retentive than usual about keeping my purse well-watched. I was angry, a bit hungry and not eager to go do any more errands any time soon, so I got a few extra items to put off having to shop for food again any time soon. So I'm at the register, and my farking card gets declined. Yep. I just made a huge deposit, I had more than enough in my account, and hadn't had this happen before. If I got embarrassed, that would have done it.
The next forty-five minutes is spent on my mobile phone, which also sucks. I had to call Bank of America not once, not twice, but three times to get my damn card to go through. Why? Because, Gentle Readers, Your Humble Narrator does not ever really shop for anything. Because I bought some CDs this week for my radio show and some gasoline, undies and tops today, and then I (ZOMG!) wanted food, Bank of America, in their vast non-wisdom, determined that someone had stolen my card. Good job, dumbarses. So my frozen food was actually SLOSHING when I finally got it home. I hope I don't get some food poisoning or anything.
Then, when I got home, I realized that I still had to replace some electronics. Back to the phone. I called Bank of America again and informed them that I would lose my ever-loving mind if I had to deal with their nonsense while replacing my lightning-be-smote electronics. I then asked how secure was it for me to stand in the middle of a crowded grocery store reading off my card number, birth date, address, full name, telephone number, social security number, the city and year in which I opened my account, and so on, not once or twice, but SEVERAL TIMES? Are they daft? I had enough sense not to stand near anyone while doing it, but again, how secure is this? Could they please not give me any grief when I replace my electronics crap, thank you? Supposedly they put a note on my account. They'll call me, but let the charge go through unless I say "don't."
As I'm struggling to stuff my not-really-frozen-anymore food into the freezer, the mobile rings. My mom had a heart monitor strapped to her this week because she "felt faint" more than once. This may sound unsympathetic, but I'm not. She IS a worrywart, however, and she was saddled with a heart monitor after dismissing a simple solution such as "you're stressed, it's hot, you're in your sixties and starting a new job this month," and announcing to the doctor that she had a congenital mitral valve deformity. (It isn't serious, just needs to be worked around, such as taking antibiotics before getting dental work.) So she got me all worked up over that, and then told me the doctor found nothing. All the same, I didn't know at that point, so I rushed to answer it and dropped crap all over the floor. BUGGER.
It was one of my classmates wanting to "just hang out." Dude, no! I already told him several times this week that I'd be swamped this weekend with Programming homework (I dread it, to be honest) and Thesis crap, and we'd only really talked about "hanging out" sometime so I could leech WiFi for non-vital school-related reasons and play with the cat and dog he is pet-sitting (for an acquaintance). I don't know if she even gave permission for anyone other than him to be in her house, and I don't need to mess about with fun stuff when I have work to do. He's an awesome classmate and all, but I am up to my ears in my own Thesis stuff, and I think I'd also be roped into helping him shape his Thesis concept. I did a lot of brainstorming with him last semester and am already being put in that role again, being asked to weigh several loosely-defined ideas and "think out loud" about what he could do to make the ideas more cool, and where he could do more research.
My Thesis prof ribs me constantly about how I'm Queen Researcher and Avid Reader (I and another classmate share the latter crown). So now I'm Queen Researcher for other people, too, and I can't get jazzed up about everyone else's ideas right now, I need to focus on my own. Srsly. It's almost time for my 45 Hour Review. Scary! So, with Programming and Thesis and 45 (oh my!), I can't be nicey-nice about doing other people's grunt work for them this quarter. I just can't. What goes around comes around and all that, but I seriously need to be focused this quarter; usually I can snag an A with minimal effort because I know how to work hard and focus on the research and come up with a good idea. Not that I put minimal effort into it, mind you, I'm just saying I usually don't worry overmuch about my grades. This Programming class is going to kick my butt, though.
I'm dealing with a textbook with errors and a hard-to-read non-monospaced "code" font. The professor keeps confusing me by talking about the next (upcoming!) version of the scripting we are learning, not the current one. The answer key files that came with the text often do not work either! Flipping HELL! This weekend, I need to make a complete Flash 8 website with a preloader, four (minimum) sub-pages, and it has to be artistic and FUNCTIONAL. My Flash experience, such as it was, was button-pushing in Flash MX, not coding. This bites big ween.
In fact, what am I doing on LiveJournal? Time's a-wastin'! To the Flashmobile! (*here's where I'd type some fake ActionScript code to be funny if I thought people would find it amusing*) I did take some source photos for the site last night, so at least that part is done. W00t?
Time to blare some MP3s and cuss out the Flash textbook authors for not proofreading or testing their shit. Stupid ActionScripting. Le sigh.
Also need to call and check on my mom a few times this weekend. I'm ALMOST 100% sure she's just being a worrywart, or that it is merely age-related fatigue (I'm not half as energetic as I was when I was 18). She even has hinted that this is the case. On the other hand, if I blow it off as yet another case of her borrowing trouble and worrying herself to death over a non-issue, it will surely prove to be a serious problem. Better to take it seriously until we know for sure, eh?
Oh, forgot the capper: I went out to pick up my mail, and I am apparently on some hardcore porn video mailing list now. I'm sex-positive and have friends who were are are tangentially involved in the industry, and my lack of judgment but equally strong lack of interest (in their various video projects and recreational multi-somes) is well-known to them, but this stuff was not even remotely sexy stuff, it was just gross and low-budget and chauvinistic and puerile. And that was just the titles / pix on the first page in the thing. EW! I have to wait until Monday to call them up and say "What the hell?" and get off their mailing list. What on earth did I buy to deserve this? If I were going to buy porn, I wouldn't buy this crap. In the meantime, just that one brief glance at the catalogue was enough to make me think sex in general is enormously unappealing. I am in the diametrically-opposed state from "turned on." Way to go, porn mailer. My genitals are cringing, thanks to you. I think I shall invent a traumatized mail-opening young child and threaten to sue them, just to make sure they actually do remove me. These people are like roaches, man. I got a similar catalogue last year from a totally different crew. I buy 99% of my consumer goods online from Amazon. Could AMAZON have sold my address to a porn video company? Egads.
I love dealing with banks, the Mall, college bureaucracy and hoop-jumping, suicidal cyclists, weird construction detours, rush hour traffic, intense heat, trying on bras in a nasty dressing room AND nasty porn all in the space of six hours.
Also, I got a blister.
I handled it all well until I got to the stupid grocery store. That was the straw that broke the camel's back, to coin a phrase. :) Flippin' hell, man, cut me a break. No wonder I hate to leave the house when I don't have to. I'm turning into quite the misanthrope. The whole bank fiasco reminded me of that old Saturday Night Live sketch about people who ruined things for the rest of us. They talked about how nice things used to be before certain people abused the system and forced annoying inconveniences and changes in policy on the rest of society. That's all I can remember about it, but if I ever find a transcript or remember more details, I'll share. I could think up a number of things that have changed for the worse since my childhood (Hallowe'en trick or treating and Girl Scout cookie selling door-to-door? Do parents dare to let their kids do that without supervision anymore? How about the half dozen theft-deterrent devices you have to get removed from everything you buy these days? I could go on.) There are a lot of awesome things that didn't exist then, too, but those seem to be generally "things," not events in day-to-day living.
On the plus side, I don't have to go, do or see anyone or anything until 10PM Sunday, so I can work and not be irritated by life's minor little setbacks. I get to listen to music and get some chores out of the way and take a nap when I feel like I need one and hang out with the ferret and actually get some work done. Hooray!
I might even manage to find a few MP3s to broadcast tomorrow night with my super research skills and some browser plug-ins. Mua ha ha.
I managed to gas up my car without getting hassled for change or having to sell vital internal organs to afford the petrol, and that seemed like a good start. Then I went to the bank, and that, likewise, went well. I should have known better.
I got stuck in traffic on my way to a radio station meeting and arrived just as it was ending. It had apparently been a short gathering. I got trained on the new system (easy-peasy drag and drop MacOS programming database) by Rhys and arranged to drop off the usual "this doesn't fit my format" submissions from MySpacers to Robert and chatted with John about the lack of booking agents in Savannah (Tiny Team is the only one we know of; other booking agents appear to specialize in quarterly party nights, or clubs book on their own without outsider influence) and a mutual friend/acquaintance in Atlanta, Stomp'n'Stammer's Jeff Clark, my favourite muso-guru curmudgeon. I'd have spoken with the women, but they are a minority at the station, and the few I spotted were giggling dramatically about something they found hilarious. I think it was Brandyn's haircut. I didn't get the joke, but I wasn't meant to be in on it. Having never been big on being a giggler, I probably would have sucked at it had I tried it.
I also offered to drop some MP3s off in a folder for Robert to peruse and possibly add to the database. I've been meaning to pin him down about this for almost a year, so now I have to remember to bring my iAudio in with the relevant files so I can follow through.
I like my radio gig. More and more, I am considered a Music Trivia Expert. If I don't know, I can usually find out. Questions asked this week:
Q: That BP advert with the cartoon babies in it, the one that has the chorus "Say Hey"? Like, who did that song?
A: Like, Message of the Blues did that song, but the "Say Hey" version was done solely for BP. You can Google around to snag a copy of the song "L.A." which is the same tune, different lyrics, more Cheesemaster 6000 organ sounds. There are also ways to get a copy for free, but if I told you how, I'd have to kill you.
Q: That advert where the lady does magic tricks and a guy drives a scooter into a truck and a phone booth explodes into water? And it talks about music boxes or something? What's that song?
A: It's a snippet from Regina Spektor's "Music Box," but you will likely be disappointed with the song if you track it down, because she goes into some strange rant about drinking dirty, soapy dish water in the middle part. (WTF, okay?)
Q: There's an ad for a Mac iPod thingie and this lady counts to four and talks abotu teenage dreams and stuff, and I like the song. I think it is a video iPod or something. It's upside down in one scene.
A: Feist. "One Two three Four." Same woman who did "Mushaboom".
Q: What was that song in (about ten different adverts)?
A: Probably something by Persephone's Bees. I hear their songs (in about ten different adverts) all the time. It used to be Goldfrapp everywhere.
Q: Who does the theme song for House, M.D.? How about The 4400?
A: Massive Attack's "Teardrop", and Amanda Abazaid. I have no idea what the song title is, it was never released commercially (at least not before I tracked down and downloaded it).
Q: Is that an Oasis song in the AT&T commercials? Is that The Who in the opening credits for CSI (multiple versions)?
A: Yes. Yes, it is. Well-spotted.
Q: What were you playing when you parked your car? It sounded like the Cardigans, but had more screechy guitar stuff.
A: Probably Metric. I'll check. It should still be on the same song or the one after, as I stuck a bunch of stuff onto cassette months ago.
Then I asked some dumb questions about some CDs on prominent display that looked sucky just from the cover art. They were indeed on a Wall Of Shame for being utterly putrid and vile. I was surprised none of the unsolicited MySpace submissions I got which completely ignored my genre requirements were there. I have gotten angry, gothy alt-country rap before. Yes, all together. It was so bad I wanted to go back in time and kill all their grandparents so even their parents never existed. OMG BAD. Stop offending me with shit. What, after looking at the extensive artist list and playlists available, made these people think their music was even remotely relevant? Apparently the music director was feeling evil one day and gave their CD out as a promotion. Way to discourage listeners, d00d. I would have stuck it in a microwave.
Speaking of bad, I found "The Beachles" via a torrent and wow, do I ever regret downloading it. This is how mashups should NOT be done.
Lesson One: Do not stick songs in two different keys together.
Lesson Two: Do not stick songs of two different tempos together.
Lesson Three: Do not add video game noises for no apparent reason.
Lesson Four: Making a song seven minutes long does not make it better.
Lesson Five: When ripping off a recognizable phrase from a recognizable artist's recognizable song, do not do so in such a way that it sounds like a record is skipping.
Lesson Six: It helps if the songs have some relevance to each other.
Lesson Seven: Amateurs should never fuck with the Beach Boys' Pet Sounds.
Lesson Eight: No one at all should fuck with the Beatles' Sgt. Pepper.
My ears are still mad at me. It was a discordant horror. Occasionally I'd prick up my ears and think the mash-up-er had finally hit upon a winning formula, and he'd fuck it up! Crappy digidrums! Crappy editing! Out-of-time synching! Atonal overlaps! BAD!! Grrr!! God Only Knows what he was thinking.
There was also a long rant about how the record companies who own the rights to the recordings were all narked off at him. In this case, it was probably not the copyright infringement so much as how BAD the mash-ups were. A good concept gone horribly wrong. I think I could have done better, and I haven't ever even touched any mixing equipment in my life. HOT MESS, I say! Guys who do it right, even if I don't like everything they do, include The Kleptones (who ripped off Queen), Mark Vidlow (I think he's Go Home Productions), Lenlow (Luke Enlow), the guy who does "RX" (uses George Bush vocal sampling for MAJOR LULZ), John Irwin. I've even heard a few (gasp) MTV mashups that aren't totally horrendous. Sampling can be done well. Right off the top of my head: The Beatles used it (number nine! number nine!), Moby uses it, Black Grape, Propellerheads, Primitive Radio Gods, White Town, UNKLE, lots of electronica artists. Ash sampled kung fu movie sounds for their ode to Jackie Chan, "Kung Fu" and The Walker Brothers for "Candy" (brilliantly; we bonded over this and other things, such as me knowing who Patience and Prudence were, LOL). On the other hand, people like Puff Daddy actively destroy good songs (Kashmir? Ohnohedidn't!), and I loathe a lot of hip hop. But that is just me. Some artists get ripped off a lot (the drum introduction from Led Zeppelin's "When the Levee Breaks" shows up in songs by the Beastie Boys, Dr. Dre, Eminem, Mike Oldfield and Erasure), and some don't, but are used so distinctively that once you pinpoint the source, you can't "unhear" it and other artist will probably not try to snag the same source (the guitar riffs from Foreigner's "Hot Blooded" in Tone-Loc's "Funky Cold Medina"). And then there's theft. Vanilla Ice was reviled for his unauthorised use of a sample from the Queen/David Bowie hit "Under Pressure". Vanilla Ice claimed it was all totally legit because he added one single grace note not present in the original. In the late 1990s, The Verve was forced to pay 100% of their royalties from their hit "Bitter Sweet Symphony" for the use of an unlicensed sample from an orchestral cover version of The Rolling Stones' hit "The Last Time". In this case, it wasn't even a sample from the original, but a sample from a derivative work can still get you in legal hot water. Danger Mouse and Jay-Z both got C&D (cease and desist) orders from EMI over their use of Beatle song samples from The White Album.
Sorry, this is a subject which brings out geekery. Another topic I can get boring about is genre spoofs. Such as "Ming Tea" from the Austin Powers film, The Rutles (Beatles), The Kaisers (Cavern-era Beatles), The Penetrators (surf), Spinal Tap (various, but mostly HEVVY UMLAUTED METUL!!!EINZ!!!oneone1!), "Velvet Goldmine" (glam era), Hedwig & the Angry Inch (more glitter/glam), modern "Mod" groups, The Darkness (70s cockrock), Momus (you name it), et cetera. A good, smart, well-done genre spoof makes me happy. I like this sort of thing in books, too. Jasper Fforde sporks a lot of various Great Works (and not-so-great) Of Literature in his novels, but I can't discuss that with you until Big Martin gets here. I also get a little geeky over covers and versions of songs. I'm a real hit at parties. (Well, if some of the party-goers are musicians, we all co-geek, and thus that is not as sarcastic a statement as it was intended to be.)
You know what a cool job would be? Choosing the music for adverts and soundtracks. I need to find out what that job title is and how to get hired to do that. I assume it is tied in with music licensing.
My next task was to make sure my stupid security keycard would work, so I can actually DO my flarping radio show this week. I'd been to York several times over the summer and they were UTTER PHAIL at activating the blasted thing properly, so I had to go to Turner. That's always an adventure. You have to park a mile a way, then pass through the Bike Farm Maze. Undergrads are fond of their Schwinns and Huffies, and the difference between Turner in the summertime and Turner when the kids are in residence is dramatic. I haven't seen so many bikes even in a bike shop. Most of them ride around encumbered with Bluetooth phone clips on one ear and an MP3 earpiece on the other and weave in and out of traffic like embroidery floss through cloth, ignoring the colour of the traffic signals, just like the young immortals they perceive themselves to be. I dread going to Turner, because there's always at least a half dozen bikers popping out from behind buildings, parked cars and wormholes from other dimensions and missing one or both of my bumpers by micromillimeters. It's like my nerves get slowly nibbled to death by mice in bike helmets. If nothign else, it verifies that I still have adrenaline in my system. I'm typically pretty phlegmatic and calm by nature.
So I attempt to get my card done, and have to trek back over to York for a sticker. Not the original plan. I, and a cloud of gnat-like bikers, all got onto Liberty and headed that way. York has twelve parking spots to serve 14,000 or so students. Good planning, there. So I got sick of circling, then finding someone had left and a new person had taken the spot, and so I just hovered (imagine Snoopy on top of his doghouse pretending to be a fierce vulture, lurking) until someone left. This proved to be a satisfactory solution.
I was directed to log on and verify I really, really wanted (zig a zig ah!) to renew my parking pass. Since the alternative is paying thousands of dollars in parking and towing fines, I felt that yes, perhaps I would like to do so. The directions posted next to the computers that one must log into to re-re-re-verify that you really, really want (zig a zig ah!) to not have to visit the flippin' tow yard this quarter were almost completely wrong. I did better to ignore them and futz around and find the right spot on the intraweb myself. This year the stickers are on the outside of the windscreen, a decision I can immediately find a problem with. They can easily be peeled off and put on someone else's stupid car. Good planning there, SCAD. Yeesh.
I then foolishly decided I wanted to get my haircut before picking up some groceries. I went to the mall (the horror, the horror!) and on the way to the salon therein, espied some Pucci-esque printed tops. WANTed, so I bought some. Then I spotted a bra sale. WANTed that, too, so I bought MOAR. Then I waited for an hour an a half as the salon staff forgot I was there and then decided that they couldn't manage a simple trim and shape. Gloriosky. I was annoyed, and they asked if I'd come back tomorrow. Um, no, I'll get a pair of hedge clippers or something and trim it up myself and save myself the cost, time, aggravation and angst, thank you. Yeah, I can't wait to come back and be ignored for another hour and a half. Hold me back, my eagerness might otherwise be unseemly.
So I fussed off to the Kroger, Purse-snatcher Central, Savannah. I actually had a little cash in my wallet and didn't want to deal with the shitfulness of being ripped off, so I was more anal-retentive than usual about keeping my purse well-watched. I was angry, a bit hungry and not eager to go do any more errands any time soon, so I got a few extra items to put off having to shop for food again any time soon. So I'm at the register, and my farking card gets declined. Yep. I just made a huge deposit, I had more than enough in my account, and hadn't had this happen before. If I got embarrassed, that would have done it.
The next forty-five minutes is spent on my mobile phone, which also sucks. I had to call Bank of America not once, not twice, but three times to get my damn card to go through. Why? Because, Gentle Readers, Your Humble Narrator does not ever really shop for anything. Because I bought some CDs this week for my radio show and some gasoline, undies and tops today, and then I (ZOMG!) wanted food, Bank of America, in their vast non-wisdom, determined that someone had stolen my card. Good job, dumbarses. So my frozen food was actually SLOSHING when I finally got it home. I hope I don't get some food poisoning or anything.
Then, when I got home, I realized that I still had to replace some electronics. Back to the phone. I called Bank of America again and informed them that I would lose my ever-loving mind if I had to deal with their nonsense while replacing my lightning-be-smote electronics. I then asked how secure was it for me to stand in the middle of a crowded grocery store reading off my card number, birth date, address, full name, telephone number, social security number, the city and year in which I opened my account, and so on, not once or twice, but SEVERAL TIMES? Are they daft? I had enough sense not to stand near anyone while doing it, but again, how secure is this? Could they please not give me any grief when I replace my electronics crap, thank you? Supposedly they put a note on my account. They'll call me, but let the charge go through unless I say "don't."
As I'm struggling to stuff my not-really-frozen-anymore food into the freezer, the mobile rings. My mom had a heart monitor strapped to her this week because she "felt faint" more than once. This may sound unsympathetic, but I'm not. She IS a worrywart, however, and she was saddled with a heart monitor after dismissing a simple solution such as "you're stressed, it's hot, you're in your sixties and starting a new job this month," and announcing to the doctor that she had a congenital mitral valve deformity. (It isn't serious, just needs to be worked around, such as taking antibiotics before getting dental work.) So she got me all worked up over that, and then told me the doctor found nothing. All the same, I didn't know at that point, so I rushed to answer it and dropped crap all over the floor. BUGGER.
It was one of my classmates wanting to "just hang out." Dude, no! I already told him several times this week that I'd be swamped this weekend with Programming homework (I dread it, to be honest) and Thesis crap, and we'd only really talked about "hanging out" sometime so I could leech WiFi for non-vital school-related reasons and play with the cat and dog he is pet-sitting (for an acquaintance). I don't know if she even gave permission for anyone other than him to be in her house, and I don't need to mess about with fun stuff when I have work to do. He's an awesome classmate and all, but I am up to my ears in my own Thesis stuff, and I think I'd also be roped into helping him shape his Thesis concept. I did a lot of brainstorming with him last semester and am already being put in that role again, being asked to weigh several loosely-defined ideas and "think out loud" about what he could do to make the ideas more cool, and where he could do more research.
My Thesis prof ribs me constantly about how I'm Queen Researcher and Avid Reader (I and another classmate share the latter crown). So now I'm Queen Researcher for other people, too, and I can't get jazzed up about everyone else's ideas right now, I need to focus on my own. Srsly. It's almost time for my 45 Hour Review. Scary! So, with Programming and Thesis and 45 (oh my!), I can't be nicey-nice about doing other people's grunt work for them this quarter. I just can't. What goes around comes around and all that, but I seriously need to be focused this quarter; usually I can snag an A with minimal effort because I know how to work hard and focus on the research and come up with a good idea. Not that I put minimal effort into it, mind you, I'm just saying I usually don't worry overmuch about my grades. This Programming class is going to kick my butt, though.
I'm dealing with a textbook with errors and a hard-to-read non-monospaced "code" font. The professor keeps confusing me by talking about the next (upcoming!) version of the scripting we are learning, not the current one. The answer key files that came with the text often do not work either! Flipping HELL! This weekend, I need to make a complete Flash 8 website with a preloader, four (minimum) sub-pages, and it has to be artistic and FUNCTIONAL. My Flash experience, such as it was, was button-pushing in Flash MX, not coding. This bites big ween.
In fact, what am I doing on LiveJournal? Time's a-wastin'! To the Flashmobile! (*here's where I'd type some fake ActionScript code to be funny if I thought people would find it amusing*) I did take some source photos for the site last night, so at least that part is done. W00t?
Time to blare some MP3s and cuss out the Flash textbook authors for not proofreading or testing their shit. Stupid ActionScripting. Le sigh.
Also need to call and check on my mom a few times this weekend. I'm ALMOST 100% sure she's just being a worrywart, or that it is merely age-related fatigue (I'm not half as energetic as I was when I was 18). She even has hinted that this is the case. On the other hand, if I blow it off as yet another case of her borrowing trouble and worrying herself to death over a non-issue, it will surely prove to be a serious problem. Better to take it seriously until we know for sure, eh?
Oh, forgot the capper: I went out to pick up my mail, and I am apparently on some hardcore porn video mailing list now. I'm sex-positive and have friends who were are are tangentially involved in the industry, and my lack of judgment but equally strong lack of interest (in their various video projects and recreational multi-somes) is well-known to them, but this stuff was not even remotely sexy stuff, it was just gross and low-budget and chauvinistic and puerile. And that was just the titles / pix on the first page in the thing. EW! I have to wait until Monday to call them up and say "What the hell?" and get off their mailing list. What on earth did I buy to deserve this? If I were going to buy porn, I wouldn't buy this crap. In the meantime, just that one brief glance at the catalogue was enough to make me think sex in general is enormously unappealing. I am in the diametrically-opposed state from "turned on." Way to go, porn mailer. My genitals are cringing, thanks to you. I think I shall invent a traumatized mail-opening young child and threaten to sue them, just to make sure they actually do remove me. These people are like roaches, man. I got a similar catalogue last year from a totally different crew. I buy 99% of my consumer goods online from Amazon. Could AMAZON have sold my address to a porn video company? Egads.
I love dealing with banks, the Mall, college bureaucracy and hoop-jumping, suicidal cyclists, weird construction detours, rush hour traffic, intense heat, trying on bras in a nasty dressing room AND nasty porn all in the space of six hours.
Also, I got a blister.
I handled it all well until I got to the stupid grocery store. That was the straw that broke the camel's back, to coin a phrase. :) Flippin' hell, man, cut me a break. No wonder I hate to leave the house when I don't have to. I'm turning into quite the misanthrope. The whole bank fiasco reminded me of that old Saturday Night Live sketch about people who ruined things for the rest of us. They talked about how nice things used to be before certain people abused the system and forced annoying inconveniences and changes in policy on the rest of society. That's all I can remember about it, but if I ever find a transcript or remember more details, I'll share. I could think up a number of things that have changed for the worse since my childhood (Hallowe'en trick or treating and Girl Scout cookie selling door-to-door? Do parents dare to let their kids do that without supervision anymore? How about the half dozen theft-deterrent devices you have to get removed from everything you buy these days? I could go on.) There are a lot of awesome things that didn't exist then, too, but those seem to be generally "things," not events in day-to-day living.
On the plus side, I don't have to go, do or see anyone or anything until 10PM Sunday, so I can work and not be irritated by life's minor little setbacks. I get to listen to music and get some chores out of the way and take a nap when I feel like I need one and hang out with the ferret and actually get some work done. Hooray!
I might even manage to find a few MP3s to broadcast tomorrow night with my super research skills and some browser plug-ins. Mua ha ha.