Deep: the tortured life of Vincent Van Gogh and all that he attempted to achieve through his art. This has been on my mind because of this. “Celebrated art historian and author” Simon Schama is in deep, deep love with his ability to phrase a description…he pronounced the impressionists of Van Gogh’s day as “marinating the meat of human essence in the rinse of their luminescence.” This sentence has stayed with me.
Shallow: how the heck can I keep predators from getting my chickens? While researching the answer to this question, I found this and it grossed me out. “…Got in and ate a week’s worth of chicken feet” is staying with me.
And you?
The inter-tubes will solve all of your problem, June.
Buy some Wolf Urine!
We watched the Van Gough special on PBS last night as well. It was brilliant.
Deep (sort of): Why does it seem The Question is “What is most technologically superior?” instead of “What is most creative?” I had this thought recently at Disneyland, oozing with nostalgia in Small World and realizing it is just wood and paint, etc. - and animatronics that were technologically superior in their day. I guess technology only impresses me when it is more importantly creative.
When my folks had their chickens in the densely-wooded hills of southern Oregon, they also had a rooster, two dogs, and a cat. I think with the four of them, all the potential predators were warded off. (Well, the rooster basically just kept my dad away…)
shallow - I’ve been tweaking around a bit, and Addison Road is now pretty decent to navigate on a mobile phone browser. It automatically detects that you are on a mobile browser, and gives you a theme that looks like this:
deep - I’ll blog about it a little later. maybe.
Shallow: It’s 11:08pm. I’ve just finished the 10th song mix in the last 12 days of a rock record I’m producing. Tomorrow will likely be the longest day yet as all the tweaks must be done and checked by the guys and then the pre-masters must be printed and uploaded to the mastering guy’s server before I sleep tomorrow night. It’s pretty much all I’ve thought about for the last few weeks. Not too deep, but pretty fun. And loud. Rock-n-roll baby!
“When my folks had their chickens in the densely-wooded hills of southern Oregon, they also had a rooster, two dogs, and a cat. I think with the four of them, all the potential predators were warded off. (Well, the rooster basically just kept my dad away…)”
This is a children’s song waiting to be written.
Oh man…and with our chickens names thrown in…it will be a hit!
If someone (Oh, Alyyyyyyyyyyy…yoooo-hooo…) can work in: the girl named June who worked way past noon, moving rocks every day, to keep the raccoons at bay…well then, that person will be my new hero.
On the shallow end of things, today marked the first morning that half-dug holes into the coop were not found and the border or rocks around the coop were not strewn hither and yon. I replaced the former rock border with one made out of gigantic, enormously heavy slate (?) slabs that Brian broke off the outside of our house when we remodeled. Who knew that bad exterior design/building choices in the 60’s would benefit raccoon-bait poultry in the 2000’s? Not I, not I.
Shallow: We have possums and raccoons come to our door to eat the cat food that rightfully belongs to our outdoor cat Baby, the one who drools when you scratch her. If that isn’t predatory, I don’t know what is!
I just pitched my first reality show and they liked it! Given the nature of the genre it would be hard to classify anything related to it as deep, but darn it did it feel good!
Sara, I can’t believe this sat on this blog, with these folks, for 4 hours without somebody asking if you have the music lined up.
Well, allow me to be the first.
Need a composer?
And also, congratulations! You should celebrate by gregariously promising gigs to all of Zack’s friends.
Deep: I’m pretty bummed at the evangelicals I’ve run into lately. There’s a whole gripload of “Jesus In Your Heart” and “you gotta get right with God” and “such and such is annointed” and “this chain email I read was prophetic“. They just don’t have anything to offer addicts, felons, and The Lost, which I thought was the point of the “good” news of Christ crucified. So I woke up last week with an idea for a site/resource/organization for the people who’ve fallen off. “Its a good day for redemption (dot) org” would be my haven of support for those who don’t fit into the Ned Flanders world of faith. The problem is that my own site is a 1-page site with NO content and that one pays my mortgage. So there’s really no chance at all that I’ll actually register the domain, intelligently populate the site, and then find some way to advertise it to halfway houses in Orange County. So, as they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. But, I just keep waking up thinking, “you know, every day His mecies are made new… today’s a good day for redemption.”
Shallow: It’ll take trying to break a 20-year habit, but I bet if I tucked my middle, ring, and pinky fingers in on my right hand while picking, I bet my right hand time would get better. I wouldn’t have the momentum of those three long, straightened fingers swinging wildly while I’m trying to play machine-like 16th notes, perfectly spaced from one another. Actually, if I tucked those fingers in, I might actually be able to play machine-like 16th notes, perfectly spaced from one another.
Mike -
Zack told me what a great composer you are and you are definitely the first one I’ll call when we get to that stage in the game! It’s a fish out of water story. George Bush goes back to college to see if he can “Make the Grade”. We’re still in talks with the President. His only request is that he be put in a community college, so we can “tilt the odds in his favor”. We’re trying to convinve him to at least try a State School.
Just kidding. It’s a show about Pool players. Hee Hee.
my family is from minnesota, where pool is the official state passtime. I remember going to family reunions and watching my dads uncles and cousins just ace the table, game after game. it was amazing to watch.
Corey, for a second there I was seriously thinking that you were trying to break yourself of a nose-picking habit.
Shallow and deep: I tried out for a mediocre Heart tribute band that practices once a week and plays at biker bars about once a month. I learned 8 songs, watched every music video of Ann Wilson on YouTube, sounded like an angelic female Robert Plant in my living room and then totally bunged the audition. You know the drill: small room, deafening instruments, quiet microphone. Me: forgot earplugs, too much pride to stick my finger in my ear - kept pitch under control by oversinging horribly, horribly, horribly.
I didn’t get in. I don’t even care about the band (they were all fifty-something day-jobbers and very, very nice) that much, or that they didn’t want me in it. I just effing got addicted to Heart songs (the early stuff, I mean: Barracuda, Straight On, Crazy On You) and feeling musical again and now it’s all gone to hell.
If every sally-ho back into music is going to be this tortured I may as well do the karaoke thing forever and can the Big Dream. Frack.
Thanks for listening.
Frack indeed, my friend. Frack indeed.
Frikkity-frack. So sorry Cerise.
Corey, like Cerise, I too had a raised-eyebrow pause whilst reading the first sentence of your second paragraph. I was quite relieved when I arrived at the words “play machine-like 16th notes…” In regard to your first paragraph, I have to wonder why people feel so compelled to say the kinds of things you quoted. Is it because they are at a loss, vocabulary-wise, to convey spiritual ideas? Is it…oh, there went my train (of thought)…I hear screaming near the sprinkler…almost always, just as I slip a toe into the deep end, the current of the shallow pulls me back.
I like your ‘a good day for redemption’ idea a lot. Someone with the time and wherewithall should do it!
3 FTA brought me here…today is a good day for the redemption of my pumpkin pie. I’m enjoying it now…yesterday is was scorned by teenagers whom I adore (niece and nephew) but honestly, was ready to hang by the end of the weekend. Which is harder to take: sassy toddlers or sassy teenagers? I can’t decide.