21 March 2002• by

Non-Competitive Competition

In which I look for non-competitive games that Kris might like to play.

When Nick was young he attended Drift Creek Camp for one week every summer. Each evening all of the children came together to play some large group game such as Capture-the-Flag. It was the highlight of the day. One year there was a new camp pastor who didn’t believe in competition. Instead of Capture-the-Flag he had the kids play co-operative games. For example, one evening the group took hold of the edges of a giant parachute and each kid got a turn to be in the middle, being tossed in the air by the others. The kids hated it. The new pastor was gone the next year and Capture-the-Flag was back.

I’ve begun to do research on games that Kris might enjoy. It’s difficult, though. I was under the impression that she enjoyed the games that we were playing. This isn’t the case; she wants games that are less competitive, where there’s less “screw your neighbor” type activity.

The greatest difficulty is that the games that I find most enjoyable feature a high level of player interaction. Without player interaction, a game is generally sheer luck. Admittedly this is not always the case. For example, Boggle has very little player interaction yet is based entirely on skill. Boggle might be a good option.

Dane suggested Baron Munchausen and Once Upon a Time, both story-telling games. These sound fun, actually, but I’m not sure how a group would like them, and I’m not sure how Mac and Pam would like them. (Mac and Pam are our primary game-playing partners, so it’s important to find games they’d like, too.)

I need to find games that feature either strong elements of player interaction or strong elements of skill, but not both. Most of the games I own feature both, and these are the games that are causing Kris such frustration. Luck and interaction, or skill and no interaction. Or something completely different. These are my choices.

Jeff and I had a good shouting match this morning. We started at the top of our lungs, swearing, each accusing the other of gross negligence in performing his duties here at Custom Box Service. By the end of the discussion we were talking calmly, trying to determine what we could do to make the other person happy. We’ve both been trying to be more diligent since February but feel the other is still slacking. Obviously we’re not paying attention to each other, giving proper credit for changed behavior. Now we’re going to each try to be more diligent and to be aware what the other person is doing.

The joys of a small family business…

Read More →

14 March 2002• by

In the Bedroom

In which Kris and I enjoy a fine meal at the Veritable Quandary. In which we see In the Bedroom. In which it may snow on St. Patrick’s Day.

Kris and I went on another date tonight. We had a good time.

I met Kris downtown at her office and we walked a couple of blocks to Veritable Quandary, a venerable (but hip) upscale Portland restaurant.

Veritable Quandary is built of brick and hardwood and glass. The building feels old; it would not be out of place in Boston. The entry leads directly to a long, narrow bar, packed with people at 5 p.m. on a weeknight, sitting and standing in Oregon raingear but posh — these are lawyers and executives, an upscale clientele.

We didn’t have reservations but politely asked if we might get a table for two this early in the evening. The host was reluctant, but he accommodated us. His voice and actions made it clear that we were imposing, creating difficulties with his scheduling, but he let us in nonetheless.

The service was excellent. The staff was attentive. Our table was kept clean, our water glasses filled. Kris’ coffee was always hot. We were never kept waiting between courses.

The menu was somewhat intimidating (I’m not sure why), but we were both pleased with our selections. To start, Kris had a salad of wild greens with toasted leeks and cave-aged (!) gruyere cheese with which she was well-pleased. My appetizer was unusual: grilled Black Angus beef on a skewer with a Peruvian (!) marinade of red wine vinegar. What made the marinade Peruvian? The beef had only a subtle, mild flavoring. It was served with potato slices and a hard-boiled egg (!) and a sort of mustard sauce. The combination was unusual, but good.

For the main course, Kris selected the wild-mushroom raviolis with crisp duck confit. She liked it (I wouldn’t try it due to the mushrooms), but it cannot have been as good as my meal, which was fantastic. I opted for Oregon venison served with mashed potatoes and roasted onions. Outstanding! Perhaps all venison is this good, though I suspect that’s unlikely. The meat was smooth and flavorful, encrusted with pepper and seasonings. The potatoes were unique: creamy but firm, a perfect compliment to the venison. The onions and some wild greens provided additional flavor.

Though we were both stuffed, we decided to try our luck at dessert. We’re glad we did. Kris had a Tiramasu with an espresso filling. I selected lemon curd ice cream served with a selection of cakes and cookies. Both desserts were delicious. The lemon curd ice cream was thick, thicker and richer than any ice cream I’ve had before. The cookies, most of them chocolate, were passable but a perfect compliment to the ice cream.

Last July, Andrew and I went to the Veritable Quandary for brunch one Sunday. We were unimpressed. The service was poor — we were the only customers in the restaurant at 2 p.m. on a Sunday — and the food vastly over-priced. Our experience last night began poorly and I was prepared to hate the place. After such an exquisite meal, however, my opinion has altered for the favorable.

After dinner, Kris and I completed our quest to see every Oscar nominee for Best Picture. In the Bedroom is a nearly-perfect film, one of the best films I have ever seen. (Note that I do not say that it is one of my favorite films; I say that it’s one of the best films I’ve seen.)

There is little that I can say that Roger Ebert has not already said in his review:

IN THE BEDROOM
**** (R)

December 25, 2001

Matt Fowler: Tom Wilkinson
Ruth Fowler: Sissy Spacek
Frank Fowler: Nick Stahl
Strout: William Mapother
Natalie: Marisa Tomei
Miramax presents a film directed by Todd Field. Written by Robert Fetsinger and Field, based on a short story by Andre Dubus. Running time: 130 minutes. Rated R (for some violence and language).

BY ROGER EBERT

Todd Field’s “In the Bedroom” only slowly reveals its real subject in a story that has a shocking reversal at the end of the first act, and then looks more deeply than we could have guessed into the lives of its characters. At first, it seems to be about a summer romance. At the end, it’s about revenge–not just to atone for a wound, but to prove a point. The film involves love and violence, and even some thriller elements, but it is not about those things. It is about two people so trapped in opposition that one of them must break.

The story opens in sunshine and romance. Frank Fowler (Nick Stahl) is in love with Natalie Strout (Marisa Tomei). He’ll be a new graduate student in the autumn. She is in her 30s, has two children, is estranged from Richard (William Mapother), who is a rich kid and an abusive husband. Frank’s parents are worried. “This is not some sweetie from Vassar you can visit on holidays,” his mother tells him. “You’re not in this alone.”

“We’re not serious, Mom,” Frank says. “It’s a summer thing.”

“I see,” says his mother. She sees clearly that Frank really does love Natalie–and she also sees that Frank’s father may be vicariously enjoying the relationship, proud that his son has conquered an attractive older woman.

Ruth Fowler (Sissy Spacek) is a choral director at the local high school. Her husband, Matt (Tom Wilkinson), is the local doctor in their Maine village. On the local social scale, they are a step above the separated Natalie and her husband, whose money comes from the local fish business. Is Ruth a snob? She wouldn’t think so. The Fowlers pride themselves on being intelligent, open-minded, able to talk about things with their son (who does not want to talk about anything with them). We sense that their household accommodates enormous silences, that the parents and their son have each retreated to a personal corner to nurse wounds.

Then something happens. A review should not tell you what it is. It changes our expectations for the story, which turns out to be about matters more deeply embedded in the heart than we could have imagined. The film unfolds its true story, which is about the marriage of Matt and Ruth–about how hurt and sadness turn to anger and blame. There are scenes as true as movies can make them, and even when the story develops thriller elements, they are redeemed, because the movie isn’t about what happens, but about why.

“In the Bedroom” is the first film directed by Todd Field, an actor (“Eyes Wide Shut,” “The Haunting”), and is one of the best-directed films this year. It’s based on a story by the late Andre Dubus, the Massachusetts-based writer who died in 1999, and who worked with Field on the adaptation before his death. It works with indirection; the events on the screen are markers for secret events in the hearts of the characters, and the deepest insight is revealed, in a way, only in the last shot.

Every performance has perfect tone: Nick Stahl as the man who is half in love with a woman and half in love with being in love; Marisa Tomei, who is wiser than her young lover, and protective toward him, because she understands better than he does the problems they face; William Mapother as the abusive husband, never more frightening than when he tries to be conciliatory and apologetic; William Wise and Celia Weston as the Grinnels, the Fowlers’ best friends.

And Sissy Spacek and Tom Wilkinson. They know exactly what they’re doing, they understand their characters down to the ground, they are masters of the hidden struggle beneath the surface. Spacek plays a reasonable and civil wife and mother who has painful issues of her own; there is a scene where she slaps someone, and it is the most violent and shocking moment in a violent film. Wilkinson lives through his son more than he admits, and there is a scene where he surprises Frank and Natalie alone together, and finds a kind of quiet relish in their embarrassment. When Matt and Ruth lash out at each other, when the harsh accusations are said aloud, we are shocked but not surprised; these hard notes were undertones in their civilized behavior toward each other. Not all marriages can survive hard times.

Most movies are about plot, and chug from one stop to the next. Stephen King, whose book, On Writing, contains a lot of good sense, argues for situation over plot; he suggests that if you do a good job of visualizing your characters, it is best to put them into a situation and see what happens, instead of chaining them to a plot structure. Todd Field and Andre Dubus use the elements of plot, but only on the surface, and the movie’s title refers not to sex but to the secrets, spoken, unspoken and dreamed, that are shared at night when two people close the door after themselves.

If you like fine film drama, you owe it to yourself to see this movie.

According to the Weather Channel (and every other weather source I can find), we’re likely to have a white St. Patrick’s day. Bizarre.

Special weather statement
National Weather Service Portland or
950 PM PST Thu Mar 14 2002

…An unseasonably cold storm system still expected to produce very low snow Levels Friday night into the weekend…

A very cold storm system is still expected to organize near Vancouver Island on Friday then Drop South into the area Friday night into the weekend. Snow Levels will initially fall to 1000 feet by Friday afternoon…Then down to 500 feet late Friday night through Saturday. This should still allow snow to mix with rain in the lower valleys with mostly snow above 500 feet where some accumulation is possible. It still remains possible that mixed precipitation in the lower valleys could Turn to all snow for a time…Especially Saturday morning producing light sticking snow. Thunderstorms are also possible Saturday as the atmosphere will be very unstable.

The latest recorded snowfall at the Portland international airport stands at nearly 1 inch on the 10th of March 1951. Any accumulation would set a new record for the latest snowfall at the airport.

Comments


On 14 March 2005 (08:07 PM),
J.D. said:

Three years later, I have to say: this is strong praise for a film I barely remember.

Read More →

08 March 2002• by

Running Bear

In which I remember my father and his guitar.

I was raised listening to classical music and 60s folk rock, but the music my father loved was the rock-and-roll of the late 50s and early 60s. Dad graduated from high school in 1963; the music from 1959-1963 was his favorite.

Why didn’t he listen to this music?

Dad played guitar in high school. At least one yearbook has pictures of him playing and singing on stage. He played at talent shows, and possibly at other occasions. When I was young he played at family gatherings, singing those old songs that he loved.

(The song I most clearly remember him playing is “Running Bear”, an old Johnny Preston tune. I can remember a Thanksgiving at Uncle Norman’s house in Monitor, Dad seated in the living room bellering “Running Bear”, and a young Tony running naked through the house.)

Why didn’t he listen to this music?

At home we listened to Simon and Garfunkel, Peter Paul and Mary, Neil Diamond, and similar musicians. Sure, Dad liked their music, but he loved Buddy Holly. He never listened to Buddy Holly. He never played the Del Vikings. He didn’t listen to the radio stations that played their songs and he didn’t ever buy any of their records or tapes.

Why didn’t he listen to this music?

The film Stand By Me was released in 1986. When Dad first heard the sountrack he was giddy, his face glowed. He beamed. He told me a story about every song. (His favorite was “Come Go With Me” by the Del Vikings.)

It was obvious that he loved this music, so why didn’t he ever listen to it?


This is a photo of Dad singing for Norman’s family in the living room of the trailer house in which I was raised. My cousin Bob is the blond kid sitting on the arm of the couch. My cousin Nick is sitting to Dad’s right, and next to him sits Dad’s brother, Norman. Nick and I can’t figure out who the kid sitting behind Bob is.

The trailer house now serves as the office for Custom Box Service. The living room is now the “employee lounge” (such as it is). My office, where I sit now and type this, is in Mom and Dad’s old bedroom. Custom Box is nothing if not frugal.

Note the lovely goldenrod curtains and the stylish wood paneling. The entire trailer house, including my office, has this same wood paneling. I’ve lived with it my entire life. I’m sick of it. Above Norman’s head you can see that the ceiling is already water-stained, though the trailer house can be no more than five years old when this picture was taken. The trailer is thirty years old now and the ceiling has too many water stains to count.

Here are two of the songs that I remember my father singing (the latter of which, “The Prisoner’s Song”, is similar to the music featured on the popular O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack):

Running Bear
(J.P. Richardson)

Johnny Preston (Mercury 71474, 1959)

On the banks of the river
Stood Runnin’ Bear, young Indian brave
On the other side of the river
Stood his lovely Indian maid
Little White Dove was-a her name
Such a lovely sight to see
But their tribes fought with each other

So their love could never be

Runnin’ Bear loved Little White Dove
With a love big as the sky
Runnin’ Bear loved Little White Dove
With a love that couldn’t die

He couldn’t swim the raging river
‘Cause the river was too wide
He couldn’t reach Little White Dove

Waiting on the other side
In the moonlight he could see her
Throwing kisses ‘cross the waves
Her little heart was beating faster
Waiting there for her brave

Runnin’ Bear loved Little White Dove
With a love big as the sky
Runnin’ Bear loved Little White Dove

With a love that couldn’t die

Runnin’ Bear dove in the water
Little White Dove did the same
And they swam out to each other
Through the swirling stream they came
As their hands touched and their lips met
The ragin’ river pulled them down
Now they’ll always be together

In that happy hunting ground

Runnin’ Bear loved Little White Dove
With a love big as the sky
Runnin’ Bear loved Little White Dove
With a love that couldn’t die

  The Prisoner’s Song
(Guy Massey)
Vernon Dalhart (1925)

Oh! I wish I had someone to love me
Someone to call me their own
Oh! I wish I had someone to live with
‘Cause I’m tired of livin’ alone

Please meet me tonight in the moonlight
Please meet me tonight all alone
For I have a sad story to tell you
It’s a story that’s never been told

I’ll be carried to the new jail tomorrow
Leaving my poor darling alone
With the cold prison bars all around me
And my head on a pillow of stone

Now I have a grand ship on the ocean
All mounted with silver and gold
And before my poor darlin’ would suffer
Oh! that ship would be anchored and sold

Now if I had wings like an angel
Over these prison bars I would fly
And I’d fly to the arms of my poor darlin’
And there I’d be willing to die.

Comments

On 08 March 2002 (09:39 PM),
Dane said:

In the same vein, why doesn’t my dad like anything?

My dad can be a voluminous reader. He reads quickly and has good retention. He does read for pleasure. But he doesn’t buy anything to read for pleasure. He reads the paper and magazines. Very occasionally (I can remember ONCE — the Joy Luck Club) he will get a book for a plane trip.

When you ask him what he likes to read, he answers, “Anything.”

I have finally managed to find stuff he actively dislikes. I gave him copies of Copeland’s Microserfs and also Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot 49. He didn’t finish either and described them as “weird.”

So I know he has limits.

I don’t understand why he doesn’t actually buy books for himself to read when he clearly enjoys reading. I don’t understand why he won’t admit to liking any particular genre or style of book. It’s a mystery.



On 08 March 2002 (09:41 PM),
J.D. said:

I agree that this is strange. What is it that caused our fathers to behave like this? Is it something generational?



On 08 March 2002 (09:46 PM),
Dane said:

I dunno. It may have something to do with their ages. I think your dad was (technically) a boomer, too, but at the same time I get the impression he didn’t “partake” of the boomer culture in general, and neither have my parents. They were far too “straight laced” — they graduated from college around 1967, but it was a Lutheran college and women weren’t allowed to wear pants. Stuff like that.



On 18 April 2002 (09:27 PM),
Nota Dad said:

Mr. Dane,

Don’t know what is meant by “(technically) a boomer, too”, but if da doofy dad did da grad in 1963, he was likely born during that wwII thing and no way a boomer, and, I can tell you, spent his formative years experiencing things in a different way than the multitudes who followed did. Herein is probably also a clue to why he likes to experience the music and books the way he does.
Now I go try out Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot 49.
Cheerz



On 01 December 2002 (11:14 PM),
Ron said:

JD,

The other person in the picture is Steve Grover, the first foster child my parents had. This picture would have been taken in 1974.



On 03 March 2003 (10:56 AM),
Sandi said:

1963 was a great year to graduate, and I am sure that somewhere, his high school, like ours, is planning a 40th reunion……who remembers the songs from 1959-1963??? Unfortunately, our committee to find these songs, is brain dead! Help!


On 28 March 2003 (04:58 PM),
Teresa said:

i would greatly appreciate any pictures on Running Bear either on his own or with White Dove, I’m really desperate, please help

Read More →

28 February 2002• by

Meteorological Spring

In which meteorological spring has arrived. In which I share a list of favorite a capella songs.

Meteorological spring starts tomorrow. Oregon’s North Willamette Valley has been basking in the sun intermittently for the past two weeks, and today is another clear, bright day. The sun is shining. The ground is dry. I want to hop on my bike, but have promised Kris that we’ll go to the gym together tonight. Maybe I’ll bike to work tomorrow.

As a child I was puzzled that Spring started at the end of March, Summer at the end of June, etc. It was only in college that I learned that the seasonal constructs are based on the Earth’s orbit around the sun; the Vernal Equinox is the traditional delineation between Winter and Spring for astronomical convenience. More recently I’ve learned that the meteorological seasons conform to the observed weather patterns. Meteorological Spring begins March 1st, meteorological Summer on June 1st, etc.

[Jeff, mowing with his beloved lawn tractor]

With the departure of Winter, Spring activities are beginning. At this moment, Jeff is out making love to his lawn tractor. Kris and Pam are making a trip to Al’s Fruit and Shrub on Saturday while Mac is at baseball practice and I am digging up arborvitae stumps in the yard. Meanwhile, the professional ball players have started Spring Training and the first games are tomorrow. The warm weather is an invitation to outdoor exercise. I’m ready to bike, maybe to hike. The lawn needs to be mowed. The crocuses and daffodils are up, and the daphne in our front yard can be smelled from a block away.

I’ve always said that Oregon’s weather doesn’t bother me; as a native, I’ve become accustomed to the rain, and often enjoy it. This year, though, Spring is especially welcome.

The phones at Custom Box Service have been quiet during the afternoon all week. The sunny weather must be appealing to other people as well…

Custom Box has been crippled by Big Money. Big Money is a web-based game similar to Tetris or Columns. We don’t play by the rules. We play to achieve the largest “coin combination”. The record so far is 121 coins.

With the demise of Napster, Morpheus had become my primary file-sharing tool. I tried Bearshare and was unimpressed. Morpheus is intuitive and convenient and widely used. The key to a good file-sharing system is many users sharing files.

Morpheus, and the other new file-sharing systems, have claimed that the music industry could not stop them, that they were decentralized by nature and therefore even if they were shut down the users would continue to share files because the decentralized network would persist.

Well.

On Monday night my connection to Morphues’ network vanished. I received an error indicating that my software needed to be upgraded. Trouble is, I already have the latest version of Morpheus.

It seems that Morpheus is not as decentralized as advertised. A software upgrade shut down the network, something that would not happen with true decentralization. If the recording industry can’t shut down Morpheus within a week, I’ll be surprised.

My cold continues to linger. All that remains is congestion, but it’s enough to be frustrating.

What songs make you think of Spring? “Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves and “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” by Tears For Fears both evoke images of Spring in my mind.

We used to have a basketball hoop outside on the concrete pad in front of the shop. It wasn’t used often, but I remember playing basketball in the after school for a couple of weeks during the period in which “Walking on Sunshine” was popular. “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” reminds of Future Business Leaders of America, particularly the state convention during the Spring of my sophomore year of high school.

Nick and I were talking about music today, trying to decide what the best songs and albums and groups of each decade have been.

It seems certain that The Police’s “Every Breath You Take” is the best song of the 80s, but it’s hard to decide anything other than that. “Stairway to Heaven” by Led Zepplin might be the best song of the 70s, and Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon is probably the best album from that decade, but both could be argued.

Michael Jackson is probably the best artist from the 80s, though it might be Madonna. Personally, we think U2 was the best the 80s had to offer.

The 90s are difficult for us. Was there a stand-out song? Album? Artist? For me, the Indigo Girls were the best artist of the decade. But that’s me. They certainly weren’t the most popular group (though that’s not how we’re basing “best” in this case). We thought that maybe “Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana could be considered the best song of the 90s.

From our selections for “best song” you’d never guess that Nick prefers dance and techno music and that I like jazz and folk and bitchrock. (There’s a term that’ll get me into some trouble.)

I’ve been listening to my library of a capella mp3s today, sorting through the covers of 80s tunes so that I can make a mix for Paul. The playlist I have now is pretty darned good: strong performances of good songs.


Middlebury Dissipated Eight – Africa (Toto cover)
Arizona State Pitchforks – Secure Yourself (Indigo Girls cover)
Dartmouth Aires – Take on Me (aha cover)
Tufts University Beelzebubs – Rock This Town (Stray Cats cover)
Calabash – Policy of Truth (Depeche Mode cover)
Bobs – Particle Man (They Might Be Giants cover)
Stairwells- The Longest Time (Billy Joel cover)
UVA Academical Village People – Come On Eileen (Dexy’s Midnight Runners cover)
Dartmouth Cords – Friday I’m In Love (The Cure cover)
Tufts Jackson Jills – Our Lips Are Sealed (Go-Gos cover)
U Penn Off the Beat – Candy Everybody Wants (10,000 Maniacs cover)
BOCA ’99 – Don’t Stand So Close To Me (Police cover)
U of Michigan Amazin’ Blue – Innocent Man (Billy Joel cover)
UC Men’s Octet – Every Breath You Take (Police Cover)
Boca- Best Of College A Cappel – Everything She Wants (Wham cover)
Arizona State Pitchforks – Verdi Cries (10,000 Maniacs cover)
Brown Derbies – Break My Stride (Matthew Wilder cover)
Brown Derbies – Kyrie (Mr. Mister cover)
Brown Derbies – Somebody (Depeche Mode cover)
Brown Derbies – Walk Like an Egyptian (Bangles cover)
Cornell Class Notes – Sweet Dreams (Eurythmics cover)
Dartmouth Aires – Maneater (Hall and Oates cover)
Dartmouth Aires – Tainted Love (Soft Cell cover)
Dartmouth Aires – Hungry Like The Wolf (Duran Duran cover)
Dartmouth Decibelles – Walkin’ On Sunshine (Katrina and the Wave cover)
ASU Pitchforks – Need You Tonight (INXS cover)
Tufts Amalgamates – Just Like Heaven (The Cure cover)
Tufts Beelzebubs – Rio (Duran Duran cover)
Tufts Jackson Jills – We Belong (Pat Benetar cover)
U of Illinois Other Guys – Jesse’s Girl (Rick Sprinfield cover)
Dissipated Eight – Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes (Paul Simon cover)
The Flying Pickets – Only You (Yazoo cover)
Flying Pickets – She Drives Me Crazy (Fine Young Cannibal cover)
Flying Pickets – When Doves Cry (Prince cover)
The Flying Pickets – Purple Rain (Prince cover)
Pitchforks – In Your Eyes (Peter Gabriel cover)
Duke Out of the Blue – Mercy Street (Peter Gabriel cover)
The Dartmouth Aires – Father Figure (George Michael cover)
Tufts Amalgamates – True Colors (Cyndi Lauper cover)

Comments


On 01 March 2002 (08:46 AM),
Dane said:

The a capella mix sounds really keen and, frankly, there are a bunch of those songs I would like to have copies of.

I didn’t realize that you enjoyed a capella music. Dagny is a bigger fan of it than I am, but I also quite enjoy it. I’m going to e-mail you a copy of a cover of DMB’s “Ants Marching” done by Four Shadow that I think is pretty keen. Let me know if you like it…



On 01 March 2002 (08:46 AM),
said:

AUTHOR:
EMAIL:
IP:
URL:
DATE: 03/01/2002 08:46:18 AM



On 01 March 2002 (10:00 PM),
jdroth said:

I am a huge a capella fan. Arrangements with many voices (say 8+) and tight harmonization especially move me. Collegiate a capella actually seems to be of a higher quality than that produced by professional groups.

My a capella collection now includes 322 songs. Every couple of months I search for “a capella” with whichever file sharing client I’m using at the time. Also, I search for individual groups that have impressed me in the past (USC Sirens, Middlebury Dissipated Eight, MIT Logarhythms, Brown Derbies, Tufts Beelzebubs, U Penn Off the Beat).

My collection largely comprises “covers” — original a capella songs don’t appeal to me.

If some group would cover an Aimee Mann song, I’d be ecstatic.



On 16 September 2002 (06:43 PM),
Chelsea said:

Hi,
I’m in this a capella group from Clemson University. It’s an all-female group, and I’m looking for an arrangement of Pat Benatar’s “We Belong.” Is there any way I could get an MP3 version from you or, even better, the sheet music with the a capella arrangement? Also, some of the music sung by our guy’s a capella group called Tigeroar is posted on Morpheous, etc. I would highly recommend listening to it; although, it’s a lot of their older stuff. Now, they’re absolutely phenomenal.
Chelsea



On 01 December 2002 (01:25 PM),
Kristin said:

Hey~
I was wondering if you could find the sheet music for a song for me, or if you know where I could find it. I am looking for the song Under the Bridge a cappella sang by the brown derbies. If you know where I could find it, would you please email me back. Thank you so much for your time.
~Kristin



On 04 May 2003 (02:44 PM),
Scott said:

Hey there people, I couldn’t help but notice that you were interested in a cappella music and that you were looking for a good file sharing site.
Well, this is what I found for you even though you don’t know me. By the way, it’s good to meet you…
the service you are looking for is KaZaa Lite, and it just happens to have to the song that one of you is looking for.(Under the Bridge, Brown Derbies, under Red hot chili Peppers)
So, check it out….
Sincerely
Scott



On 05 October 2004 (09:36 PM),
Dee Dee said:

I am a former member of the ASU Pitchforks and I sing on both Secure Yourself and Verdi Cries. I, we, are flattered that you like our music. 🙂

Thanks for listening!



On 31 January 2005 (07:25 PM),
Laura said:

hey
I am a member of a small choir dabbling in a capella, but the song we are looking for doesn’t want to be found. Do you know where I could find either sheet music, or a midi (not an mp3), of an a capella version of Billy Joel’s For The Longest Time? It probably gets annoying what with almost everyone asking you to find stuff, but I have been looking for weeks, with no result.
Thanks so much!
Laura

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07 February 2002• by

The Dream of the Red House

In which I have a very strange dream.

I rarely have strange dreams. Or, more precisely, I rarely remember the strange dreams that I do have. Last night was an exception.

I dreamt that Custom Box Service was having a party or celebration of some sort. A box festival. As part of this festival, I decided to take my house to work.

On the morning of the day of the festival, I jacked up the house, hitched it to the car, and towed it to the shop. I decided to leave my keys in the car in case somebody needed to move the house. The strangest part? The house was painted red.

I felt good because nobody else had thought to bring their house to the box festival. I was the only one to have done so. The box festival was great — lots of talking and fun. Even so, I decided to leave early to work out at the gym. When I walked out to my car, both it and the house were gone!

“Has anybody seen my house?” I asked my fellow employees. Nobody had.

I panicked.

I ran to the road and looked north on Oglesby. No sign of the house. I looked south on Oglesby. No sign of the house. I set off to find it.

For some reason (which made sense in the context of the dream) there was an old, decrepit chicken shack next to Custom Box Service. The shack was being used by a horticulturist society. And for some other reason (which made sense in the context of the dream) I began to search for my house inside the chicken shack.

The shack was dark and earthy. I wandered from room-to-room but, unsurprisingly, found no sign of my house. In one room, a room filled with fruited tomato plants (how did these plants grow with no light?), I found a book with an interesting cover and paused to read it.

I realized that I was wasting time so I set the book among the tomatoes and hurried on, winding through the horitculturists’ maze of rooms and plants. When I reached the end of the chicken shack I still had not found my house.

I was becoming increasingly concerned. I began to jog. I jogged down Oglesby to Needy and then down Heinz. No sign of the house. I jogged back to Needy and then down the hill by the Gingeriches. No sign of the house.

I found myself at Zion Mennonite Church. There was a potluck in progress in the old church basement, and people were milling about. I made an announcement: “My car and house have been stolen. Has anybody seen them?” Nobody had.

Ken Kauffman suggested that I look for them at [BLANK]. (Here you, the reader, need to use your imagination. I have no idea what the [BLANK] was that Ken suggested to me. I can describe the building, but not its purpose.)

I went to [BLANK]. [BLANK] consisted of a large, elongated building with a parking lot. It resembled a college dormitory. [BLANK] resembled a college dormitory on the inside as well. There were several floors of long (half-mile long) white cinder-block hallways with hundreds and hundreds of doors.

I started knocking on the doors. “Have you seen my house?” I asked whomever answered each door. Nobody had.

It was getting late, nearly midnight. I could no longer knock on doors. Instead, I ran the length of the hallway, stopping anybody that I saw, asking about my house. Floor after floor and no result.

At about 5 a.m. I came to the final room, a lounge at the end of the top floor. A group was gathered inside watching a movie: Repo Man or The Princess Bride or After Hours (a movie of which this dream reminds me, incidentally — some kind of weird recursive thing going on here?). They were laughing and eating and having a fine time. I asked for some food but nobody would share. One man offered to sell me some beef jerkey, so I bought $2 of it from him.

“Has anybody seen a red house?” I asked. Nobody had.

Well, almost nobody.

Joyce Trussell, the receptionist at Wilcox Arredondo, was there and she pulled me to the side. She handed me a business card with a hispanic name and a Wilsonville address. She told me that maybe this fellow could help me find my house. The implication was (I remember this clearly from the dream) that the person on the card had stolen my house and that boy, was he dangerous. I’m not sure how all of this was conveyed, but it was a dream, so it was.

I thanked Joyce and left. I didn’t know how I was going to get to Wilsonville; I dind’t have a car or a house.

As I was jogging to the [BLANK]’s exit, a woman stopped me and asked me if Joyce had been able to help me. I said that she had.

Then the dream ended. I was awakened by a couple of loud booms from the other side of Canby. I wonder what they were.

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05 February 2002• by

Creative and Analytical

In which I engage in some self-reflection. (This is one of my brother Tony’s most-hated foldedspace entries.)

My mind seems to have two major modes of operation: Creative Mode and Analytical Mode.

Creative Mode is used for activities such as reading, writing, etc. It’s also used when I learn photography, when I design my personal web site, when I play certain games. This mode is typified by spontaneity, a casual release of creative energy just to see what will happen. It doesn’t care about the quality of the results; the important thing in Creative Mode is to be creative, to produce something.

When my mind is operating in Analytical Mode, it is more concerned with the way things are rather than their mere existence. I use Analytical Mode for programming, for non-personal web design (i.e. web design for Computer Resources clients), and for playing most games (especially card games). Less obviously, I use Analytical Mode when exercising and when editing material produced while in Creative Mode.

When my life is dominated by Creative Mode, writing is easy. Producing a daily weblog entry is limiting: I want to produce two or three or five! Creative Mode is expressive, and when my mind is operating in that mode I want to write and I want to share. However, when I’m in Analytical Mode, producing a single weblog entry per week can seem daunting. My mind wants to break things apart, not put them together.

Maybe that’s another way to put it. In Creative Mode, I assimilate things, construct them. In Analytical Mode, I break things down, deconstruct them.

Why do I mention this?

For the past week I’ve been operating in Analytical Mode. My web work for Canby Ford and Wilcox Arredondo took over my life, and I found myself living in the Analytical. No time for weblog updates. No time for reading. No time for anything but HTML and exercise.

I’ve finished my Canby Ford project though, and am nearing completion of Wilcox Arredondo. I’ve already begun to slip into Creative Mode. I lost the flow of Downbelow Station when I entered the Analytical phase, so I picked up a new book yesterday (Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk) and read a chunk of it. I also watched some of Magnolia. In the next couple of days I’ll resume work on this site.

I’ve been impressed recently with how much fun I have when I least expect it.

Most of my life is planned. Kris and I usually know what we’re doing for the next several weeks: who we’re going to dinner with, who we’re playing games with, when book group is, etc. These planned activities, while enjoyable, sometimes seem a chore. They take me from other things that are either more important or would be more fun at the time.

Twice recently I’ve participated in social events for which I had not planned. I had a great time at both events. Found fun. In high school and college, I was spontaneous, rarely planning my life more than a day in advance. As I’ve aged (and spent more time with Kris, a scheduler by nature), my life has become less spontaneous. Perhaps I need to regain some of that lost spontaneity. Found fun. I like that.

My most recent encounter with found fun occurred last Sunday. I had planned to spend the day completing my two web design projects, but when Joel and Aimee invited me (and Kris, who had other plans, and Mac and Pam) to their apartment for the Super Bowl, I casually shirked responsibility in favor of entertainment. I’m glad I did.

We had far too much food for only five people, especially considering that Mac and I are dieting. It was good food, though, and I ate too much. The game was exciting, U2’s half-time show entertaining. Best was the smart and witty banter that filled the room all afternoon. It’s been a long while since I laughed so much. After the game, we went to see The Brotherhood of the Wolf. I had never heard of the film (and probably wouldn’t have seen it if I had), but it was more entertaining than it had a right to be.

Found fun. Life should be more fun. Fun is the meaning of life.

Comments


On 16 July 2003 (08:48 PM),
JLT said:

So what type of jobs does somebody who is creative and analytical do??



On 15 September 2005 (08:57 AM),
KRR said:

Yes, a couple of job suggestions for a creative and analytical person would be…? Thanks a bunch

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24 January 2002• by

Best Hearts Game Ever

In which Kris, Mac, Pam, and I play a marathon game of Hearts and have a blast! (Those were the days.)

Kris and I played cards with Mac and Pam on Sunday. No big surprise there; we play whenever we can.

We played Bridge first, but Pam kicked our asses. Again, no big surprise there. She finished with 3700 points in three rubbers while the rest of us each had around 1400 points.

The game of Hearts that we played was more fun.

I started playing Hearts (rules, which are simple) when I was a sophomore in high school. When my family started attending Zion Mennonite Church, learning Hearts was part of the initiation into the youth social scene. (Learning Rook was, of course, the real initiation. Rook is the game of choice among young Mennonites.)

The Hearts that I’ve played with my Mennonite friends isn’t nearly as fun, or as challenging, as the Hearts I play with Mac and Pam. The Mennonite group plays: Black Lady and Passing variations, Two of Clubs opens, Jack of Diamonds is minus ten, a player receives minus three for taking no tricks, and no points may be played on the first trick. Also, the level of play is not as high as with Mac and Pam.

The version of Hearts that Mac and Pam play features: Black Lady and Passing variations, a four card kitty (which goes to the first person to take a point), the person to the left of the dealer opens, no bonus for the Jack of Diamonds or for avoiding tricks, and points may be played on the first trick. Also, the deal skips a player after the hold hand. (Kris and I have convinced them to play with the minus three point bonus for not taking a trick, and they seem to like the rule.)

The basic difference between these rules is that it is more difficult to Shoot the Moon with Mac and Pam’s rules. Removing the bonus for the Jack of Diamonds also eliminates an element of luck that is otherwise involved in the play. In all, their rules are much more fun.

Here’s the score card from the Best Hearts Game Ever:

Pam J.D. Kris Mac
-26 0 -3 0
-17 1 -2 15
-17 3 21 12
-11 23 21 9
 
9 26 24 9
6 23 45 14
6 25 66 17
27 22 69 19
 
49 27 69 19
46 36 82 23
43 43 85 39
43 56 89 48
 
40 74 86 56
41 74 86 81
61 80 83 81
77 77 86 88
 
96 83 83 89
100 100 86 91
116 106 86 95

Important things to know: Pam has an eidetic memory (or nearly so), so counting cards is easy for her. I go into nearly every hand with the intention of Shooting the Moon. I also tend to overanalyze the game. Kris doesn’t really like Hearts, and she really doesn’t like it when I overanalyze the game. The whole group is very competitive, but Pam and I are especially competitive with each other. Pam rarely loses at Hearts (or any other card game). This just makes me more eager to defeat her.

This particular game started with Pam Shooting the Moon, an event that caused groans around the table. She was likely to win anyhow, and spotting her a 26 point lead just increased the chance that she would be victorious.

For the next few hands, things were typical. Then, Kris hit a string of bad luck, falling far behind with 66 points. Pam continued to lead. But then she had a couple of bad hands, taking the Queen twice consecutively. Suddeny, the men were vying for the lead and the women were behind. Not very common in our group, and a state that both Mac and I relish.

Our taste of the lead was short-lived, however. Kris fell futher behind (and became more surly, sulking and snapping), but Pam stabilized in the low 40s and Mac and I fell nearly even with Kris in the 70s and 80s.

Then things began to fall apart for Pam. Within two hands, she and I were tied at 77, with Kris and Mac only ten points back. Pam took the Queen and suddenly found herself in last place. I was tied for the lead with Kris (who had looked a sure loser only a few hands before).

I felt confident. Victory was within my reach. Whether I won the game or Pam lost the game did not matter: either outcome was a victory. If both happened, it would be all the sweeter. On the pass, I worked myself a safe hand: low cards, Spades protection, few Hearts. I was ready. The first two tricks were typical, but then the bomb dropped. Pam had voided herself in Clubs (or had a singleton, I don’t recall), and was able to sluff the Queen on my lowly Seven of Clubs. The Seven of Clubs took the Queen on only the first or second Clubs trick! I was in agony! I was also now tied with Pam at 100 points; whichever of us took the most points the next hand would lose the game.

The game had lasted eighteen hands, which is extraordinary for a game of Hearts. We were all within fifteen points of each other, and each had over 85 points. I’ve never seen a game so close!

I dealt the cards, and we passed across. My hand was average. I would likely take a few points, but I hoped to avoid the Queen. Little did I know, Pam had passed Kris the Ace and King of Spades, but Kris had passed her the Queen, which was now her only Spade. She was doomed from the start.

As the first Spades trick went around, and Pam was forced to take it with the Queen. It then became only a matter of preventing her from Shooting the Moon (which wasn’t difficult, as she hadn’t the cards to do it), and the game ended with her as the Big Loser.

The game was a blast, especially after the first few hands. The leader changed often. The score was close. The game was competitive. This is the reason I love to play games.

It’s also the reason that I prefer interactive games to non-interactive games. Some games, Eurorails and Empire Builder for example, have little player interaction. These games are dull to me now, though I enjoyed them once. I’m interested in games that allow players to interact, to affect each other’s status within the game, games like El Grande and Settlers of Catan, and Tigris and Euphrates. (Tigris and Euphrates is my favorite of these, I think, but most people find the game too complicated.)

Game night in one week!

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11 January 2002• by

Who Owns the Memories?

In which I contemplate what should and should not be shared in a public weblog.

Recently I’ve given a lot of thought to the responsibilities and obligations of a journalist. When I say journalist, I don’t mean a reporter; I mean a person who keeps a journal, or a weblog, or who writes a personal history.

Through this weblog, I share many of the important events in my life (and, some would say, many of the unimportant events in my life). To what degree am I obligated to edit what I write here? To what degree am I obligated to not edit what I write here? To what degree is this obligation to the truth different than the obligation to the truth when I create a scrapbook/album that contains my personal history?

These are tough questions.

I am generally an honest person. I see no sense in hiding the truth. However, I recognize that in some cases the truth a) may not be productive, b) may hurt somebody else, and/or c) may not be mine to share.

For example, I have a close friend who will likely change gender. While this is not a huge component of my life, it is a huge component this person’s life (obviously). When we spend time together, it becomes a rather large issue, for good or ill, between us. This is something that I’d normally be incline to share in this weblog, and certainly in my scrapbook/personal history. Is it something I can share, though? Is it something I should share? Tough questions.

In this case, I’ve opted not to discuss the subject in the weblog. However, I’ve asked (and been granted) permission from this person to incorporate this particular aspect of our relationship into my personal history. I have a greater degree of control over who accesses my personal history, as it is a phsical object, a scrapbook, that I alone grant permission to view. My weblog is open for the entire world to see (though I realize it’s only friends and family that actually read it).

Even the personal history raises questions of this nature. Where should the line be drawn regarding what I put in my scrapbook? I have another friend that is gay and semi-out. However, he’s not completely out. How much of this should I put in my personal history? It’s always there when I’m with him, it’s a huge component of who he is. It seems senseless to skirt the issue when I’m documenting my life. Yet, is it really my decision?

I have very strong feelings regarding my parents, both positive and negative. Whether I place my positive feelings in my scrapbook is not an issue. Nobody minds reading positive things about themselves. But what about my negative feelings? My father is dead, so it’s less of an issue. I don’t mind putting down the things that bugged me, the things that made our relationship difficult. But my mother is alive, and likely to be hurt by some of the things that I would say. Do I include them? Do I censor myself? Is it fair for me to write only the positive things about my mother and not mention the less flattering things (which are nevertheless a portion of her character, and a portion of my relationship with her)?

Similarly, I have a letter from a friend in which she confesses things that she might consider secret. The letter is very much meant to be communication between me and this friend. However, it is a huge component of my personal history. How can I edit it from my scrapbook? Yet, how do I handle its presence? Do I black out the most provocative lines, so that when others read the history they are left in the dark? Blacking out these lines makes the letter mundane, unworthy of inclusion in my scrapbook. Allowing the lines to remain raises issues regarding secrecy and trust and friendship.

Who owns the memories? How much honesty is too much?

Tony just said to me: “God, you’re wierd.” Like I haven’t heard that one before.

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19 December 2001• by

Bad Soup

In which three-week-old garlic-onion soup makes me sick sick sick on the day Fellowship of the Ring opens.

Here’s a conversation that Kris and I will not be having ever again.

Kris: Honey, for dinner why don’t you have this three-week-old garlic-onion soup and this three-week-old wine?
Me: Okay.

Why won’t we be having this conversation again? Because from now on I’ll be saying “Hell no! Throw that shit out!”

I’ve spent all morning (the last three hours) spewing bodily fluids from various openings. I’ve never vomited so much in my life. And it all tastes like garlic-onion soup (mixed with bile, of course).

I can only hope that I get over this by about noon, which is when Fellowship of the Ring starts.

Gotta run. Stomach is rumbling again…

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08 December 2001• by

A Helping Hand

In which I help Dave and Karen work on their new house.

I got up early this morning and joined Dave and Karen at their new house for some pre-move-in sprucing up.

They’ve bought a nice little 1926 bungalow located in Southeast Portland. It looks to be in good shape for its age; still, there is much to be done before they are willing to live in it. In particular, they are attacking the hardwood floors (which are in nearly every room in the house) with great enthusiasm. Dave is sanding like a madman, and together they are painting and applying polyeurathane (did I spell that correctly?).

Dave has helped me with house- and yard-work in the past, so I was pleased to be able to return the favor. He put me to work in the Very Cold basement, applying a thick paint-like substance to the floor (and part of the wall). It’s a moisture barrier of sorts, and smells exactly like the ammonia with which my mother used to mop the floors when I was a child. The work was tedious, and my knees became quite sore after a couple of hours, but I was not unhappy. Work is good sometimes, especially when you’re helping a friend.

While I was out today, I bought a new Compact Flash memory card for my digital camera. I’m a poor photographer (with unfounded aspirations to greatness) and tend to take many shots of any particular subject in order to maximize my chances of producing at least one acceptable photo. I but a memory card four times the size of my current card (which holds about 55 pictures using my typical settings). Well. I bought a 64mb card, assuming that I had a 16mb card at home. Wrong. I have an 8 mb card at home. A 64mb card is eight times the size of my previous card. I can now store 440 pictures on one card. Yikes. What am I going to do? That’s far more memory than I actually need!

I have four options, I guess:

  1. Keep the card. Just take a huge number of pictures between downloading sessions.
  2. Keep the card. Increase the size and/or quality of the photos that I’m taking.
  3. Return the card and replace it with a 32mb card. Trouble is, I don’t much like the mall. It was unusual for me to be there in the first place.
  4. See whether I can get a friend to give me a 32mb card and $25 for this card.

I think I’m going to explore options two and three. I think higher quality pictures would be keen, but I may already have the camera producing at its highest settings. I’m not interested in larger pictures, either. I currently store the photos at 640×480 and see little need for them to be larger.

I am still Very Cold after having spent so much time in Dave’s Very Cold basement today. I’m making a pot of cocoa and am going to go soak in the tub. I need to warm my inner core.

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