Saturday morning thotz

I don’t agree with everything this person says about swearing, but I remember reading somewhere that people who are freaked out about swearing are less egalitarian than people who aren’t.  Not particularly safe for work.

Believe me when I tell you this is cool. SFW.

Paul sent around an email yesterday announcing that a court date has been set for the woman who knocked John off his motorcycle.  It had been looking increasingly like nothing was going to happen, but the slow grinding wheels of justice are finally in motion.  May 27th nothing will likely happen except her entering a plea.  Paul will keep us all apprised.

I had a very productive day yesterday; I replaced the burner I covered in melted plastic; re-upped on the lease and gave the landlord six months worth of checks; did a load of laundry, worked on half a dozen songs with Paul and wheedled him into going to the first Tuesday at Jericho for the year in exchange for me working up Erica’s Song well enough to perform it, and man his guitar support is tasty as always), got plates and insurance for the car, cooked chicken schnitzel with quinoa salad for supper (Paul made the salad and insisted on sending me home with some, and it had so much garlic in it it practically triggered an altered state of consciousness); messed with the intonation on my mandolin now that it’s been repaired (sounds okay now); almost wrote a new tune and replaced my bank card which was compromised again if you can believe it (somebody tried to take $500 out of my account in Surrey three days ago and so the baloney alarm was triggered).

I of course find it screechingly funny that my bank knows I’d never take $500 out in Surrey.  Welcome to the Panopticon.

Jeff is likely off to Victoria and will likely be bringing back Andrew, so I have some ‘comfort of guests’ things to do today, not that I mind.  House guests are fun.  For three days, anyway.

Mt Laundry has been conquered

Yeah, but that’s not what everybody will be talking about at work.  Sitting down to watch the amazing US-Canada gold medal game yesterday I knew the Canadians would win, but it was a nailbiter there for a while.

Foreigners who have covered 17 Olympics say that when it comes to public drinking at the Olympics, there is no second place.  On that basis I am very very very glad I never went downtown.

Watched Zombieland.  It’s got Sean of the Dead in a headlock for the title of the best Zomcom.  Woody Harrelson is fantastic, and I really liked Abigail Breslin, even if her character nearly gets everybody killed.

The start of the thing before the thing.

Here are the lyrics and here is the song that Katie likes the most these days.  Safe for work and utterly charming.  Katie says the song is about insomnia….  speaking of which she cured her insomnia.  She quit eating sugar.

My chance to dig out the garden plot was yesterday afternoon and it corresponded with the hockey game.  Sigh.

Miss Crankypants sits in her corner

I have lots and lots to complain about.  Like, lots.  But I’ve decided to save my best and purest bile for real live people instead of the intarboobs, and the saddest and teariest of complaints for other real live people, and the horrid consequences of brutal self-examination strictly to myself. Continue reading Miss Crankypants sits in her corner

CUte OVerloading warning

A lot of very cute interspecies animal friendship videos. The Boston terrier and the pig video is my fave.

I met Caroline last night to watch Awake My Soul; she’s the gal trying to put together a Sacred Harp sing here in Vancouver.  This is a worthy goal.  I also met her cat Tully, who is a Superior Creature and who trained me in door management within minutes of meeting me.  Sacred Harp or shaped note singing is a kind of Xtreme congregational singing.  The trebles, altos, tenors and basses sit facing each other in a square and the song leader (who can be anybody in the congregation, and it alternates among congregants) keeps the beat.  The music is upwards of a couple centuries old, or as new as the Nineties, because the singing tradition has had a revival in this past century. It is, among other things, intense, loud as blazes, polyphonal in spots, fugue like in spots and entirely weird and strange and although it’s a total piece of Americana, it seems almost too spiritual and pure to be part of the American worship tradition.

It would be bloody amazing at Beacon, but I ain’t the choir director.

Off to work in 45 minutes

And I have to say it’s a really good feeling.

Vilma fed us (me Mike Jeff and Keith) chicken and salad and baked apples and cake with fruit and whipped cream, and it was HER birthday.  This amuses me; anybody who knows me knows I’ve often done the cooking not only for my birthday but for mother’s day, as I don’t really take any of those days seriously anyway, much as I know other people do.

Then we watched a film that was so amazing I am going to have to obtain a copy and watch it repeatedly.  It’s called It Might Get Loud and if you’re a guitarist, or a fan of any of the bands Led Zeppelin, White Stripes or U2, or like slide guitar, it is a must see.  It’s pretty overwhelming, and when they break out ‘the Weight’ by the Band and play a three guitar/two singers version of it it’s like every campfire Mike ever played at got slapped up onto the screen.  Mindblowing.  The best parts are the thirty second bits where all three of them start ramping up on one of their hits (like Ramble On) and all three guitar sounds come crashing together.  Spinechilling.  I was gawking like a complete hick and exclaiming under my breath during the entire movie.

Vilma is 42.  Devoid of makeup and fresh from an encounter with a hot stove, there is no way in hell you could give her a day over 35.  She says she has good genes. Mike, you lucky barstard.

Tonight I will attempt once more to get bandified or at least singing groupified.  We shall see.

Brian Eno on Gospel Singing

“I belong to a gospel choir. They know I am an atheist but they are very tolerant. Ultimately, the message of gospel music is that everything’s going to be all right. If you listen to millions of gospel records — and I have — and try to distil what they all have in common it’s a sense that somehow we can triumph. There could be many thousands of things. But the message… well , there are two messages… one is a kind of optimism for the future rather than a pessimism. Gospel music is never pessimistic, it’s never ‘oh my god, its all going down the tubes’, like the blues often is. Gospel music is always about the possibility of transcendence, of things getting better. It’s also about the loss of ego, that you will win through or get over things by losing yourself, becoming part of something better. Both those messages are completely universal and are nothing to do with religion or a particular religion. They’re to do with basic human attitudes and you can have that attitude and therefore sing gospel even if you are not religious.”

Rest of the interview is here.

Cat plus pig = cute picture

I warned you. Scanged from Reddit.

I checked my job card again and I don’t have to be at work today until one.  Full report upon my return.

Paul called me up yesterday and we went for a walk on the Quay and then we sang and played for a while – like a couple of hours, so it was a singing kind of day yesterday.  Also, balm to my wounded ego, he wanted to play along to a bunch of my tunes (he did the back up guitar for the recorded version of “Evening News” which I have always found quite tasty).

John’s six string Guild is a Man’s Freaking Guitar; the tips of my left hand fingers feel like I tried to stop a grinding wheel with them. And of course playing it without crying is hard to do sometimes; I’ll be messing with it and there will be a vertiginous sense of loss, and then it’s “Just keep playing, just keep playing.”

On the plus side I know how to play the rhythm mandolin for Two and Twenty Blues now, and the only solace as my fingers started to burn was that Paul was having a bear of a time with the guitar portion.  We played just the guitar and mando parts through about four times; Paul said it was all he could do to play the guitar part let alone sing on top of it. The mando and the guitar sound sweet together – the final result will be worth it.  We STILL don’t have a set list, but I suppose I shouldn’t whine, it’s all about the having fun, right?  Except it doesn’t sound bad, and I enjoy performing, during the brief spells when I’m not wanting to cocoon against the rain and the O Rim Pics.

After weeks of being impossible to keep in tune, the mandolin is finally behaving.  Turns out the problem is the hanger!  When I hang the mandolin up on the wall it promptly goes out of tune and stays that way.  However, when I put the mandolin in the case and hang THAT on the hanger, it behaves.  The guitar doesn’t behave like that at all.  I need new mando picks, all my old ones have wandered away, the little beggars.

After 8 months, Margot has finally figured out that when I pick her up I may just brush her, so she’s learned to scamper away at my approach.  If this keeps up I’m going to have to take her to a groomer and get her taken down to about an inch.

She really enjoys getting right behind Eddie when he’s eating and enthusiastically licking his butthole.  Eddie makes a series of loud and unhappy noises – mixed with eating sounds – but stands his ground.  The visual is really quite striking.  She never does that to Gizmo.  I guess there’s something really irresistable about Eddie’s butt, and if I ever said I wanted to come back as a cat, I take it all back now.  Really.

Birthday party

Last night I attended a co-birthday party with Kat and Kashka and Katie and their friends, which included the following events and observations.

  1. Kick ass margarita courtesy of Kat.
  2. Hugs from Cassie, which were improved by her Dita-von-Teese-worthy hat and veil.
  3. Communing with Speck, who LOVES my hat.
  4. “O my gosh, there’s a snake on your hat”.
  5. Feeling better after letting a snake crawl around my hat, collar and glasses for a while.  I have no idea why this would be, but it is so.  It might be the beautiful, incremental muscle motion; it might be knowing that somebody really enjoys my body heat. Speck is a lovely, lovely snake, pretty and sociable.
  6. Getting a chance to hang with my current favourite teenaged boy (in terms of raw appearance).  I gots nothing to say to him, but he’s so pretty and good natured that it hardly matters.
  7. And what music were they listening to?  The very same stuff I was listening to in Toronto on CFNY during the eighties.  At least half a dozen times I said, “The first time I heard this song I was your age.”  All this has happened before, and all this will happen again.
  8. I told them about the fan made Brad Sucks “Making Me Nervous” video and we watched it.
  9. The girls got Pocky and lamb kebobs for their birthday.

Today, The Dreaded Tapioca Song goes to church.

Oh, no, I feel a rant coming on

All creativity comes from God? You have GOT to be kidding me.  Yes, the article is about something else, but that was the quote that caused my bowels to rumble and my breath to catch.

Creativity does not come from God.  Creativity is definitely affected, channeled, restricted or liberated by belief or unbelief in God, gods, fairies, the Kraken, lil green tentaclechicks and Eric Northman, but creativity is an inside job.

I have spent an entire lifetime, well, since I wrote my first song at the age of eight, thinking about creativity.  What is it? Where does it come from?  Where does it go when it’s gone?  What is it for?  How does one define it broadly enough so that it’s accurate and narrowly enough so that it’s useful?  Who gets to call what’s creative creative?

Are animals creative?  If they are . or aren’t . what does their activity say about human creativity?

I will take a stab at a definition.  I didn’t look at a dictionary first or wikipedia, so forgive me if this sounds clueless or twee.

Creativity is a normal behaviour in which a human being applies what he or she knows or intuits about the world to a novel situation; this creativity may be a thought or it may make an appearance in the world. When this application is successful it’s called creativity; when it’s unsuccessful it’s called a failure or an experiment.  It’s all creativity but the reaction to the results is different.

All creativity is rooted in preference.  If you take six dogs, or six cats, or six orangs, or six people, and ask them to state or make plain their food preferences, you will see that all of them, given choices, will zero in on what they genuinely prefer, or on what they think the other critters want (the whole I didn’t want it until you wanted it thing that I see play out at the food dish every day).  The basic building blocks of creativity are being used the minute an individual thinks “I want….”

There are three levels of creativity.  One is mechanical and we share it with higher mammals (and corvids, and cephalopods and many psittacines).  It is the application of physical objects in the physical world to achieve a particular survival goal, or acquire some preferred item.

The second level is where most of us play.  It happens when we do, think, make or physically embody something new, having learned the mechanics, or basics, of some human skill.  nautilus3 claims my song writing is somehow superior to her quilting, but they are much of a muchness.  Once she knew how to quilt, she got better and faster at it.  Once I knew how to write songs I got better and faster at it; the principle didn’t change.  Songwriting comes out of the place where math meets speech and emotion.  Drumming comes out of the place where math meets movement (along with dance and cheerleading).  Quilting comes out of the place where math meets colour and texture. (nautilus3 STILL hasn’t done a Penrose tiling quilt, no matter how many times I hint…).

The third level is where people make a category concept error and ascribe the product of human intelligence to God.  It is creativity, but of a completely different and novel kind.  Truly novel, not merely accomplished or polished or worthy of study for technical excellence.  In order to be set among the blessed roster of human genius, you must think, and cause to appear clearly, an entire discipline.  For example, the first human being who taught himself to knap flint; the human who took that knowledge and made herself a baby sling because she’d given birth to twins and couldn’t tote both of them (think how she was without other resourceful females at the time and you’ll see how it happened).  One invented a new class of tool and weapon; the other invented a method of making sure she got enough food while she was nursing two younguns.  Playful younguns.  Curious, greedy and helpless younguns; the type who inspire their parents and elders to spend a lot of time thinking about how to keep them safe, how to keep them well, how to keep them fed. Remember, every proto human who formed a thought which resulted in one of his or her descendants living to breeding age skewed our DNA; remember, every living human being had an ancestor who went through a cheetah style reproductive bottleneck, and only the most adaptable, creative, tough and cooperative humans made it through, what with the climate going ass over teakettle, the food supply altering dramatically and the requirement to move quickly and efficiently through all kinds of terrain while encountering new threats and predators pushing down on the weak, slow and sickly.  Creativity in human beings is so obviously one of the differences between humans and our kin that we forget that it TOO is an adaptation.  The best of all possible adaptations, although, for the sake of the planet, maybe not so good. Creativity can also be directed to the invention of derivatives of asset backed securities and the use of mercury in precious metal mining.

The human who systematized hunting and alarm calls for his troupe and nudged humans towards language; the human who mastered fire and invented cooking; those were the creative geniuses.  These days people apply the word genius with gay abandon; I only apply it people who create a new discipline.  James Cameron is a really good director, but he isn’t a genius.  He has not created a new discipline; he has given himself entirely to a discipline which is well established, the art of storytelling through film.  To create a new discipline is not merely to be creative; it is to light, with the torch of reason, an entire area of human capacity WHICH WAS NOT VISIBLE BEFORE and to transfer the capacity to the judgment and use of the world.  Einstein was a genius.  Edison was a genius (also a thief, thug and anti-Semite).  Marie Curie was a genius.  Why?  ‘Cause after they pointed something out, everybody could see it.  Before they pointed it out, it didn’t exist.  Somebody had to invent calculus and it’s a good thing, too, because the internet wouldn’t exist without calculus. (Because the sciences which support all these packets flying around would be crippled without it).   If you read the Wikipedia article about calculus, about ten dudes from a multitude of cultures contributed to the foundations upon which calculus was built; but it took two guys, Leibnitz and Newton, to create a useful discipline.  But, as I was saying, the discipline wasn’t there before. That is true creativity.

As much as I enjoy songwriting and am proud of my output, it’s second order creativity.  It’s true that nobody had to show me how to do it; that’s a natural gift.  It’s like watching Wayne Gretzky skate in his back yard when he was 4.  The combination of encouragement (or in my case, benign neglect, while surrounded by the most glorious voices in folk music as I was growing up) and innate talent (I was harmonizing when I was tiny, because harmonizing is something I do without thought or effort) makes the application of skill to novel situations look effortless.  However, nothing I’ve done has expanded song writing; all of the major elements of everything I do was either codified or made traditional somewhere between 500 and 1000 years ago.   Wayne Gretzky, for talent, love of the game and character, is a model hockey player, but he’s not a genius; his creativity, like mine, colours inside the lines.

Nothing anybody can say to me will make me believe that God is guiding my hand when I write songs.  It is true that I am sometimes flabbergasted by how fast and how strong it do come on sometimes, but I’m also flabbergasted by how badly I can lose my temper in a short period of time, or how fast I can assemble a tasty meal, or respond to someone else’s quip.  When it goes well, it goes as fast as the human mind and body can carry it, but that goes for everybody.  The trick is having a sense of humility about the whole thing.  Somebody invented a system for me to write down songs; until I come up with a better way of doing it (and by god, I hate the system we have now), I’m a 2nd order creative determined to sign my own work.  There’s no shame in that, but twould be a shame indeed if I asked God or the Tooth Fairy to take the credit.

Food

Last night I fed Tom, Peggy, Ben, Paul, Keith and Jeff pork roast done with garlic, bacon and bay leaves (it made the house smell REALLY GOOD) and many, many vegetables, including beans and cauliflower and broccoli and beets and potatoes.  Katie and her housemates were invited, but Katie was already on tap to do shrimp and spinach canneloni that night so she turned me down with thanks.  It would have been an ‘add two leaves to the dining room table and where the hell are the chairs going to come from’ evening if they HAD come, so I don’t complain and I added some chairs to my want list.

Margot quacked like a duck for the folks.  She has a doctor’s appointment on Monday; she needs to be checked out for heart problems, which are quite common in Persians and don’t necessarily show up during the work up prior to neutering; her quacking and breathing issues may be normal Persian noisiness or it may be something more sinister.  She’s so placid, except when I’m brushing her, that she doesn’t appear to have any problems otherwise.  I keep telling myself that she’s like a kid… I get to look after her for a while, and then she’ll leave my life; I’m attached to her but I hope not too intransigent on the subject.  And it’s my own damn fault that I brought her into a household where it would be impossible to keep her as an indoor cat.  She gets FILTHY sometimes, having all that fun out in the rain and dirt.  If it’s really pouring she won’t go out, but light precip doesn’t seem to register.

Back to the Friday Feast.  I said to Ben, “There are two pinball machines downstairs.”  He said, “I’ve never played pinball in my life.”

shock,  horror!

We fixed that. Obviously he must play pinball before he goes to Hudson’s Hope.  (He got a job with Hydro).

After Tom Peggy and Ben went home, I decided I needed both air and exercise, and Paul and I wandered around the neighbourhood looking at the Christmas lights (Keith and Jeff were busy killing zombies in the trial version of Zombie Apocalypse). There are some spectacular displays, especially close to the school.  Then we came back after about half an hour and I picked up the guitar and composed another (what, another frakking tune, what the ???) song, which I think is going to be called “God Willing” and be about the immigration of my ancestors to Canada. No lyrics yet.  I know; for an atheist, I’m such a sucky accommodationist.  But you would be too if you had so many religious relatives, who also happened to be pleasant, intelligent and hard-working.

That’s the single biggest issue I have with the media atheists (I FLATLY REFUSE to use New Atheists.  That’s like calling people who are Christian NEW CHRISTIANS. Atheists are atheists, there’s nothing novel about them, and you can see their lineage throughout history from Epicurus forward.)  They are on the “All theists are stupid” train, whereas I am on the “All human beings have cognitive biases, and atheists may have at least one fewer than theists” train.  Also, many media atheists have the distinct advantage of not giving two shits what their religious relatives think of them, an advantage I don’t have.  It’s why I don’t give vent to some of my more shocking opinions (yes, hard to believe, isn’t it?  But much goes on behind my face that doesn’t come out in my blog).  I was a lot more venty when I started this blog, as I recollect.   I don’t usually go back into the old format portion of the blog unless I’m trying to figure out what happened in say, July of 2005.

Keith called up the optician’s office he was still working at on Saturday (he didn’t give that other job completely up, the wise soul) and hopefully he’ll be getting more hours later this month.  It’s hard to be a young person these days.

Today, AVATAR.  I am very stoked.  Now to check the hellacious mess that is the Translink site and plan my trip itinerary.

I so enjoy feeding people.  It makes me feel good, and that was a damned fine roast.  I miss the rosemary bush from the front of my old house.  A sprig of rosemary in the roasting pan would have made it even more wondrous.

snow

We got about an inch of fairly wet snow.  I’m going to put some shoes on and go deal with the worst of it so the mail carrier will continue to be happy with me.

I should REALLY work on music today, it’s just piling up higher and higher.  And I should get Denis’ (sure wish I knew whether he was a one n or two n Denis) life story transcribed.  And do banking.  Yup, I should definitely light a fire under myself today.