So I’m in pure geek mode this week. I’m relatively obsessing on my armada of computers at the house. I have an excuse, it’s coolest in the cellar and I can’t think of a better way to beat the heat than to spend time in the cellar doing things I love to do.
This is a test post from my Linux computer to see if the free software Drivel fits the bill. So far, so good.
I added a computer to the studio this afternoon. I found a really good deal on a display computer at Best Buy whilst I was browsing around. I had been toying with the idea of adding a Linux desktop to the stable and this computer was perfect for the project so I made the purchase.
The new computer is made by eMachines and has a decent AMD 64-bit processor with 1GB RAM. It has room for upgrades which I’ll most likely being doing over the next year or so as needed. I have it running OpenSuSE Linux 11. I’m liking the experience thus far. It’s good to have a computer to play with without mucking up the Macs too much as I tinker.
Many of my vivid childhood memories are pre-1977 which was the year we moved into the new house. Before moving we lived in a 10×55 mobile home with a 10×50 addition that my Dad had built shortly after my sister was born. The mobile home sat on a piece of property next to my grandparents. It was in the middle of a cow and horse pasture. Two sides of our back lawn were surrounded by electric fence. My Dad built the new house, a two-story colonial that he still lives in today, across the street from the trailer. Aside from some help from the two guys that worked at the family contracting business, my uncle and my grandfather, my Dad built the house pretty much on his own. It took him two years.
Four people living in a small mobile home was an interesting experience. During the summer we’d have one more living with us; one of my city cousins would come up for some “fresh country air” for a week. There was one bathroom and if we needed to go when someone was in there we’d run across the lawn to my grandparents and use their guest bath near the side entrance to their house. The addition to the trailer allowed for us to have a laundry room, but it was small and only had room for the dryer. The washing machine was in the bathroom. My parents’ bedroom was in the addition and utilized the original back door to the trailer. I don’t know how they had sex because the door was rarely closed. There was a gun rack built into the wall. The third room of the addition was the living room. The old living room in the original trailer became the dining room. It had a small round table that barely sat the four of us. My sister and I shared a bedroom, complete with bunk beds that took up the length of the north wall. Mom once tried to give my sister her own room by splitting the bunks and using the small bedroom behind the furnace, but it wasn’t long enough for a bed. Only a crib would fit in there and she had outgrown that years ago.
I like to think that living in the trailer kept us a close family as there wasn’t really any place for us to escape away from each other. Summer afternoons were spent romping around the farm; I’d hop up on a tree stump and jump into the fenced in pasture and do my own version of running with the bulls. The cows didn’t care if we were in the pasture, but once in a while a bull would get cranky about it. If I yelled “boo” in his direction really loud, he’d stop heading towards me. I’d then run to another tree stump in the pasture and jump back over the fence to my own side.
One of my favorite memories from the trailer was a birthday party for my sister and I. Our birthdays are five days apart and we shared a family birthday party. My city cousins and aunts would come up with Grandma and Aunt Jenn; it was one of the rare times that my city cousins would mingle with my country cousins, who lived relatively close. We’d have a cake that my Mom made, complete with those pure sugar candy letters and numbers from the Acme.
When I think back to the happiest times of my childhood, it’s often to a time when we lived in the trailer.
Earl and I headed to Sylvan Beach for the afternoon to celebrate Independence Day. Upon our arrival I immediately discovered that the battery in my digital camera was dead; thank the Universe for a relatively decent camera in the iPhone.
Sylvan Beach has a year-round census of just over 1,000 people. Located relatively half-way between Utica and Syracuse, Sylvan Beach is a village and popular summer resort destination on the eastern shore of Oneida Lake, the largest landlocked lake in New York State. Though close to the Finger Lakes Region, Oneida Lake is not considered to be one of the Finger Lakes, as it has a primarily east-west orientation (the Finger Lakes run north-south).
Oneida Lake is a popular destination for people of all shapes and sizes and socio-economic standing. The “downtown” area is populated with several resort type shops, restaurants and beach side bars. The radio station I used to work for would hold it’s annual Summer Bash Concert on the beach each year in the late 1990s. The largest artists we had at one of these gigs included Alisha and Kim Syms.
There is also a 1960s era amusement park reminiscent of Seaside on the Jersey Shore (not Jersey Shore, Pa.) Earl and I kicked off our afternoon with some games of Skee Ball. We’d never played Skee Ball together before; I like to think that he was impressed with my Skee Ball skill. The “270” on the machine to the left of Earl in this photo is my highest score of the 10 games we played. We gave all of our prize tickets to a youngster that was playing at the machine next to Earl.
After our fun with Skee Ball and walking the beach a few times and admiring the scenery, we stopped at Eddie’s Restaurant, a large restaurant with it’s original 60s motif. To be seated we stood in line under the sign that said “Parties of 1 to 4 ↓". The other line said “Parties of 5 or more”. If memory serves correctly, Grandma and Grandpa Country would head to Sylvan Beach several times during the year to eat at the restaurant. I had the broiled salmon with cole slaw and french fries.
One of our stops along the walk was to snap each other’s photo along the Barge/Erie Canal. It’s at Sylvan Beach that boats traveling along the famous canal are dumped into Oneida Lake, which they must cross it’s entire length to pick the canal back up in Brewerton as they head towards Buffalo.
Even though Sylvan Beach is relatively close to our home, it’s rare for us to make the drive to hang out in the area. With today’s gas prices, I’m certain that we’ll do it more often this summer. There are more photos available on my Flickr account and they can be found here.
I don’t know why the members of the American society continue to amaze me but they do. I’m not talking about a good type of amazement; I’m referring to various incidents that leave me shaking my head. I often wonder if I expect too much people or if I continue to live in some sort of Pleasantville fantasy-world. In the past 36 hours I have encountered the following:
1. After the “Yes, We Have No Donuts” incident (as outlined in the previous entry), we headed over to the closest convenience store to see if they had any cookies to satisfy our craving for something sweet. We were in luck, there were two types of individually wrapped, moderately appealing cookies. Earl and I snatched one of each up and I took them to the register. The cashier said nothing. She scanned each cookie and then stared at me. Apparently it is now up to the American consumer to look at the cash register display to know how much to pay the cashier. Thank goodness for technology else we’d be relying on the good ol’ reliable ESP. I gave her a 20. If I was standing in my cherished Ireland, the cashier would then say “Thank you” for giving her money, but the permed-one (as I had nicknamed this cashier in my head) snatched the money and threw a lesser amount in my direction. It was up to me to pick the cookies off the counter and walk out. Never mind asking for a sack. I dealt with it, but I couldn’t keep my mouth shut after all because I said, “This is where you say thank you.” Then I left.
2. I worked the early shift this morning. I’m loving being back at work. I’m loving the crew I work with, I love the company I work for and I love playing with all sorts of technology. I’m not a morning person but I do my best to deal. The phone rings. I answer, thanking the caller for calling and saying “This is J.P., can I help you?” “Are you having a problem?” was the response. I was REALLY tempted to say, “Yes, I feel gassy today” but instead I said, “Not that I’m aware of, are you having an issue?” This is when the caller said, “The internet is down and it’s usually you’re fault.” Now, let’s be real. The “internet” wasn’t down as if it was there would be worldwide mass chaos. After some well-worded questions on my behalf, “May I ask who’s calling?” “What sort of trouble are you having?”, I discovered that the caller wasn’t even a customer of the company I work for; she had just randomly picked a number in the telephone book and called it. “You provide the internet, fix it!” She hung up on me when I told her I couldn’t help her because I had absolutely no control over her little piece of the internet.
3. At the end of my lunch hour I headed back to work along the freeway that usually ends up on my video blog entries. As I approached the downtown interchange, the car in front of me slammed on her brakes in the middle of the freeway at the interchange before my exit. She stopped TO LET THE CAR ENTERING THE FREEWAY ON IN FRONT OF HER. There are no traffic jams in this area; cars and trucks are moving around 70 MPH and she stopped in the middle of the freeway. A quick-reflexed jaunt onto the shoulder and my Acura remained intact. After the car pulled off the ramp and in front of her, she was on her away, undoubtedly looking to create more mayhem elsewhere.
Earl and I were having a conversation with my sister and brother-in-law last week about our feelings about the United States and her people. I’m not as much of a fan as I used to be. It’s one of the few points in life that Earl and I don’t agree on. My sister doesn’t agree with me either but my brother-in-law, the Canadian, agrees with me. Like many Americans I’m fed up with our government and all it’s shenanigans. I don’t know if it’s the current administration setting an example or what but it seems like people are becoming downright rude or stupid or both. I’m not looking for a Mary Poppins existence, I’m hoping for just some basic civility. I try to live my life being the best person I can be. I set a high standard for myself that I strive to achieve and I guess it’s dumb of me to assume that others would do the same. ‘Mediocrity’ is the new level deserving of a standing ovation.
And that is why I dream of living elsewhere.
I’ve been avoiding Dunkin’ Donuts since the whole ridiculous Rachel Ray incident, but Earl and I were feeling a little bit of a sweet tooth this evening, so we whipped through the drive thru of the closest store.
“CanI help ya”? asked the little voice from the little speaker. She did not sound amused. She tacked on some marketing message about an iced coffee that I ignored.
“I’d like two Boston Cream Donuts”, I barked into speaker.
“We don’t have any donuts”, replied the speaker in a somewhat agitated voice. I must have interrupted a break or something.
“You don’t have any donuts at all?”, I asked, perplexed.
(exasperated sigh), “No, Sir” said the tinny, high-fidelity squawkbox.
“There are no donuts at Dunkin’ Donuts”, I confirmed.
“No Sir.”
“Bye!”, was my final, abrupt bellow into the clown’s mouth that was missing the clown.
And with that I sped through the drive-thru like a madman. Am I unreasonable for expecting Dunkin’ Donuts to have donuts? I think not. So no more Dunkin’ Donuts for me. Not now. Not ever.
Oh Tim Horton’s, where are you?
That is all.
So I’m putting together a new series of DJ mixes and I’m looking for the assistance of my gentle readers. I need audio files of various people saying: “DJ SuperCub” and “Beat Assimilation” in their sexiest voices. These audio drops will be processed and mixed into my future mixes. I’m thinking the varied accents of my gentle readers will sound AWESOME.
You don’t need to go into a recording studio to do this, just use the microphone on your computer and say “DJ SuperCub” and “Beat Assimilation” in your sexiest voice, save the audio file (format doesn’t matter) and e-mail it to imachias-at-gmail.com.
I’ll list your name (if you wish) with a snippet of how you sound in the mix in a future blog entry as my way of saying thanks.
Update: My first “Beat Assimilation” mix is available on the DJ SuperCub site, just follow this link. I think this is the first time I’ve featured my “Mr. Voice” liner voice on the blog. I’m one of the “whispers the name of the station” radio guys that are popular now.
So today is the first the test of my decision to return to work full-time. You see, I am working the “early shift” today and tomorrow, and that involves getting up at 5:30. I am not a morning person.
Tom decided to throw his sense of humour around the bedroom by caterwauling at 5:00 a.m., just in case I decided not to sleep until the alarm went off. He is such a funny guy, I wonder if he is successful on the kitty-cat stand-up circuit.
Getting up before 9 a.m. is a chore for me, getting up at 5:30 without being a grumpy, growling bear is the ultimate test in restraint for me. I’m working through my morning routine backwards just to keep the whole thing interesting and attentive.
I can always sleep at my desk later in the day.
It’s been a little more than 24 hours since we arrived home from our trip to Toronto and I have to admit that I’m still feeling a little wiped out. There’s a certain challenge in making your body go from “weekend mode” to “workday mode” in one night’s sleep and I guess I’m not up to that challenge because I feel like I’m still in weekend mode. To keep things interesting I’m working the early shift for the next two days. If you can’t remember my initials you can always just call me “Zombie”.
Saturday night Earl and I went to the Beef Ball at The Opera House. The atmosphere was festive in an intriguing sort of way. The energy was intense. The music was incredibly loud (and very good). I can’t believe I managed to snap a photo with my iPhone but I think you get the idea from this photo.
Naturally Earl and I dressed appropriately for the evening.
After we had enough of the Beef Ball we headed back to Church Street where we met up with our long lost friend Mark. We haven’t seen him in a number of years and there he was, as bubbly and huggy as ever. It was good to see him. After watching the boys for a bit, Earl and I hit the hotel room around 3:30. Surprisingly we were both sober.
The Beef Ball inspired me to take my DJ gigs into more of a tribal/trance direction. I enthusiastically watched the DJs do their stuff and while I play pretty much the same songs as they do, their remixes are more intense sounding. I really enjoyed the thump of their mixes and hope to do my own version of it.
Sunday morning we decided to head out before the parade, which I know is very un-gay like but we had a long drive home and we had to be checked out of the hotel by noon. It was a good thing that we did head out, because the drive from Toronto to Buffalo (normally 1 1/2 hours at the most) clocked in at nearly three hours due to endless construction and strong thunderstorms on the QEW. At least our wait at the Peace Bridge was less than five minutes. By the way, for the first time we were asked our relationship to one another by a customs official and I replied, “We are lovers!” I almost said “w00t!” after that but I didn’t feel that piece of punctuation was necessary, plus it would be hard to manage without the obligatory hand flail. The border is a serious place. You’re suppose to be very afraid to come into the United States, not flailing your hand and saying “w00t”. I believe he typed the information into his computer so now it’s documented though still not legal in the Federal Government’s eyes. Bastards.
We finally got home a little after 5 p.m. and started the every joyful task of doing laundry and figuring out what to cook for supper.
All in all it was an eclectic, enjoyable weekend. I think I’m ready to move to a big city.
This is why I will shop at Sears and K-mart. Walking into the north end of the Eaton Centre, home of Sears, shoppers are greeted with this gay pride display. It is not the only gay pride display in Sears and one of many gay pride displays throughout the Eaton Centre.
Earl and I purchased gay pride bracelets from the Eaton Centre Info Desk. They were $5 a piece and 100% of the proceeds went to a local HIV/AIDS charity.
Eaton Centre, and Sears, rocks.
Just a guy with a husband. We’ve been together 28 years and he still makes me see fireworks on a daily basis. Hiker. Storm Chaser. Private Pilot. Tech Guy. Hackerish.
Weird? Eccentric!
