I just got my hands on my copies of "Google Small Business All-In-One For Dummies," and my first impression is that it's huge. Over 750 pages of huge. But it's a good kind of huge, so I'm fairly proud of it. Not proud enough to charge this much for it, though. If anybody wants the book badly enough RIGHT NOW to pay $99,999.99 for it, send me an email, and I'll cut you a much better deal. Fifty percent off, at least. Also, the new IMN podcast is up - you can download it here or listen at the site or WFYI. It's totally free, so think of it as an added bonus while you read the book.
Is it wrong for me to see this cover and hope that the laptop would slap on a cartoon-ish top hat and start singing about how a bill becomes a law? It's got to be hanging around on those steps for a reason.
Also, so far this week I've experienced Hungarian ska, been threatened with cannibalism, and played bingo. This week has become the cosmic junk drawer.
A friend sent me this link to the blog of Robbie Fulks, renowned singer/songwriter/wit-about-the-nation. Specifically, he referenced to me this passage:
I should explain that bass players are an odd species. You might guess that with about twenty-eight notes to play in a three-minute song, and without the ego-nourishing plaudits lavished on soloists, the bass player personality might be typified by a Gary Cooperesque easygoing humility and can-do stoicism, but not so. Bassists are the screwiest of all musicians, excepting only female singers, if you can call them musicians. Drummers are the subjects of all the stock jokes, but if there's one person in your band who has a hair-trigger chemical imbalance, holds strange and unalterable opinions, pores over obnoxious magazines whose titles incorporate the name of his instrument, and demands constant catering to, it's almost always the bassist. He will wear you out by talking long into the night about speaker cabinet dimensions, string gauges and alloys, and coming advances in direct-box electronics, and if you excuse yourself to go to sleep, he will start in eight hours later at the point in the sentence where he left off.
I was dodging Fulks' descriptive bullets like the Matrix until he got to the part about the magazines. It's about then that I had to take my 16 years of "Bass Player" back issues and head out the door. I'd try and differ with him about the other points, but I've got no idea who he's played with, and I believe there's more than enough weird musicians in general to back up an opinion like this about any instrument. So take it for what you will.
Luckily, this weekend's victories of the Pittsburgh Steelers and the DePauw Tigers have filled me with victorious spirits, and the whole shebang was pushed over the edge by a much-delayed viewing of "300." I think I tried to lead my pug to eternal glory over the backyard at some point, but I might be mistaken. The replacement copies of my bass book also came in, so I'm going to dedicate a few blog posts in the coming days to instrument actually named in my blog.
I've been playing with the new version of Quicksilver a bit (the site is down at the moment, and it's only useful to Apple users in any case - have I eliminated everybody yet?). It's supposed to improve the speed and productivity of your Mac by using keyboard shortcuts and triggers to speed up launching programs and automating tasks. I haven't gotten fully into it yet, but it seems handy. I'm having a hard time getting used to making it run, though - I don't like a lot of actions happening automatically at startup, and I'm already geared towards using the native OS functions. Lifehacker seems to have dedicated an entire server towards articles on this program, though, so somebody likes it.
Finally, the badass bassline of today is taken from P.O.S.'s "Kidney Thief," courtesy of a Fugazi sample, I believe. Seek and enjoy.
First, a great deal of thanks to Dawn at earEverything for her quick and professional turnaround on my new earplugs. These things are lifesavers, and I missed having them at some of the louder shows I've been to inbetween the time I lost them and the time I got the new ones (foam plugs just don't cut it anymore). These custom-molded plugs cut down volume without chopping out any frequencies, so it's just like turning down the volume knob on the world for a bit. She was able to use the old molds of my ears and send me a new set pronto. Musicians, you need these in your life - contact Dawn to make it happen.
I was going to start picking some stuff from my bass book to blog about, but I've been unable to find a copy in any of the bookstores. Since I've seen copies there before (and I've given out the copies I had), I suppose that's good news. I would like to encourage Border's and Barnes and Noble to restock, though. Guess I'll be making a stop at Amazon soon.
It's not like I'll be driving anywhere anytime soon, anyway - my car was hit Sunday, so I'm trying to sort out the insurance stuff right now while my Corolla (with new crumpled front passenger side!) waits in the garage for the claim to be processed. I'm hoping for word today, but nothing so far. I did have a nice conversation with one of the guys in the SUV that hit me about music, though.
I did a cursory check around the house and office, and my earplugs are Really and Truly Gone™. Luckily, Dawn at earEverything still has the molds from a few years ago, so I should be able to get a new pair fairly soon. I'm fairly sure my life would be much worse without this little things in it - not only do they help in the traditional loud places like clubs, bars and steel foundries, but they're about the only way to get through the fairly consistent fire alarms at work. Seriously, the alarms are ear-piercing, and I'm fairly sure they'd do more damage to your ears than the normal metal band. Maybe not to your psyche, but certainly your hearing.
Also, the podcast book is done (and on deadline, believe it or not), so look for a November release date - just in time for your intrepid podcaster's holiday list. I mentioned before that this book was a little different in that I had to put together some multimedia work for the book's accompanying disc. The last part was a promo drop for book readers to use in their podcast, and it took me back to the days when I had to put such things together for the student radio station. And since I'm going back to the old alma mater for a football game (and will no doubt tune into the radio station to see if they're still playing that one Ween song), I'd like to take this opportunity to link to WGRE, the student radio station in question. Fire up the Real Player and see what you find.
Finally, I haven't had the chance to watch the new Metalocalypse yet. Don't tell me about it.
I'm not entirely sure why hanging an old chandelier appeals to me more than a simple trimming of the lawn. It's probably because the project stays done once it's completed and doesn't creep back maliciously, spoiling for a rematch. It might also be that I've never been shocked or zapped or otherwise injured by electrical wiring, while errant poison ivy and lawn contraptions have sent me seeking medical attention on at least one occasion. Nevertheless, it took little time and surprisingly little wiring to get the monster up and running this Labor Day. As long as it doesn't come crashing down amidst chunks of plaster, I'll call it an unqualified success.
More murals are popping up on the alley's walls. We're close to becoming an Electric Company skit soon, and I mean that in a good way.
Most of my author review for the podcasting book is completed, and there's only a couple more items to attend to. It's like moving, where you've already got the big boxes loaded out to the truck, and now you have to go grab the coffee maker and bathroom trinkets and hustle them out as well. They're minor details, but there are always more, like small breeding rabbits of text.
The "Composing Digital Music For Dummies" author made me unreasonably happy for mentioning the Samchillian Tip Tip Tip Cheeepeeeee in the book, and the world is a better place for it.