The H4 Test Flight (Sheep Go to Heaven)
I put the Zoom H4 to the test covering Cake's 'Sheep Go to Heaven,' and am well satisfied. This recording uses the H4's on-board compression, which as of now I only know how to turn on or off. I don't know if there's more control to be found than that, but simply turning it on has left me happy enough with the results of this take.
In post production I increased the volume of the track and trimmed and faded the ends. But other than that, this is all H4. No EQ work, no effects; just mic position and the 'REC' button.
Enjoy. Or loathe.
It's Not Enough
I woke up at 1:15p today, ate breakfast, took a shower, gathered up some things into my backpack and biked away. In the backpack: Two disc golf discs; a beach towel; a pair of swim trunks; and Joseph Heller's 'Catch-22.'
I rode to Bay Court Park, chained up my bike, and played a round of disc golf. I birdied every par 4 and parred the two par 3s, for a -7 game, tying my all-time best at Bay Court.
Then I went to the 'club house,' changed into my bathing suit, and went down to the beach. I spread out my beach towel on the hard sand and, setting my head atop the backpack, lay sun bathing, reading my book.
A chapter later I decided to try the water. I walked slowly out into the lake, carefully letting the cold water climb up my legs. The water line at my thighs felt frigid and slightly painful. I left it at that and returned to my beach towel.
This time I laid face down, sunning my back, the book closed at my side. Ten or fifteen minutes passed in warm relaxation, with the sounds of the beach and her other visitor's bright in my ears. Finally I sat up. "Bored now," I quoted Willow Rosenberg as I rose to my knees resolving to give the next chapter a try. It was no good. I'd already filled my beach-reading quota, I guess. And I prepared to leave.
But I was loath to go without swimming the lake. This time I ran into the water unhesitatingly, lifting my knees high to maintain momentum until I found the water deep enough. When it was I dove in and under, thrusting forward, rolling over and coming up with my chest skyward. The water wasn't cold. I swam for a few minutes before returning to shore, toweling off, gathering my things, and moving to the platform at the bottom of the stairs. There I wiped the sand from my feet, put my socks, shoes, and shirt back on, reordered my items in the backpack, and made to leave.
As I passed I paused again at the 'club house' for a drink of water from the fountain. Then I walked to my bike, unchained it and rode out. On the ride in I had noticed some tents set up in front of Boomer's bikers' shop, resting in the shadow of a large tie-dye banner that said something about "peace." I had wanted to give it further investigation on my ride home, but traveling in the opposite direction I didn't notice it. So I forgot it.
I arrived home unceremoniously, put my bike away in the shed and came into the basement by the sliding door I'd left open when I left. The clock said it was now after 5p. I started my computer, opened Firefox, and went to blogger.com. There I typed up a painfully detailed chronology of these few hours' events.
By the time I finished it was nearly 6p. I had the feeling I had wasted someone's time.
I rode to Bay Court Park, chained up my bike, and played a round of disc golf. I birdied every par 4 and parred the two par 3s, for a -7 game, tying my all-time best at Bay Court.
Then I went to the 'club house,' changed into my bathing suit, and went down to the beach. I spread out my beach towel on the hard sand and, setting my head atop the backpack, lay sun bathing, reading my book.
A chapter later I decided to try the water. I walked slowly out into the lake, carefully letting the cold water climb up my legs. The water line at my thighs felt frigid and slightly painful. I left it at that and returned to my beach towel.
This time I laid face down, sunning my back, the book closed at my side. Ten or fifteen minutes passed in warm relaxation, with the sounds of the beach and her other visitor's bright in my ears. Finally I sat up. "Bored now," I quoted Willow Rosenberg as I rose to my knees resolving to give the next chapter a try. It was no good. I'd already filled my beach-reading quota, I guess. And I prepared to leave.
But I was loath to go without swimming the lake. This time I ran into the water unhesitatingly, lifting my knees high to maintain momentum until I found the water deep enough. When it was I dove in and under, thrusting forward, rolling over and coming up with my chest skyward. The water wasn't cold. I swam for a few minutes before returning to shore, toweling off, gathering my things, and moving to the platform at the bottom of the stairs. There I wiped the sand from my feet, put my socks, shoes, and shirt back on, reordered my items in the backpack, and made to leave.
As I passed I paused again at the 'club house' for a drink of water from the fountain. Then I walked to my bike, unchained it and rode out. On the ride in I had noticed some tents set up in front of Boomer's bikers' shop, resting in the shadow of a large tie-dye banner that said something about "peace." I had wanted to give it further investigation on my ride home, but traveling in the opposite direction I didn't notice it. So I forgot it.
I arrived home unceremoniously, put my bike away in the shed and came into the basement by the sliding door I'd left open when I left. The clock said it was now after 5p. I started my computer, opened Firefox, and went to blogger.com. There I typed up a painfully detailed chronology of these few hours' events.
By the time I finished it was nearly 6p. I had the feeling I had wasted someone's time.
Impulse Buy
Well I've done it. I've actually spent money. I know... The God of the Jews is gonna be, like, so pissed!
Last week Brandon and I were slowly squeezing the life out of the day, listening to some of the hundred or so random songs and song-bits I've recorded over the past few years. He made the comment that I should 'release' an album comprised of these tunes online. By which, he explained, he meant that I should pack 'em into a collection and email them off to all my many friend. (<-- non-plural)
I let the idea roll off my back at first, but it must've got stuck in me bum-crack or somefing because a few days ago an ever-so-slightly mutated version of the idea came knocking on the sliding glass door - presumably exposed to a naturally occurring nuclear event, or 'NON-E' - suggesting I record an album based loosely around the mission statement: "Songs you might've once heard me play at a coffee shop and/or bar." Releasing it, of course, as per Brandon's instructions: Compressed, archived, and email'd ex-post-gratis in the nature of fraternity.
I've already got a title in mind as well as an album cover, and my list of potential songs is certainly long enough. But how to record them? Ah, there's the rub! For I've got an acoustic guitar with the highest, most finger-tip slicing, fret-buzzing action in all universes and dimensions both known and unknown in perpetuity; I've got a laptop with a perfectly viable DAW installed; I've got a box of XLR and 1/4" cables gathering dust; But I've got nothing in the way of recording devices: No microphones in storage, nor any media recorder that would accept them even if I had what I haven't got. What's to do? What's to do?
I know! I'll do...
THIS!!!
It's a hand-held 4-track digital recorder called the Zoom H4. It's got two condenser mics built in, as you can see, in XY configuration, and so can be used with the push of a button. And from what I've read, along with the sample tracks I've heard, those two little mics ain't none too shabby. But wait! There's more.
It also features two XLR-slash-1/4" inputs; Provides phantom power; Records to SD media; Connects via USB; Functions as a standalone multitrack studio; Can be used as a direct input to your DAW! It shreds vegetables and legumes in seconds with just the tap of a hand; Broils cured meats while sealing in the flavor; Tired of household odors? You just set it and...
How could I resist such a prolific audiophilic Ginsu knife? Who could possibly restrain themselves from purchasing what is clearly God's own Swiss Army knife of digital recording? Certainly not this guy! Not me, I'll tell you that much!
Anyway if it turns out to be a bad buy I can always just blame Brandon. First for putting it in my head to start recording again; second for leaving me sit here all day to perry this pernicious marketing pitch despite our plans to "hang out" and watch movies.
Who does that? You make plans and then you can't even be bothered to pick up the phone and say, "Nevermind." Even Kurt Cobain managed that, dude. Weak. Weak.
Last week Brandon and I were slowly squeezing the life out of the day, listening to some of the hundred or so random songs and song-bits I've recorded over the past few years. He made the comment that I should 'release' an album comprised of these tunes online. By which, he explained, he meant that I should pack 'em into a collection and email them off to all my many friend. (<-- non-plural)
I let the idea roll off my back at first, but it must've got stuck in me bum-crack or somefing because a few days ago an ever-so-slightly mutated version of the idea came knocking on the sliding glass door - presumably exposed to a naturally occurring nuclear event, or 'NON-E' - suggesting I record an album based loosely around the mission statement: "Songs you might've once heard me play at a coffee shop and/or bar." Releasing it, of course, as per Brandon's instructions: Compressed, archived, and email'd ex-post-gratis in the nature of fraternity.
I've already got a title in mind as well as an album cover, and my list of potential songs is certainly long enough. But how to record them? Ah, there's the rub! For I've got an acoustic guitar with the highest, most finger-tip slicing, fret-buzzing action in all universes and dimensions both known and unknown in perpetuity; I've got a laptop with a perfectly viable DAW installed; I've got a box of XLR and 1/4" cables gathering dust; But I've got nothing in the way of recording devices: No microphones in storage, nor any media recorder that would accept them even if I had what I haven't got. What's to do? What's to do?
I know! I'll do...
THIS!!!
It's a hand-held 4-track digital recorder called the Zoom H4. It's got two condenser mics built in, as you can see, in XY configuration, and so can be used with the push of a button. And from what I've read, along with the sample tracks I've heard, those two little mics ain't none too shabby. But wait! There's more.
It also features two XLR-slash-1/4" inputs; Provides phantom power; Records to SD media; Connects via USB; Functions as a standalone multitrack studio; Can be used as a direct input to your DAW! It shreds vegetables and legumes in seconds with just the tap of a hand; Broils cured meats while sealing in the flavor; Tired of household odors? You just set it and...
How could I resist such a prolific audiophilic Ginsu knife? Who could possibly restrain themselves from purchasing what is clearly God's own Swiss Army knife of digital recording? Certainly not this guy! Not me, I'll tell you that much!
Anyway if it turns out to be a bad buy I can always just blame Brandon. First for putting it in my head to start recording again; second for leaving me sit here all day to perry this pernicious marketing pitch despite our plans to "hang out" and watch movies.
Who does that? You make plans and then you can't even be bothered to pick up the phone and say, "Nevermind." Even Kurt Cobain managed that, dude. Weak. Weak.
FLCL Desktop Background (1024x768)
It's been years now I've had this image for a desktop. It's 1024x768. I found it online. Someone had taken a screen-cap of the climactic moment in FLCL when <SPOILER>Takun and Haruko kiss</SPOILER> and superimposed the FLCL logo in the corner. I loved it.
But it was blocky and grainy; a bit washed-out; as you'd expect a screen-cap of a TV broadcast to be. So I took it into Photoshop and went to work smoothing things out, sifting the grain from the chaff and so on... finally adjusting the color to my liking. As I say, the result has been my desktop image for many a year.
I was just poking around at it, seeing <GAY>what other colors it might favor</GAY> and I figured I'd share it... posterity and all that, you know. Thus I present to you:
Here's the new color scheme I'm using after today's session. I find it especially soothing.
But it was blocky and grainy; a bit washed-out; as you'd expect a screen-cap of a TV broadcast to be. So I took it into Photoshop and went to work smoothing things out, sifting the grain from the chaff and so on... finally adjusting the color to my liking. As I say, the result has been my desktop image for many a year.
I was just poking around at it, seeing <GAY>what other colors it might favor</GAY> and I figured I'd share it... posterity and all that, you know. Thus I present to you:
FLCL - I Love You. (The Desktop Experience)
UPDATE
Here's the new color scheme I'm using after today's session. I find it especially soothing.
Roy Smash!!!
Monday, after work, I wiped out my computer. I had grown annoyed beyond comfort by all the little hesitations the machine had picked up in it's many years of tireless service. The worst of all these being upwards of a five second delay when opening certain folders containing certain files, whose associated icons, presumably, the OS took its time digging up.
And becoming bored with my present iconoclasm, I resolved to engage some fresh experiment with this hard drive's renewal. I would have three partitions. The first would be reserved for the operating system, and nothing else. The second would be a page-file area. I've kept a small 2Gb page file partition for several generations now, and I can only laud the practice, as it is the best thing for minimizing file fragmentation and preventing file corruption. The third and final partition, of course, would house the programs and data.
Not too brave, nor far flung a venture, this. Until, perhaps, I add this stipulation: The operating system I would resign to no more than 4Gb's space! Oh yes, now we're flying by the seat of our coattails, grandmama!
I have no idea if I'll be able to sustain my OS in just this tiny space. As of now I have removed the Program Files and Temp directories to the data partition via the registry. I have augmented Firefox to house it's cache there as well. I've deleted all the windows update uninstall directories. And these tasks completed, of my 4Gb's remains a scant 1.38 in which for XP Pro to breathe. Even as I type this I find myself looking over the registry to see what more of my "Shell Folders" might be hastened off the System drive to make room for those other slowly growing files that surely bid to burst the seems of this eensy cordon, some few months travel further down the garden path.
And what do I gain, you ask, by my mad venture; what have I earned for the added labors? Ha! Fools! You know nothing of my power. By which I mean to say that I don't get squat.
Sure, there's someone out there to argue the needfulness and benefit of a thusly isolated OS, but don't forget: Dr. Phil is prime time TV. By which I mean to say that there's at least one whack job to trumpet everything. Honestly, I can't say as there is a meaningful point to this particular of my chosen configuration except that it make me brain go shiny joy-fun time. I just like the idea of it, and so it is; so it has become at the irresistible force of my will's demand. So all shall soon become before the might of my awesome, all-enveloping singular consciousness.
...Puny humans.
And becoming bored with my present iconoclasm, I resolved to engage some fresh experiment with this hard drive's renewal. I would have three partitions. The first would be reserved for the operating system, and nothing else. The second would be a page-file area. I've kept a small 2Gb page file partition for several generations now, and I can only laud the practice, as it is the best thing for minimizing file fragmentation and preventing file corruption. The third and final partition, of course, would house the programs and data.
Not too brave, nor far flung a venture, this. Until, perhaps, I add this stipulation: The operating system I would resign to no more than 4Gb's space! Oh yes, now we're flying by the seat of our coattails, grandmama!
I have no idea if I'll be able to sustain my OS in just this tiny space. As of now I have removed the Program Files and Temp directories to the data partition via the registry. I have augmented Firefox to house it's cache there as well. I've deleted all the windows update uninstall directories. And these tasks completed, of my 4Gb's remains a scant 1.38 in which for XP Pro to breathe. Even as I type this I find myself looking over the registry to see what more of my "Shell Folders" might be hastened off the System drive to make room for those other slowly growing files that surely bid to burst the seems of this eensy cordon, some few months travel further down the garden path.
And what do I gain, you ask, by my mad venture; what have I earned for the added labors? Ha! Fools! You know nothing of my power. By which I mean to say that I don't get squat.
Sure, there's someone out there to argue the needfulness and benefit of a thusly isolated OS, but don't forget: Dr. Phil is prime time TV. By which I mean to say that there's at least one whack job to trumpet everything. Honestly, I can't say as there is a meaningful point to this particular of my chosen configuration except that it make me brain go shiny joy-fun time. I just like the idea of it, and so it is; so it has become at the irresistible force of my will's demand. So all shall soon become before the might of my awesome, all-enveloping singular consciousness.
...Puny humans.
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