Sunday (Day 476): Sticky Birds and Milkweed

The day started with the tile guy calling and telling us that we had bought wall grout instead of floor grout for him to finish our bathroom floor. We didn’t know that there was a difference, so we had bought the same stuff the last contractor used. I guess the last contractor didn’t know the difference either. The tile guy let us know that we needed sanded grout because non-sanded grout cracks if you use it on the floor. This is mistake number 4,286 added to the last contractor’s fault list. The tile guy said that he wouldn’t be able to finish the job today, but if we got the grout, he’d be back on Monday morning to get it done.

We made a trip to the local home improvement store to get the right grout, and I was admittedly a little irritated that I was still finding major things that the last contractor did wrong. We were able to find a 25 lb bag of grout relatively quickly, and I wanted to get out of there and enjoy the rest of my Sunday with #1GF!. That idea sort of evaporated when #1GF! suggested that we look at lights and knobs.

I run around doing house stuff all week long, but the weekends are #1GF!’s only time to get involved in the process. That means she’s excited to look at house stuff when I’m sick of it. I understood her excitement, so I tried to play along, but ended up sort of standing back while she looked at things. I tried not to be irritated about doing house stuff, but I eventually just told her that I needed a break to hang out with her without thinking about house stuff. She understood, and got me out of there.

We dropped the grout off at the house and then went home. Instead of standing in some store trying to pick between knobs that we won’t even notice in six months, we went out to enjoy some of the last bits of nice weather. We took a walk along a different route than normal, and ended up on sitting on a rocky beach in the next town over. We spent some time just sitting on a large rock and listening to the ocean ebb and flow through its valleys.

An Australian family showed up, scampering and climbing over the rocks all around us. I smiled and tried to look as non-threatening as possible, but they never made eye contact, so we never said hello. It was more than a little weird, and a little like being invisible. Eventually, the kids lost interest in the rocks and moved on. We decided to do the same.

We walked along a hilly road that I traveled at high speeds so many times in my youth that it made me think that it might not be all that safe to walk on. We hopped up on a rock wall, and continued on out of harm’s way. I stopped to rip open a milkweed pod, wondering if they were the same things that we’d pop open in grade school. #1GF! had never seen milkweed, so I let her feel the silk before throwing it into the air and watching it float away like I did when I was a kid. I wanted to find some sticky birds for a sticky bird fight to continue the trip down memory lane, but couldn’t find any.

We went home and had pasta and I ended up with not so fun stomach issues. I don’t know what caused it, but the next time someone asks me if I want to finish off some coffee that has been sitting in a cold pot all day, I’m going to think twice about it.

Monday (Day 477): Grade School Games With the Pros

I went over to the house in the morning to let the painters and tile guy in, and when I got home, the new electrician called to be let into the house with the electrical inspector.

Him: It’s [name of electrician]
Me: Hey, [name of electrician].
Him: Is the house unlocked?
Me: Yep, the tile guy is there now.
Him: I’m going over there with the electrical inspector. You don’t need to be there [click].

Whoa whoa whoa. What? I stood there staring at the phone for a couple of seconds wondering what the hell just happened. This was the same guy who showed up in an unmarked van asking questions to make sure I didn’t have a habit of screwing over electricians, and now he asks me if my house is open, tells me not to show up, and then hangs up on me? I got a bad feeling about the guy, so I called him back and told him that I was sorry, but we needed to hold off on getting started until I could talk to the contractor about a few things.

I hung up and left a message for the contractor to find out if there was something wrong with the electrician. I then went over to the house to wait, just in case he showed up. I didn’t know this guy, but he was coming across as either an asshole or a nut. Either way, I wanted to confirm that he was ok with the contractor before he got started working on my house.

While I was sitting in the driveway like a paranoid freak, the contractor called me back and convinced me that the guy was fine, but that he tended to rub people the wrong way sometimes. As long as the contractor was definitely vouching for the electrician, I would let the guy’s strange behavior slide and give him the green light to move forward. I gave the guy a call back.

Me: [apologetic] Sorry about the false start today, [name of electrician]. I had to straighten a couple of things out with the contractor, so any time you want to come back and get started, that would be great.
Him: I can’t come back today.
Me: That’s no problem. If you can come back later in the week, that’s OK. Whenever you can.
Him: [getting belligerent] Why don’t you just call the electrical inspector? They’re open for a few more hours.
Me: [getting that same feeling back] What. Am I going to do with an electrical inspector?
Him: Look maybe I can come back tomorrow. If I can, I’ll call. Bye [click]

I then called my contractor back, dropped six or seven F bombs in the first 15 seconds, asked him to get another electrician, and may have said something about if I had to deal with that guy for more than five minutes in my house, it would take all my restraint to keep from punching him in the face. If the guy has enough work that he can act sketchy and play little games, then that’s great for him, but this isn’t fucking grade school, and I don’t have time for people who want to play hopscotch. The contractor laughed almost the whole time and agreed to get someone else on the job. I called the electrician back and left him a nice, professional message thanking him for his time and telling him that we wouldn’t be using him on the job.

I met a new electrician at the house at lunch time, but the price ended up being a lot higher than what I expected. I don’t know if it’s because the rough electrical was never finished or if it was because I had an unrealistic idea of what the finish electrical cost would be. Either way, we are quickly approaching the “porked” territory on this job.

While I was at the house, I checked on the tile grout, but it looked a little too dark. After the the last contractor’s using the wrong color grout, I was a little on edge about the grout color. I was assured that it was just wet and would lighten up as it dried, but at the time, the color looked like it leaped out of the 70’s and onto my floor. There was nothing that could really be done about it if it ended up too dark, so we’d just have to wait and see.

I went home and spent the rest of the day writing LOR.

Tuesday (Day 478): Chicken Vesuvio

I did the food shopping in the morning and wrote for a major portion of the day. I picked up the estimate from the electrician and realized that this job was going to go beyond what we slated for it and force me to dip into my hobo money just to finish the job. Good fucking times. I started looking up information on how to sue an incompetent contractor for walking away from a job. It doesn’t look like a fun process, but Massachusetts doesn’t look very kindly on contractors who abandon jobs. There are mistakes that we’re going to have to live with, but it sucks that I paid the original contractor so much for work that had to be torn out and redone. Shit.

To distract #1GF! from the fact that the house was dragging us down, I made Chicken Vesuvio for dinner. I got the recipe out of Cook’s Country, which is like a Bon Appetit for people who don’t have any idea where the fuck to find “creme fraiche” or “chile de arbol” in their local supermarkets. The magazine has no ads, and is full of very down home, old time New England recipes for Yankee guys like me who cook with butter and don’t have the money or patience to play private investigator to track down ingredients. #1GF! seemed to like the meal enough that she didn’t seem to notice that “Chicken Vesuvio” was simply a gussied up version of chicken and potatoes. Or at least she didn’t let on that she did.

Wednesday (Day 479): Interviews, Old Friends, Product Placements, And Death

I got a request for an interview that sounded like I’d be writing my own press release, and it almost seemed as if a person who had never seen my beard page wanted to do a story on it. I was put off for a good ten seconds until I remembered that newspaper people are busy and I’m a blip on the web whose major claim to fame is really just a joke gone awry. When I worked at Hyperglobalmega Corp., there were years that I essentially wrote my own reviews, and I learned it can be very beneficial for you to avoid getting pissy and paint the best picture you can, in the hopes that the person you’re writing it for uses a stroke or two of what you wrote. So, that’s what I did. Whether it gets used or not, I have no idea, but I won’t be holding my breath.

Once I was finished, I talked to a childhood friend who I haven’t spoken to for more than five minutes at a time in around twenty years. When we were kids, I used to go over the kid’s house and make him laugh until his nose bled. I didn’t do it on purpose (most of the time), but I can still see him at the kitchen table and his mother holding bloody tissues up to his nose while he shook with laughter. I would laugh like hell too, and I can remember times when his mom would shuffle me out early because my brand of humor had become an actual health hazard.

With some people, things don’t change. Sure, there was a little less Star Wars talk and a few more nonchalant F bombs tossed around than when we were kids, but it was all business as usual. It’s still all jokes, but with a little less blood.

I got a call right after talking to him, and it was another friend of mine who called to tell me that his grandfather died and giving me the service details. Actually, he prefaced the conversation by asking me if I had dreamed about anyone recently because on a few occasions that I’ve dreamed about someone a few days before they died. I hadn’t had a dream like that in a long time. The death was sudden and unexpected, which gives people little time to make peace with it.

After I got off the phone, I started writing and realized that I squandered my posting lead somehow. I was down to being only a single day ahead with no ideas ready for the following week. I wasn’t getting very far writing, so I took a break to check my e-mail. There, I found an e-mail from a trimmer company who was looking to work their product into my beard pages. I typically tell advertisers that I’m not accepting advertising, but a beard trimmer sort of does fit. Hell, if Matt can travel around the world dancing for Stride gum, then I figured that it couldn’t hurt to follow up and see if this would lead anywhere. It’s probably nothing, but I had to at least ask.

Thursday (Day 480): A Wake And a Wake Up

I checked my suit for the wake and dreaded putting on pants for the first time since the Spring, but it’s not like you can wear shorts to a wake without looking like a nut. I wrote CD reviews until about 2:30, which was a lot longer than I would’ve expected, considering how choppy they usually turn out. Expecting that everything be a masterpiece when you’re posting every day is something that I had to let go long ago, because it requires more talent and skill than I currently have at my disposal.

I picked up #1GF! in the late afternoon and headed over to the wake. I was wearing a suit, which only seems to happen at weddings and funerals these days, but I suddenly felt like I should conquer something or call someone into my office for a good berating. The suit made me want to get back into the workforce and become one of those guys who just doesn’t give a shit about anything except making a ton of money and getting ahead of the game. I have no idea why. Maybe it’s because I don’t deal with suit type people much anymore and forget what they smell like. Or maybe I’m just tired of watching more go out than comes in. The feeling passed as soon as we got to the wake, and I remembered the real reason I had it on: to pay my respects.

I was standing around making small talk with a friend of mine, and he asked what I did all day. I said, “I write”.
“What, your posts?”
“Yea. Writing and editing take me forever.”

He then looked a little confused and there was a bit of awkward silence. For the first time in a while, I felt sort of stupid. The guy has been my friend for a thousand years, so he wasn’t trying to make me look bad or anything. It was the same reaction I probably gave my artist friends when they were drawing all day and I was pricing out mutual funds. He’s good with people, so he tried to save the situation. “Well, writing is really hard for me, and takes me forever, too.” #1GF! just sort of nodded. I had the sudden realization that blogging is not a valid thing to be doing all day during my prime earning years, and maybe this whole thing has been a pipe dream that has gone on a bit too long.

When we got home, I sat on the couch and tried to pick out some of the lights that #1GF! and I have yet to pick. Picking lights and paint are the adult male’s equivalent of being grounded, which I have to say, I deserved for forgetting a special birthday.

Friday (Day 481): Limitless Colors And Limited Fame

I wrote in the morning and then checked my stats once I needed a break. There was no one new who was linking to me, so I had no new people to add to my feed reader. It was raining like mad out thanks to a hurricane off the coast, so the weather and the blog were sort of striking out.

I couldn’t find the original paint colors that we picked for the house, and I knew that the painters would be looking for them soon, so I went hunting through our pile of house crap to try to figure out what colors our walls were supposed to be. I was willing to tear up the house rather than face that infinite color wall at the hardware store again, but I eventually had to drag #1GF! into the search because I was making no progress. She couldn’t find all of the colors, but managed to get a few leads that I would have to follow up on while she was at work. Dear infinite paint colors, you suck. Sincerely, Jon.

Once #1GF! was off to work, I wrote all morning, and stalled out by noon. I went back to the house with the notes that #1GF! had dug up to see if there were any leftover paint cans that might verify any of the colors on the sheet. I found the old paint cans, but only one or two actually matched. That’s when I wondered whether the sheet was wrong or whether the old contractor really used the colors we asked for. You’d think that would be something that I wouldn’t have to entertain, but after this process, it was a reasonable question. I couldn’t figure it out, so I made note of the cans, and put the project aside. Maybe #1GF! would know what color “innuendo” or “tender twilight” were, because I didn’t have a clue.

From then on, writing was pretty much dead for the day, so I read my feeds and added content to my social profiles. While I was trying to find a decent game (it’s not easy to find those replayable web games), my sister called to tell me a story.

She had been having problems with her [ mac | i | friend | whatever ] book and had to take it in to the Apple store to have someone look at it. While they were troubleshooting, the guy helping her asked her to bring up a web site to see if everything is working. The first site that she could think of off the top of her head was her dear brother’s, so she brought it up. The guy looked at it and then asked her if she had seen my beard pages. It was a big WTF? moment for my sister, and she immediately called to tell me about it. Fuckin’ A. A real human that I’ve never met who lives all the way across the country randomly has a conversation about this site with my sister. What are the odds of that? I think they’re pretty slim, so I’ve been telling that story like a lonely grandpa to anyone who will listen.

When she got home, I told #1GF! the story, too, and ended it with “peanut butter, motherfucker!” with the authority of slapping down a winning tile and shouting, “Domino!”. I really don’t know why I tacked on that last part because it made no sense at all, but #1GF! tends to let some of the strange things I say slide rather than having me explain them.

From there, she towed me back down to Earth to try to figure out those paint chips that I failed at earlier in the day. I tried to get out of it claiming that I had fame-lomatic immunity, but my claim was dismissed as my fame is not large enough to grant me an entourage, and thus, not large enough to exempt said me from said paint picking, hitherto, wheretofor, in perpetuum. She had me there. One guy in an Apple store across the country, although cool, is not the same as people I don’t like hanging around playing video games and eating all my store brand pop tarts.

Not even the two of us together could figure out exactly what paint colors we had, so we decided that we’d have to go get new paint chips on Saturday. Neither one of us was very excited about staring at the infinite color wall again, but I was even less than excited because that full box of store brand pop tarts in the pantry suddenly seemed to be mocking me.

Saturday (Day 482): House Stuff

In the morning, #1GF! and I went to check on the house, and the contractor asked us to run up the street to pick up a couple of pieces of baseboard for him. We went to a local hardware store, and I had to ask where the lumber yard was. I hate asking where things are in hardware stores, because I have this weird notion that, as a man, I should be able to instinctively know where things are thanks to an abundance of Y chromosomes. The lumber yard was in a separate building up the hill, and instinct or not, I never would’ve found it.

There were two buildings, so we took a shot at one, but it didn’t seem right because the building was a drive-through lumber warehouse. I had never seen anything like that before, and wasn’t sure if it was some sort of storage facility, a contractors only type place, or if it was where regular people get lumber. I walked over to the desk, but because I couldn’t seem to phrase my question, what came out of my mouth was “You have lumber?” The guy said he did, and told us that we should drive in and get what we needed.

I went back to the car, and told #1GF! where to drive, and we ended up taking a nice tour of the wrong part of the warehouse because my instincts weren’t telling me where the baseboard should be. I had to walk back to the desk and ask the guy a second time, which sucks if you’re a guy in a lumber yard. I told him what I was looking for, and he helpfully showed me a chart of all types of baseboards. I just stood there like an idiot, managing to get out, “No, I think I just need the square kind. One by six pre-primed. Plain square.” He told me exactly where that was, so I thanked him and walked back to the car that my instincts had instructed #1GF! to drive into the cement section.

As a man, I don’t want to ask about anything in a home improvement store. I want to walk in, sniff the air, and walk directly to the item I need. Maybe I scratch my nuts, maybe I don’t. If I have to ask anyone anything, it should be related to some obscurely sized flange, and I should be able to say exactly what I’m looking for, using the exact terminology required. I don’t want to resort to hand gestures, use the phrase “you know” or god forbid, use the word “thingy”. The second time in the office asking for help, I might as well have been carrying a tiny dog named Mr. Yappers under my arm because my testosterone was quickly evaporating.

We drove to where the guy said, grabbed the baseboard and ran it back to the contractor. As we stood there talking, the contractor mentioned that while we could do whatever we wanted, the paint that we were using was pretty much garbage. He suggested that we use Benjamin Moore because it was a better paint. The painters had suggested the same thing, but we didn’t listen because we didn’t think it mattered. Now, with two people telling us the same thing, it suddenly seemed like we should be listening. I stood there like a broken man because we already had to face the 4,285 colors on the paint wall to figure out what colors were missing, and if we switched brands, we were going to have to stand in front of yet another color wall to translate those colors to Benjamin Moore colors.

We headed out to the local home improvement store to see if we could at least figure out what colors were currently splashed all over the walls and crown moldings. It took a solid half hour of staring at a color wall to find most of the colors that we were missing, and that’s with an active defense shield up to keep #1GF! from looking at other colors and changing her mind. We searched and searched for the last color we needed, and eventually figured out that it wasn’t on the wall, but in one of the booklets next to it. Why would you have a color in a booklet, but not on the wall? It made no sense. Frig. That was a lucky, but irritating break.

It was only about 9:30, so we headed over to a Benjamin Moore paint store that was near a diner, figuring that by the time we were done, it would be time for lunch. We started looking, and again, I tried to reel #1GF! in because she was straying into all kinds of different colors. At one point a guy came in bitching that he needed to return something because his wife had bought the wrong stuff. “Never send a woman in to do a man’s job,” he seethed a little too loudly to a female cashier who was still at an age where confidence is pretty elusive. “What a dick”, #1GF! said to me. I agreed. I’m pro being manly, but not to the point that I’m going to pretend that a whole gender is useless in terms of building or fixing. I don’t know if it was being sick of looking at colors, or sheer luck, but we managed to match all the paints up to the new brand within an hour.

With the paint done so early, we headed to Newcomb Farms so that I could have lunch and #1GF! could have breakfast. The line was out the door, so I made a quick phone call so that #1GF! and I could sing “Happy Birthday” to a friend of mine. On our birthdays, #1GF! and I get some of the best versions of “Happy Birthday” on our answering machine (some with electric guitar accompaniment no less), and they always makes us smile, so on other people’s birthdays, that’s what we do. We call and we sing to at least show that we’re willing to look like morons for you on your birthday. As stupid as you feel singing happy birthday over the phone to someone who isn’t seven, it’s usually corny enough to make the person at least smile and shake their heads. Even if you’re way out of tune or feel the need to sing “Happy birthday dear ass haaaat…”, it’s still worth it.

By the time I was done with the call, the line was gone and we got right in for some required refueling. From there, we headed to pick out the last few lights that we needed for the house. We didn’t actually buy the last few lights, but at least we got a handful of them priced out. We were home by 3, and feeling like we got some things accomplished in record time.

We went out to dinner (even though we had gone out to lunch) and #1GF! tried to get me to go to Fascination afterward. There were only eight people in there, and there was no way that I was going to spend a dollar a game to play against a bunch of pros for a lousy $4 payout. I’d be better off throwing $20 out the car window into the parking lot in the hopes of giving the old man who finds it a story to tell. I coaxed #1GF! out of the parking lot and we headed home.

I thought about making lemon squares, which was odd because I’ve never made them and I don’t even really like them all that much. Then, I thought about making a batch of cookies before giving up and sitting down to read the rules of Carcassonne, a game I stole from my parents’ house. It was a lot simpler than I had thought, but by the time I thought I had it figured out, I was ready for bed.

What I Learned

• I learned to play Carcassonne.
• When spell checking Bon Appetit, my spell checker will suggest “ape tit”, which I find a lot funnier than my age should allow.
• Drinking coffee that has been sitting cold in the pot for a day runs the risk of riding out that caffeine jolt glued to the toilet.
• I learned to make Chicken Vesuvio.
• Translating colors between paint companies is a pain in the ass.
• Lines at Newcomb Farms fly.
• I feel like a rock star because one person who works in an Apple store on the West Coast recognized my site and told my sister about it. On paper it’s not all that impressive, but I think it’s awesome.
• “Peanut butter, motherfucker!” is an addictive phrase that is extremely difficult, if not impossible to work in to conversation that is not about lunch. Even then, it’s pretty difficult to work in with the force in which it should be said.
• That Tragedy take being called “the two girls, one cup of hard rock” as being a compliment (as it was intended).

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When I was in college, there were no laptops, there were no digital cameras, and we had to go to computer labs to use Gopher because there was no World Wide Web available to the general public. Know how much we worried about getting a less than flattering picture of us taken with a camera that wasn’t invented and put on an internet that didn’t exist? About as much as someone stealing our uninvented ipods or 90 pound, $300 dollar a minute cell phones. Shit man, the only phones in my dorm were hall pay phones that the served about 30 guys each, so you were lucky to find out if your girlfriend dumped you two weeks after the fact. Coming from a technological dinosaur age like that, I really started to wonder what the hell kind of advice I could offer the constantly-connected freshman of today.

The more I reminisced, the older I felt, so I put everything aside, had a cup of tea, and watched Matlock until I drifted off to sleep under my afghan. When I woke up after a couple of hours of dreaming about snorting coke off the small of Angela Lansbury’s naked back, I realized that an incoming freshman might get better advice if it came from a number of people in a range of ages, rather than from one guy who is twice the age of most college freshmen and quite possibly deranged.

I recruited help from students and alumni who are a little closer to their college years, and asked them to offer their advice on what can make a freshman year a bit easier. Below are sets of independently written advice that range from me, at the top of the age group, all the way down to a current college sophomore. Surprisingly, there were a few similarities that span across all age groups.

If you’re heading off to college for your freshman year (or know someone who is), I hope you find something in here that makes the year a little easier. If you’ve already completed your freshman year, why not lend a hand and add your year and ten pieces of advice in the comments? Matlock would want you to.

Jon, Villanova Class of ‘94

1. Make New Friends, And Do It NOW
You’re not in high school, and all your friends are at home. Deal with it. You don’t have to let your old friends go, but you do have to make a whole new set of friends, which can be pretty hard. To make it easier, start early and talk to everyone you can during orientation: men, women, dweebs, geeks, freaks, punks, nerds, jocks, everyone. You’ll feel uncomfortable, but no one knows anyone that first week, and they will be more open to people who talk to them. It’s the one time where you can pretty much talk to anyone you want and have them be open to it. Don’t waste that week sitting in your room. Go to campus events even if they’re stupid and contrived. Go to where people hang out. Sit in the hall if you have to. Just make as many connections as possible as fast as you can, and those people will eventually introduce you to a multitude.

2. Realize What It’s About
College is about figuring out who you want to be, not what you want to be. Take risks with your look, your personality, your viewpoint, and what you think you’re capable of.

3. Learn
Take classes that you are interested in, because there’s a pretty good chance that you won’t work in your major once you leave college. On the flip side, taking golf for credit is a waste of your time and money. An education is incredibly fucking expensive and not everyone can afford one, so understand what a great opportunity you’ve been given, and don’t waste it on anything less than forging the person you want to be out of the person that you are.

4. Don’t Take Things Too Seriously.
College is a transition period between childhood and adult life, so you need to learn to do your own laundry and manage your own finances. You do not, however, need to be an adult. Your college experience is not a job, and it’s not a resume building experience. Try out every club you can and don’t worry about what clubs will look good on your resume. No one is going to give a shit what clubs you were in after you get out of school. You don’t want to be kicking yourself for being a member of four professional clubs that ate up all your time instead of working at the radio station for free CDs and concert tickets like you really wanted to.

5. Refreshments
Don’t drink things you didn’t pour, don’t leave your drink unattended, don’t get left alone in any house with Greek letters on it, and for chrissakes, don’t be that lame a-hole who goes to the hospital with alcohol poisoning the first week.

6. Road trip!
Whether it’s going places with your new college friends or visiting your friends from home at their colleges, road trips are where some awesome college memories are created.

7. Moochers
Don’t give anything to overly good looking people who show up at your room unannounced. They generally take your stuff and you never see them again.

8. Get To Know Some Upperclassmen
…who don’t want to hump you. This is a difficult thing to do because most upperclassmen either ignore or abuse freshmen, but if you can find a few who don’t, they can provide a wealth of tricks and tips on how to get by.

9. Let Go Of The Long Distance Relationship
This is tough to say, but let go of your high school sweetheart before you leave for school. It’s nearly impossible to maintain long distance relationships when you’re away at college, and even if you do, you’ll end up with a lot of arguments, a lot of headaches, a huge phone bill, all while missing out on a lot of fun. Sorry. It’s true.

10. Don’t Get Caught
That’s all I’m saying.

Kathleen, U Penn Class of ‘02

1. Just because it’s at the cafeteria doesn’t mean you have to eat it.
2. Proofread the paper you wrote at 4 AM, because when you’re awake, it probably won’t make any sense.
3. Don’t barf on your carpet, because even though you might be able to live with the stain, you won’t be able to live with the smell.
4. Don’t wait until the day before to write a 15 page paper.
5. Don’t take an art history class, or really anything that relies on dark slide-shows, at 9 AM.
6. Coffee is your friend, but will not enable you to stay up all night, every night.
7. If you have class with a T.A. for whom English is not one of their top five languages, skim the chapters beforehand so you know he’s talking about “binomial distribution” not “bonemeal distortion.”
8. Your high school boy/girlfriend is lame. Move on. If you are both going to the same school or otherwise not long distance, this counts double. Go meet new people unless you’d like to wake up in 30 years and realize you still hang out with ALL your high school friends.
9. Go off campus as much as possible.
10. Pass your classes. College is expensive.

Collins, La Salle Class of ‘05

1. Meet as many people and make as many connections as you can.
2. Try something different (club/sport).
3. Stay in touch with your friends from college over the summer.
4. Explore the area that you are going to college in.
5. Get in tight with the teachers that are in your major.
6. Meet as many members of the opposite sex as possible.
7. Go abroad.
8. Go to a lot of parties.
9. Meet up with people that you may know from home at neighboring colleges.

   AND MOST IMPORTANTLY

10. Don’t let your books get in the way of your education!

Maura, Rhode Island Class of ‘06

1. Study abroad or do a national student exchange. It’s the cheapest way to get some travel experience and briefly escape your normal life.
2. Get to know your professors, even if you feel like you don’t need to see them to get extra help. In the long run they can be a fantastic source for jobs / internships / networking, etc.
3. Be whoever you want to be. You’ve got a clean slate to work with.
4. Save money over the next four years so you don’t have to move home when you graduate.
5. There is free money EVERYWHERE on EVERY college campus. All you have to do is ask and hunt around a little bit.
6. Seriously, don’t drink the punch.
7. Make sure you get solid grades to start because they’re much harder to destroy. On the flip side, a bad base GPA is almost impossible to make up for.
8. Avoid your “inappropriateness” being leaked onto the internet. It WILL come back to haunt you.
9. You can join ANYTHING. If you’re a guy, join the cheering team- they always want guys and then you can touch hot girls everyday. If you’re a girl, be a coxswain for the guys’ crew team.
10. Join some professional societies. Most student memberships are free, you really don’t have to do anything to remain active and it looks really impressive on your resume or future school applications.

Beth, Northeastern Class of ‘11

1. Keep your door open and say “hi” to everyone. And walk around and introduce yourself to interesting people and non-interesting people, because you’ll never know if they’re interesting or not until you meet them.
2. Go exploring.
3. You don’t have to be best friends with your roommate, just be a good roommate.
4. Buy your books ahead of time to get the used ones for cheaper!
5. When your moving in, put your clothes in trash bags because they’re easier to carry and throw into those moving bins.
6. ALWAYS double check for your key/card/device to get into your room before you leave the room to shower…..!!!
7. Get an ATM card if you don’t already have one and DON’T get Citizens bank, because their ATMs don’t exist in real life.
8. Join a club or team.
9. Look for every opportunity to get free stuff in the first month because there will be a TON.
10. Who cares? Its life.

Have ten pieces that you’d like to offer to today’s freshmen? Leave them in a comment below.

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I’m all for trying to make kids safer, but I have to wonder what the hell is going on in the world that creates a need for a pamphlet like this to be written at all. I grew up in the 70’s, and when I think of how people grew up in the 50’s, I feel like a total pussy. I’m sure that when those people think of people who grew up during the Great Depression, they feel like pussies. When I see a pamphlet like this, I don’t feel bad anymore because I know that as time goes on, each generation will churn out bigger and bigger pussies for old people to feel tougher than. Need proof? Check out some of the main points in the pamphlet and tell me that you don’t agree…

Point 1: Protective Gear Should Be Worn With Inline Skates, Scooters, And Skateboards
In the 70’s, we roller skated, rode around on six inch wide skateboards, and rode friggin’ big wheels downhill standing up, usually with the sole intention of crashing into each other. That was what we called a crash up derby. We had no helmets, we had no pads, and we never rode scooters because scooters were for pussies. Even though we smashed into each other in the middle of the street at the bottom of a hill, the most protective gear we had were Toughskins, and the knowledge that our parents would kill us if we ripped another pair of plaid pants.

Point 2: Kids Riding Bikes Must Wear Helmets
The second a kid gets near a bike these days, someone is ready to call Child Services unless the kid has a helmet on before they lay a single finger on the handlebars. When I was a kid and finally got a Huffy, I used it for two things: to jump off things like Evel Knievel, and get into smash up derbies like one of the The Malachi Brothers. If you messed up your jump off of a poorly constructed cinder block ramp, or were the unsuspecting victim of the Malachi Crunch, the only thing standing between you and a batch of city poured concrete was a ringer t-shirt and a mess of long hair, my friend. We didn’t wear helmets, because when I was a kid, helmets only served to help you tell which kids you weren’t allowed to make fun of. Everyone else learned to tuck and roll. Hell, not even professional hockey players wore helmets in those days, so why would we?

Point 3: Dangerous Mini Bikes Are Marketed And Sold To Children
Wait, so you’re telling me that kids today can go out and buy their own mini motorcycles? Really? You know that awesome Huffy that I used to transform myself into Evel Knievel and the Malachi Brothers? Well, some thieving ass-wipes stole it right out of my garage, leaving me one less thing that I could use to hurl myself into stuff at high speeds. It wasn’t a Supergoose with a double gooseneck and a flywheel or anything. It was a banged up, old Huffy, and they stole it anyway. If you had some sort of mini-motorcycle in those days, the only thing that would get hurt would be your feelings when you heard it zipping away from your house late at night.

Point 4: Lead Can Cause Permanent, Irreversible Injuries
No shit. Really? Is that why we weren’t allowed to eat the paint chips off the wall 30 years ago? Do enough people still not know about this that it needs to be included in a safety pamphlet? If not, they probably should’ve mentioned that smoking causes cancer and you shoudn’t put Benadryl in the baby’s milk to get it to go to sleep. Maybe they can add these oversights into next year’s pamphlet, or agree to omit them and stop treating American parents like idiots.

Point 5: Toys With Small, Loose, Rigid, Or Pointy Parts Are Bad
Holy crap. With one line, they’ve pushed almost every toy that I or any of my friends had in the 70’s into the bad category. Hungry Hungry Hippos? Bad. Battlestar Galactica, Star Wars, or Shogun toys that shot missiles? Bad. Green Army men? Bad. Operation? Wacky, but still bad. Trouble with the popomatic bubble? Well, that’s borderline, because although the popomatic protective bubble might prevent dice to eye injury, there are a lot of small parts that kids could choke on if they decided to eat them.

Know what my parents did if my sister tried to eat any of my awesome ’70s toys? They fished whatever it was out of her mouth and told her, “No”. It was called parenting. Shit. Every toy on the market back then was not only small, loose, rigid, and pointy, but I can think of one off the top of my head that added “flammable” to the mix to make things interesting.

I don’t know how it came into my possession, but I had a metal Batmobile that not only shot sparks out of the back, but shot a fucking blade out of the front. A sharp, metal knife blade popped out like a switchblade when you pressed a button on it. I’m completely serious. I thought it was the coolest toy ever, and 30 years later, here I am with all my fingers.

Hell, if you eliminate every toy that’s small, loose, rigid or pointy, what’s left on the market that’s fun to play with? Pillows? What if the pillow lands on top of the child, pinning them to the ground and suffocating them with its extreme weight? Maybe they can play with some reasonably sized foam blocks as long as the corners are shaved off and they’re used under strict adult supervision. Or maybe a feather, as long as they’re not allergic. Oh no, wait, a feather has a pointy end.

PuHUssies. Sorry. That was a cough.

Point 6: “Super” Water Guns Have Caused Eye And Other Injuries
When I was a kid, we didn’t have super water guns. The squirt guns that we got were cheap and shot a tiny stream of water at an angle until you gave up and drank the contents or smashed them over someone’s head. The only super squirt gun we had was called a hose. Does a super water gun have more force than a hose? What about those pressurized water rockets that you had to pump up and shoot into the air? I think I shot one of those things off a thousand times and never lost an eye.

Know why? Because my parents constantly asked us, “You want to lose an eye? Do you? Do. You Want. To. Lose. An. Eye?” Repeated enough times, that phrase creates a subconscious barrier that prevents kids from pointing projectiles at people’s faces. Thirty years later, I still don’t like pointing stuff at my eyes. And what “other” injuries is this pamphlet referring to? Has human skin has gotten so soft and supple that a super squirt gun poses a risk of breaking the surface? Or is it the whacking someone over the head with the squirt gun thing? Because, like I said, that has been going on since squirt guns were invented.

Point 7: Dive Sticks Could Potentially Impale Children
Are you fucking kidding me right now? Are you? You’re telling me that a colored sticks under several feet of water pose such a danger that parents need to be warned about them? Know how many dive sticks I’ve successfully retrieved in my day? 22,836. Know how many times anyone I knew was impaled by one? Uh, zero because you don’t dive straight down into the shallow end of a pool. In the 70’s we didn’t worry about impaling ourselves on dive sticks because we knew that if you dove hard enough into the shallow end of the pool that you could impale yourself on a dive stick, then dive stick or not, you’re pretty much fucked in the impending battle between your neck and the bottom of the pool.

You want to talk real impalement risk? I have two words for you: Lawn darts. Thirty years ago, horseshoes had been replaced by giant metal darts that drunken adults threw at plastic rings on the ground whenever there was a cookout. Do you have any idea how many drunken cookouts there were in the 70’s?

Money was tight and there was no gas to be had anywhere, so drunken cookouts were as popular as mustaches back then. Hell, if people did manage to find some gas, it was pretty common for them to drive drunk without seat belts when they could barely see the road through their long ass hair. To make matters worse, it wasn’t uncommon for drivers to use the phrase, “Hold the wheel” before diving from the front into the back seat in an attempt to kill an unruly child at 30 MPH. Does that seem like a world in which anyone thought that flying metal darts posed a danger?

Nope. And I never knew anyone that got impaled by one, even though us kids would chuck them into the air like rockets anytime no one was looking. I did hear a rumor about a kid getting hit with one once, but I also heard that Mikey the Life Cereal kid died when his stomach blew up from eating Pop Rocks and drinking Coke. In any case, if we were accustomed to dodging flying metal projectiles on a regular basis, small, stationary sticks under a few feet of water didn’t really register as something that we needed to worry about.

Know what we did worry about? The friggin’ Zim Zams that we pulled out of the ground and threw like javelins. You know what it’s like to get hit with one of those? Well, I can tell you firsthand that it sucks, but there was no other way to train like Bruce Jenner in those days. We didn’t have any real javelins laying around to practice with because we were too afraid to ask our parents for something that cost money that you couldn’t eat or wear. Yea, if your looking for impalement risk, give some kids a Zim Zam and tell them to go for the gold. And they’re worried about dive sticks? Pfft.

Point 8: Heelys Cause Injuries.
The only time I remember seeing something like Heelys in the ’70s was on an episode of CHiPs, where this chick walked into a jewelery store, stole some stuff, and click click popped some skate wheels out of her shoes to make the getaway. Otherwise, no regular person had Heelys when I was a kid, so maybe I shouldn’t even talk about this. Hold on. Wasn’t the 70’s the golden fucking age of roller skating? Yea, I think it must’ve been, because even a nerd like me couldn’t go a month without going to someone’s rollerskating birthday party.

It’s a different world today, though. According to the pamphlet, and I quote, “Retailers market Heelys to youths who are unprepared for the risks associated with this product.” It’s unconscionable that today’s unscrupulous marketing machine targets unprepared kids with their rolling mangling machines. In the ’70s, roller skates were marketed to adults who would attend a class on the risks of roller skates, which they would weigh and thoroughly explain to their children, if they decided to buy their kid a pair.

Wait, no they didn’t. Seventies parents got some second hand skates from someone who outgrew them, gave them to the kids, and sent them outside. If they were too big, we got some newspaper to stuff in the toes. If they were too small, you rode your bike into something instead. There was no class. No one “prepared us for the risks of skating”. You put wheels on your feet, and the closest you were going to get to padding was a kick ass head band and maybe a couple of wrist bands.

Even though you knew that you were going to end up on your ass in the first twelve seconds, you pointed yourself downhill anyway. Shit man. You want injuries? Try sliding down the street on your belly, crashing through thorn bushes, and jamming into large, unforgivable ’70s cars because the brakes on the old skates inexplicably required you to lean forward to stop. Heelys? Danger? Really? Wait, are the kids using them to rob jewelery stores? No?

PuHUssies. Sorry. There’s that cough again.

From There, It Just Gets Worse…
I really wish that I was kidding when I said that “Never burn charcoal inside” is a direct quote from this pamphlet. It also says to beware of gas leaks, watch your kids near the pool, and don’t let your kid touch the fire. It finishes up by pointing out the dangers of mini-hammocks, trampolines, soccer goals, amusement park rides, bleachers, sweatshirt drawstrings (really?), jungle gyms, and windows.

I really think that the inclusion of most of the items in the pamphlet confirms that this group thinks that American parents are severely mentally handicapped, or that children need protection from nearly everything. Like me, most of the kids of the 70’s didn’t have protections like this, and we turned out fine. I still have all my fingers and a working brain, despite a number of scars and a lot of lumps.

Do we need pamphlets like this because each generation is churning out bigger and bigger pussies, or is it just another piece of garbage designed to perpetuate itself by creating fear and concern in every possible aspect of a child’s life?

What do you think?

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The only tools used for this were:

• Audacity
• Mixmeister BPM analyzer
• Hydrogen Advanced Drum Machine

Thanks to the free download of the “Making Me Nervous” source files, the job was mostly cutting, pasting, and arranging. The only thing that I actually had to create was the drum track, which contains a healthy dose of cowbell. The video is just a couple of minutes of video shot out of the sunroof with a cell phone, so the quality is on the low side, but you do the best you can with what you’ve got.

My “Making Me Nervous” Remix Video

If you want to hear the original version of “Making Me Nervous”, you can download it for free over at BradSucks.net. Brad encourages remixing of his stuff, and with so many free and relatively easy to use tools available, why not take a shot at a remix of your own?

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So, what do you believe?

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2008/02/21/i-believe/feed/ 11 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/11/28/stop-being-a-fan-and-become-a-champion/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/11/28/stop-being-a-fan-and-become-a-champion/#comments Wed, 28 Nov 2007 10:00:45 +0000 Jon http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/11/28/stop-being-a-fan-and-become-a-champion/ After I finished up my bastard post, I was sitting on the couch thinking about all the people that I’m a fan of these days. As I cycled through a list of friends, relatives, bloggers, and those masochists who always, always, always take part in FineTune Friday, I thought, “What good does this admiration do for anyone locked up in my head? Who cares if I like someone’s site or admire their actions if I never actually tell anyone about it?”

And I thought, “It doesn’t matter at all.”

And then the slogan that has been guiding me along since I quit my job popped into my head:

“It’s not what you think, it’s what you do that matters.”

Aside from the sporting goods company, the word champion has been lost in our modern age. The modern human is passive. We sit, watch, and think, instead of promote, interact, and support. We’re a generation of fans and most of us have no idea what it is to be champions. If it’s indeed true that only what you do matters, then wouldn’t it be better for everyone if we stopped thinking like fans and started acting like champions?

Being a champion isn’t about winning a contest or being at the top of the pile. It’s about promoting someone for no reason other than you think that they deserve it. I’m a firm believer that to become the kind of person that you want to be, you have to be willing to start with small steps in the right direction. This week, I spent portions of my time looking for simple ways to champion some of the people that I’m a fan of. It felt pretty good, so I’m going to suggest a simple way for you all to get in on it.

Take a minute to champion someone deserving by linking to them in the comments of this post. Then, briefly explain why you gave them the nod. If the person that you champion doesn’t have a website, don’t let that stop you from including them. It’s a small step to becoming something more by turning your idle thoughts into something that matters.

Don’t be a fan. Be a champion.

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/11/28/stop-being-a-fan-and-become-a-champion/feed/ 4 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/11/06/never-back-down-from-tough-decisions-again/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/11/06/never-back-down-from-tough-decisions-again/#comments Tue, 06 Nov 2007 10:00:23 +0000 Jon http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/11/06/never-back-down-from-tough-decisions-again/ We’ve allowed television to ruin our attention spans, and the web to wrap us in the illusion that the answer to every decision is out there just waiting for us to uncover it. The endless choice that we are constantly faced with has made modern decision making something that people avoid, fear, and even dread. Here are 10 simple tips to help you take control of your decisions rather than letting them take control of you.


1. Research, Don’t Obsess

Even though there is more information available than any other time in history, don’t fall prey to the illusion that you can gather every possible scrap of information about a decision. You can’t. The key is to gather an appropriate amount of information in relation to the decision and then know when to stop. If you cross a point in your information gathering where each additional hour yields less and less relevant information, you may have crossed the line from researching into obsessing.

2. Trust Yourself

Because information is changing at a faster and faster rate, learning to trust yourself is becoming more important than having all the information. All decisions have blind spots, and the sooner you train yourself to fill in the gaps with intuition instead of information, the better off you’ll be when your information turns out to be outdated, unavailable, or simply incorrect.

3. Put It On Paper

Writing out a simple list of pros and cons can sometimes help to crystallize your decisions. For something slightly more advanced, use SWOT analysis to help you analyze both internal and external factors that can have an affect.

4. Think Long Term

If the importance of a decision is weighing you down, consider whether your choice will make a difference to you in ten years. Most won’t, but even the ones that look like major changes can look like a bump in the road when given a long term view.

5. Set Deadlines

Give yourself an appropriate amount of time to make a decision and stick to it. Procrastination lets your decisions live past their expiration date, and rushing makes the decision itself more important than your participation in the process. Be in control. Don’t let your decisions have power over you.

6. Be Courageous

Some decisions will lead to failure, but small failures are essential steps on the road to success. Know that the only real way to fail is to let your fear of failure prevent you from learning lessons that will guide you toward bigger successes in the future.

7. Take Responsibility

Let go of the idea that people can force you to do anything. You are the captain of your ship and only you can guide it where you want it to go. Captains don’t hand over the wheel to less competent people and let them steer their ships all over the place. They stay in control because they know that they are the only ones responsible for the direction of their boat. Captains do not bitch, they do not moan, and they do not pass blame. They steer.

8. Always Do The Right Thing

I won’t pretend to have the authority to even begin to tell you what the right thing is, and I won’t pretend that your moral compass will allow you to make better decisions. What I can say is that people who believe they are doing the right thing have an easier time living with their decisions than those who don’t.

9. Sleep On It

Although counterintuitive, sometimes the best decisions are found by stepping away from the problem and focusing on something completely unrelated. Getting away from a decision for even a short period of time can not only help you to see the problem in a new light, but can allow your unconscious to unravel some of the issues that are making the decision tough.

10. Let Go Of Regret

Replace the words “bad choices” with “learning experiences”, and strike “should have”, “would have” and “could have” from your vocabulary. You’ll succeed and learn rather than fail and regret. Regrets are for people who don’t trust that they made the best decisions they could with the information that they had at the time. Regret won’t do anything to change a past decision and will most likely derail future decisions, so trust yourself and know that you’re doing the best you can.

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/11/06/never-back-down-from-tough-decisions-again/feed/ 3 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/10/16/are-you-living-the-dream-or-dreaming-of-living/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/10/16/are-you-living-the-dream-or-dreaming-of-living/#comments Tue, 16 Oct 2007 10:00:20 +0000 Jon http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/10/16/are-you-living-the-dream-or-dreaming-of-living/ Imagine yourself driving somewhere. You’re sipping your coffee, fiddling with the radio, and going over some mundane things that you have to do later on. Your head is in fifteen places except where you are. Everything is very normal. There is absolutely nothing that you could have done, so it’s probably best that you never saw the gas truck that ran the light and into your drivers’ side door.

It is not your lucky day.

You go into a coma for a month and eventually wake up to be a relatively functional person, except that your brain doesn’t work like it used to. You have trouble with small tasks, and you can’t possibly hold on to thoughts long enough to even dream of living the life you lead right now. Sometimes you even think you smell colors. Your scars will heal and you’ll look the same, so no one will know by looking at you that trying to recall what happened five minutes ago is like trying to pick up minnows swimming around your legs.

This may be only hypothetical, but it’s not impossible. If this were to happen to you, would you be able to accept the idea that how you are right now is the best that you will ever be, or would you look back and think you threw away the biggest opportunity you would ever have?

Are you giving life everything you have, running out of time and energy at the end of each day, and going to sleep happy because you are living up to your full potential, or are you wasting your time and talents in a comatose state where your dreams remain as remote and unrealistic as the situation I’ve presented?

Are you living the dream or simply dreaming of living?

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/10/16/are-you-living-the-dream-or-dreaming-of-living/feed/ 8 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/08/27/i-still-look-for-your-fingerprints-part-ii/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/08/27/i-still-look-for-your-fingerprints-part-ii/#comments Mon, 27 Aug 2007 19:03:48 +0000 Jon http://dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/08/27/i-still-look-for-your-fingerprints-part-ii/ Last week I mentioned that I went into an open house where the previous owner had written all over the walls (see the post) and while I didn’t find it creepy, it did stick in my mind.

This week, while discussing it with someone, we found out that the house may have been previously owned by Louise Wightman, a former Combat Zone stripper and Playboy model who was convicted of practicing psychology without a license back in 2005.

Wightman had a daughter named Torri with Aerosmith’s head of security, but in May of 2006, the girl skipped school and was killed in a daytime car accident at the age of 16.

When we found all this out, #1GF! and I were wide eyed, remembering how sad the house was to be in. I think we both wanted to know more, but didn’t want to be morbid, googling the details of a dead teenager.

Today, I needed a couple of details to close the books on this story, and Wikipedia led me to Torri’s Wightman’s website. There I ended up seeing the pictures of her funeral, the bloody clothes she died in, and even what I think is her toe tag, warning people to think whenever they get into a car.

From there I ended up finding a link to Torri Wightman’s myspace videos. While fairly typical for teenage videos, watching them was an atypical experience because the happy teenager depicted had no idea that those captured idle moments would soon be frozen in time.

It made me wonder what’s really important to keep locked in our memories. Is it the big events when we’re posing for the camera? Or should we be burning the insignificant details to memory because, in the end, the idle moments make us who are, and will be the things we want to remember most?

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/08/27/i-still-look-for-your-fingerprints-part-ii/feed/ 3 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/08/14/hows-work-going/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/08/14/hows-work-going/#comments Tue, 14 Aug 2007 11:00:47 +0000 Jon http://dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/08/14/hows-work-going/ After a moment of reminiscing about the robotic anonymity of my old grey cube, I felt a little guilty that you had to be in that office while I sat out in my beach chair. Although I can’t join you in fluorescence, I thought I’d join you in spirit.











I wish I had tacked up a TPS report to the wall of my virtual cube, but I just don’t have the skills.

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/08/14/hows-work-going/feed/ 9 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/07/19/miro-will-kill-your-television/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/07/19/miro-will-kill-your-television/#comments Thu, 19 Jul 2007 11:00:08 +0000 Jon http://dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/07/19/miro-will-kill-your-television/ The Participatory Culture Foundation has just released Miro, a free, open source RSS reader for video feeds. It can handle just about every video format that you can think of, has a built-in bittorrent client, and runs in both windowed and full screened modes. Formerly named the Democracy Player, this cross-platform player is available for Windows, Mac OS X, and GNU/Linux.


Miro displaying the channel guide

With a million video players and sites out there, why should you care about Miro? You should care about it because Miro is the first solid step toward independent TV. By creating an integrated player and channel guide, Miro is not trying to supplement your TV watching: It’s trying to replace it.

By including a built-in channel guide that containing nearly 1600 channels, Miro is taking all of the legwork out of finding quality, independent video on the web. With more channels being added every day (trust me, I volunteer moderating them. It never stops.), there is something available for every taste. I ripped the following category list out of the channel guide this morning so you can get an idea of the wide range of channels available:

• Activism 44 Channels
• Animals 14 Channels
• Animation 62 Channels
• Arts 217 Channels
• Business 44 Channels
• Comedy 227 Channels
• Education 120 Channels
• Environment 27 Channels
• Family 32 Channels
• Food 33 Channels
• Government 10 Channels
• Health 22 Channels
• International 117 Channels
• Kids 8 Channels
• Mac 16 Channels
• Movies & TV 194 Channels
• Music 177 Channels
• News 158 Channels
• Politics 102 Channels
• Religion & Spirituality 42 Channels
• Science 36 Channels
• Sports 77 Channels
• Technology 165 Channels
• Transportation 11 Channels
• Travel 65 Channels
• Video Blogs 196 Channels
• Video Games 19 Channels

Tons of content doesn’t necessarily mean that there’s anything worth watching though, right? While I will admit that there are a few high school video blogs in there (LOL! OMG! WTF! BRB!), they are generally outnumbered by the amount of quality content. If you like news, ABC, NBC, Reuters, BBC, Fox, G4TV, and plenty of independent channels are available. If you’re a sucker for comedies, there are tons of regularly produced, independent sitcoms like The Burg, We Need Girlfriends, and Cearealized.

I currently have over 50 channels loaded into my player that range from G4 TV Shows to independent web-only sitcoms, and there are more videos in those channels than I could watch in a week.

If the guide isn’t enough for you, you can blaze your own trail with the built in video search feature. It will let you hunt down videos on Blip.tv, YouTube, Videoh, DailyMotion, Google Video, Blogdigger, and Revver from a single interface. It will also allow you to save those searches as channels, so that you can get constant updates on your favorite topic, whether it’s “Robot Chicken” or “chicken monkey donkey porn”. You can even set up playlists of channels to have Miro play all of your videos back to back in full screen.

With all this downloading, it would be logical to expect that you have to keep a watchful eye on your hard drive to keep it from getting packed with the videos that you never watch, but Miro is designed to work within a limited space. When you add a channel from the guide, Miro will manage the download and storage of the videos to prevent your drive from filling up. After you watch each video, you have the option of saving it, deleting it, or letting it delete itself automatically after a set period of time.

Sound cool, yet? It should. It’s the future of independent content.

Miro Will Kill Your Television… if you let it.

The Participatory Culture Foundation is a Massachusetts-based non-profit organization which seeks to balance the playing field when it comes to producing and distributing content. They were recently funded by the Mozilla Foundation and seek to help solve the growing problem of a small number of corporations controlling mass media. You can help balance the scales by turning your eyeballs away from the TV and onto Miro. I have no affiliation with the PCF beyond being a volunteer channel moderator, so I’m not employed by them nor am I qualified to speak for them. If you want to blame someone for any errors or mentions of chicken monkey donkey porn, you’ll have to blame me in the comments or by email.

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/07/19/miro-will-kill-your-television/feed/ 3 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/04/30/a-firetruck/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/04/30/a-firetruck/#comments Tue, 01 May 2007 02:01:09 +0000 Jon http://dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/04/30/a-firetruck/ This week, I’ve been forced to face the fact that I’ve wasted a decade on a company that is a professional dead end. I’ve wasted a number of brain cycles trying to determine whether it’s better to quit, transfer, or drink the Kool Aid, but after a run on the beach today, I thought, “None of this shit matters. None of it. It’s all bullshit.”

And it brought a smile to my face.

It may have been my distinct lack of oxygen, but the thought grew to include everything. Work, hobbies, morality, everything. We like to think that if we work hard, we’ll get the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. We like to think that honesty is the best policy and that the dishonest are always shown the error of their ways. The good guys always win. The fact of the matter is that people get ahead by lying, cheating, stealing, and dumb luck. We don’t like to believe it happens, but the world doesn’t really care what we like to believe.

Your local graveyard is littered with devils and angels, lying side by side, and the world still turns without them. Three generations after they died, most are all but forgotten. Good or bad, their choices had no lasting effect on the world.

And odds are, neither will yours.

The only effect that your values and actions will shape is you.

If the only important thing that you can truly shape is yourself, what will you become?

(Did anyone get the title reference?)

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/04/30/a-firetruck/feed/ 7 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/04/24/return-of-the-j-dy/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/04/24/return-of-the-j-dy/#comments Wed, 25 Apr 2007 02:31:45 +0000 Jon http://dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/04/24/return-of-the-j-dy/ Where have I been? I turned 35, and had been toying with the idea of shutting this thing down and moving on. I’ve been writing about four posts a week for five years, and I’m not famous. I’m not rich, either. And I’m certainly not a better writer. Hell, not one single irresponsible female has thanked me for all my posts by jamming her sweet, sweet cans into my inbox.

When I consider the amount of time that I sink into this thing, it seems like a pretty big waste of time.

When you consider that all that fucking Jared guy from Subway had to do to achieve fame, riches, and an inbox full of sweater muffins was to shove one less hoagie into his fat-ass face every day, this site looks like a pretty monumental waste of time.

So, I just stopped posting. It seemed more than pointless. And thanks to Google’s retention policy, most of my prospective employers for the next 50 years will be able to find every time I said shit, fuck, cock, dick, ass, and vagina. And if they find my cunt post, this site becomes downright self-destructive.

The thing is, I turned 35 and I really don’t feel like I have much to show at this stage. Nothing in my life is even remotely horrible, but I don’t feel like I’ve actually achieved anything. I work all day wearing off the corners that make me unique, and when I actually have free time, I don’t have the energy or imagination to think up anything better than shopping for music or tech items that I don’t need.

Some people have kids, good jobs, houses, or hobbies that mask their lack of a true calling. Other people hole up and drink a lot. I’m still expecting my true calling to crash down on me like a loose jet engine out of the clear blue sky. And I have no clue even where to stand to even get hit.

Most of the time that seems fine, but when I have milestone birthdays and look at the grand scheme of things, it really, really doesn’t.

So, I stopped spending a large portion of my free time writing to see if anything got clearer.

And it sort of did. Even though I originally started writing this as a virtual memory aid, in the last couple of years, it’s transformed into a way to make new friends and connect with old ones. You all know who you are. You harass me when I don’t write, you were nice enough to make and mail your shameful musical favorites CDs (remember that one? I still have every one of them all…), and now, one of you even visited me.

You’ve gradually turned this virtual monologue into a series of real life dialogs.

And I guess that’s what it’s all about.

That and fart jokes.

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/04/24/return-of-the-j-dy/feed/ 9 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/02/26/return-of-the-experiment-kill-your-tv-ii/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/02/26/return-of-the-experiment-kill-your-tv-ii/#comments Tue, 27 Feb 2007 02:24:45 +0000 Jon http://dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/02/26/return-of-the-experiment-kill-your-tv-ii/ One of the first posts that I ever published was an experiment to see if I could shut off my television for 7 days. At the time, I found the first two days were marked with definite withdrawal, but after that there was a marked increase in brain activity as my brain transformed from a passive observer to an active participant.

Because I’ve been feeling the life sliding out of me lately, a couple of days ago, I started the experiment again. And because television is a habit backed by billion dollar marketing machine, it’s a tough habit to break. I’ve gotten a lot of shit done over the last couple of days, and even though my brain seems to be coming up with more ideas lately, it’s not smart enough to help me avoid getting my ass whipped by #1GF! in every game of Lost Cities we play.

If you need a little encouragement to participate, check out the original Kill Your Television post

I’d love to hear if you participate and if it does you any good.

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/02/26/return-of-the-experiment-kill-your-tv-ii/feed/ 6 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/02/20/underblogger-support/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/02/20/underblogger-support/#comments Wed, 21 Feb 2007 03:24:53 +0000 Jon http://dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/02/20/underblogger-support/ Recently, while reading the latest corporate voodoo on how to get ahead, it dawned on me that it overlaps with some of the problogger voodoo on how to generate traffic to a website.

It Doesn’t Matter How Hard You Work…

Have you ever spent time writing a post that you were sure would bring in more traffic? Ever find yourself irritated as hell when crappy posts like “The Top 5 Nice Things You Can Say To Someone” gain incredibly hearty footholds in all the major news sites while your posts don’t get a single comment?

If you’ve been blogging for any amount of time, you probably have felt this way at one time or another.

It Doesn’t Matter Who You know…

Or maybe you spend your time pouring through sites trying to get on the cutting edge of music, games, or whatever your field of interest. Even though you might digest some of the tastiest links on the planet for your content, other bloggers can throw up 50 words about their baby’s new pajamas and get 426 comments more than you, none of which mention viagra, sex farms, or weight loss.

You’re not alone on this.

What Matters is Who Knows You.

Although we might not want to believe it, the thing that gets you ahead in both business and web publishing is not how hard you work or who you know, but rather who knows you. And who does know you? In my case, it’s four Chicagoans, two Canadians, and a guy from New Jersey named Chris. And maybe I’m at the top of my game. But what about all those bloggers out there who you read daily, never leave comments for, and laugh out loud at? I’m not talking about the major leaguers. Everyone knows about them. I’m talking about the unknowns: The Underbloggers.

How are people going to get to know them? For all the posts that they’ve donated to us, we could spend two minutes advertising for them.

I’ll start. Take a look at the list under “Blogs on the Radar” on the right. At least 20 hits a month on their feeds are coming from me because I read them every… damned… day. And even if they are little stats whores, they probably have no idea it’s me because I’m pulling their RSS feeds. And the list is full of good posts and interesting characters. There are ‘Vegas bartenders, DJ’s, strip club DJ’s, death metal loving Kung Fu masters, and even people from Chicago. Yes, Chicago.

Do me a favor. Drop a link to all those underbloggers you regularly read into the comments. If those bloggers check their stats, they’ll know someone appreciated them enough to do some free advertising for them. And any links to them will only help them in search engine rank and hopefully make them more popular.

And don’t feel shy about dropping a link to your own blog.

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/02/20/underblogger-support/feed/ 5 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/02/01/aqua-teen-hunger-bombs/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/02/01/aqua-teen-hunger-bombs/#comments Fri, 02 Feb 2007 03:04:16 +0000 Jon http://dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/02/01/aqua-teen-hunger-bombs/ Today is a day that I’m pretty embarrassed to be a Masshole. For those that don’t know the story, Turner Broadcasting paid two guys to put up LED signs as part of a viral ad campaign for their upcoming Aqua Teen Hunger Force Movie. The signs featured a picture of a Mooninite giving the finger. Turner arranged to have signs put up in Atlanta, Austin, Boston, Los Angeles, New York, Philadelphia, Portland, San Francisco, and Seattle. They did this two or three weeks ago.

If I saw a LED Mooninite giving me the finger from a bridge, I can say that I would point, laugh, and try to explain to #1GF! why it was funny. Unfortunately, Boston freaked out, shut down major roadways, and sent in bomb squads to blow up the signs. Every newscast featured serious broadcasters talking about the “devices” that were being found and shutting down the city.

When it was finally revealed that the whole amounted to nothing but a bunch of advertisements that would, with any luck, be the least threatening thing gracing some lucky college kid’s dorm room, our embarrassed mayor had the people who put up the signs up for Turner arrested and charged with distributing “hoax devices”, under a statute used to prevent people from distributing fake bombs to cause a panic. He also claimed that he had his lawyers working on a case to sue and possibly level criminal charges against Turner Broadcasting. The mayor claimed a $500,000 damage figure, which had to be repeated several times because I don’t think that the microphone was positioned close enough to his asshole to hear.

When I talked about this, I was surprised to hear that a lot of the people actually agreed with the Mayor. In their minds, these guys should have known that lite-brites hung up around a city would be construed as a bomb threat in a post 9/11 world. Advertising should have a permit. There is no room for jokes. Anything could be a bomb and should be regarded with suspicion and treated with overreaction.

Yet, on one of the news reports, they talked to a guy at Fenway Park who had known about the signs for weeks and thought they were just a funny prank. In Seattle, a police Sergent was quoted as saying, “At this point we wouldn’t even begin an investigation, because there’s no reason to believe a crime has occurred.”

Frankly, I agree. Let’s be honest. These things don’t remotely resemble bombs. They look like Lite-brites. At worst they might be a choking hazard for children under three and possibly the mayor of Boston.

To continually call them “devices” on the news instead of “signs” incites unnecessary concern. To charge these two guys with trying to panic the public is nothing but an idiot Mayor looking for a scapegoat to make him look like less of an idiot. To passively accept these overreactions makes Massholes look like a panicky bunch of pussies who don’t deserve the tattered scraps of freedom that are gradually being pulled through our fingers.

When what is funny makes you afraid, and when the smallest actions get massive overreactions, how can a citizen remain free?

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2007/02/01/aqua-teen-hunger-bombs/feed/ 13 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/11/15/how-were-your-days-off/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/11/15/how-were-your-days-off/#comments Thu, 16 Nov 2006 03:17:55 +0000 Jon http://dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/11/15/how-were-your-days-off/ I took a four day weekend this week. I can’t say that it went as planned…

Day 0: Notar Hero

After last week, all I wanted to do on Friday night was escape into a few hours of Guitar Hero II. I put on my free GHII winter hat, applied the free sunburst sticker to the guitar controller, and waited for the PS2 to warm up. Unfortunately for me, the awesomeness that is Guitar Hero proved to be too much for my crotchety old PS2, and it revolted with a series of growls and grinds that made game play impossible.

After a little investigation, I found that I had to do a more advanced version of my last PS2 dismemberment, this time not only removing the laser, the laser guides and the snake motor screw, but I actually had to melt and bend a plastic clip to give the laser a better ride up and down the screw (meow). Needless to say, now that the PS2 is at the tail end of its life cycle, I am finally well versed at repairing it and have ithumming along better than when it was new.

Note to self: In a pinch, a hair dryer will not miraculously act like a heat gun no matter how MacGuyver the idea seemed at the time.

Day 1: Raked/ran errands

I went raking at #1GF!’s family’s house. On the ride down, we listened to Howard Stern on her brother’s satellite radio, and I found that even though I throw around more f-bombs than an angry trucker with sore nuts, I got really tired of hearing swears on the radio. I guess there is just something about DJ’s having to dance around swears that seems more fun than the swears themselves.

Within a few hours of our arrival, the gutters were cleaned, the yard was raked, and we were on our way back home. On the way back, #1GF! was beyond delighted that her brother had a remote control to the truck radio, and sat in the back seat flicking through the channels in her own impromptu version of “Name that Tune“.

the day ended with us running some errands and picking up some delicious chicken cutlets, which I ate while jamming through the easy and medium levels of GH2.

Day 2: Attended a wake for a good friend’s grandmother

It’s a strange to admit, but when people in my family die, I sometimes dream about them the night they pass away. It has happened for a few of my family members, and although it doesn’t happen all the time, I get nervous when people that I know are the only other people in my dream.

On Thursday night, I had a dream that I heard a noise in my living room. When I went to investigate, I found a friend that I’ve known for 26 years standing there looking confused. When I asked him what he was doing in my living room, he just sort of stared at me and said he had no idea. When I woke up, I spent a few hours convincing myself that my dream had nothing to do with my superstitions, and it only happened for family.

Two days later, my friend called to let me know that he had been with his grandmother when she died on Thursday night. I didn’t mention this to him, and I’m not claiming anything other than it’s weird. If I was superstitious, I might say that “family” is not always about blood.

Day 3: Broke up with IPOWERWEB & found out my aunt died

I talked about the ipowerweb fiasco yesterday, but that was relatively minor compared to the news of my aunt passing away.

About a year ago, my aunt had been diagnosed with three to six months to live. She had beaten her diagnosis by a long shot, and was actually doing relatively well, when she took a sudden downturn and within 48 hours had passed away.

My aunt had a raspy laugh that came from her toes, which was hard to resist joining in with, and like all of my Mom’s siblings, she had been blessed with a quick wit and a great sense of humor.

For only the second time in my life, I will be a pall bearer. And even though I can’t do anything to repay her for all the laughs she gave me over the years, I have to say that I’m honored to have been asked to do this for her.

Day 4: Waited…

Wakes and funerals are difficult by nature, but waiting for them to arrive can be tough, too. I couldn’t really relax yesterday because my aunt’s wake and funeral are coming up. It’s not that I think that wakes and funerals are grueling affairs, but waiting for them brings out those feelings of being a little helpless, a little distracted, and a lot like you’ll never know the right thing to say to those people who feel worse than you do. I wasted time and ran errands until I went to dinner with my parents, yesterday, but if I were smart, I might’ve spent the day living.

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/11/15/how-were-your-days-off/feed/ 5 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/10/23/i-can-name-that-tune-in-zero-notes/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/10/23/i-can-name-that-tune-in-zero-notes/#comments Tue, 24 Oct 2006 04:45:09 +0000 Jon http://dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/10/23/i-can-name-that-tune-in-zero-notes/ The grid below contains samples taken from over 50 songs from various styles, most of which should be relatively easy to identify for people who have had access to a radio at some point over the last 30 years. Your job, when you have a few free minutes, is to see how many that you can identify.

The catch? The samples are all drums.

Instructions

Clicking on will play the sample. Clicking on will give you the answer. If you were right, click anywhere in the box to turn it green. If you were wrong, click anywhere in the box to turn it red.

Scoring

When you’re done, marking all the colors, click “Score Me” at the bottom to display your score. Because you’re self-scoring, what you call a correct answer is up to you. It can be as strict as whether you know both the title and the artist, or simply whether you can hum a couple of notes. Have fun with it.




Score Me

It should be noted that while I am really, really handy with Perl, I wrote this all in . Because I’m really, really rusty in , you may have noticed a complete lack of posts over the last two weeks while I put this bitch together. It was partly because of the , but mostly because WordPress doesn’t really like to play with without some arm wrestling. I would like to have written it in Flash, but I was stopped by both the $400 entry fee and the fact that I’d probably still be working on it. As always, the only reason that I do this crap is so #1GF! and you might have some fun.

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/10/23/i-can-name-that-tune-in-zero-notes/feed/ 14 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/09/21/three-points-for-that-girl-that-guy-and-those-douche-bags-with-the-hats/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/09/21/three-points-for-that-girl-that-guy-and-those-douche-bags-with-the-hats/#comments Fri, 22 Sep 2006 01:34:54 +0000 Jon http://dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/09/21/three-points-for-that-girl-that-guy-and-those-douche-bags-with-the-hats/ 1. If you are under the age of 23 and leave the house in pigtails, people might think you are cute. If you are over the age of 23, people assume you are trolling for pole.

2. If it’s 1826 and you live in the old west, wearing a leather vest, chaps, a six-gun, and a Bowie knife says, “Don’t tangle with this outlaw.” If it’s 2006, the same vest and chaps when paired with studded saddle bags and leather tassels hanging from your handlebars say “Please rub random testicles on any non-leather surface.”

3. If you live in some rural farm area and leave the house wearing a cowboy hat, people might assume that you are a wrangler. Irrespective of sex or personal preference, if you are seen wearing that same cowboy hat in the Northeast, people will assume that the only thing you’re looking to wrangle is cock.

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/09/21/three-points-for-that-girl-that-guy-and-those-douche-bags-with-the-hats/feed/ 5 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/08/28/the-inner-brat/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/08/28/the-inner-brat/#comments Tue, 29 Aug 2006 02:17:41 +0000 Jon http://dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/08/28/the-inner-brat/ I think my inner child has been screaming bloody murder lately. You know those times when people hold the lighter really close to the fuse and wait for someone to bump them? That’s where I’ve figuratively landed over the last few weeks.

And knowing that I have been in that mood, I keep my head down, limit my contact, and try not to blame people for things that aren’t their fault. In my experience, it makes for less apologies later.

And nothing is really wrong.

Maybe it’s realizing that this has become less writing and more lazily linking to crap on the web.

Maybe it’s just getting older and seeing less and less of a point in everything.

Maybe it’s finding I have less and less conviction, and more and more questions.

Maybe it’s filling my life with more and more TV monologues and less personal dialogs.

Maybe it’s listening to construction workers pounding on the walls and swearing while I’m trying to concentrate on the mind-numbingly meaningless bullshit that has to get done.

Maybe it’s knowing that no matter how much effort I put in, I probably will never fit the suit.

Maybe it’s searching for a house for 2 years only to get to the point where I’m standing in a broken down house and actually estimating how much it will cost to raise it, pour a foundation under it, gut it, and start over with it.

Or maybe it’s contemplating this while trying to ignore the obvious smell of a gas leak.

…and then touring a co-worker’s freshly built, unbelievably awesome mansion.

Maybe it’s going to 3 weddings in a month and thinking less about romance and more about odds.

Maybe it’s having 36 new CDs that are less and less of a mood enhancer and more of a safe replacement for booze, drugs, and cigarettes.

Or maybe this is just the time of year when kids have to go back to school, and that screaming nightmare still can’t stand the thought of sitting still all day in clothes that fit as well as he does.

All I know is the little bastard better shut the fuck up and find something to do because this lighter is burning my thumb.

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/08/28/the-inner-brat/feed/ 3 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/07/26/predatory-myspace/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/07/26/predatory-myspace/#comments Thu, 27 Jul 2006 02:40:28 +0000 Jon http://dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/07/26/predatory-myspace/ Concerned Parent: Do you know how dangerous myspace is?

Admiral Ackbar: Come on.

Concerned Parent: There are predators that prey on children there.

Admiral Ackbar: Oh come on. It’s media hype. Predators have been around for a thousand years. That’s why your parents told you not to talk to strangers or get in vans with clowns. Right now, the media hypes the predatory hunting ground as myspace to freak people out and get them watching the news. 20 years ago, the same stories ran about telephone chat lines for the exact same reason. And in the beginning, the news was controlled by the Church, so the story was quietly squashed so as not to choke off the supply of alter boys. Oh, and video games cause violence and Judas Priest kills children.

Concerned Parent: [stunned] But, I like Judas Priest.

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/07/26/predatory-myspace/feed/ 2 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/06/27/ive-never-tortured-small-animals/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/06/27/ive-never-tortured-small-animals/#comments Wed, 28 Jun 2006 02:03:05 +0000 Jon http://dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/06/27/ive-never-tortured-small-animals/ A couple of weeks ago, #1GF! and I walked into the complex gym for an early morning workout. Because it was half passed early, the lights were off and no one seemed to be there, except, in the hall, neatly placed, sat a lonely pair of sneakers.

Confused, we both stood for a minute listening for any sign of life.

Hearing nothing louder than our own breaths, I gave the “raised eyebrow point at the men’s room” gesture, which is listed in most military manuals as “You want me to check the men’s room for some sort of creepy barefoot naked guy?”

Of course, I got the nod from the commander, and in I went.

There was no one in there.

After shrugging the “all clear” sign, I motioned for #1GF! to follow me into the workout room. Once the door was shut behind us, I actually said the following:

“I know you probably want to check the ladies room, but if there’s a big, bloody suicide in there, it’s going to ruin any chance of a workout. There’s obviously no noise coming from in there, so if there is a body in there, it’s not going anywhere in the next 30 minutes. So, do you mind if we check after we work out?”

Considering that the owner of the lonely shoes was never found, was my statement an indication of a deep character flaw or merely good time management?

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/06/27/ive-never-tortured-small-animals/feed/ 1 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/04/21/reciprocal-links/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/04/21/reciprocal-links/#comments Sat, 22 Apr 2006 00:54:54 +0000 Jon http://dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/04/21/reciprocal-links/ Let’s say that you check your web logs regularly to see if anyone is checking out your site. And because you’re a closet link whore, you like to visit new sites that link to you to see what you might’ve gotten the link for. Let’s also say that you happen to be scanning one particular site, and you don’t see your link under “Cool Blogs” or “Daily Reads” or even “Blogs that Don’t Suck.”

Your site is simply listed under “Reciprocal Links.”

My question is: Do you feel good because no matter what, the site owner had to take the time to at least type in your URL and give you a link (which they didn’t have to do), or do you feel bad because you didn’t get linked for any other reason than you linked to them first?

+ + || – - ?

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/04/21/reciprocal-links/feed/ 9 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/04/04/proof-of-age-proof-of-youth/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/04/04/proof-of-age-proof-of-youth/#comments Wed, 05 Apr 2006 04:11:43 +0000 Jon http://dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/04/04/proof-of-age-proof-of-youth/ Proof I’m Getting Old

1. At the gym, when rolling back to do some dumbell bench presses, I heard enough rapid fire, muffled cracking noises that it sounded like someone had lit a whole pack of firecrackers inside my chest cavity. In truth, it sounded like Chinese New Year in there.

2. I don’t have a myspace page, and I don’t understand what all the fuss is about. Further proof: I can’t fucking believe I just used “fuss” in a sentence.

3. When I recently saw the year a person had to be born in to buy cigarettes, I realized that it was the same year that I made out with that fat chick in the 3rd row at the Monsters of Rock Concert. Even after all these years, you still suck, Dan Dokken.

4. On my way out the door this morning, I got frisked by #1GF!.

Me: What are you doing?
#1GF!: [matter of factly] Seeing if you have your phone.
Me: So, you frisk me? Couldn’t you just ask me? When exactly did I cross that age when my answers are suspect enough that you have to pat me down rather than ask?

5. My 34th birthday is in 5 days.

6. When I was assigned seat #69 in a work move, I didn’t high five anyone.

Proof I’m Still Young

1. My sister sent me a birthday card on which she not only changed the “You’re 4!” to “You’re 34!” but she didn’t even attempt to conceal that the card was originally sent to a four year old by someone named “Aunty Dora.” Instead, she just penned in “+ your sister” right below Aunty Dora’s signature. People do not do that sort of thing to their respected elders.

2. I still have a blog, it has a skull on it, and I’m a l33t hax0r with mad sk1llz.

3. I think they should stop trying to raise the driving age, start trying to lower the drinking age, and make shirts illegal.

4. #1GF!’s final response to point #4 to above: “I just pat you down whenever I get the chance.”

5. I’m still hoping to be able to sock away enough to be able to afford the naughty nurse in addition to the skilled one when they put me in the home in 30 years.

6. When I got assigned seat #69 in a work move, I wanted to high five everyone.

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]]> http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/04/04/proof-of-age-proof-of-youth/feed/ 7 http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/02/08/why-morningwood-can-blow-me/ http://www.dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/02/08/why-morningwood-can-blow-me/#comments Thu, 09 Feb 2006 04:14:33 +0000 Jon http://dyers.org/blog/archives/2006/02/08/morningwood-can-blow-me/
Morningwood – Self titled (rock): I discovered Morningwood while looking for new bands online, and put it on my possible buy list. During my most recent CD buys, I was more than a little disappointed to find my “discovery” on the top 25 rack at a local store, downgrading it from “possible” buy to “improbable”. While looking for the other CDs on my list, I somehow got within earshot of one of the local hipsters gushing as if Morningwood were the best band since sliced bread. Maybe it’s the way hipsters ac-cen-tu-ate ev-ery syl-la-ble, or the way they are soooooo into everything, but by the time I could get myself out of earshot, I wanted nothing more than to choke someone with a studded belt and set the bin on fire.

Even though I felt like I was validating hipsters everywhere, I somehow ended up with the album in my hands right before I hit the register. And trust me in that I felt more than a little dirty handing over that ten spot for it. The only small way that I felt could wash off some of the shame was to avoid listening to the album until after I got home…which seemed to work for me.

After settling in and listening to about three songs, I realized that even though hipsters are generally 98% noise, there is an undercurrent of truth somewhere in what they are saying. That distorted, annoying sound spewing forth from the hipster in the store was probably once a nice, clean signal. If you can cut through the magpie opinion amplification in the hipster community, sometimes you find a nugget of truth way, way underneath. I certainly didn’t think Morningwood was the greatest thing since sliced bread, but I could see why people would latch on to it. If the White Stripes had grown up on The Knack rather than Led Zeppelin, they would be Morningwood. Their influences are pretty transparent, but it’s catchy, and on some level it works.

Yet, while laying there trying to listen, two things started to irk me about the disc. The first was a simple matter of numbers: there are only two people listed in the band, yet there are four on the cover. Being the ultimate paranoid, I started to feel like I was being sold a corporate marketing package of what an indie band is supposed to look like rather than the indie band that I had “discovered”. Not that it matters when listening to music, but I had this weird feeling that I was being duped. I sort of brushed it off, but by the time the fourth song rolled around, I had found my second issue prominently eating up about half of the space dedicated to the liner notes. To me this was not a simple matter of words:

“This recording and artwork are protected by copyright law. Using internet services to distribute copyrighted music, giving away illegal copies of discs, or lending discs to others for them to copy is illegal and does not support those involved in making this piece of music – especially the artist. By carrying out any of these actions it has the same effect as stealing music. Applicable laws provide severe civil and criminal penalties for the unauthorized reproduction, distribution and digital transmission of copyrighted sound recordings.”

Here I was intentionally trying to steer clear of the major labels to devote some attention to what I thought was an indie band, and before I could get through track 4, I was being preached to about the in’s and out’s of copyright law in a paragraph that was larger than I’ve found on any mass produced, corporate-backed disc. The day I want a band to give me legal advice is the same day that I ask my lawyer to jump up on the desk, strap on an axe, and rock like Great White at a fireman’s ball.

Led Zeppelin never had giant copyright notices in their liner notes. No. They had evil looking guys with swords and lanterns. AC/DC? Nope. They had a guitar jammed right through Angus Young’s chest. Even tame ol’ Pink Floyd had a freakin’ guy with his hair on fire. That’s what I want to see in liner notes: I want rock. I want to feel like the artist I’m listening to wears leather pants and tears up hotel rooms while flipping off the man right before throwing up on him. Don’t turn my listening time into something inherently uncool.

If you’re going to ruin my fantasy about you actually being as cool as classic Metallica, at least don’t show me that you’re Lars Ulrich. I buy a lot of CDs. And I have never used a P2P application to copy MP3s from the net. If I want the music, I buy it at the store or online, and take whatever legal mp3’s the artists give away for free. So, one of the last things that I want to read in some liner notes is a big, pseudo legal warning about what I can and can’t do with my purchase. If you’re determined to go this route, have the courtesy to be brief, accurate, and honest with what you write. And have the cojones to put your extensive warnings on the outside of the CD, so I can see what you’re all about before I lay down the $10.

“Using internet services to distribute copyrighted music…”

I will assume that Morningwood is targeting Peer to Peer distribution systems with this line, but it should be noted that using the internet to distribute copyrighted music is not inherently illegal. I actually first heard a few of Morningwood’s songs by downloading them directly from their website. Some artists and labels actively encourage the copying of their files over the internet while retaining copyright to the their work. If someone holds a copyright on a work, the use of the internet is not an important deciding factor in whether copyright infringement has occurred. Copying CDs and trucking them to Georgia is the same as dropping a CD in various locations on the internet. The copying is the action in dispute, not the medium by which it is distributed.

“Giving away illegal copies of discs…”

So, copying CD’s for other people is technically copyright infringement if the artist makes a claim against you. It’s true. If you got busted, you may be able to claim that those copies are covered under the doctrine of Fair Use, but that would probably be one expensive battle, and the climate of the courts these days seems to favor the indefinite expansion of copyright holder’s rights. You probably won’t win, but it’s certainly not black and white. You could also have created your copy on home audio equipment covered under the Audio Home Recording Act (sorry, PC’s are not covered) in which case you would be free from prosecution as long as you give away the discs in accordance with the rules of the act.

“lending discs to others for them to copy…”

Now we’re getting silly. The Doctrine of First Sale allows you to re-sell or lend your CD to whoever you want after you get it out of the store. Once you buy it, it’s perfectly within your rights to lend it to someone. If the person you lend it to makes a copy, then he or she may be violating copyright law, but the lender is not. Saying that the lender is breaking the law is more than a little misleading. Shame on Morningwood. Lending CDs to people is how some people communicate. And what they are doing with that communication is free, evangelical advertising for the bands that they lend. To lie and say that this is illegal is beyond stupid: It alienates the fans, stops free advertising without loss of sale, and actually insults the people who actually took the time to read your liner notes. Like me.

“has the same effect as stealing music…”

I’m no one to question the genius and legal expertise of pop artists, but according to the Supreme Court’s 1985 decision in case of Dowling v. United States:

“interference with copyright does not easily equate with theft, conversion, or fraud. The infringer of a copyright does not assume physical control over the copyright nor wholly deprive its owner of its use.”

So, according to the Supreme Court of the United States, copying a CD is not legally equivalent to stealing it off of the rack. Copying is not equivalent to theft. If you want to argue that one, call the Supreme Court. I’m sure they have the time to listen to the pseudo legal opinions of a couple of musicians.

“and does not support those involved in making this piece of music – especially the artist…”

Know what really kills artist support more than kids trading CDs? Fans feeling like an artist is trying to snow them. Without word of mouth and organic advertising there are no sales. So, Morningwood, if you want to have your gospel spread, cut back on the fake legal warnings. Don’t think that your fans lack the sophistication to recognize patently misleading legal warnings (or threats). Respect your fans, because without them, you’re not on stage doing what you love: You’re painting houses for your uncle in Jersey.

Stick to what you know. Be honest. Rock your ass off. And please, please follow some good advice often ignored by bands who inevitably find themselves kicked into obscurity:

“Less talk, more rock.”

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