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)

High-res 
"The Slash story is exactly the way I remember it. Dug this photo out of the archives, circa 1992."

My brother posted this to my Facebook wall yesterday, after I posted my April 15th story
That photo conjures up some great memories. He was probably teaching me to play The Lemon Song or Radar Love or something else equally awesome. That was his bedroom at the time. He’d later move out and it would become my bedroom. Those guitars both eventually became mine as well. I owe him a lot. A lot.

"The Slash story is exactly the way I remember it. Dug this photo out of the archives, circa 1992."

My brother posted this to my Facebook wall yesterday, after I posted my April 15th story

That photo conjures up some great memories. He was probably teaching me to play The Lemon Song or Radar Love or something else equally awesome. That was his bedroom at the time. He’d later move out and it would become my bedroom. Those guitars both eventually became mine as well. I owe him a lot. A lot.

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)

merlin:

Weezer - “In the Garage” (Live; MTV All Access; 2001)

Speaking of 1994.

First off: killer guitar tone, Rivers.

Second, my daughter really likes the part where he mentions Kitty Pryde and Nightcrawler. Because she is awesome.

Third? I really miss this Weezer just so much.


[Thanks for the date correction, decodedfromspace and Waxy. I wondered why RC had short hair and Matt wasn’t there.]

Funny thing about that tone… it came from a Line 6 POD. No amps or cabinets were used on the Hooptie tour. In fact, you could dial-in nearly that exact tone if you wanted to by referencing Karl’s incredible Equipment History page. I studied the content of those frames more than most of my Music Ed coursework back at the turn of the century. It was time well spent.

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.

Museum of Play (by Steelopus)
Sometimes I take photos.
This was December 2009.
I love the structural design of the interior of the Strong National Museum of Play. I don’t know if the architects intentionally made it look like a giant version of the steel-tube jungle gyms on which I grew up dislocating knuckles and spreading germs, but that’s what it reminds me of.

Museum of Play (by Steelopus)

Sometimes I take photos.

This was December 2009.

I love the structural design of the interior of the Strong National Museum of Play. I don’t know if the architects intentionally made it look like a giant version of the steel-tube jungle gyms on which I grew up dislocating knuckles and spreading germs, but that’s what it reminds me of.