Mahogany Rudolph

Mahogany Rudolph These bandsaw reindeer are just supposed to be fun little give-away projects, quick to build from scraps of inexpensive construction lumber. And the other eight certainly were that.

But I thought the design (not mine) of this guy deserved a better treatment.  After doing one in the cheap wood, I decided I would treat Rudolph here to something better.

I happened to have a piece of nice clear mahogany, bought on spec months ago. Eighteen bucks for what was essentially a 2×4 about 16″ long. Exactly enough for two Rudolphs, in case one didn’t work out.

Which is exactly what happened, as it turns out. On the first one I somehow buy soma in mexico managed to get the front template upside down relative to the side template (they are cut in two different operations). Which meant he looked fine from the front, but most peculiar once you started to rotate him. As in, sturdy antlers and delicate legs, instead of sturdy legs and delicate antlers.  Instead of barrel-chested, he was barrel-headed. Not good.

Anyway, that version’s antlers are soon to be earrings, the rest is in the kindling box.

But Mahogany Rudolph MK II here turned out okay. Took a ton of hand sanding, but he was finally finish-worthy and looks pretty proud of himself…

I Didn’t Even Last a Week…

I suppose it bears mentioning here, that since my “Open Letter to my Tweeps” post of less than a week ago, forswearing all things Twitter, I’ve done a terrible job of living up to my own pronouncements.  I think the longest I went was two days.

I admit defeat.

Twitter, I don’t know how to quit you. You complete me.

I’m going to try to keep the blog going though, I do enjoy speaking in complete sentences and exploring larger than tweet-sized ideas…

Not that I have any right now, mind you.

This Day in PROG #2: Chris Squire Meets Jimi Hendrix

It’s easy to think of progressive rock as being quite separate from the psychedelic era: PROG is 1970’s  Britain, Psychedelic is 1960’s California.

But Britain had a quite lively psychedelic scene of its own. The Beatles dabbled in it during their later years, and were known to be fans of the emergent Pink Floyd. The Rolling Stones‘ arguably most interesting album, Their Satanic Majesties Request, was not just a contrived response to Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, but full-blown psychedelia in its own right.

On this day* in 1967, an American guitarist named Jimi Hendrix was brought in at the last minute to headline at London’s legendary Marquee Club. The opening act was a band called The Syn, a precursor of progressive rock’s perhaps most tenacious group, Yes, and featuring future Yes-men Peter Banks and Chris Squire.

In the following video, a rather older-looking Squire demonstrates some pretty decent storytelling skills as he recalls that fateful meeting:

(YouTube video)

The video is courtesy of the EMP | SFM Oral History Videos project. There’s another one here which explores the origin’s of Yes‘ propensity for wearing capes in the Seventies… funny stuff…

For Peter Banks recollections of the event, check out this article on the Marquee Club’s website. He seemed a bit wound up, understandably, at being the only other guitarist on stage that night other than Hendrix, and with practically all of rock’s royalty seated in the first few rows. Here’s an excerpt from the article:

It was a very peculiar gig. All the Beatles were there, and the Rolling Stones, Eric Clapton and Jeff Beck and every other guitar player in town came along and we had to play one set to all these people! They were waiting for Jimi Hendrix, but we had to play once, come off and then play another set. So people were going ‘Well thank God if they’ve gone’. Then we came back on again! It wasn’t very nice for us but it was great meeting Hendrix.”

* Once again, for the purposes of this article, “this day” in PROG was actually January 24, 1967. But let’s not sweat the fine points…

This Day in PROG History

In the spirit of the revisionism of which I am accused in Robert Fripp’s Diary, allow me to insert this mercifully brief rebuttal. I in no way intended this as an attack on anybody, and am surprised at the anger coming back. I’m just an old fart indulging in some personal nostalgia. And the mystique of all things Fripp was very much part of my youth.  The recording in question, recently purchased for download from the DGM site, brought back some of those memories, and seemed suitable fodder for a blog post that (normally) nobody ever reads. So apologies for any offense — none was intended — but I stand by my skewed view of reality, because as I said so inelegantly in the comments, this ain’t journalism… the only thing I’m “reporting” on is the addled impressions of a young man some 35 years ago…   Original post follows.

(Marking the first entry in a series of posts by this name. You know, maybe.)

On this day* in 1973, progressive rock fans got a short refresher course in the strangeness of Robert Fripp.

During a King Crimson concert at the University of Texas at Arlington, guitarist and bandleader Robert Fripp emerged for a moment from the shadows at stage left, where he lurks in darkness as a way of drawing attention to himself, and approached John Wetton’s microphone.

Since in the normal course of events Fripp does not  talk to the audience, he does not require his own microphone. So the fact that he’s now emerging from both darkness and (vocal) silence suggests we’re in for a pronouncement of some significance.

King Crimson 1974
(King Crimson in Toronto, 1974. Fripp not shown.)

The audience members, like good Texans, have themselves been rather vocal this night, a hootin’ and a hollerin’ like they will, including it would seem,  issuing cries for the band to play louder.

King Crimson was known during this era in particular, for their mastery of dynamics, their tendency to build slowly from small beginnings up to “barrage” level. Lark’s Tongues in Aspic Part One comes to mind as the seminal example of this, being the first track on the first album of their mid-1970’s incarnation. The song builds slowly but relentlessly up to a highly-focused, highly-organized  sonic assault.  But, like the proverbial frog in the cooking pot, being brought slowly to the boil,  maybe the Texans didn’t notice it happening?

In any case,  I can only imagine the Texas crowd was not so much asking them to play louder, as asking them to play louder more often. They don’t like them quiet parts. Quiet parts are for sissies, like Canadians.

So Robert Fripp takes the microphone from the much taller Wetton’s mic stand, and delivers this pronouncement in his precise, upper-class Dorset accent:

“I have heard a request from a gentleman over here to play louder….I would make one suggestion: if we’re not loud enough sir, perhaps you’d care to listen more attentively?”

Whereupon he returns to his stool, his throne of darkness, perhaps leaving some to mutter to themselves: “listen a-what-ively?”

This interchange was made famous on a bootleg recording released on vinyl back in the day, which is how I am able to pretend I was actually there.  Also, having attended several shows from this period (see photo above),  I can channel my memories of those shows into extra realism.

The recording is also available for download from the DGM website. Along with just about every second of every performance the band ever gave.  Making me think those rumours may actually have been true,  that Fripp would show up at the homes of advertised bootleggers, demanding they hand over his intellectual property.

*One last thing: for the purposes of this article, “this day” in PROG history was actually October 6, 1973.  But let’s not split hairs.

My Name is Bob. It’s Been Two Days Since My Last Tweet.

I know how I said I was quitting Twitter and everything. How above it I’ve become. How more enlightened I am for my tweetlessness. How the days are now just FILLED with real rewarding, productive activities.

Ya. Kinda. Or not.

Anyway, even in the throes of my Twitter withdrawl, I would still find myself back there, from time to time. Just, you know, checking on my account.  Dust off my avatar.  Maybe read some of the collected wisdom of the hive mind.  Follow some links to some WordPress themes, or whatever.

Two days ago, while the ink was still wet on my leaving-Twitter manifesto, I tweeted something. I had to. It was too good. Or too perfect for the “Sounds Dirty But Isn’t” (#sdbi) mini-meme.  It went something like this:

Sounds Dirty But Isn’t: “Nudibranch” #sdbi http://bit.ly/eW4ch (Sorry, I’m not really back, just couldn’t resist that one) B-)

Complete with its own apology no less.  Will this be my final “official” tweet? (I’m not counting the blog post auto-tweets.) Will my resolve to say everything with much longer sentences hold steady against the urge to quip and run?

Today I almost fell off the wagon again… My friend Mary (@MDuette) was having some fun with the #chickenfilms meme:  “Cluck Fiction” — “Lay It Forward” — “The Empire Quacks Back” (that last one was actually #duckfilms).

Ooh, Ooh, Mr. Kotter, Mr. Kotter, I thought to myself, my figurative arm waving in the air to get the imaginary Gabe Kaplan’s attention. I have one! It’s perfect! And entirely original!  So I almost tweeted:

A Cluckwork Orange #chickenfilms

Not bad, right?  I stand by it, such as it is. And while it may have been original, something made me do a Twitter search, just in case some other genius also thought of it. And sure enough, there were a couple of tweets from just an hour earlier, as well as MANY more from about a week ago, as part of the #oneletteroffmovies meme.

So what have we learned. I dunno. Maybe nothing.  But that’s my story of how I didn’t tweet “A Cluckwork Orange”, mostly because I was chicken…

“Don We Now…”


“Don We Now…”

Originally uploaded by rgdaniel

Rudolph dons his full-body spray-on gold lamé disco jumpsuit and complementary dashing red seasonal scarf, to lead the other now-frumpy-looking reindeer out for a night at the clubs…

I know it’s too early for Christmas, sorry about that, but the reindeers don’t bandsaw themselves… which would be asking for trouble if they did…

Here We Grow Again (gack)

Sorry for the chaos… just dumped my old Movable Type blog and installed a WordPress blog.

Because Movable Type sucks, and WordPress not so much.

Things COULD get ugly… I already broke the whole server, but I think THAT’s fixed… until I turn back on the thing that maybe broke it, and so break it again…. which I’m about to maybe do now… wish me luck…

Update: OK I think eveything is stable. By the way, if you subscribe by RSS you will need to RE-SUBSCRIBE – the old feed URL is no longer valid. Thanks!

One Thing I DID Like About Twitter…

Say what you will about Twitter — I certainly have and will again — but the idea of having hundreds or even thousands of “followers” is a little bit intoxicating. Intoxicating like a fine Merlot or intoxicating like crack remains a debating point, but there’s no denying the psychological impact of a large audience, in any endeavour.

Or at least, the ILLUSION of a large audience.

Sure, when Ashton or Demi or whatever big stars delight us with their latest non-event — “This lineup is taking forever- I need my latte” I’m sure the response is voluminous, immediate, and just as inane. If you have a million followers, all you need is a response rate of a tenth of a percent, and you got a thousand replies.

I wonder how many they read…

When you’re a schmuck like me with just a couple hundred followers or so, the numbers are not so kind at propping up my self-esteem to Hollywood proportions. But there WOULD often be some response. A star here, an RT there, an LOL by DM. (See, I know me some lingo).

It became the goal to nurture that response, to play to expectations, to give as I got, to embrace the notion of having followers.

My first post on Twitter, date January 31, 2009, reads:

[robertgdaniel] is wondering if he really wants “followers”…

It seems I did manage to grow comfortable the concept, at least somewhat. The idea that people might find what you’re saying interesting or provocative enough to actually respond to, well, that’s almost as intoxicating as having a real conversation…

Open Letter to My Tweeps

One of the biggest problems with Twitter (though some would call it a feature, not a bug) is that messages are constrained to 140 characters. So it becomes awkward, if not impossible, to make larger points with the eloquence that they may or may not deserve.

I have decided I no longer have time in my life for Twitter. Given that I’m retired, this may seem counter-intuitive. I guess I’m saying I no longer want to SPEND my time on Twitter.

Since becoming unemployed in the traditional sense, I’ve become (perhaps ironically) more aware of the value of time spent, and the finite nature of that time. Even if I choose to just take naps and watch TV with my time, if that removes a source of stress, of frustration, of depression, then I’m better off.

As it happens, I do have enough time and energy (energy being the dearer commodity) to include a FEW things besides napping and watching TV — for example some woodworking, some musical stuff maybe, off and on… and the dogs can keep you busy… but I’ve decided that cracking wise on Twitter no longer makes the cut.
I’m eventually going to be writing up an analysis of both Twitter and Facebook (working title: “Why Facebook and Twitter, Collectively, Both Suck AND Blow”) and I am also curtailing my Facebook presence as of now. But this post is about Twitter.

After a year or so on Twitter, I have 370 followers, and am following 211 others. I WAS following about twice that many, because early information from the so-called Twitterati suggested that was the way to do it. Get as many followers as possible by following as many as possible.

Those people are douchebags, though, as it turns out, and couldn’t be more misguided.

But I digress.

Of the two hundred or so accounts I still follow (down from four or five hundred at one point), probably half of these are of the “news” or “announcement” type. Impersonal, corporate accounts with just quick links to breaking news in that field.

A big chunk of what remains are semi-personal accounts. They may be bloggers or authors or minor celebrities (I long ago dumped actual celebrities), and their posts do have a personal feel, but at the end of the day they are pushing their own agenda, and not terribly interested in trading quips with the likes of you and me. If they follow you back at all, you get the sense that it’s just a formality.

If someone is following more than a couple of hundred people, the chance of you even being noticed by them becomes remote-to-zero.

Which leaves a small handful of like-minded individuals, with no particular personal, professional, or corporate AGENDA to push, who are just having some laughs and trying to interact with each other.

Twitter, just by virtue of the parameters of its design, makes meaningful interaction VERY difficult to have real conversations. The interactions are of necessity short, or are supplanted entirely by the awarding of stars or FAV’s.

I just got finished shedding a whole superfluous virtual world of meaningless token-giving (a Flickr awards group I admin’d for a long time) and here I was getting all obsessive about a whole new version of the same thing. Minus the photographs.

So on the one hand, I’m VERY grateful for the interactions I did manage to wring out of the frustratingly limited Twitter structure… some VERY funny people gave some good laughs, and I like to think I contributed a little to the zeitgeist my own self.

But in the end, I found it unsustainable. And after a couple of you tweeps had meltdowns online, a process I’m not unfamiliar with, I realized I had to bail. For my own sanity.

I won’t be shutting anything down, as such, but I won’t be tweeting* much, if at all, or monitoring things with any regularity. (*The beginning of the end may have been, come to think of it, when I started using words like “tweeting” without the snort of dersion that always used to follow…)

So there you have it, thanks for all the fish. I’m available via email or this website for those who’d like to keep in touch. I really do appreciate the laughs. Cheers.

Bob.
twitter.com/robertgdaniel