Seven 9s and 10s

Did you ever watch golf on TV? It’s like watching flies fuck.

-George Carlin

Watching the PGA Championship live from Oak Hill (5 minutes from home) is bringing back a flood of memories from my 11 years working at a local golf course. There were a lot of shitty days, and many more shitty people, but overall it was a pretty great job.

What I miss the most are the evenings - the hours after I’d closed the tee and locked the Pro Shop and had time to kill while waiting for the last golfers to finish their rounds. I’d hop on a cart and just drive around the course keeping tabs on people and making sure no one was goofing off. Some days I’d grab my clubs and play a few holes or practice my chipping and putting. It was almost always peaceful and quiet, particularly on damp summer days like today (and the entire month of October). There were plenty of high stress moments through the years, and at the time they outweighed the good moments, but in hindsight I don’t think I’ll ever have another job as good as that one. I got paid like shit, sometimes treated like shit, and I was working 50+ hours a week, but it was a golf course and I had the run of the place for the last few years. I certainly wouldn’t mind getting paid to play a few quiet holes these days.

High-res Saw this sticker on a guitar case yesterday. Hot Lix is where I took guitar lessons 20 years ago and where I bough my first Marshall half-stack (mom and dad were SO ANGRY). It’s long since gone, but that place had a major influence on my life. #memories #nostalgia #blastfromthepast #guitar #growingup #jcm900 #hotlixmusic #eastrochester #14445 #rememerwhenwewerestillpartofthe716?! (at Snella Barn)

Saw this sticker on a guitar case yesterday. Hot Lix is where I took guitar lessons 20 years ago and where I bough my first Marshall half-stack (mom and dad were SO ANGRY). It’s long since gone, but that place had a major influence on my life. #memories #nostalgia #blastfromthepast #guitar #growingup #jcm900 #hotlixmusic #eastrochester #14445 #rememerwhenwewerestillpartofthe716?! (at Snella Barn)

trelvix:


Don’t Walk
“Here’s something,” he says. “What if you were crazy into geo-location and dog poop?”
They’d just avoided stepping in a pretty respectable heap-o-turd as far as city poop goes. They’ll walk home well after dark and who wants to track city poop all up in their digs? 
He don’t.
“Get the coordinates on that dog mud,” he’d told her. “It’ll behoove us to steer clear of the miasma on the way home lest we track city poop all up in our digs and who wants to do that? I don’t.”
“I give up,” she replies, reluctantly and with the sort of “Shut up, please,” sigh that most guys wouldn’t miss in a Typhoon.
“Maybe start a blog.” He’s thinking aloud.
“You would want to roll it out in iterations. You could start with simple GPS coordinates of city poops; maybe add some pictures and time-lapse video,” he says, just throwing it out there.”
“Eventually you could take it social.”
“Like comments?” she asks. “Because I have a comment…”
Comments aren’t social. Shut up.
“No,” he tells her. “Let’s say you find a series of turds that bear uncanny resemblances to Civil War battlefields. You could ask your followers to vote on which battle they would most like to see recreated on mountains of dog-butt rope and then whenever a winner floats to the top you paint faces and uniforms on a bunch of wee army men and you just blow that shit up. You could play patriotic music or have various stuffed Abraham Lincolns observing from unusually austere chairs. Pat Robertson could voice-over the whole thing. He’s available. It would be fucking wicked. Ken Burns level.
“But with army men climbing piles of dog poo on Madison Avenue and you making war sounds with your mouth?” she asks.
Okay. It sounds crazy when she says it. But then most things do.
“Exactly,” he tells her. “Could you note the idea and remind me to explore it further after this evening’s events?”
“Certainly,” she agrees. “Idiot.”
——-
Trelvix Safari: #318. Idiot Dialogues.
NYC
{…via trelvix-à-go-go - blurry bits of my life through phone pictures… }



I’d had this draft saved for months. It was one of the countless posts that he deleted shortly after posting it.
I’ve never been a big fan of reading. The best compliment I think I can give to his memory is that I always looked forward to reading his words.

trelvix:

Don’t Walk

“Here’s something,” he says. “What if you were crazy into geo-location and dog poop?”

They’d just avoided stepping in a pretty respectable heap-o-turd as far as city poop goes. They’ll walk home well after dark and who wants to track city poop all up in their digs? 

He don’t.

“Get the coordinates on that dog mud,” he’d told her. “It’ll behoove us to steer clear of the miasma on the way home lest we track city poop all up in our digs and who wants to do that? I don’t.”

“I give up,” she replies, reluctantly and with the sort of “Shut up, please,” sigh that most guys wouldn’t miss in a Typhoon.

“Maybe start a blog.” He’s thinking aloud.

“You would want to roll it out in iterations. You could start with simple GPS coordinates of city poops; maybe add some pictures and time-lapse video,” he says, just throwing it out there.”

“Eventually you could take it social.”

“Like comments?” she asks. “Because I have a comment…”

Comments aren’t social. Shut up.

“No,” he tells her. “Let’s say you find a series of turds that bear uncanny resemblances to Civil War battlefields. You could ask your followers to vote on which battle they would most like to see recreated on mountains of dog-butt rope and then whenever a winner floats to the top you paint faces and uniforms on a bunch of wee army men and you just blow that shit up. You could play patriotic music or have various stuffed Abraham Lincolns observing from unusually austere chairs. Pat Robertson could voice-over the whole thing. He’s available. It would be fucking wicked. Ken Burns level.

“But with army men climbing piles of dog poo on Madison Avenue and you making war sounds with your mouth?” she asks.

Okay. It sounds crazy when she says it. But then most things do.

“Exactly,” he tells her. “Could you note the idea and remind me to explore it further after this evening’s events?”

“Certainly,” she agrees. “Idiot.”

——-

Trelvix Safari: #318. Idiot Dialogues.

NYC

{…via trelvix-à-go-go - blurry bits of my life through phone pictures… }

I’d had this draft saved for months. It was one of the countless posts that he deleted shortly after posting it.

I’ve never been a big fan of reading. The best compliment I think I can give to his memory is that I always looked forward to reading his words.

(via trelvix-deactivated20140814)

joshualapierre:



ENO



Oh man. Eno playing an EMS VCS3.
That synthesizer single handedly steered me away from music education and into composition and performance. My alma mater has (had?) one in their music studio and, as the only student at the college who had any interest in taking Intro to Electronic Music, I was given free reign to play with it and all the other great vintage gear in the studio (tape machines, Yamaha DX7 IIFD, some primitive orchestral sampler MIDI box… all kinds of great inspiring stuff). All that gear, combined with the realization that I just didn’t feel comfortable standing in front of a classroom full of kids, led me to give up on music education (though I still earned the degree).
I would spend, quite literally, all night locked alone in that studio playing with the VCS3. That joystick was badass and the routing matrix was a much better solution to patching than the cables typical of other modular synths, and the Ring Modulator was brilliant.
I still miss cranking the volume up, manually syncing those three oscillators, patching them into the filter, and slowly sweeping through its frequency range. I swear the whole music building would vibrate.
"Sccchhhhweeeeeoooooooooooouuuuuuuhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmm"
That tactile control of synthesis - the feeling of the knobs and dials and switches in your fingers - is something I’ll never forget. Just looking at this gif I can still remember how smoothly those 30 year old pots turned, with just the right amount of pressure and resistance so that you actually had to put some effort into the action. Goddamn. I need to contact them and see if they still own it.

joshualapierre:

ENO

Oh man. Eno playing an EMS VCS3.

That synthesizer single handedly steered me away from music education and into composition and performance. My alma mater has (had?) one in their music studio and, as the only student at the college who had any interest in taking Intro to Electronic Music, I was given free reign to play with it and all the other great vintage gear in the studio (tape machines, Yamaha DX7 IIFD, some primitive orchestral sampler MIDI box… all kinds of great inspiring stuff). All that gear, combined with the realization that I just didn’t feel comfortable standing in front of a classroom full of kids, led me to give up on music education (though I still earned the degree).

I would spend, quite literally, all night locked alone in that studio playing with the VCS3. That joystick was badass and the routing matrix was a much better solution to patching than the cables typical of other modular synths, and the Ring Modulator was brilliant.

I still miss cranking the volume up, manually syncing those three oscillators, patching them into the filter, and slowly sweeping through its frequency range. I swear the whole music building would vibrate.

"Sccchhhhweeeeeoooooooooooouuuuuuuhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmm"

That tactile control of synthesis - the feeling of the knobs and dials and switches in your fingers - is something I’ll never forget. Just looking at this gif I can still remember how smoothly those 30 year old pots turned, with just the right amount of pressure and resistance so that you actually had to put some effort into the action. Goddamn. I need to contact them and see if they still own it.

(via recordarchive)

High-res So… that was awesome.
I attempted to make a video of the experience but I couldn’t get the suction cup to stick to the window, so I gave up and decided to just live in the moment.
My flight instructor was in control during takeoff, but once we reached our cruising altitude (2,500 feet) I was in control. We were in the air about 35 minutes as I flew over my house, southeast towards Canandaigua Lake, then north up to the Erie Canal, turning west over Fairport, over my parent’s house (where I grew up), towards downtown Rochester, and then back southwest to the airport; he took over again for landing.
I’ve wanted to fly planes ever since I was a kid. I was only 6 years old when Top Gun and Iron Eagle were released. Sure, they’re both super campy with ridiculous cold war era plotlines  but none of that mattered to a little kid; I just loved seeing those awesome jets flying around and blowing each other out of the sky.  My best childhood friend moved away before the start of 6th grade. I never truly recovered, from a social perspective, and to this day I’m sure a big part of my social anxiety and introversion can be traced back to that event.
It was around that time when the first Gulf War started (just as I was entering middle school) and I was awed by the scenes unfolding on TV every night. I spent hundreds of hours through middle school and into high school building model airplanes. The smell of Testors model cement and paint will always conjure up great memories of time spent in the basement carefully airbrushing wings and missiles and gluing them together. When finished, they’d get strung up with fishing line and hung from my bedroom ceiling. The walls were emblazoned with posters of jets. I devoured aviation magazines and could rattle off facts and specs for dozens of famous military airplanes, both old and new. You could say I was a bit obsessed, and it was largely driven by the fact that I didn’t really have much of a social life. Rather than hanging out with other kids, I was building models and memorizing wingspans and airspeeds and learning the principals of flight.
As high school began, I very seriously envisioned myself enlisting in the Air Force upon graduation and pursing a career in military aviation; I I was frequently talking to recruiters in school (I don’t think local districts even allow recruiters to come into the buildings these days). Then during my junior year I got glasses and the recruiters basically gave me the bird and told me to get lost - anything less than perfect vision was unacceptable. That sucked, but in hindsight it was probably for the best. My obsession and dedication to aviation diminished as my talent and love for music grew, and now, rather than dropping bombs on foreign countries, I get to spend my time making music and posting poop jokes on the internet.. not a bad trade off, I guess.

So… that was awesome.

I attempted to make a video of the experience but I couldn’t get the suction cup to stick to the window, so I gave up and decided to just live in the moment.

My flight instructor was in control during takeoff, but once we reached our cruising altitude (2,500 feet) I was in control. We were in the air about 35 minutes as I flew over my house, southeast towards Canandaigua Lake, then north up to the Erie Canal, turning west over Fairport, over my parent’s house (where I grew up), towards downtown Rochester, and then back southwest to the airport; he took over again for landing.

I’ve wanted to fly planes ever since I was a kid. I was only 6 years old when Top Gun and Iron Eagle were released. Sure, they’re both super campy with ridiculous cold war era plotlines  but none of that mattered to a little kid; I just loved seeing those awesome jets flying around and blowing each other out of the sky.  My best childhood friend moved away before the start of 6th grade. I never truly recovered, from a social perspective, and to this day I’m sure a big part of my social anxiety and introversion can be traced back to that event.

It was around that time when the first Gulf War started (just as I was entering middle school) and I was awed by the scenes unfolding on TV every night. I spent hundreds of hours through middle school and into high school building model airplanes. The smell of Testors model cement and paint will always conjure up great memories of time spent in the basement carefully airbrushing wings and missiles and gluing them together. When finished, they’d get strung up with fishing line and hung from my bedroom ceiling. The walls were emblazoned with posters of jets. I devoured aviation magazines and could rattle off facts and specs for dozens of famous military airplanes, both old and new. You could say I was a bit obsessed, and it was largely driven by the fact that I didn’t really have much of a social life. Rather than hanging out with other kids, I was building models and memorizing wingspans and airspeeds and learning the principals of flight.

As high school began, I very seriously envisioned myself enlisting in the Air Force upon graduation and pursing a career in military aviation; I I was frequently talking to recruiters in school (I don’t think local districts even allow recruiters to come into the buildings these days). Then during my junior year I got glasses and the recruiters basically gave me the bird and told me to get lost - anything less than perfect vision was unacceptable. That sucked, but in hindsight it was probably for the best. My obsession and dedication to aviation diminished as my talent and love for music grew, and now, rather than dropping bombs on foreign countries, I get to spend my time making music and posting poop jokes on the internet.. not a bad trade off, I guess.

Track:
The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter

Artist:
The Anniversary

Album:
Designing A Nervous Breakdown

The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter - The Anniversary

This album was released over 10 years ago. I’m only 31, but goddamn this makes me feel old.  I listened to this a lot back then and saw them play three times within about a year. I was a sucker for any band with a girl and a synthesizer.

Angela’s post got me thinking about my last visit to the CN Tower and how did my best to take some non-traditional photos that day with my dinky 3.1MP Kodak DX4330 point and shoot.

The date was August 14, 2003. On first glance that doesn’t appear to be a special day, but look a little closer and you’ll recognize it as the date of the Northeast Blackout of 2003.  Myself and my girlfriend at the time were visiting Toronto that day.  We walked off the elevator at the base of the tower and drove away less than 15 minutes before the power went out.  I still sorta wish we had gotten stuck up top (at least until the backup generators kicked in), because I can think of few places I enjoy more than being up in the Skypod.

Track:
Out of Reach

Artist:
The Get Up Kids

Album:
Something To Write Home About

The Get Up Kids - Out Of Reach

I’m not exactly what you could call a big fan of The Get Up Kids, but this particular song transports me right back to late summer of 2000. I had a huge crush on a girl that I met online (weezerfly mailing list) and she sent me a mixtape with this song. Good song; sad memories.

lazybaby:

thebluehoodie:

ok as a major weezer fan, this kinda sucks.

remember the rebel weezer alliance?

that sure was a long time ago.

i just don’t know what to think….

=rwa= and related fansites (weezerone, weezerfanclub, weerez) are the only reason the band stayed popular enough to even attempt a successful comeback in 2000.  Those were the good ol’ days.

I don’t know why anyone is shocked by how bad this new song is.  Did you people even listen to the crap on Raditude? Do you remember “Heart Songs" from the red album?  How about "We Are All On Drugs" from Make Believe?  Oh, and don’t forget about “Love Explosion" from Maladroit and "Crab" from the green album.

Each post-pinkerton record has had bullshit songs on it.  Stop expecting weezer to release something that sounds like it was written and performed by the 1997-pre-Matt-Sharp-departure-version of the band.  Rivers is FORTY.  Most of those songs you fell in love with… he wrote when he was TWENTY.

Nothing since their 1999 cover of Pixies Velouria has given the world any reason to expect more greatness.  That was the last time the band sounded great… and it wasn’t even their song.  Yet, year-in and year-out, people hold them to the same ridiculous standards, and these people never learn, and they’re subsequently disappointed, and then they act all surprised when it happens again the next year.

Perhaps it’s because I’m a Buffalo Bills fan that I’ve learned to keep my expectations low and hope for a positive surprise, rather than expect too much and be continually disappointed.  On Hurley: I expect to hear one great song, a few that are listenable, and a bunch that are embarrassing.  I’m just being realistic.

High-res GPOYW
Today was pretty rough. A very busy day at work plus a favored co-worker’s last day. Also, not enough coffee.  So I stopped at my parents house on the way home to see my dad who had just returned from Florida after several months, and to pick up some old stuff to bring back to my house.
One of those things is my prized ~1991 Double Vision skateboard.  It’s hard to believe that I used to know how to ride that thing.  I never really had much in the way of skills, but it was totally fun and a great way for an 11 year old to get around town.  I distinctly remember being the only kid in school to have a double-kick board (some googling seems to have confirmed my suspiscion that the Vision Double was the first DK deck ever mass-produced).
19 years later, it’s still a totally great-looking slab of wood.

GPOYW

Today was pretty rough. A very busy day at work plus a favored co-worker’s last day. Also, not enough coffee.  So I stopped at my parents house on the way home to see my dad who had just returned from Florida after several months, and to pick up some old stuff to bring back to my house.

One of those things is my prized ~1991 Double Vision skateboard.  It’s hard to believe that I used to know how to ride that thing.  I never really had much in the way of skills, but it was totally fun and a great way for an 11 year old to get around town.  I distinctly remember being the only kid in school to have a double-kick board (some googling seems to have confirmed my suspiscion that the Vision Double was the first DK deck ever mass-produced).

19 years later, it’s still a totally great-looking slab of wood.