I’m fairly pleased with my song for this round—that’s not happy by any means, though. The point for me is improvement. I’m not so much interested in the competition. This is really just a reason to blow off everything and say, “I can’t. I have to write a song” and not have people look at me any funnier than usual.

I think I’m improving, but I still really need help on the recording side of things. I’ve got one of these nifty M-Audio Fast Tracks, which comes with a stripped down version of Pro-Tools. The problem is: I have no clue how to use Pro-Tools or how to master a track. I could use a mentor.

In the spirit of The Masters of Song Fu, I signed up for a Bandcamp account and uploaded everything I’ve done for Song Fu. They’re all free downloads and you can even listen for to them right there on the site. But wait! There’s more!   —   Not really. I just wanted to say that.

The best part about this is that it’s giving me practice and confidence to take on one of the larger projects from my 40×40 list. My goal for this edition of Masters of Song Fu is to complete all three challenges. I only managed two of three last time. Once I get through this, I think it will be time to start writing an album.

I’ll have to look into renting a cello.

I don’t think writing about topics or events that aren’t part of my list will become a regular occurence here—but sometimes you just have to start finish some shit.

By the way, if you think you’ll be offended by what you’re about to read, maybe you just want to skip down to the useful blogging tip.

The So-Called “Incident”

This past weekend I got wind of a question that popped up on twitter by someone using the savvyblogging hashtag. They wanted to know about autoresponders and what people thought about them. I chimed in because I’ve had some experience and I like to think I can help. I remember the days when you had to FTP uphill both ways.

Maybe the fact that they were going to be doing it wrong played a small part in my replies.

It’s sound advice. A lot about blogging is building and maintaining a community and autoresponders are pretty much the opposite of that. I’m not saying you have to personalize every response and ask about their little dog too, but at least skim their email to make sure you’re on topic.

What followed is quite humorous. If you’re an IRC holdover, you might say I attracted the attention of someone playing mod. And it would appear that I offended the fine folk’s delicate sensibilities with my choice of language. Basically, I was scolded for saying ‘pissed’ and ‘douche’ and whatever the hell else I said—not unlike a toddler would be scolded for sneaking into the cookie jar.

Now, I don’t mind being told I’m wrong when I’m actually in the wrong. Eh, scratch that, nobody likes to be told they’re wrong. I do try to acknowledge my shortcomings and do better next time, but in this situation I am not in the wrong. I am, however, outnumbered; so it’s a good thing I have logic on my side.

The Resolution

1. Understand how the Internet works.
I’ve included a descriptive drawing of the basics:

2. Understand how twitter hashtags work.
Hashtags are neither owned nor operated. Twitter uses them as keywords with the only added functionality of quick search links. Not searches about those keywords. Not searches related to those keywords. You only get tweets containing those keywords. Building a brand around a hashtag as they are currently implemented is not feasible.

3. Understand that you choose your version of the Internet.
This concept applies to what sites you allow access to, to your twitter stream as well as comments on your blog. It’s your personal responsibility, not mine, to sanitize what you consider offensive from your Internet downstream.

I respect that you don’t use “bad” words and don’t expect you to use them. Respect that others do, and expect that they damn well will.

And Now For Something Completely Different: A Savvy Blogging Tip

One of the most important things you can do for your site is to create a test version of it. You need a version that’s not publicly accessible to test adding new features, plugins, design changes, software updates and other various and sundry things. Many hosts have backend admin software to automatically install popular CMS’s like WordPress or Drupal. It can be easy as pie, so there’s no reason not to have one.

You don’t have to buy another domain name for your test site. You can add a subdomain or even install your blogging software in a subdirectory of your existing site. In this case, you’ll want to be careful that you’re connecting to a new database and not your live database. If your host only allows you 1 database, it’s time to switch hosts. There are numerous plans out there now with loads of extras like unlimited databases.

Some of you may use blogging services. I’ve never used services like Blogger or WordPress.com, but I don’t see why you couldn’t create a test site with them. Try signing up for an additional account.

Next, you’ll want to lock the site down. This is your playground, you’re going to be installing or upgrading plugins or themes and something is going to break. You don’t want people (or indexers) crawling all over this junkyard you’re about to setup. If you’re using WordPress, grab the Maintenance Mode plugin, activate it, and if you care to, edit the message to tell folks that this site isn’t going live any time soon. If you’re a more technically advanced user, you can add a site password with your .htaccess file.

Even if your test site is just a fresh install with a nearly empty database, that’s a good start. A more savvy tester will fully duplicate their production site in their test environment. Backup your production database—which is always a good idea anyway, so go ahead and stash a copy elsewhere, while you’re at it—and restore to your test environment. Copy your entire folder structure while you’re at it. Don’t know how? Take a couple hours, grab an FTP client and learn how to use it.

If you don’t have the time to learn this, hire someone who already knows it. You’ll be glad you did. The bottom line is that at some point, something that was entirely preventable will go horribly wrong. You’ll be glad it happened on your test site when it does.

Our ‘I’ alphabet date happened smack in the middle of December, which means we had to combine our date with the inevitable shopping that must be done around the holidays—what with the giving and all. To some, that would be combining business with pleasure. We just saw it as a chance to go shopping together without the three tag-alongs. Or run-abouts. Or whatever we’re calling our trio of beautiful girls these days.

We spent a couple of hours wandering around Circle Center mall and—against all odds—I bought myself nothing the entire shopping trip. We wandered and shopped and laughed and probably spent entirely too long looking for Colts stuff. That’s just what we do. We did manage to finish buying all the gifts that were needed for the Christmas celebration we were having the next morning.

By this point we were famished.

Part of the reason we keep heading downtown (besides the sheer joy of saying “we’re going downtown“) is because there are so many wondrous dining establishments we have yet to enjoy. This time we went with Weber Grill. We weren’t disappointed. The Caesar salad was delicious. I’m not sure if I was craving a salad or what, but I simply devoured it. And now, I’m pretty sure it’s blocking my memory of the main course.

I do recall that Heather had some variation of meat and potatoes. That’s a pretty safe bet for any dinner of hers, though.

We finished dinner, tipped the wonderful wait staff generously and started to make our way to Monument Circle. The Christmas lights were out in full force. And since it started to sprinkle, we stopped by the South Bend Chocolate Company for two large hot chocolates to accompany us on the final stretch of our date.

There are always things in your town that natives never seem to get around to doing because they’re always there. For us, one of those things was taking a horse-drawn carriage ride around downtown. As we walked towards the carriages, Heather picked out a nice Clydesdale that happened to have the same name as our nephew, though he was probably not named after him.

We got in the carriage and took the quiet route around downtown. By this time it was well past midnight and the rain was coming down in a steadier rhythm. This didn’t bother us, as we were already tightly snuggled under the blanket we were given.

Too soon, we were back at the Circle and the date portion of our date was over after the drive home, where we had stay up later to wrap presents for the festivities that would happen just a few short hours later.

We were too tired to notice that we’re closing in on the ½-way point our alphabet dates. Someone put wings on my clock.

Heather and I continue on with our entirely awesome alphabet dating project. We might be starting to get good at it. This particular alphabet date story is brought to you by the letter H.

It was a dark and stormy night when we stopped by a little hole-in-the-wall diner called Big Hoffa’s. It’s a BBQ joint in our hometown of Westfield. If you’re ever passing through, it’s most definitely on your itinerary. I just added it.

I wasn’t sure what I expected going into this place, but I know for damn sure it wasn’t a pirate themed restaurant. This wasn’t a bad thing. Heather loves the pirates. And the food was the bees knees. And as Leo Laporte once said, “It’s always fun to pull your own pork.”

Their catering menu gives you some background on barbecue and how it fits in with the pirate theme. ^{(See attached image.)}

We ended up doing most of our chatting for the evening there. Kids. Work. Pirates. You know, the usual. We just enjoyed each others company.

Our next stop wasn’t really conducive to conversation. This perhaps gets away from the point of alphabet dating, but it was still enjoyable. And so we rounded out the night at a downtown piano bar call Howl at the Moon. I’m not really the bar type. Or the alcohol type. Or the socializing type. But, come on—they have dual pianos. And pianists.

You have to have a lot of respect for the musicians that play in that type of environment: handling numerous requests, improvising songs, playing off or against the crowd. And above all, they seemed to really be having fun. I don’t think I’d be able to do that with some of the crap they had to play.

Seriously. Does anybody actually know the words to the Ball State fight song? Heather and I sure didn’t. And we’re alumni.

Overall, I’d say we had a fun time, even if we couldn’t talk over the slobbering drunks singing along to Elton John
and Billy Joel. We did have the whole car ride home to make up for it. Unfortunately, my car has bucket seats.

I’m surely, if very slowly, wrapping my head around an album project I’m working on. The more I sit down and write the more I get a feel for what it is I want to accomplish. This is probably a good thing, as many of my 40×40 items are horrendously under-defined. Every time I write, I feel slightly more confident about it. I’ve nearly filled a steno notepad of semi-focused writing around this project, so eventually I may be secure enough to talk about it.

Now it’s time to look back and see the small feats I have conquered and where things can be improved. The biggest thing I can see needs improvement is devoting more time putting pen to paper.

Thinking is not writing.

I don’t exactly recall where I read this, but I know it was recently. And I know what it means. There was many a time that I was thinking about this project, but not actually writing it. In retrospect, this does not really count as time spent on the project. Some of it may have been necessary thinking, or reading, or processing time, but most of it should have been converted to writing time.

Another wonderful side effect of putting pen to paper is not get addicted to brain crack.

Starting With Sound

I basically know the feel I want for this project, so I bought a nylon string acoustic. I would have also nabbed an upright fretless bass, but I don’t have the cash to buy it, a place to store it, or the knowledge of how to play it.

Amazingly enough, a coworker owns a fretless bass and let me borrow it. I dig it. And coworkers can be useful.

Coming back to the “thinking is not writing” idea, I signed up for a little diversion called The Masters of Song Fu. It’s a song writing competition of sorts that I thought I could attempt. Not that I have any idea what the hell I’m doing, mind you. It is good to be writing something and putting it out there, even if it is only a poorly produced demo.

The concept is simple enough: the organizer gives you a songwriting challenge and you have a week to write and record a song. It’s quirky and scary and forces me way outside of my comfort zone. I’m enjoying it.

I ended up having to skip the second round of Song Fu (and a couple days of work and stuffing myself on Thanksgiving) due to illness, but for the first round I wrote a song about a moleman. You see, that was the challenge. You were supposed to write a song about one of John Hodgeman’s molemen characters. I chose Mr. Deadend. I told you it was a song writing competition of sorts.

On a related note, I’ve been trying to come up with a name for my new guitar, but nothing seemed to fit. Turns out it was because I was trying to think of a girls name and this guitar is clearly a guy. So his name is now Mr. Deadend, after the moleman/song. It seemed fitting enough.

Prior to Mr. Deadend—the song, not the guitar—I don’t think I had written anything in about 10 years. I could be wrong though. My memory isn’t the best. That’s because I’m old.

Too old for this shit, some might say.

Fondue Forks For Everybody

F, the second time, was not the same as the first. We are in a much better place—not in the “we’ve died and gone to heaven” sense, but in the lovingly married sense. I would have said “wonderfully”, but I’m not on the Wheel of Fortune and you are not Pat Sajak.²

The Melting Pot was our destination for the first time, again. I suited up. She wore a little black dress. She was lovely.

We splurged for the Big Night Out. My wife, doing her thing, had a certificate for $25 off their signature dinner for two. It’s a rare thing when we can get quality seafood and steak in the same meal. Few could ever be displeased with the dessert chocolate.

Dinner and the atmosphere were great, as expected, but took second stage to spending an extravagant evening with my wife. There was something special about being alone with her amongst all the other patrons. Maybe it was “Lovers Lane”. Maybe it’s just knowing that we’re together, through it all.

Even if I leave our credit card to be locked in their safe.

Geeky Getaway

As it turns out, before our G date I hadn’t been to a concert in over five years. That’s quite a long time given the amount of recorded music I consume. Recently I had gotten way into Jonathan Coulton. His music is entertaining and funny and different from what I normally listen to. It also helps that his story is inspiring to the common cubicle dweller.³

Heather noticed my little man-crush⁴ and found out that he was going to be in Chicago on October 10^th. Then, with much twisting of the arm and other extremities, she convinced me to go. After planning and re-planning and realizing that a long-time Internet friend of Heather’s was going to be in Chicago at the same time, we decided to make an overnight date of it.

It was fast and furious, but better than a movie. We crammed much into a 24 hour trip. It was amazing the amount of fun we ended up having on a weekend I was afraid would end up being mostly about things I enjoyed. There was even a shower scene, but we’re not going to talk about that.

Things did start out a little rocky. We ended up leaving a little later than expected and ran into construction traffic after having to pull off the interstate and replace the air filter in my car. Sometime after lunch I realized I had forgotten the tickets and my wife’s medicine. There was marathon traffic in Chicago and and after we checked into the hotel we realized we forgot a few other things. That was pretty much the end of our troubles, though.

Somehow it all just seemed to glance off us. We had replacement tickets waiting for us at the box office. We picked up additional meds. Even the hour plus wait at Giordano’s was just more time to stand around chatting and enjoying each other’s company and the company of Real Life Internet People™. It was just an all around good time.

In the days before the concert, some amazing things happened. They Might Be Giants were playing in Chicago at the same time as Jonathan Coulton, and doing a Flood show to mark the 20^th anniversary of their landmark album.

Some “behind the scenes” stuff happened between Jonathan Coulton and They Might Be Giants—which probably involved grown men in dresses and vigorous Pokemon trading—and it was decided that Jonathan Coulton and Paul and Storm would also do a Flood show.

And so in between their own sets, they played the entire Flood album, front to back. It was magical. That is all I have to say about that.

Somewhere during the opening set, Heather fell in love with Paul and (mostly) Storm and became a bit more geeky. We don’t fault her for it.

After the show we hung out at the merchendice table, loitering until the performers came out for a brief meet and greet. We got to gush and drool and shake hands with Internet super-stars. It wasn’t enough for me to cross #5 from my list, but it was still quite enjoyable.

Before we knew it, it was time to leave not only the show, but Chicago altogether. Our weekend was over, not before, but right when we knew it. We’ll go back someday and probably get more of the world’s best gummi bears on our drive back.

Perhaps I won’t wait another twelve years before seeing Chicago again.

¹ All apologies for the cryptic nature of parts of this post.
² Seriously. Watch Wheel of Fortune. Damn near every contestant is married to someone “wonderful.”
³ You can get a sense of it from some of his interviews.
⁴ Shuddup. If you come over, I’m totally making you watch BEST. CONCERT. EVER.

It started around the 4^th grade. I was introduced to a guy who I think was named Brock, who in turn introduced me to punk rock, rap and skateboarding. I was only ten, so I can’t say what made these things so attractive. Perhaps it was wanting to be like someone older than me, or perhaps it was how different all of those things were from everything else I had experienced in life. I suppose it doesn’t matter. I was enthralled.

Being only ten and having somewhat of an addictive personality, I really got into the idea of skateboarding.¹ I had no clue how to skate, nor did I have any clue how to learn to skate—Youtube did not exist in those days—but I loved watching the videos that were coming out around that time. And not even knowing what type of board to want, I fell prey to childish wishes and asked a parent for a skateboard. In hindsight, this was a mistake.

That Christmas, I got a skateboard.² It was probably a Walmart special. There’s nothing wrong with department store boards for kids if they’re only planning to ride around on a flat concrete slab like a garage. The problem was that I didn’t realize that’s all those plastic boards were good for. I would bomb down driveways, large hills and attempt riding down the street with it. The summer after I got my board, a friend got a similar board. In our childish innocence, we attempted to ride up his driveway on our boards. On our knees. In hindsight, this was also a mistake.

I faceplanted. There was blood on the driveway. There was blood on my face. There were bits of my front teeth laying about. I made my way to my friends bathroom and washed my face. I looked like I had fangs for front teeth.

My mom took me to the dentist. An hour or so later we ate at McDonalds.

The following Christmas I got a standard board. It helped. I skated around neighborhoods for a few years, but never really progressed much. Every time we moved there seemed to be fewer spots to skate. As many things do with children, my little hobby fell by the wayside. Some would say I grew out of it. Clearly, I did not.

Restart

A few years ago, I bought a new board. I played around with it occasionally for a couple years, but this year my friend and I found a skate park not much more than a mile from where we work. We started going fairly regularly this February. As long as it’s above freezing and the weather and our old bodies cooperate, we head out to the park over lunch.

I’ve got a full set of pads: helmet, elbow, knee and wrist. I’m old. When I fall, it hurts. A lot. It hurts worse when I fall when I’m not wearing my pads. I found that out riding down the driveway. I hit the curb with my weight too far forward and fell on my left side with my arm wedged behind my back. I bruised my ribs and broke my elbow. My wife was not happy.

It’s fairly obvious now that I just need to stay away skateboarding on driveways.

Fast forward six or eight weeks and I, with full permission from my doctor, finally make it back out to the skate park. After being gone for so long, my balance was quite a bit off, but it felt good to get back to it. Coming back, I decided to set my sights on a couple of different immediate goals: simple lip tricks in the bowl and ollie-ing up a ramp.

I’ve taken the first major steps to lip tricks in the bowl by becoming comfortable with dropping in. The video below is one of my first “restarting” attempts. I had dropped in before, so it wasn’t all new, but it was still quite scary. And for your amusement, I uploaded the one where I slid on my ass trying to get up the other side.

I’ve gotten quite a bit better since this was taken. Watching the video helped me realize where improvements could be made. The next time I went out I used the info from the video to correct my form. By dropping my front shoulder, I can keep a better center of gravity, which means more speed and better balance heading towards the other side.

I’m on the verge of actually doing something on my skateboard and it feels quite good. If I can keep at this pace, this item from my 40×40 shouldn’t be a problem. Assuming, of course, I can stay unbroken. That’s a joke, Dear. Just a joke.

¹ Come to think of it, this is also about the same time I started my cassette tape collection—I think these brief meetings pointed me in a lot of interesting directions. It’s strange what you remember…
² See photo. My favorite is my right sock, hanging halfway off my foot, over the board, refusing to obey it’s owner.

It’s no secret that the past few years have been rather rough on Heather and me. Relationships are difficult. Marriages are more so. Lack of time for each other lead to a severe strain in the bond between us. We needed to do something to make time for ourselves and our marriage.

It turns out, we’re both big on lists. She has one. I have one. Mine is bigger.

Our answer was to make the time we needed, doing our best to shun everything else during the time we’re together. So we planned “Alphabet Dating”. The concept is very simple: We plan 26 dates, one for each letter of the alphabet. The activities of each date are (sometimes loosely) based on the letter that sponsors that evening’s letter. The act of planning keeps our need in the forefront of our relationship. This is quite helpful. It’s entirely too easy to be distracted by other things that “need” to be done, like mowing the lawn.

Our version of “Alphabet Dating” doesn’t have a large number of rules. Start with date ‘A’, end with date ‘Z’ and date for all the letters in between. Dinner and a movie do not count, unless it is only a small part of the overall plan. The reasoning for this is that there is no real line of communication open during a movie—even one as funny as The Hangover. The point of making time for one another is to build and maintain an open connection. It’s a 2-way handshake. ACK

A Quick Pictorial Summary

A — Athletics, Indiana Pacers

B — Beef & Boards

C — The Children’s Museum

D — Downtown Indianapolis

Currently, & Looking Ahead

Yesterday we had a short, but very fun, “E” date. It seemed short, anyway. I suppose we were out for about three hours or so. I would have loved to have gone a couple hours more. The theme was “Exploring”. We walked up and down the Monon Trail of Carmel, trying our hands at geocaching. I think we had a good enough time to choose our own adventure again for the “H” date.

We found two caches and walked a fair bit, though I forgot my pedometer and couldn’t track the exact steps. Both caches found were traditional in the sense that you use a GPS device to go directly to the coordinates given. Next time, Heather would like to search for some that are puzzle solving in nature. We really think our kids would also love this as a hobby and plan on taking them out, hopefully sometime soon. Some would say that we are dorky that way. Some would be right.

The next couple of weeks will see both our “F” and “G” dates. We’ve got a romantic evening planned at The Melting Pot for our “F” date, which will have to include a fedora, followed by a trip to Chicago to see Jonathan Coulton in concert for our “G” date.

We’re moving right along now and we’re having quite a bit of fun just doing things together. As long as we keep the pace up, I dare say this little project is working as we hoped. We’re in a better place, we’re loving it, and loving each other.

I’m writing an album. There, I said it. Well, technically I wrote it. Not the album, just that I wrote I am writing one. Perhaps more precisely, I typed that I’m writing it. This is something I’ve been dreaming about doing for quite some time. It’s difficult. And I’m incredibly scared.

Writing an album is a concept that’s been floating around in my head and on various to-do lists for a decade or more, but I had yet to really start it. Fear is a big scary thing. I had this desire that I mentally pushed away, storing it in a tote somewhere in the garage, on half-finished lines folded away and hidden in a book, or completely drowned out with a wall of noise. But it sat there on my mental shelf, a bad film just wanting to be watched by someone.

I only wish I knew what I was doing. But let’s suppose that’s some of the fun of it.

A Little History

Music has always been a thing for me, not so much creation, but consumption. I remember hiding under my bed in 2^nd grade, listening to Thriller on an old cassette recorder, while taping the liner to the underside of the old wooden frame. I was introduced to Run DMC in 3^rd grade and stayed up entirely too late many nights of 4^th grade devouring Appetite for Destruction and …And Justice for All while simultaneously playing what are now considered classic NES games.

It wasn’t until I was seventeen that I asked for a guitar for my birthday. My parents frighteningly agreed—reluctant, if not for the standard reasons for buying a teenager an electric guitar—and my dad found an ad in The Trader for a guitar and practice amp for $100. It was horribly wonderful.

I played and played.

I didn’t write a song until I was nineteen. To date, in the sixteen years of playing guitar, I’ve only written perhaps six songs and only recorded demos for three. And of those three, only one was recorded by me. I don’t know what gives me the idea that I could pull this off. I only know that I need to do this.

Just Starting

The hardest part was actually starting something. Not just kind of starting, but really starting. For far too long, all I did was shuffle around the same partial ideas or organize yet another “someday” list. I never did sit down to do any actual writing. Now, I have.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve sat down for hour or so blocks, two or three times a week, to do some free writing. It’s not easy. And most everything I’ve written is horrible, terrible, no good or very bad. There are, however, a couple of lyric worthy phrases and, overall, I have a more solidified idea of what I want this to be. I have almost become encouraged. It’s time to pick up the guitar and start listening for melodies and possibly stringing together something that may resemble music.

Into the Fog…

If my fear of not knowing how to write a song is overwhelming, then my fear of not knowing how to record what I write is indescribable. This is quite possibly because I’ve not spent much time on multi-track recording. I may manage by fumbling through it, but I also have a dear friend who has offered to help. And I honestly can’t wait to be able to take him up on that offer. For now, I must get back to my steno notepad, which may be half full, but it’s only the start.

When I began compiling my 40×40 list, I knew most of it was going to be rather challenging. Much of what I decided on, not unlike the women in my life, will take large commitments of time or money. This is perhaps a mistake. But I wanted to think big. I don’t so much mind the failure.

I did insert a limited number of simple goals into my list. The simplest of which I marked item #0, and was to actually complete the list. I have successfully accomplished that assignment and 40 items still remain. The subsequent task I wanted to complete is also next on the list, if ordered by simplicity: I wanted to relaunch this website.

Putting on Street Clothes

You’ll notice, “Design my personal website” was not on my list. As my wife could attest, I can spend weeks prototyping and then tweaking various aspects of a website. To alleviate this distraction, I’m using a free theme called Hemingway. It’s clean, simple, functional and it’s what I need for this virtual space right now. I have, however, slightly altered the theme. Pray I don’t alter it any further.

Did I Remember to Zip My Fly?

For all practical purposes, having a custom layout designed and coded by myself did not matter. The end goal was a personal website relaunch. I needed somewhere to tell the story of my 40×40 list. After a couple of days of minor adjustments, I now have it. And now I’m off to other things.