tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18708837904649319412024-03-19T03:48:09.617-07:00Projects by ShelleyUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger89125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-44071237092453259632013-03-19T12:47:00.001-07:002013-03-19T12:48:28.143-07:00Adventure to WindhamWoke up this morning, still sick. I sent out messages to my professors explaining I wouldn't be around today. Drove to the pharmacy to pick up cold medicine. It has been beautiful any snowy all morning.<br />
<br />
Something possessed me to drive over the mountains to Dover, a small hill town in Windham. A few weeks ago I called the town clerk there, inquiring about public records which might pertain to Vermont folk song and balladry, the subject of my senior thesis. He told me the annual town reports, stored there in a vault, may have something interesting or relevant. So I went there today and he showed me the collection, which dated to the early 19th century.<br />
<br />
The town records mostly consisted of municipal invoices for coal, wood, and school materials. I don't know what I was expecting -- perhaps something related to performance venues? The clerk showed me a few photographs of bands in the early 20th century, as well as one of a blackface mistrelsy group outside the West Dover Baptist Church. Something about seeing Vermonters all made up in greasepaint strikes me as odd, regardless of the era.<br />
<br />
The vault is a small room. Alongside the fireproof storage cabinets were posters from various town sugaring events. Maple syrup is serious business.<br />
<br />
The clerk pulled out two more books of interest: <i>History of Dover Vermont</i> (1961) and <i>Songs and Verse from the Hills of Vermont</i> (1919, 2010). Now these are interesting. I went to Dover expecting it to possess holdings related to James Atwood, a local songster who resided there into the late 1910s<i>.</i> I originally learned of James Atwood through the contributions of his son -- Fred Atwood -- in the <a href="http://www.vermontfolklifecenter.org/digital-archive/collections/collections/show/6">Margaret MacArthur Collection</a> in Middlebury. The songs James and his wife knew were transcribed and arranged for publication as sheet music in 1919, in a volume called <i>Songs from the Hills of Vermont</i>, now long out of print. He was "discovered", as it is often said in the music industry, by a woman named Edith Sturgis. The town clerk informed me that Sturgis's granddaughter, Edith Mas, has compiled this new edition of the volume, which I did not know existed. The other book, <i>History of Dover Vermont</i>, covers various aspects of livelihood and town going-abouts spanning some three hundred years.<br />
<br />
Both books are printed, at fairly low quality, by the Dover Historical society. Now I just have to get in touch with Edith Mas.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-3977891486305429142013-01-28T18:54:00.003-08:002013-01-28T18:56:23.257-08:00Murder Ballad: "Starlight Tragedy"A song I discovered in the Vermont Folklife Center MacArthur collection, and of which I have found several variations online. Here are three takes on the song. The melody should be available via the VFC in coming days, but it can be fit to many traditional ballad melodies, including "Clementine".<br />
<h3>
<br /></h3>
<h3>
"Starlight Tragedy", "A Maiden's Romance", or "The Rustic Young Damsel"</h3>
<b>G</b><br />
A long time ago, I remember it well<br />
<b>C<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>G</b><br />
In a neat little village a maiden did dwell<br />
<b>C<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>G</b><br />
She lived all alone with her parents serene<br />
<b>G<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>D<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>C</b><br />
Her age it was red and her hair was sixteen<br />
<br />
And in that neat village he lover did dwell<br />
A bandy-back ruffian and hump-legged, as well<br />
Said, "Ye fly with me, by the light of yon star,"<br />
"For you are the eye of my apple, you are."<br />
<br />
"I cannot fly with you," the maiden replied,<br />
"My father would scratch out your nails with his eyes"<br />
"If you love me, you will not lead me to disgrace"<br />
Said she, then she buried her hands in her face.<br />
<br />
And when she refused him, he knocked down the maid.<br />
While he silently opened the knife of his blade,<br />
He cutted the throat of that maiden so fair,<br />
And dragged her along by the head of her hair.<br />
<br />
Just then the maid's father came into the pier<br />
And viewed the sad sight with his eyes in his tears<br />
He knelt down beside her, and her fair face he kissed<br />
Then he rushed with his nose at the murderer's fist.<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
'Twas a long time ago, I remember so well;<br />
A poor little maid in a poor-house did well.<br />
She dwelt with her parents; her life was serene,<br />
Her age it was red and her hair was sixteen.<br />
<br />
This maid had a lover who nearby did dwell,<br />
A cross-legged villain, and bow-eyed as well,<br />
Said he, "Let us fly by the light of yon star,<br />
For you are the eye of my apple, you are."<br />
<br />
"Oh, no!" said the maiden, "O, thou must be wise,<br />
Or father will scratch out your nails with his eyes!"<br />
And when he did hear it, the villain did swear,<br />
And dragged her around by the head of her hair.<br />
<br />
Just then the poor father appeared, it appears,<br />
And gazed at the sad scene with eyes in his tears.<br />
He knelt down beside her, her fair lips he kissed,<br />
And he rushed with his nose at the arch villain's fist.<br />
<br />
He drew a horse pistol he'd raised from a Colt,<br />
Drew bead on the villain, and said to him, "Bolt!"<br />
So he said, "I will die if I stay, it is true."<br />
He decided to fly, up he flew up the flue.<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
For a long time to come, I'll remember quite well,<br />
Alone in a poorhouse a maiden did dwell.<br />
She dwelt with her mother and father serene,<br />
Her age it was red, and her hair it was sixteen.<br />
<br />
Not far from this maiden her lover did dwell;<br />
He was knock-kneed in both legs, and humpbacked as well.<br />
He said, "Let us fly by the light of your hair,<br />
For you are the eye of my apple, so fair."<br />
<br />
She said to this young man, "Now you just get wise,<br />
Or the old man will scratch out you nails with his eyes.<br />
If you love me, don't leave me; it will be a disgrace!"<br />
Cried the maid as she buried both mitts in her face.<br />
<br />
But when she refused him, he rushed at this maid,<br />
And swiftly he opened the knife of his blade;<br />
And he cut the sweet throat of his maiden so fair,<br />
And he drug her around by the head of her hair.<br />
<br />
And just at this moment the old man arrives,<br />
And he gazed at this trouble with tears full of eyes;<br />
He knelt by the side of his daughter and kiss't,<br />
Then he rushed a the youth with both arms full of fist.<br />
<br />
Said he to the young man, "Now, you'd better bolt."<br />
And he drew a horse pistol he'd raised from a colt;<br />
The young man took flight up the chimney, 'tis true;<br />
Said he, "I must fly;" so he flew up the flue.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-22456210158580961702012-12-03T05:04:00.004-08:002012-12-03T05:04:41.998-08:00The Impossible Science of the Unique BeingA quote of Roland Barthes, reflecting upon a photograph of his late mother as a child, which he refers to as the "Winter Garden Photograph" per its depiction:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
In this little girl's image I saw the kindness which had formed her being immediately and forever,without her having inherited it from anyone; how could this kindness have proceeded from the imperfect parents who had loved her so badly--in short, from a family? Her kindness was specifically <i>out-of-play</i>, it belonged to no system, or at least it was located at the limits of a morality (evangelical, for instance); I could not define it better than by this feature (among others): that during the whole of our life together, she never made a single "observation." This extreme and particular circumstance, so abstract in relation to an image, was nonetheless present in the face revealed in the photograph I had just discovered. "Not a just image, just an image," Godard says. But my grief wanted a just image, an image which would be both justice and accuracy--<i>justesse</i>: just an image, but a just image. Such, for me, was the Winter Garden Photograph.</blockquote>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Roland Barthes, <i>Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography</i>. Translated by Richard Howard. Hill and Wang (New York, 1981). 69-70.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-59098762503879562582012-02-29T16:15:00.002-08:002012-02-29T16:15:28.885-08:00Sitting Posture for Folk Harp<span style="font-size: large;">Note Sitting Posture</span><br />
Sit in your chair,
with your feet firmly planted on the floor. Sit upright, with your
shoulders comfortably open and supported by the muscles of your back.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Check Thigh Position</span><br />
For
a large floor harp, your thighs are perpendicular to the ground. For a
smaller floor harp (less than 33 strings perhaps, but this will vary
based on the size of your body), you might want to raise your knees a
bit. Whatever the case, find a chair of appropriate height.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Your body should be comfortable and relaxed.</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Adjust Level of Harp</span><br />
First,
you will measure the height of your harp with respect to your body.
Place the harp as if you were playing it, but don't worry about details
yet. Sitting in the good posture established above -- and keeping your
head straight -- slowly tilt the harp back toward your face. The
kneeblock should bonk you you directly on the nose. If it does not,
raise the harp up with a small platform (a stack of atlases, perhaps?).
You might also find a chair with a better height. Whatever the case,
take the level of you knees and thighs into consideration. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Position the Harp</span><br />
Lean
the harp on your right shoulder. Turn the harp to the left, so that it
is diagonal, and you can better see the strings. Find a diagonal
position that is both suitable and comfortable. Do not change your own
body's position to accommodate the harp, this might put unnecessary
tension on your torso, arms, or head.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Find a good sitting posture and position the harp to accommodate it. Changing your sitting position is probably inadvisable.</b></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">References for this post: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Core Fluidity: How to Sit at the Harp, </span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AyXNIuD1un8&feature=related">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AyXNIuD1un8&feature=related</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Anatomy of Harp Technique..., <a href="http://anenglishharper.blogspot.com/2009/07/anatomy-of-harp-technique.html">http://anenglishharper.blogspot.com/2009/07/anatomy-of-harp-technique.html</a> <br />BASIC HARP TECHNIQUES - Hand Position, </span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uuXdjqGp25o&feature=related">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uuXdjqGp25o&feature=related</a><br />Harp: How to sit at the Lever / Folk Harp, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2izOZE9nuQ8&feature=related">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2izOZE9nuQ8&feature=related</a></span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-18012983165354188832011-09-12T14:11:00.000-07:002011-09-12T14:11:33.816-07:00Found Demo Tape<p>Found a random demo tape in my basement today while cleaning out old video game stuff (long since used, unfortunately). Not really sure what to do with the audio, so I digitized it and here it is.</p>
<embed flashvars="audioUrl=http://mtgs.me/s/music/demo_1.mp3" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.google.com/reader/ui/3523697345-audio-player.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400"></embed><br><br>
<embed flashvars="audioUrl=http://mtgs.me/s/music/demo_2.mp3" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.google.com/reader/ui/3523697345-audio-player.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400"></embed><br><br>
<embed flashvars="audioUrl=http://mtgs.me/s/music/demo_3.mp3" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.google.com/reader/ui/3523697345-audio-player.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400"></embed><br><br>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-28899068436815561092011-03-29T09:52:00.000-07:002011-03-29T09:52:09.142-07:00Radio in the Time of HipsterFrom an old GE radio that I found in a Goodwill, I soldered together a mixer that lets you combine live radio with axillary input:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD7wUAcKowK6FpzyLhyphenhyphenXnlWVXT1XSUFuiE95MkJH-k0nNuHBwa5Ag5Wz6T2C-nZ1iyg1dlUzQhNw3Q0qmKnMHJ-J3ndrTieS1o2_37QKU6yS2ORgmRPcQ3JTYp-2i13T1ZZNsh5qROt0y_/s1600/DSC01349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD7wUAcKowK6FpzyLhyphenhyphenXnlWVXT1XSUFuiE95MkJH-k0nNuHBwa5Ag5Wz6T2C-nZ1iyg1dlUzQhNw3Q0qmKnMHJ-J3ndrTieS1o2_37QKU6yS2ORgmRPcQ3JTYp-2i13T1ZZNsh5qROt0y_/s400/DSC01349.JPG" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK-Qp2xs7U9sBzGmZGtR7hGl1sZf1vCldSuPdYgWkumYmgybMfCH_tJjL2GsCs4_0PXffj44rKKzJ58IPSkPL-9Lgmecr-LKA09NgAL_re0EcuC_j40uxA8eKXQtjLW5M9ybbQZadmHZ-D/s1600/DSC01350.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="533" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK-Qp2xs7U9sBzGmZGtR7hGl1sZf1vCldSuPdYgWkumYmgybMfCH_tJjL2GsCs4_0PXffj44rKKzJ58IPSkPL-9Lgmecr-LKA09NgAL_re0EcuC_j40uxA8eKXQtjLW5M9ybbQZadmHZ-D/s400/DSC01350.JPG" /></a><br />
</div><br />
Give it a listen:<br />
<br />
<object height="136" width="100%"> <param name="movie" value="http://player.soundcloud.com/player.swf?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Fplaylists%2F677687&show_comments=false&auto_play=false&show_playcount=false&show_artwork=false&color=9c4b3d"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed allowscriptaccess="always" height="136" src="http://player.soundcloud.com/player.swf?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Fplaylists%2F677687&show_comments=false&auto_play=false&show_playcount=false&show_artwork=false&color=9c4b3d" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="100%"></embed> </object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-54418483387836895102011-02-08T10:58:00.000-08:002011-02-08T11:48:11.740-08:00Catching UpI've been shifting between a variety of creative and personals project during the past month. Bennington college sets aside two months during the winter, requiring that students use to time to do field work relevant to their studies. Since I am studying teaching and education, I've been designing graphics and web pages for the Princeton Learning Cooperative, where Paul Scutt is the proprietor. This has been occupying the majority of my time.<br />
<br />
The website is completed now, so I am shifting focus to more personal pursuits. Primarily, I have been teaching myself better writing skills, focusing on short prose and expositional text. You can find some of these pieces around the Congregation network, and perhaps I'll throw up a few here.<br />
<br />
I've been brewing kombucha tea like crazy, in controlled experiments measuring the effects of different fermentation parameters. All of these experiments are being documented in both photographs and data. It's really fun, some truly revolting imagery has come out of it. Take, for example, degrading health of a kombucha culture over successive generations:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghHX9HhQoAC7H_aGk5tEsJk5BnEwLnVHIKMBWVtYjUmkabDSLrDgzIb_Et-VABMwT9rzRyHbzbgLkm9AVYMze9wkOz2pdv-msc2oEtS_JzXDviGiidxcj4ony4aTV54h4bBfK7U2XpgWwV/s1600/IMG_1601-b.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghHX9HhQoAC7H_aGk5tEsJk5BnEwLnVHIKMBWVtYjUmkabDSLrDgzIb_Et-VABMwT9rzRyHbzbgLkm9AVYMze9wkOz2pdv-msc2oEtS_JzXDviGiidxcj4ony4aTV54h4bBfK7U2XpgWwV/s400/IMG_1601-b.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A testament to love at first sight.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> Fortunately, most the graphics are not so visceral. This comparison of the discoloration of tea during a kombucha ferment is downright alchemical:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitO4Qw5qNwOTPWR14Rccu0D5RX547RmC_VZzkXH3ClIQOmeys3sHek4_OinaOv_zmRws5hD2QiKDiuOX07aSKEWv30vjKNcjsI1NgpecmGcvKquG6n5Qf7sj2w2qbZUGK0LRBE1v3wyqu5/s1600/IMG_1658-b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitO4Qw5qNwOTPWR14Rccu0D5RX547RmC_VZzkXH3ClIQOmeys3sHek4_OinaOv_zmRws5hD2QiKDiuOX07aSKEWv30vjKNcjsI1NgpecmGcvKquG6n5Qf7sj2w2qbZUGK0LRBE1v3wyqu5/s400/IMG_1658-b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fresh tea, fermented tea, & fermented tea with low sugar and tea concentrations.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Continuing along...<br />
<br />
I finished deconstructing and reassembling Dizzy's bowl back mandolin; that project will be split into a few posts to come. Any admirer of antique instruments would certainly suffer an heart attack if they saw the grisly process:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: none; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1tY85QF7utZmICs4N-dg_cVLkl_s0SQyJiDfSl3whIXxB7UYp6PFd5XOv5dmmSolcX0Oli95Eng3tNQzsaK6L9Joebi4rotsNzQu9pWrvkh4sNpaMXuhltCbDyjj9POqfp8znALh1DxN8/s320/47-b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: 1em;" width="240" /></td> <td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnWICMnlZG4T1UdDEZb6qLjq5TGBrJp9SdKwUQuFEKDPRn8EP9GOc93mCNvwhpYOUJqsCC99-1KwiKg_EoLh2amqab5bsGIsMcsfEJMcq-ZVUkHArbxstGO9gHJS-3pzfX60mbXbc76U1o/s1600/36-b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnWICMnlZG4T1UdDEZb6qLjq5TGBrJp9SdKwUQuFEKDPRn8EP9GOc93mCNvwhpYOUJqsCC99-1KwiKg_EoLh2amqab5bsGIsMcsfEJMcq-ZVUkHArbxstGO9gHJS-3pzfX60mbXbc76U1o/s320/36-b.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Found in the dorm kitchen the morning after the devastating annual party, "Dressed to get Laid". Vodka dissolves latex paint, and was used to age the fretboard paint.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Langhart method. Nothing in the house could clamp to the bowl back, so it was an inside job.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1tY85QF7utZmICs4N-dg_cVLkl_s0SQyJiDfSl3whIXxB7UYp6PFd5XOv5dmmSolcX0Oli95Eng3tNQzsaK6L9Joebi4rotsNzQu9pWrvkh4sNpaMXuhltCbDyjj9POqfp8znALh1DxN8/s1600/47-b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhafq3T834NUuETzqJDnpExBZqWNJg8iLqvx9ydiImHlClfrzKwGZYkN9kbjTzgGEy0jSTfPKm7NKfHaEVC0LDbCF50hCYIqGCC6T0veqd0E7JafkupCRq3eZ_Db2wdqvYXyxbWk2lekyLe/s1600/19-b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhafq3T834NUuETzqJDnpExBZqWNJg8iLqvx9ydiImHlClfrzKwGZYkN9kbjTzgGEy0jSTfPKm7NKfHaEVC0LDbCF50hCYIqGCC6T0veqd0E7JafkupCRq3eZ_Db2wdqvYXyxbWk2lekyLe/s400/19-b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Toothpicks have all sorts of marvelous applications.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I hope that I will be able to scrape together enough free time before school begins to undertake another amateur luthier job. A few years ago, a Solebury student inadvertently became a sort of pornography, kicked in the soundboard of Dennis Liana's guitar. I gave it a haphazard repair job, which involved large quantities of epoxy, and a saddle built like a spiked club. You <a href="http://punkeinfilm.blogspot.com/2008/03/dennis-guitar.html">can witness that abomination here</a>.<br />
<br />
I'd like to give it another go-around, and may have some means of doing so, due to this lovely find:<br />
<br />
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I guess we'll see what comes of it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-86604394356711220052011-02-02T23:09:00.002-08:002022-02-21T15:32:19.453-08:00Trade Skill Deficiency: Repairing that Bowlback MandolinOne day last summer, I found Sarah with an antique instrument her mother had found for he, somewhere - not an uncommon occurence - and so I coaxed her into thinking that allowing me to repair a crack in it would be a good idea.<br />
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Upon returning home, I found that there were actually two cracks on the body, one the edge where the soundboard met the side, and one split on the very back of the bowl caused by tension.<br />
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Last summer was a particularly tragic and extreme time in my life. These factors may have influenced my most brilliant realization every: the best way to repair the two minor faults would be to pry and saw the soundboard of the mandolin off of it.<br />
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Unfortunately, I don't have any early "before" pictures. So we must stay strong for the first phrase of this blog post. A recap:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNEplKhJXH86ND_sMB8oQyRnFLilPc38UCIYlOV4bVQAlQAUTfdJJsC9ZQbU8q8geab8rM6QvnUeq-od27WM9PAvhyAaQ7lOCVKw-hgiWkxYZTkqJLbdfNWL58aBzhwEb7Yo4oFi5Kkgx_/s1600/01.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNEplKhJXH86ND_sMB8oQyRnFLilPc38UCIYlOV4bVQAlQAUTfdJJsC9ZQbU8q8geab8rM6QvnUeq-od27WM9PAvhyAaQ7lOCVKw-hgiWkxYZTkqJLbdfNWL58aBzhwEb7Yo4oFi5Kkgx_/s400/01.jpg" width="400" /> </a></td><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Uh-oh...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>With the soundboard off, it was easy to remove the frets, which were chipping into pieces. It also made removing the hardware easier, to polish. And with the top off, refinishing it seemed like pretty good idea, too.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSM2ho-clePPOnN-LAefloHbnUwrftYMuNxFcso_4Fgmq4hHzxVRJMl22_BpvxKtEUUMLUzs4h0qHhzG3WZI16o-t90gOPl9siDdcGzGP_12pxbYf-1LQY8MGMJ8HBnYZ_8K0-QDC4qhXM/s1600/02.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSM2ho-clePPOnN-LAefloHbnUwrftYMuNxFcso_4Fgmq4hHzxVRJMl22_BpvxKtEUUMLUzs4h0qHhzG3WZI16o-t90gOPl9siDdcGzGP_12pxbYf-1LQY8MGMJ8HBnYZ_8K0-QDC4qhXM/s400/02.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sanding the soundboard. The pickguard (almost) came off in one piece, a miracle! <br />
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<tr align="left"><td>After sanding, I refinished the top with some sort of really intense varnish my dad had sitting around. Apparently it's illegal to buy for hobby things, like this; it's only sold for finishing the hulls of wooden boats. It dried hard as glass, which is awesome - the varnish did not dampen the mandolin's timbre at all. Regardless, I'm sure a <i>real</i> luthier would have my head for applying nautical supplies to antique instruments. Especially when the instruments aren't mine.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNRSI0gAzkJf7yDTXJ8cQ2znJqJZ6FK3bzDmAln-knoVyl_9cCWMbs-Qj6pQskCjDAyX_WK3A1W6AymKCnR8ND3zECuuMl67ZLDp7wO_ulTUABqKQSbMMV-rUhAtWe25LLJezjRZNV9hjn/s1600/03.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNRSI0gAzkJf7yDTXJ8cQ2znJqJZ6FK3bzDmAln-knoVyl_9cCWMbs-Qj6pQskCjDAyX_WK3A1W6AymKCnR8ND3zECuuMl67ZLDp7wO_ulTUABqKQSbMMV-rUhAtWe25LLJezjRZNV9hjn/s400/03.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The endpin, where all of the strings fasten to, polished with steel wool - no longer covered in glorious rust..</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI8hW5lnyseJ9a4kg7-rqebs3GBeGEOEZMLyUNJ-U2nfZSh2M6D2XB1dBO71Cb4fVlhFAPBENOtuRw6eQOm71zduhIccfllbz1vUOvwXDefnkCnl0EkqDfaEMqVP4pWrsJ0BGWFnQAquOW/s1600/04.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI8hW5lnyseJ9a4kg7-rqebs3GBeGEOEZMLyUNJ-U2nfZSh2M6D2XB1dBO71Cb4fVlhFAPBENOtuRw6eQOm71zduhIccfllbz1vUOvwXDefnkCnl0EkqDfaEMqVP4pWrsJ0BGWFnQAquOW/s640/04.jpg" width="426" /></a></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tuning machines! The one on the right is polished, the on the left.. not yet..</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6fT0pGfhDwmOXk-JD0zTsreCVvxW3rw8DRfU6LiKJ7TE2tOr1tsYM37PjKckMvQlQBiTPBrnXu69kUhj8VyrjwmVKVOWooA1fEEozn9OS1PJjvcSu2lD_BCqKhBsDudI_003iATJxMX62/s1600/05.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6fT0pGfhDwmOXk-JD0zTsreCVvxW3rw8DRfU6LiKJ7TE2tOr1tsYM37PjKckMvQlQBiTPBrnXu69kUhj8VyrjwmVKVOWooA1fEEozn9OS1PJjvcSu2lD_BCqKhBsDudI_003iATJxMX62/s400/05.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After removing the frets and sorting out which chips of rotting wood went in which places, I glued down the first half of the fretboard thus-like.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKrKjYgPlUTY1bTjGFeovMXZlO6leHiGAneduf9cIxvf-gdw-pedAoTQktP4W08Lvvr1fLeRkFu_6I5aAiBhWE5GbfJi8Clu5hGPiXrpXGxXCXtx-d7HSpdOnjQTzPZ6pyKqVrrilTcOJq/s1600/06.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKrKjYgPlUTY1bTjGFeovMXZlO6leHiGAneduf9cIxvf-gdw-pedAoTQktP4W08Lvvr1fLeRkFu_6I5aAiBhWE5GbfJi8Clu5hGPiXrpXGxXCXtx-d7HSpdOnjQTzPZ6pyKqVrrilTcOJq/s400/06.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With the table refinished and half the fretboard replaced, I can slip the hardware back in, throw the saddle and pickguard on, and pretend that I'm almost done.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unfortunately, the crazy had only begun. I went back to school after getting this far, and spent the whole semester worrying that I had glued the fretboard down unevenly. This would cause all of the strings to rattle whenever played, a horrible, miserable end to the taterbug. Luckily, my fears were founded. Here's when I start documenting things for real.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh724voRom-iPHnux2ONZ2C70hUT9AOP9-wnsUUOlSLDGiOYIojDdk2TrnmEMnGRchA5ccCfLZtJzBnVRhiOw9t-sUlkK-55GUATCJ5ViS65v9d5feFdzkILx5Ny2GZr0kojdnAN2DlYbI8/s1600/11.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh724voRom-iPHnux2ONZ2C70hUT9AOP9-wnsUUOlSLDGiOYIojDdk2TrnmEMnGRchA5ccCfLZtJzBnVRhiOw9t-sUlkK-55GUATCJ5ViS65v9d5feFdzkILx5Ny2GZr0kojdnAN2DlYbI8/s640/11.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thank the good L<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ORD</span>; it looks straight. From here on out, keeping the fretboard even was my primary concern.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table>Next there was the challenge of filling the split on the bowl. It seemed like it would be a good idea to pill it together before replacing the soundboard, so that the instrument has more flexibility. I filled in the split with one of these wood samples my dad had laying around.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4PQlGoOWMePt_13Zxa7ibgk6sXPzKTzZysLQlimoH92Gd99Ia8qn72iFrbyreuOQUiiYNtcdCeheWsaHvhi_nk3btGeG7cLe0aNbP2CS5-xMbMMigA3MkHzitocmmkd74zcCSFTQTl5Z/s1600/08.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4PQlGoOWMePt_13Zxa7ibgk6sXPzKTzZysLQlimoH92Gd99Ia8qn72iFrbyreuOQUiiYNtcdCeheWsaHvhi_nk3btGeG7cLe0aNbP2CS5-xMbMMigA3MkHzitocmmkd74zcCSFTQTl5Z/s640/08.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I guess it's like a paint chip for guys who, uh, like wood.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOcnZ91hQ6J7fm2E0HnbuY2EKCPDQxOo9glzABsK3uLWY8lOcyvKAlU2QWEutOSfIZZLuY07yoip2BU4gqQH4dZa5_-EzHuUzYn1dzbxrj2cKty6yG-5sRRhQHuU8k7iQyc4a2a-lDsj5N/s1600/07.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOcnZ91hQ6J7fm2E0HnbuY2EKCPDQxOo9glzABsK3uLWY8lOcyvKAlU2QWEutOSfIZZLuY07yoip2BU4gqQH4dZa5_-EzHuUzYn1dzbxrj2cKty6yG-5sRRhQHuU8k7iQyc4a2a-lDsj5N/s400/07.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I slathered a sliver of the wood sample with glue and slid it into the split, marked by our pointy blue friend here. Electrical tape, which is very elastic, was used to pull the sides around the split.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNc9tzqCi0GSUZykJnWYN0AavO82BICqXXelZZ3-m1-WydltQ-xgajkof68ihoAV7jGomBfV264DW_AGQUuUCXqh4Ka6icoKI-j5gy2NNiXYkIsCM_ChhAPXeswaXB5-XiBFBwebNOyin/s1600/12.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNc9tzqCi0GSUZykJnWYN0AavO82BICqXXelZZ3-m1-WydltQ-xgajkof68ihoAV7jGomBfV264DW_AGQUuUCXqh4Ka6icoKI-j5gy2NNiXYkIsCM_ChhAPXeswaXB5-XiBFBwebNOyin/s400/12.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking down into the mandolin. The whole thing was covered in dust when I opened it up; washing it off revealed a beautiful scarlet paint-job. Over the split, someone had glued fabric, a long time ago. I guess it doesn't hold up.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Once the split was mended, the next order of business was to replace the top of the mandolin. This was a good reason to panic- if the soundboard wasn't perfectly level with the neck, the fretboard would be uneven, and the strings wouldn't clear it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzjpIuYDjqjnAmc4lzbuaQgTwsrPhbtkDqhDClxuaP3X5I3QJN4snMMz0bCa-jOBGCQMlwA2YY9JKVyO3rC1q3hXrP4sPXwGfhD9uICtKtaUGya6EXAoE4lOF1oQsxUY9f7KlExk-RENe/s1600/10.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzjpIuYDjqjnAmc4lzbuaQgTwsrPhbtkDqhDClxuaP3X5I3QJN4snMMz0bCa-jOBGCQMlwA2YY9JKVyO3rC1q3hXrP4sPXwGfhD9uICtKtaUGya6EXAoE4lOF1oQsxUY9f7KlExk-RENe/s400/10.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I used a wee piece of that wood sample to lift up the narrowest end of the soundboard.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTVOLQrtPAjSag65kAsh8DKJuaobx9kBRgUW9pEPL55ZhRgby-OkkPdqabhpn31GtGpo0uC6QUmAmxWkQQtwzg36ZC_XfxXFkzP8Kufo9qzdBHXVWsVvYah0RAz440iUyGz8aCYm_wk4yA/s1600/15.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTVOLQrtPAjSag65kAsh8DKJuaobx9kBRgUW9pEPL55ZhRgby-OkkPdqabhpn31GtGpo0uC6QUmAmxWkQQtwzg36ZC_XfxXFkzP8Kufo9qzdBHXVWsVvYah0RAz440iUyGz8aCYm_wk4yA/s640/15.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Measure twice, cut once: all seems in order here. There is a small gap between the neck and the soundboard. That's my fault, because I had to saw the fretboard in half in order to remove the top of the mandolin.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6mNRq1Mjm1LpT2IVLANHdwJvSG9IaUQ3wlw_eV88JS9mKJDTNwpVgrliCtg_FGWA6grXLssQ6K6w1-APLGayWiu-NQw-oqMY5vTnp4EFDASmklAVojWV_bJ9qFA9e_y4_tCCpx8GtO-1R/s1600/13.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6mNRq1Mjm1LpT2IVLANHdwJvSG9IaUQ3wlw_eV88JS9mKJDTNwpVgrliCtg_FGWA6grXLssQ6K6w1-APLGayWiu-NQw-oqMY5vTnp4EFDASmklAVojWV_bJ9qFA9e_y4_tCCpx8GtO-1R/s400/13.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lining the rim of the bowl with glue, soon the top will be back on, hopefully forever. What's that, you ask? What kind of glue?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Stu6U5a6Tg10dSCi29luCmsDiNXdTs2eDhp52zxjxrRi7-pcxuhd4D6yR40ifT87Tki4FCSv644mAy3EMlaWh_09oOlortUlaKTLual1OcUQp1sf2SX_68eSJ2anSwmvKcUDcnYqcuzO/s1600/29.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Stu6U5a6Tg10dSCi29luCmsDiNXdTs2eDhp52zxjxrRi7-pcxuhd4D6yR40ifT87Tki4FCSv644mAy3EMlaWh_09oOlortUlaKTLual1OcUQp1sf2SX_68eSJ2anSwmvKcUDcnYqcuzO/s400/29.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tightbond! Carpenters buy this by the gallon. "Not epoxy?" I asked the repair guy at the Music Box, "Unless you want to boil your own animal glue, Titebond's the way to go."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL3HuapMsgYdL3HU8VU9D3YBdaWrzhpAls2XNw9-ZPXeAUJ9dduyZAugG76UhMVLzku0L90-TDep_aqaG__F9c689EpttFJvQ6rlQO7LcxHsMx4iF-JGotszWoSVD2cDrFmCoOiUWqJqVl/s1600/14.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL3HuapMsgYdL3HU8VU9D3YBdaWrzhpAls2XNw9-ZPXeAUJ9dduyZAugG76UhMVLzku0L90-TDep_aqaG__F9c689EpttFJvQ6rlQO7LcxHsMx4iF-JGotszWoSVD2cDrFmCoOiUWqJqVl/s400/14.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All wrapped up: more electrical tape, pulling the soundboard down like a crocodile's maw.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-14065775580653058742011-01-01T16:31:00.000-08:002011-01-01T16:33:35.464-08:00End of the Year; Buddhism & TarotIt's the new year, now, Twenty-eleven! Turn of the century. Again. Things have been busy, I'm finishing up finals for a few of my classes. Besides that, I've been studying the Tarot and the Dhammapada, a Buddhist text.<br />
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In Buddhism, a person who is ignorant or "evil" (being used a bit metaphorically" is determined by the karma they earned in previous incarnations. Their personality is an initial propensity, a sort of birthright. It is unwise to expend great energy teaching a person born with unsound ethics, a wasteful expenditure of time and energy. It is what the Son of Man means by "pearls before swine":<br />
<blockquote>Don't waste what is holy on people who are unholy. Don't throw your pearls to pigs! They will trample the pearls, then turn and attack you.</blockquote>It is not a philosophy that I am totally in agreement with, I tend to think that any person better themselves given patience and understanding. When an idea is presented and it appeases an ignorant person's principles, they will toy it, and maybe embrace it. The Tarot is a useful tool for this appeasing to principle. Especially a person who trusts the cards or fancies the esoteric nature of divination, they way more seriously consider the message a Tarot spreads indicate--especially if the spread is read to them in such a way that it both conforms to their understanding of their situation; and moreover, so long as the spread gently challenges their beliefs.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Matthew 7:6 quoted from the New Living Translation, 2007 edition. That's what I'm referencing now, only because it's easy to read, albeit lacking in depth.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-79353295408964055822010-12-15T12:09:00.000-08:002010-12-15T12:09:00.284-08:00Diagram: What's in Kombucha?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWpUjaOpI8bzN4fztCsP5anzU5gYyxgbq5YkRNnudGfsCqQygNO1CsIHLSALfHIFLANZ9gxb72CiBWMjsvj_JyLTdTk4Cmuh7U_yH8-vqdUCEUSjW2fEKTiq0rfZquBI4P7UrJdC9xaCrA/s1600/diagram-4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWpUjaOpI8bzN4fztCsP5anzU5gYyxgbq5YkRNnudGfsCqQygNO1CsIHLSALfHIFLANZ9gxb72CiBWMjsvj_JyLTdTk4Cmuh7U_yH8-vqdUCEUSjW2fEKTiq0rfZquBI4P7UrJdC9xaCrA/s400/diagram-4.png" width="400" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-71364223886381814162010-12-15T12:07:00.000-08:002010-12-15T12:07:25.012-08:00Story of my Life: A CoupleI took drum lessons during 5th grade, and was always a bit behind the rest of the class. Most of the other students started lessons the previous year, and somehow this seemed like a great advantage to me. During our concerts, when we could get to play real snare drums, I remember always being told by the other kids in band that I was off time. But really, I couldn't read music at all. In our lessons, we sat in this narrow rooms--perhaps it was supposed to be a closet, it wouldn't have been the first class in a closet that I'd had in that school--and followed instructions from a rather nice man as to how to play snare. And we all had these practise pads, not a snare drum, but a little round circle with a firm plastic material in the middle, that made a curt <i>thump</i> when struck.<br />
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When I was in middle school, the band program was a bit more organised, and we had more than one section. There were no practise pads there, I think. We had a real band room--two of them, actually--with levels going up toward the back of the room in steps. One of these rooms was full of electronic keyboards, but I never had any reason to go into that room. The other one, the one I spent time in, had seats and music stands and timpani in the front with drums in the back. There was one boy that played drums in my band section, and I remember thinking that he was very quite good. Some days, when band met after the elite Jazz band section had left, there would be a full drum set sitting out with the other drums and percussion instruments. It was a black, beaten-up Ludwig set; but it still was very impressive to me. I remember when the boy first sat down and played that, which nobody else in the band had done well, I thought, very impressed, "Wow, this sounds like something that would be in actual recorded music". And perhaps he was not very good at the time, but I wouldn't have know that.<br />
<br />
I'm still friends with that boy; he is the frontman for a band that is a cross between Japanese-rock and metal. Now, he plays guitar and single and writes songs, and he is much better at drums. I don't know how he makes a living. Last time I asked him, he was commuting to city to work at a Japanese book store. I met him on the train home once, very coincidentally. While on the ride home, I took a photo with a Holga 120 of a hispanic woman dearly playing with her child. It was a magical moment. But one of her daughters noticed the flash from the camera, and she reprimanded me severely for what I had done. But she couldn't really speak English well, so I couldn't explain myself. Eventually she left and asked the conductor to confiscate my film on the way out, and he thought the whole situation was a but dramatic, and didn't do much. I think that photo is back in my blog, somewhere.<br />
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In eighth grade, boy had a girlfriend for six months, which at the time seemed like a very long time to everyone who knew him. He and his girlfriend were both a bit gothic at this time, wearing big black cargo pants and chains with flourescent trim and lots of red and heavy studded bracelets. And she wore thick eyeliner and dyed her hair, and she would even wear black lipstick sometimes, which was a bit rare in middle school even for the gothic crowd. I remember seeing her in the hallways when all the students stampeded between classes, and noting her appearance but not really thinking of her as an actual person. The first time I remember seeing her was when I was trying to talk to the boy, but he walked away a bit in a hurry and tried to conclude whatever we were saying, and went over to talk to this girl. And that was the first time she ever remembered seeing me.<br />
<br />
I talked to her online on occasion. Once I met up with some friends at a Rita's Waterice stand down the street, and she was across the parking lot with another friend of hers, standing outside and asking customers to buy them cigarettes before entering the store. It worked. I always bought energy drinks from that convenience store.<br />
<br />
She had a rather harsh personality which led me to think of her as a bad person, or some sort of emotional poison. Once I told her that she was a terrible person over the phone, for some reason thinking that she might understand. But that didn't go over so well, and she started crying. Maybe something clicked in my head after that because we became alright friends. She broke up with the boy after a while and it was really a scene, but I never learned what happened. Neither of them wanted to talk about it, it seemed like both their hearts were broken. She later started dating another guy, who was eighteen at the time. This was substantial, since we were both thirteen. And while they were dating (for two months, I think) I met her in person. It was one of those times when you know what someone or something looks like, but you don't totally understand or believe in until you see the thing. And it was a bit strange, like she looked totally different that I had thought, although I had in fact seen her in person before. Her hair was faded from all different colours, a rather strange shag with residual bleach in the back, but straight and neatly combed down in the front. Very airy. She wasn't so goth anymore, wearing a mimsy plaid button-down, covered in Scooby-Doo stickers, I still have one of them. When my parents drove her home and I went with her, it was snowing. She was wearing a black trenchcoat and we didn't talk much going home, and I couldn't even remember what she looked like while I sit sitting right next to her, if I wasn't looking directly at her. I have terrible facial memory.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-82772196418397873962010-12-03T03:45:00.000-08:002010-12-03T03:45:24.703-08:00Story of my Life: Giving PenanceI grew up in a red, single-story house in the New Jersey suburbs. As of writing, my parents still like there, but it has been shingled blue. I was raised Roman Catholic by my mother, who took my older brother Christopher and I to church weekly from a young age. My pop would come too, on special occasions, like Easter Mass and for Christmas. He was raised Protestant, but has seemed to identify with it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6xo1sQ26xKTTfU5Pq5W5PO2LaslEPb7Du6_r_mnQ9d76_qUR1MkhsqyqddojUG2NTTpeRt7HztTYDcyux755EeZdf973vmxyJhQbI4QpoOoH9g8XPoNrGvJIngDSMj3CM1YnHPfpIUPht/s1600/14.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6xo1sQ26xKTTfU5Pq5W5PO2LaslEPb7Du6_r_mnQ9d76_qUR1MkhsqyqddojUG2NTTpeRt7HztTYDcyux755EeZdf973vmxyJhQbI4QpoOoH9g8XPoNrGvJIngDSMj3CM1YnHPfpIUPht/s400/14.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A classroom at Universite Heights. I think this was third grade.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
Our church was connected to a Catholic school, called St. Gregory the Great's; the school taught kindergarten through eighth grade. My brother went to middle school there, and also to a Christian high school called Notre Dame. I went to neither of these schools; I attended Crockett Middle School, which was public, and next to the private high school Solebury. Both Christopher and I went to the same elementary school, University Heights, which is directly across the street from our house. Once a week, we would be pulled out of our classes at University Heights to go to an after-school program at St. Gregory's. During the end of the day in elementary school, there was not much learning going on anyway. In springtime, during the last half hour of school, the teachers would let the children out to play in the big field behind the school. And one by one, parents would come to pick them up.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjicwDrVSpH95csWyfLnp0mGX0EYYCQJNxJO2nroZf4TJx5c7Yk6LZMhrTJSxayQV1dNtvU1JXyLC7b_ax5XuJVC0RawHzWapy-kvJJL8JszhgK3vH-Mj6l9Ph9-CRPNy8Q5ImuKIGSxX9r/s1600/010_7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjicwDrVSpH95csWyfLnp0mGX0EYYCQJNxJO2nroZf4TJx5c7Yk6LZMhrTJSxayQV1dNtvU1JXyLC7b_ax5XuJVC0RawHzWapy-kvJJL8JszhgK3vH-Mj6l9Ph9-CRPNy8Q5ImuKIGSxX9r/s400/010_7.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's Chris, getting on the school bus to go to middle school at St. Gregory's. They had a dress code, I don't think he actually dressed like that for fun. I guess it was the first day or something, since they are picking him up just outside of the house.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>So when my brother and I were pulled out of school early, it usually felt like a second day of school succeeding the first. A few of our other friends went to the same after-school program every week, and we usually carpooled with them. The program was referred to as CCD by our mother, and I can never remember what it stands for. I don't think I ever learned; but I just looked it up, and it is the abbreviation for "Confraternity of Christian Doctrine". Once we arrived at the St. Gregory's, everyone gathered in the school cafeteria. As the CCD students were arriving, the kids who actually attended school there were just being let out; so it was easy to lose my mom or dad in the crowd of students, all blocking up the narrow middle-school hallways. It was the worst when we carpooled with other parents, and I was lost in the crowd and I wasn't even looking for my own mother. Somehow that was the most unsettling.<br />
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All the tables in the cafeteria had sheets of regular A4 paper on them, designating which table belonged to which grade group and teacher. I would part from my brother, and find the table for my grade and teacher. Usually whatever parent had taken me there had left by this time. So if I couldn't find my table, I had nobody to go and ask for help, except for the big crowds of strange kids and strange adults.<br />
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I was very intimidated by the other students, even those than were my own age. They made me feel estranged. A group of kids all sitting at a table, and I don't know any of them. I didn't have any clue how to approach that, so sometimes I just wandered in the aisles between the tables, until one of me friends called to me, or the teacher found me.<br />
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After the tables were all filled and the teachers arrived, they all walked off to a classroom somewhere in the school. If I was lost, I might run into my class' line at this time. But sometimes, they left me behind, and I had to go wander off to the classroom on my own. I guess they moved in packs so that none of the kids were abducted or lost or something.<br />
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The classes were two hours long. They started at 4pm (University Heights let out at 3:30pm, that's why we had to leave a bit early) and lasted until about 6pm. Sometimes we went down to a music room and learned to sing hymns from a woman who had an accent. That was the first person I ever remember meeting that had an accent. Sometimes we read Bible narratives from big colour paperback books, and they had illustrations to go along with all the Bible stories we read. Sometimes we played games, and got candy.<br />
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I remember one time, we all sat in groups memorising the Nicene Creed. We were preparing to give Penance in church for the very first time, so this was a big deal. The teachers told us that we had to recite the Nicene Creed to the priest or bishop or whatever who was in the confessions booth. This wasn't true. When I did give my first confession, I waiting anxiously in a pew with my Christopher and my mother. And I was repeating the Creed under my breath with sweaty palms, and interspersedly praying Hail Mary so that I might remember the Nicene Creed. What would happen if I didn't recite it proper? But I didn't have to recite it at all. And the whole process of giving my confession was much easier than anyone had told me. I expected some challenging rite of passage, comparable to reciting the whole Koran or being scalped. But all I had to do was confess something. Of course, I hadn't really thought about anything I wanted to confess. So I said that I didn't always get along with my brother, which wasn't really true at all, we've always gotten along alright. The whole thing lasted maybe thirty seconds, and it felt that short, too. Not like one of those anxious moments that lasts weeks and years for each massing minute.<br />
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But, while we were memorising the Nicene Creed, we were lining up to take candy from the teacher, and when it was my turn I went to take it from her hand, but I suppose she must not have really handed it to me yet. And so I was reprimanded for impatiently snatching candy, and she gave me some kind of candy that was not at all what I wanted, something negligible like a single, stale and tacky tootsie roll, not the long kind either. Here I was, learning to recite a whole <i>creed</i>, whatever that is, and just when I thought there would be some time to relieve the tension of my young mind cramming a poem I was poignantly wrong. Then I cried. The teacher and her aid, of course, thought I was crying because I got a little piece of candy and not a big one, and tried to remedy the problem by (hesitantly) awarding me a bigger lollipop or candy bar or something.<br />
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But they entirely missed the point. It wasn't about what I had or what I wanted or what they had given me. There was some underlying unrest, and a tension that was just stressed from trying to do well for the church and my Lord and all of those sorts of things. And then, after all my hard eight-year-old work (or however old I was, but I could could it on two hands) I'm told off by the teacher.<br />
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And I guess those things still happen all of the time, when I am so tense and dedicated. There is a breaking point, and that is what everyone focuses on, totally distracted. I imagine that this happens to everyone, and I try to be mindful of that. But it is so easy to look at things on the surface, to gauge upset by its external appearance. I suppose that is just we understand things, sometimes.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-30807796065160177192010-11-25T22:50:00.000-08:002010-11-25T22:50:01.000-08:00Turpentine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e1/PostcardTurpentineWorkers1912.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e1/PostcardTurpentineWorkers1912.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Turpentine is harvested from trees. Isn't that cool? Here is a picture of that. I can't get over this, seriously; I always assumed it was just made in a lab or something. Perhaps it is like that, nowadays. But it is fun to think about the natural source.<br />
<br />
The image of a "lounge lizard" is equally as enchanting.<br />
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It's Thanksgiving. There was a great, fun little dinner in the dining hall with candles on big long tables. Only a few people stayed on campus during the holiday, one or two persons from each house. It has been so quiet and nice. I unfortunately didn't get much work done today, but was able to think about things in the solitude.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-71151281447710182152010-11-18T11:44:00.000-08:002010-11-18T11:44:23.245-08:00Secret Woodchuck RoundupBella and have started hosting little informal gatherings, called the <i>Secret Woodchuck Roundup</i> series. Every other Thursday night, we come up with a list of about 12 people who are our friends or acquaintances. The idea is to gather people who don't know each other, and get them acquainted. Sometimes we don't know the invitees very well, either. But, we pick based on friendliness and sociability, especially looking for students who don't have many close friends, such as freshmen and transfers.<br />
<br />
A lot of people here leave after their first semester. An alcohol-driven culture seems prevalent, but there are many people who aren't into hard partying, and they have trouble finding each other. So hopefully, the Woodchuck series will bring some people together in a meaningful way.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-74143506774159773722010-11-13T22:11:00.000-08:002010-11-13T22:11:09.524-08:00Be Here, NowBe here, now. It's an easy thing to says, but very difficult to live by. What about where I was when I was sixteen years old? When I learned first how much I cared about music, or when I got my first kiss? Where am I supposed to be, now, anyway? Maybe I am supposed to be here, in Vermont, at Bennington College. But at the same time, that doesn't seem like the only thing there is for me to be doing. After all, if I were somewhere else, wouldn't I be expected to be "there", now?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-20868851465031974442010-11-04T09:06:00.000-07:002010-11-04T09:06:04.504-07:00"Everything I Learn" Map, 2nd Draft<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr_P74CROLmhDX46lDRghMmThyphenhyphenxzTNXhYgIkzwpoEq7sm0ZE4Q5FDJm9tJu6RInLwFgE4I72GTi4DiXxf1m07CE771RoHdDmuxJk9aQhOwRbaxgrS5VW_f1gRrn-ItYheWV2r83ets8ub1/s1600/EVERYTHING+I+LEARN.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr_P74CROLmhDX46lDRghMmThyphenhyphenxzTNXhYgIkzwpoEq7sm0ZE4Q5FDJm9tJu6RInLwFgE4I72GTi4DiXxf1m07CE771RoHdDmuxJk9aQhOwRbaxgrS5VW_f1gRrn-ItYheWV2r83ets8ub1/s400/EVERYTHING+I+LEARN.png" width="362" /></a></div>And already slightly out of date!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-60829318269637472592010-11-03T06:36:00.001-07:002010-11-03T06:36:44.356-07:00Morning thoughtsI am sitting here looking out the window that is adjacent to my desk, at a frosty field behind a row of trees that are raining orange leaves. It reminds me of the frosts across the Solebury lawn, and how I used to arrive at school there by 7am on some days, and eat breakfast before the bordering students woke up; and then I'd leave the theatre after 2am, after most the borders went to sleep.<br />
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Montana has been in my dreams for the past two nights. In the dream that just ended, she was talking to me about how whenever she spoke to someone at Bennington about my mental health, they instantly assumed there was a problem between she and I. And in the dream, they were right. But not so in real life. It was bitter. This week is the first time I have dreamed of her for months and months; maybe a year.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-66152660025264937342010-10-03T08:54:00.001-07:002010-10-03T08:54:47.513-07:00"Everything I Learn" Map, 1st Draft<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfQSQ4VhlwymvGHNktendU28qujvyCM9ndMUV9qwNd5rdR6xj716R_ii9_99pZl_UIymXmAwjzUmaRoR16zwISR0uWoMFfOnUdYK_OcjEoFwfTMYT1s903XgQrdMgEeaZSV0DvFkBDr2j2/s1600/EVERYTHING+I+LEARN.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfQSQ4VhlwymvGHNktendU28qujvyCM9ndMUV9qwNd5rdR6xj716R_ii9_99pZl_UIymXmAwjzUmaRoR16zwISR0uWoMFfOnUdYK_OcjEoFwfTMYT1s903XgQrdMgEeaZSV0DvFkBDr2j2/s400/EVERYTHING+I+LEARN.png" width="400" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-59190145748653573902010-08-30T13:27:00.000-07:002010-08-30T13:27:43.940-07:00Photos from Chris' Party<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The first one Mona took, the second one I.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIu4TTPOEVgxJHdLnmg7LOdUBk5V9XLx56csTHnfUCXUXVK0PdIt0j1h2VfriHZXWMk_gJW3TOdJinuyY8X88pG9MuGicPE5YXt8ko4iqcRI6qJ3XuR28LjhlConU41spLzon3KRYiTQhn/s640/07_6A_2.jpg" width="425" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMiXOrh0y511qVrOSNXJQelCE0tBNNYgTorITllUmhhXz7q7_WkedOjdhHgSu3hiBFCJJMDkAtCiwC-POKjs71TyuDgrjy4MMf86PkqGyni9sFNjJrbfH6eENOF4iDdr0zx08DQ69mVnWL/s1600/13_12A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMiXOrh0y511qVrOSNXJQelCE0tBNNYgTorITllUmhhXz7q7_WkedOjdhHgSu3hiBFCJJMDkAtCiwC-POKjs71TyuDgrjy4MMf86PkqGyni9sFNjJrbfH6eENOF4iDdr0zx08DQ69mVnWL/s640/13_12A.jpg" width="425" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-68401222541756424522010-08-24T00:02:00.000-07:002010-08-24T00:02:23.654-07:00Comic ConceptsStorytelling has been on my mind recently, as has the visual expression of it. Here are some concepts for potential picture stories. The first one is an adaptation of <a href="http://projectsbyshelley.blogspot.com/2009/09/cloyd-and-his-sis-are-running-up-hill.html">this Salembic post</a>.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl4hl41cmIbIMgogaPI_uZ8QtxDcvhCCEgdeZYtAW3G-GrUXp9WkjGqRvDL9sySmP-g0CNksYtWxn9pNwXRc6JURgM8dVP_r82ueBpV6mVz5ikEVl2cTnIsnjwQv5llXk_eJ4dZBDedVdd/s1600/concepnt_1_png.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl4hl41cmIbIMgogaPI_uZ8QtxDcvhCCEgdeZYtAW3G-GrUXp9WkjGqRvDL9sySmP-g0CNksYtWxn9pNwXRc6JURgM8dVP_r82ueBpV6mVz5ikEVl2cTnIsnjwQv5llXk_eJ4dZBDedVdd/s640/concepnt_1_png.png" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQu3OB8rylygQiwvZ7yofeW0BCuDmHLse2mvf9vcmr_t_jogkAyfamA9OLTXgD-7xzIGrsaFTcgzNlPTrCnzQGJwxtdu2VJohBCpbo4mgllHWlZxJU_j_KzYCNufTVnBZIYko2E1LQAhXi/s1600/comic_1_png.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="80" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQu3OB8rylygQiwvZ7yofeW0BCuDmHLse2mvf9vcmr_t_jogkAyfamA9OLTXgD-7xzIGrsaFTcgzNlPTrCnzQGJwxtdu2VJohBCpbo4mgllHWlZxJU_j_KzYCNufTVnBZIYko2E1LQAhXi/s400/comic_1_png.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Lastly, here are some experiments with drawing <a href="http://kipdreaming.com/kipd/"><i>Kip, Dreaming</i></a> by hand:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp86Fx1R0wgB-jLYGq-tJisc5K2-57kZsxXDkJd4gkIVxmfOzkRjWiRCUULhwwhYxR82VBJaHczrwv7t6Zz2L2yYJCZv6c5s0FzMkqzPiatl54Ibdm8RS9dimOuZXED6tBhDiFdDRl5W5V/s1600/test_1_png.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp86Fx1R0wgB-jLYGq-tJisc5K2-57kZsxXDkJd4gkIVxmfOzkRjWiRCUULhwwhYxR82VBJaHczrwv7t6Zz2L2yYJCZv6c5s0FzMkqzPiatl54Ibdm8RS9dimOuZXED6tBhDiFdDRl5W5V/s400/test_1_png.png" width="400" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-56527187025336759982010-08-19T16:56:00.000-07:002010-08-23T12:46:02.533-07:00Septoplasty, Part 2Walking around with a catheter was a lot of fun for a week. It works very similar to a siphon, and thus must be kept below or at waist level in order to work properly. This is fine, except that it prevented me from taking baths, as the catheter floats. And I do so love baths.<br />
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Eventually, I went to a urologist and had it removed, which was only a bit uncomfortable. I also got an ultrasound, in order to check on the status of my kidneys. He also told me that when I went to the ER, they drained 900ml of urine. Here are two visualisations of what 900ml looks like:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnhjnGq5CbYAiftfwcbA7qC2WAu2yI0wshjycfGMBjEMe3FaoOTw_ouY54xed6jEcW1htnbF-grUMtTbcCGQ9VneZuKRUUiwF6emjWFR7lSynBmhAnw8nWGIqW5yFXqSLJfVwARdkD2eu2/s1600/vodka.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnhjnGq5CbYAiftfwcbA7qC2WAu2yI0wshjycfGMBjEMe3FaoOTw_ouY54xed6jEcW1htnbF-grUMtTbcCGQ9VneZuKRUUiwF6emjWFR7lSynBmhAnw8nWGIqW5yFXqSLJfVwARdkD2eu2/s320/vodka.jpg" width="248" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN3Kb-CuP2F5zEXSv9qRcXiels5zdUw8QBfIi5oyrQSILpOiBNQpdjL_aUS1DoDFrY0G0QK6akk-BCGUd-4_okSyT2A9MUx9hyK0-8bqrB2Z3mxQOVwB6hbL41dY7o5Lh9YU_wwKAaSEXX/s1600/VITAMIN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN3Kb-CuP2F5zEXSv9qRcXiels5zdUw8QBfIi5oyrQSILpOiBNQpdjL_aUS1DoDFrY0G0QK6akk-BCGUd-4_okSyT2A9MUx9hyK0-8bqrB2Z3mxQOVwB6hbL41dY7o5Lh9YU_wwKAaSEXX/s320/VITAMIN.jpg" width="248" /></a></div><br />
Luckily, my bladder was not full of neither vodka nor sugarwater.<br />
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I was later told by my surgeon/doctor man that the catheter didn't even need to leave the emergency room after it drained, as the anesthesia that was preventing me from urinating had worked its way out of my system by that time.<br />
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For the first few days after surgery, I was extremely nauseous from the antibiotics I was taking, what always tear up my stomach when I'm sick. Eventually, I was able to stop taking them, after the splints in my nose were removed. Two splints were placed on either side of my septum, in order to hold it in place during healing. They went really far into my head, and after they were removed, my <i>eyes</i> were sore because the splints had pressed up against them. Here is one of them:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9SbSWv_LXfhT4sg56o6oO_A-IS56vZSuT0jrZgBUYrmcGo_lZxQsviuF9-J4oC-lKAs89jB29-1KK_btwp4pknAMsSWaRti-JMaE2XCjp0q00u7PtRXfegewYoJGTzFJEgFvy_C38yGwk/s1600/2010-08-18-004859.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9SbSWv_LXfhT4sg56o6oO_A-IS56vZSuT0jrZgBUYrmcGo_lZxQsviuF9-J4oC-lKAs89jB29-1KK_btwp4pknAMsSWaRti-JMaE2XCjp0q00u7PtRXfegewYoJGTzFJEgFvy_C38yGwk/s320/2010-08-18-004859.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
But now, albeit run down and slightly ill, I am on the road to proper recovery. And I can breath a bit better, but that will vastly improve too in another week or so.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-72671871135888015372010-08-17T17:42:00.000-07:002010-08-17T18:07:48.989-07:00Happy Birthday, Shelly!<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">For Shelly's 21st birthday, I put together a book of twenty recipes that the two of us have made together. As vegans, our lifestyles are largely shaped by food. It has been lovely to cook and learn with someone so patient and caring! To the extent that my memory will allow, the recipes are in chronological order, spanning over the past year and a half. Each recipe is accompanied by an illustration made with colored paper, pencil, or both. The cover of the book was a Betty Crocker Cake Mix box, which was bound using a simple technique by a waxy black string. Here are a few of the pages!</span></span><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsLE8g3DXw0HsH_lZPBgDEjdG0_rd0dE8Ka8sfYIOMgHzNducdNgDobCk_1Z6Ie3JRla0EEErkchwoq0iwWMsODRxpUPIX0Z_af8frr8tcmJ8nxt2xhRRJDnDURkfdrUDr97TOEE8hSAzT/s1600/+00057.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 296px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsLE8g3DXw0HsH_lZPBgDEjdG0_rd0dE8Ka8sfYIOMgHzNducdNgDobCk_1Z6Ie3JRla0EEErkchwoq0iwWMsODRxpUPIX0Z_af8frr8tcmJ8nxt2xhRRJDnDURkfdrUDr97TOEE8hSAzT/s400/+00057.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506549726690560610" border="0" /></a> </div> <div style="text-align: center;"> </div> </div></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdqHkM-a_uvuHqhmPR8C8meGb7me_UooX_jVnYmG40z9DN-ILSi2zBuB9hUoYUoB5iaTnbATf9fTAvHnYJoq3w1C48kefdVd5pzdkh1NWfhLYNQvxLdMqdvRdUgnS1L0xUTpl66VXiBC5F/s1600/+00070.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 336px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdqHkM-a_uvuHqhmPR8C8meGb7me_UooX_jVnYmG40z9DN-ILSi2zBuB9hUoYUoB5iaTnbATf9fTAvHnYJoq3w1C48kefdVd5pzdkh1NWfhLYNQvxLdMqdvRdUgnS1L0xUTpl66VXiBC5F/s400/+00070.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506549219476086466" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir7k0iyHc1A2Zk6e3QoEmqg0Xs81s5T1WiYMylUPQMEOx3AVZDdpwu_ZmCAPfLVFqoCZPGF7N5jE8aeIaC7mSGER2uzuDt-LKAxQpG3v-81B_6dZNxWioS_xS1yChFAYafIt8llzSVpg2b/s1600/+00074.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 306px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir7k0iyHc1A2Zk6e3QoEmqg0Xs81s5T1WiYMylUPQMEOx3AVZDdpwu_ZmCAPfLVFqoCZPGF7N5jE8aeIaC7mSGER2uzuDt-LKAxQpG3v-81B_6dZNxWioS_xS1yChFAYafIt8llzSVpg2b/s400/+00074.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506549030733115586" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvrbPeiVgwwa8RGpGL3FzUvehSRcV8VcOf5PZ42SIk2pf7HnEtUEBgy8cRrydQwhMzpavIYNqWZUwpfbqRU1ah9zfOw1d3DxUts58a-Vsr_qoeEQMXNnkc6bO3hyAOe96V7jhnpU_Up_AY/s1600/+00075.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 304px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvrbPeiVgwwa8RGpGL3FzUvehSRcV8VcOf5PZ42SIk2pf7HnEtUEBgy8cRrydQwhMzpavIYNqWZUwpfbqRU1ah9zfOw1d3DxUts58a-Vsr_qoeEQMXNnkc6bO3hyAOe96V7jhnpU_Up_AY/s400/+00075.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506548948665838610" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGJvB-Zliq7pQu-bPi66R5279rrg_suZA5ydiYNULtGcq3RRm6yB2HhZnxYjmJEWL8sBzIs-SL2Yns2IWv37w2vLgvPULu2DR_f_KkO1uhB7eLR6aPvpxBmzQKNirF1vz631xlb1DrPGfk/s1600/+00076.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 343px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGJvB-Zliq7pQu-bPi66R5279rrg_suZA5ydiYNULtGcq3RRm6yB2HhZnxYjmJEWL8sBzIs-SL2Yns2IWv37w2vLgvPULu2DR_f_KkO1uhB7eLR6aPvpxBmzQKNirF1vz631xlb1DrPGfk/s400/+00076.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506548816349292786" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJchNSF5MtT6h5WwoPU1Bb7HOqGjkl_Mzkc_dmIMi8iVThRfMzsmjX8D_Oo1ojPb71W1edTAzCVG8uFkr2P3K_3IzmGuWwr4xphqf1y73VEZhduspVjhl2hte321b6Elh6Wnc6CyBs48B/s1600/+00084.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 368px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJchNSF5MtT6h5WwoPU1Bb7HOqGjkl_Mzkc_dmIMi8iVThRfMzsmjX8D_Oo1ojPb71W1edTAzCVG8uFkr2P3K_3IzmGuWwr4xphqf1y73VEZhduspVjhl2hte321b6Elh6Wnc6CyBs48B/s400/+00084.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506548659981594770" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-67781453276518122332010-08-11T07:49:00.001-07:002010-08-11T07:49:22.414-07:00Septoplasty, Part 1I had a septoplasty done on Sunday. At least I think that it was Sunday, I've somewhat lost track of the days. It was done to correct a deviation in my septum--the cartilage that divides the two sides of your nose--which was limiting my ability to breath. Basically, they cut a bunch a bunch of stuff out to enlarge the passage.<br />
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So I came home after that, doped up on pain medication. Things got better Sunday night, and I was able to get up every few hours to re-fill my ice pack periodically. My nose has been slowly draining blood, so I also had to change the gauze under that throughout the night. The next morning, I was unable to urinate. This was where the real trouble started! Apparently, anesthesia can result in inability to pee for a few hours. I also became very nauseous, and threw up a bunch of blood that had been draining into my stomach. Throwing up blood, surprisingly, isn't nearly as bad as it sounds. It's actually easier than vomit, because it wasn't so burning and acidic.<br />
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Unfortunately, my surgeon didn't like the combinating of not peeing and throwing up blood, so I ended up having to sent to the emergency room. There, I got an IV to test blood, and they also checked my blood pressure, which was low. Hurray low blood pressure! Then, they inserted a catheter up through my penis and into my bladder. This, in combination with not having urinated for half a day, was the single most painful thing I've ever experienced in my entire life.<br />
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Since at this point I was crying and screaming in pain, they moved me into an enclosed room, probably so that other patients wouldn't have to hear. Then they gave me sedative, which left me in a hallucinogenic, half-asleep stupor for a few hours. That wasn't so bad at all. I left completely woozy and confused, and I don't remember what happened when I got home. Maybe I went to sleep?<br />
<br />
So, that's what has happened so far. I'll keep updating as all of this craziness unfolds.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-32029836622306118072010-08-10T14:11:00.000-07:002010-08-10T14:35:45.883-07:00To Remember Summer By<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTe3WnE3vETj1SlqxqBzB4k7dHzQqTGKJW0AmnuzumCP78vOV_lG_nG-788wYCFZgWzyrB6f0Ir6v0rxYJPSutywyEyrj20XUq7HyI0JBOHKfipzUyxoTnhdmWHqxoh0O7no97QzGjf0-/s1600/26_24.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTe3WnE3vETj1SlqxqBzB4k7dHzQqTGKJW0AmnuzumCP78vOV_lG_nG-788wYCFZgWzyrB6f0Ir6v0rxYJPSutywyEyrj20XUq7HyI0JBOHKfipzUyxoTnhdmWHqxoh0O7no97QzGjf0-/s400/26_24.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503897937695742434" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" >While I was visiting Shelly in May, Stokes had a beer-bq. </span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipSZKCkhF8Unje6ex-fTSHj-br_iSTmcBu9ZMcbKjz4eMZQWK0NUhyX58OzdX4aQBEiKUgNYgANlsgQWDrX26LqeFY2DGarqmYqNnaBlJcOZIVwuJ-W53K6FomTZnMCLDOA4Rfw4vVAnsd/s1600/23_21.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipSZKCkhF8Unje6ex-fTSHj-br_iSTmcBu9ZMcbKjz4eMZQWK0NUhyX58OzdX4aQBEiKUgNYgANlsgQWDrX26LqeFY2DGarqmYqNnaBlJcOZIVwuJ-W53K6FomTZnMCLDOA4Rfw4vVAnsd/s400/23_21.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503893870091727858" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">We sat outside of the house drinking cheap beer and eating fresh tomatoes while<br />some boys made </span>burgers on a grill.</span><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikLZrA5CCx8FhW2ipZcc7Ti-dxrI37HDIX9vrTOnpHdZsOThqPC7Ib83MrSw10QoFCHMRepD7mY7pbEmv6F5m6shNg7Najq65PrMDDISqkORnKFIjV_xJ5Qd2FEZNGWGq-pk1Qijyu1X3L/s1600/011_09.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikLZrA5CCx8FhW2ipZcc7Ti-dxrI37HDIX9vrTOnpHdZsOThqPC7Ib83MrSw10QoFCHMRepD7mY7pbEmv6F5m6shNg7Najq65PrMDDISqkORnKFIjV_xJ5Qd2FEZNGWGq-pk1Qijyu1X3L/s400/011_09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503893232876906242" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Back home, we ran into Laura at Bucks. She thought it would be cute to<br />see the little boy she was babysitting eat ice cream. We did, too. </span></span><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgftAhnq_ifpbTm8VrnL5VIR9g4AXei-4MN7YGj8qFnIlGTisSMxHrn9ZDKg0r7k82RzyKDh2CLC3Gm__SJkaFkozR74Dnf2PxRm0si8WP59Lb6YuqqEVFDlkgKmC9aweCVN2A-uIfigYDZ/s1600/023_21.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgftAhnq_ifpbTm8VrnL5VIR9g4AXei-4MN7YGj8qFnIlGTisSMxHrn9ZDKg0r7k82RzyKDh2CLC3Gm__SJkaFkozR74Dnf2PxRm0si8WP59Lb6YuqqEVFDlkgKmC9aweCVN2A-uIfigYDZ/s400/023_21.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503893128224508274" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">We walked through the flea market, marvelling at the forgotten treasures and<br />antique cameras that had seen more than we could ever imagine.<br /><br /><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTDfUs6W-0_zWQcbQ-8xg1a1aSSLhO0MuSWFAI1OeLT6-FIC0JYW6NigDn1aXR2bFEU8Zv2MlJLXkxQQeimcoafN080zZi67VXjCP0o-RFB-rrTa2V74pAQ2wC-Nqv93C3tEtFv2EklZj6/s1600/010_nr.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTDfUs6W-0_zWQcbQ-8xg1a1aSSLhO0MuSWFAI1OeLT6-FIC0JYW6NigDn1aXR2bFEU8Zv2MlJLXkxQQeimcoafN080zZi67VXjCP0o-RFB-rrTa2V74pAQ2wC-Nqv93C3tEtFv2EklZj6/s400/010_nr.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503892945318301282" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">A few times we visited Rita's. We enjoyed enormous ice cream twists with<br />rainbow sprinkles and cold, lemon italian ices.<br /></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1870883790464931941.post-4787746986847832662010-08-09T20:21:00.000-07:002010-08-09T20:21:08.721-07:00SalembicHello there. Today I had surgery and am now in some awkward pain and strung out on Percocet. I made use of tonight bleeding into gauze and transferring all the material from my comic blog <a href="http://salembic.blogspot.com/">Salembic</a> over here!<br />
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So, there are a number of comic scripts and ideas in the archive now. Enjoy!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0