#am I hearing something from the device. is it from the game disc I put in. that’s all I care about I do not need a chat function

[samuraisharkie]

you look up anything game hardware related and it’s like “yeah man you just need a y adapter extreme gold edition .22 mm that goes in the SHART operator to make the yuk flow into the audio from the tv and then it’s just a simple matter of retracing the waves to make a squart. it only works sometimes though and you have to thrift the supplies they’re wicked expensive lmao”

[temporalbystander]

Guys.... I don't know who else needs to hear this. Or who else is also suffering like I am right now... But can we STOP with the reliance on computers!!!! Just..... *Sighs* bad language and lots of rage under the cut...

I'm not talking about technology, would be hypocritical, I mean keyboard and mouse, full package material computers. Why am I beyond fucking pissed right now? Well I'll tell you.

Yesterday I mentioned how I discovered Yu-Gi-Oh Tag Force was a thing. Today, I discovered that all 6 can be downloaded onto a PSP emulator. And that said emulator is easily installed through the app store. So far so great right? Oh no. What's the first thing that pops up when you click "where do I get games?" It takes you to your phone/tablets browser and essentially goes. "If you're on Android, download the file on your computer and transfer it to your device."

Hehehe.... Heres a crazy thought? If all it needs is a .iso file? Which it does. And those files are easily downloaded through the same browser you just opened up.... Which they are.... And, I can't stress this enough, if you're going to make an emulator available on Android devices.... WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU TELL ME TO USE MY COMPUTER!!!

Seriously! Don't you think that if I had the ability to open these files on a computer that I would... Oh I don't know.... USE THE EMULATOR ON THE FUCKING COMPUTER!!! There's one available, I saw the link right above the description of what to do on Android.

"But blog owner?" I hear you ask, "didn't you say you could download the files on your phone anyway?" Indeed I did. "Well then what's the problem?"

Very good question my friends. You see... There wouldn't be a problem. Files downloaded fine, emulator runs them fine (well unless it's a USA based file instead of a Europe one... Not sure what the issue with that was and didn't really have time to look into it before I got mad at the other problem.) But here's the thing... Yu-Gi-Oh Tag Force? Suffers from this little issue I label "English speakers are either cheap. Or stupid."

You see. Tag Force has these wonderful little cuts everytime your opponent sets a card or draws or gets attacked. Lovely little immersion bits. However... When the review I watched said "They even got the Japanese voice actors, too bad they couldn't do the same for English." I assumed, like most probably would, that they DIDN'T get the GX voice actors to record those lines.... And well... They didn't.... They didn't get ANYONE to record those lines! So here I am, speeding through the duels because all I'm hearing is clicks and explosion like sound effects while reading, as if I turned off the voice volume somehow.

But okay, that's fine, no biggie. I'll just use the Japanese voices... Oh wait. I can't. Because, instead of letting the players listen to SOMETHING while reading the translations, they just coded the voice volume at zero... And here... Here's where I got even more pissed. Because there are fixes for this online, of course there is it's the internet. Even ones that are extra helpful and include the program you need to do the patching yourself so I'll just tap on that and.... Oh yeah. It's a .exe file. Android can't run executable files.

Putting aside WHY we need an OS to rub a single type of file, when most phones now are capable of running games that required multiple discs 10 years ago, not a single person. Not a one. Ever considered how you'd do this on an Android device. Even putting the word android into the search engine didn't help! Which wouldnt be so bad... If, as I JUST said, it weren't for the fact IT EXISTS ON THE FUCKING APP STORE!

But again... That'd be fine... Quick search to see if there's anything on the app store thatd run these files and... Oh would you look at that? I already have it installed. So, I decide to make things as easy for me as possible. Download all the .iso for all the games. Download all the patches to turn the voices on, as well as a translation for the game that wasn't released outside Japan, and I spend the better part of an hour or two waiting for the files to download. Extracting the files. Patching the files. Deleting the non patched files and the downloaded zip folders so it's not a complete mess. And then I open the first game again. It opens fine. Runs like before. Overwrite the old save data, enter my name again and.... The character models are now black squares.

At that point I deleted everything. Said fuck it all and permanently erased it, emptied the bin, everything. Now... Should I have only done it one game at a time? Probably. Should I have taken it slow and saw if it worked? Yes. But... And I can't stress this enough... When theres an app that exists (that you can buy an upgrade for btw, didnt even bother checking what that includes) and is known as the ONLY emulator that works for PSP games. And all these files need is to be downloaded... And ran... I don't think I'm at fault for assuming it would work...

Even if I'm not on A FUCKING COMPUTER THAT I SHOULDNT FUCKING NEED FOR SOMETHING THIS FUCKING SIMPLE!!!!

[pufflyhallows]

Muggles

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Request: I don't know if this will spark anything for you but you could do something like Ron, George, Fred (whichever) bring home their girlfriend (lives in the muggle world doesn't have to be muggleborn though) and Arthur, everything-muggle enthusiast, wants to hear all that he can (and she's all for telling him). maybe she even has an iphone or something and he's like losing his mind over it, but the boyfriend (whichever one) is so happy and proud that reader/girlfriend loves to entertain his family??

a/n: I loved this idea very much and I really hope the sweet anon who asked for it is happy with the result <3

Summary: You go spend the summer at the Burrow for the very first time in order to meet the family of your boyfriend, Fred, and Arthur Weasley is really excited to talk about the muggle world with you.  

Warnings: language

Word count: 2,599

*******

You were nervous. How could you not be? The fear of being rejected took over your heart and mind. 

“They’re fine! You’ll see,” Fred said countless times. 

It was easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one that was going to be judged by eight people at once! Well, four actually. Percy, George, Ron and Ginny knew you already. Percy didn’t seem to care. Neither did Ron. As for George and Ginny... they expressed their approval in the best ways possible. 

But there was Bill and Charlie, the oldest siblings that were way too cool for you. And then there were the ones you were most nervous about: Arthur and Molly, Fred’s parents.

“What if they don’t like me?” you asked one more time. 

“I’m sure they’ll love you, doll,” your boyfriend reassured you, “But if they don’t, they can fight me about it.”

You gave him a tiny grateful smile. 

It was summer, and you were going to spend it at the Burrow for the very first time. You were really happy that Fred had invited you to come home with him and meet his family, although your parents expressed they would miss you. 

“Ready?” Fred asked when you all arrived.

The house was several stories high and very crooked, probably held up by magic. It had a lovely yard with several fat brown chickens around and a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron lying at the front door. You loved it!

“Yes,” you nodded as he took your hand in his and went inside. 

“My boys!” was the first thing you heard when you stepped in. 

A short ginger lady rushed to hug Percy, and then George. When she turned to hug Fred, her eyes fell on you.

“Oh, Merlin! You must be Y/N!” she smiled widely and involved you in a tight hug, “You are a very pretty young lady, just like my Fred said. Welcome, dear!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” you smiled relieved. 

Fred’s mother squeezed your cheek lightly before rushing to hug Ron and Ginny.

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” your boyfriend asked jokingly as you walked in the kitchen, leaving Molly and his siblings behind, “She even forgot I was there.”

“She likes me more already,” you winked at him. 

“I wouldn’t doubt that,” he chuckled, “Hey, dad!”

Only then you realized Mr. Weasley’s presence in the kitchen. Feeling nervous again, you squeezed Fred’s hand.

“Hello, children! Welcome, welcome!” the tall ginger man approached you two and held out his hand at you, “I’m Arthur, dear. You must be Fred’s... um... friend.”

“Girlfriend, dad.”

“I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, sir,” you shook his hand with a very amused smile on your face.

“My pleasure,” he smiled as well, “Where are the others?”

“I’m here,” George announced as he came in the kitchen, “Hey there, dad.”

“Welcome back, son,” Arthur patted George’s shoulder. 

“Who’s hungry?” Molly asked when she entered the kitchen being followed by Ron and Ginny. Percy had gone straight to his room.

“I am,” Ron replied sitting at the wooden table. 

Soon enough, the family started having an excited conversation about everything that had happened in the time they were apart. You just watched enchanted by the love emanating from them. 

“What do you think?” Fred whispered to you.

“I love them,” you smiled. Your boyfriend gave you a quick, discrete peck on the lips before going back to his conversation. 

When Bill and Charlie came downstairs, Fred introduced you to them. They were really polite and welcomed you to the family. You felt more than happy to hear that. 

After you all had breakfast, Fred, George and Ron went outside to ‘get rid of the garden gnomes’, which was something very odd to hear. You followed them to the backyard and sat by the door watching. 

Ron picked up a small and leathery-looking... man? With a large, knobbly, bald head exactly like a potato. He grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside-down, swinging it in great circles before finally releasing it. The gnome flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.

“Poor thing!” you covered your mouth in shock.

“Don’t worry, Y/N, it doesn’t hurt them,” Fred explained, “We just have to make them dizzy so they can’t come back.”

“Oh... I feel kinda bad, though,” you admitted.

“Really?” George asked as he held up a gnome who was tirelessly trying to kick and bite him. 

“Watch this,” Fred told you, “Hey, Ron! That was quite pitiful. I bet I can get mine beyond that stump.”

Your boyfriend picked up another gnome from the ground and started swinging it. When he let go of its little ankles, it flew forty feet into the air.

“Impressive,” you stood up to see where it landed. Ron simply shrugged it off. 

The air was soon thick with flying gnomes. After a while, the crowd in the field started walking away in a straggling line, their little shoulders hunched.

“They’ll be back,” Ron said, as they watched the gnomes disappear into the hedge on the other side of the field. “They love it here ... Dad’s too soft with them, he thinks they’re funny.”

You smiled at the information. You also thought they were funny.

“How about some Quidditch now?” George proposed. 

“I’m in,” Fred replied, “And you, Y/N?”

“I think I’m just gonna watch you guys while I listen to some music,” you said.

“Okay.”

You went back inside to search for your bag. You found it lying on the couch with the rest of the boys’ luggage. Grabbing your discman and one of your CDs, you rushed outside. 

The boys were having fun while you sat by the door and listened to the latest Nirvana album your mom had bought you.

When the second song ended, Mr. Weasley showed up. You paused the third song at its initial beats to listen to him. 

“Pleasant morning, isn’t it?” he said as he watched the boys playing and you agreed, “Ginny told me you live in the muggle world. Is that correct, dear?”

Fred was concentrated on the game, but when he saw his dad talking to you, he knew exactly what the older man was going to talk about.

“Yes, sir.”

“Your parents are muggles, then?” 

“Just my mother,” you replied, “My father is a pureblood.”

“Oh! He must hear quite a lot of nonsense sometimes, huh?” Mr. Weasley gave you a pitiful look. Yeah, your father got called a blood traitor a few times. 

“He doesn’t really care. Besides, since he lives a bit away from the wizarding world, it doesn’t happen too often.”

“I see,” he nodded, but suddenly his eyes widened, “And what is that on your lap?”

“This?” you grabbed your discman, “It’s a device used to listen to music, like a radio. It’s called a discman.”

“Like a radio? How does it work exactly? Discman...” the man sat down by your side and watched carefully as you opened the object.

“You have to put a CD inside,” you explained, taking the Nirvana album and giving it to Mr. Weasley, “That is a CD. The music is recorded on it. It’s really just like playing one of Celestina Warbeck’s record on a gramophone.”

“Interesting,” he examined the CD on his hands, “And what is the function of this reflective side?”

“That’s actually where the music is recorded. The other side is just the cover.”

“CD stands for...”

“Compact disc.”

“It is compact indeed. You can carry these in your pocket!” he smiled at the object, “And what about that wire you’re holding?”

“This is my headphone,” you showed it to him, “I connect it to the discman and put it over my ears like this.”

You carefully placed the headphone on Mr. Weasley’s ears and pressed play. 

The man’s expression changed in a matter of seconds. He looked at you with widened eyes and opened mouth. 

“I’M HEARING IT!” he yelled, catching Fred, George and Ron’s attention. You giggled as he clumsily moved his shoulders to the beat. You paused the song so he could hear you.

“That’s the function of the wire. It allows you to listen to music anywhere in a way it won’t bother anyone. Only you can hear it like that,” you explained.

“Brilliant! Muggles are really intelligent people!” Mr. Weasley removed the headphones and handed them back to you, “Thank you, Y/N. That is very fascinating.”

“You’re welcome,” you smiled and thought for a few seconds, “Actually, you can keep it.”

“What? Oh no, dear. I can’t accept such gift,” he shook his head, “It’s your entertainment.”

“It’s okay. I’m sure my mother can give me another one on my birthday,” you reassured him, “Keep it. I will send you more CDs when I go back home.”

“Well... in that case... thank you very much, Y/N,” the man smiled widely and stood up holding the discman and the headphone. 

The boys had stopped playing and watched the two of you from across the yard curiously. 

“Molly will go crazy when she sees this,” he mumbled going inside. 

You beamed to yourself feeling really happy.

“Let me guess,” Fred said as he approached you, “My father asked you what’s the function of a rubber duck.”

“What? No,” you chuckled, “He wanted to know what my discman was.”

“Why did he take it away?”

“I gave him.”

“Y/N...” your boyfriend sat by your side, “You don’t have to give your things away to make my family like you.”

You laughed out loud at his joke. 

“Shit, you discovered my plan.”

“But... You made the old man happy like a child with a new toy. So thanks.”

“Ah, it was my pleasure really. He is so sweet.”

Fred smiled.

“Hey, lovebirds! I don’t mean to interrupt, but... we need you, Fred!” George waved at him from across the yard. 

“Sorry, babe. Duty calls,” your boyfriend gave you a quick kiss before standing up and going back to the game. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At noon, Mrs. Weasley called everyone to have lunch. The kitchen was quite crowded once the family of ten people (since they insisted you were part of it now) sat by the table. 

Fred’s mother talked excitedly to her children. She asked Percy several questions about his prefect duties and he did not hesitate to show off his work. The twins silently made fun of him, which caused muffled snickers on the other siblings and you, although you did feel a bit bad about it. 

“And Y/N, darling, you live with the muggles, don’t you?” Mrs. Weasley asked suddenly and you nodded, feeling shy that everyone was looking at you now, “Arthur works at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, in the Ministry of Magic. Tell her, Arthur.”

“Well, we regulate the use of magic on muggle objects and try to keep items that have been bewitched away from muggles. Not long ago I was able to catch a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle. I can’t even imagine what we would have had to do if a muggle had seen any of those objects,” Mr. Weasley said in a worried tone, “But please, tell me dear, you don’t happen to know any cases of muggles finding... interesting objects, do you?”

“No, sir. I do not,” you replied.

“Good, good! That means we’re doing it right,” he smiled, “Now, I’ve heard about a new muggle invention. It’s called ‘microwade’. Do you know anything about it?”

“Um, I think what you mean is microwave and it’s not really a new invention, I’m afraid,” you explained politely, “It’s used to heat up food.”

“Heat up food?” he frowned, “How so?”

“It’s like a box and you put the food inside it. You set the time on a little keyboard and wait as it starts to create heat. When the countdown is over, it’ll make a beep sound and you can take the food out.”

“See?” Mr. Weasley looked around at his family, “Muggles are incredibly ingenious people! And how is the heat created inside it?”

“Well, that’s a lot of science and physics and I’m not smart enough to explain it,” you chuckled, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s completely fine, dear. Thank you very much,” Mrs. Weasley smiled at you, “Who wants dessert?”

“Beep sound,” Mr. Weasley chuckled, “Muggles.”

“Don’t tell me you have a microwave there with you,” Fred whispered to you as Ron told his mother he would like a slice of pudding.

“This time I’m gonna let your father down. Sorry,” you smirked. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat on the bed Mrs. Weasley had prepared for you in Ginny’s room. Through the window, the night sky was dark and the stars shone brightly. You took a deep breath, feeling your chest too crowded with different emotions: relief, happiness, love and gratitude. The day was as perfect as it could be. 

You lay down on the bed and closed your eyes, ready to sleep. When a couple of minutes went by, the door was quietly and slowly opened. You looked at it and saw a ginger head appearing. It was Fred.

“What are you doing here?” you asked in a whisper as Ginny was already asleep.

“Come with me,” he motioned and left the room. 

Sighing, you stood up and followed his track. 

Fred walked down the stairs and only stopped in the kitchen to grab two bottles. He handed you one. Butterbeer. 

“Where are we going?” you questioned when he took your hand and pulled you outside the house. 

“This is it,” he let go of your hand and pointed at the ground. There was a tablecloth and cushions on the grass, “I wanted to do something special for your first night here.”

“You are the best boyfriend in the world. You know that, don’t you?” you said as you wrapped your arms around him. 

“Of course I do,” he snorted jokingly, hugging you back, “Now, let’s sit here and drink our butterbeers looking at the stars and all that romantic stuff.”

“I happen to like a lot that romantic stuff,” you pocked his rib. 

“And I happen to know that, love,” he smirked.

You both sat down on the tablecloth and looked up at the sky. It was beautiful. 

“I loved it,” you spoke after a while.

“What?”

“Everything. Your family, your house, this... Every single moment of this day,” you looked at Fred, who was already looking at you, and smiled, “I love you. Very much.”

“I love you too, Y/N,” your boyfriend moved closer to you and threw his arm around your shoulder. You rested your head on his chest and wrapped your arms around him again, “Thank you for being patient with my dad. He asked you a lot of questions today.”

“Oh, stop. It didn’t bother me at all.”

“You were really sweet and kind to him. I could see how happy he was talking to you. My mom too. She really liked you.”

“I’m glad to know that,” you beamed, “Your family is great, Fred. You’re lucky.”

“I know,” he smiled and kissed you tenderly. 

You two lay down on the tablecloth, Fred resting his head on your chest this time. You started to run your fingers through his hair and it didn’t take long for you to hear him snoring lowly. 

“I love you, Fred.”

[setuphdtv]

10 Actions to a Standard HDTV Configuration

If you are a first-time proprietor of an HDTV, upgrading your old HDTV or changing that old tube TELEVISION below are ten suggestions to a basic HDTV setup. These must help you obtain one of the most out of your brand-new HDTV and also give you the best possible image top quality.

 This Just how To post is contacted give guidance for attaching your HDTV to a cable/satellite box as well as a Blu-ray DVD gamer. Future short articles will discuss exactly how to link Surround Sound Systems, Noise Bars, Wi-Fi (for Wi-Fi allowed HDTVs & Blu-ray players) and Game Consoles.

Take the TV out the box

Yes this is noticeable, but a word of caution. Suppliers like to pack the components needed to construct your TELEVISION in very odd areas. They make use of tape to hold the components safely and also sometimes the parts are light and also don't make any sound as you unpack your TV. 

Thoroughly seek elements on each item of Styrofoam in package Ultimately, don't throw away package up until the TV is entirely set up and working, directly in an instance.

 I am constructing the parts in package.

There are lots of various pedestals for flat screen Televisions. Each manufacturer has its very own foundation, some suppliers also have numerous kinds of foundations depending upon the TELEVISION design. Here are web links to a few of the most popular sorts of Samsung, LG, Panasonic and Sony instructions. The best thing to do is adhere to the guidelines that featured your TV to put together the stand. If you're wall surface placing it after that keep the components away for the future.

 The back panel

 There are some adapters back there but just a couple of are made use of in a standard High Definition arrangement.

 RF Jack Used to connect an Antenna or cord service where a box is not needed

HDMI port. This is the preferred input for an HDTV. If you want the most effective picture you can have this is the one to utilise.

RCA Composite Video Clip. This is the traditional adapter. Utilised to attach old VCRs or DVDs. (red, white & yellow).

RCA Element Video Clip. These are the old analog HD connectors (red, environment-friendly, blue).

VGA Port. If you wish to attach your laptop or desktop computer this is where you connect it using a VGA wire.

S-Video.An old cord kind. Not the earliest, yet close. I used to be preferred on VHS video cameras as well as gamers among others.

PC Audio In. Link your laptop or desktop computer below using a 1/8"( 3.5 mm) patch cord. Audio from your computer system will originate from the TV.

This one is not numbered yet it remains in the lower left. Coaxial adapter.It is used for linking a powered subwoofer.

Above is a complete listing of all the jacks displayed in the picture. Listed below are the studs you will certainly need to complete your links.

 # 1 RF Jack. This is utilised if you can receive HDTV over the air and don't use a set-top box (cable/satellite).

# 2 HDMI port. This is the favoured input for HDTV. If you desire the best image this is the one to use.

# 4 Element Video.Still made use of by some pc gaming systems.

Gather the materials as well as devices.

Cord and Satellite provider bring wires with them when linking a new solution. Nevertheless, most only utilise the older Component Video adapters as well as bill extra if you want the much better HDMI cable. If you had your box installed before you had HDTV after that you possibly have an old RF coax cord( # 1) or composite video clip wire 3.

If you didn't get cables when you purchased your equipment or, as mentioned above, you're upgrading from a non-HD TELEVISION currently is the moment to head out and also shop for your cables. In, HDMI Cable, Why do I require one? I cover some basic knowledge you'll need when purchasing your HDMI cords.

 If you are wall surface mounting the TV then you'll require to choose which installing style you'll want. In The 3 Main Types Of TV Brackets there is an excellent introduction of the distinction between the braces.

 Video Resource makes all the difference.

If you have not already done so, you ought to get a new HD set-top box from your satellite or wire service provider. Without one you'll never actually get an excellent picture. It might cost a bit much more every month, however the distinction in the image will certainly be worth the money.

 I am placing every little thing in place.

If you are wall placing, then the wall mount must already remain in the area. I would certainly recommend including a wall surface rack to hold the cable/satellite box as well as the DVD right below the TV.

 If you are setting up the TELEVISION on a stand after that it should be installed at eye degree for the best watching angle. Position your box and DVD where you want however be aware of the size of your cable televisions. I such as utilising a 3-foot cable to keep the added cable at a minimum, however this requires every little thing to be close and leaves no area to serpent the cord around shelves.

 The Fundamental HDTV Setup.

At this point you need to have all the necessary parts to arrangement and also program your new TELEVISION. TV's with more than one HDMI have them phoned number. This will be necessary later when setting your TELEVISION.

 Attach the first HDMI wire to HDMI1 if your TELEVISION has more than one connector. Number 2.

Place the Cable/Satellite box where you want it and also connect the HDMI cable television to it. Typically there is just one HDMI adapter in the back of the box.

 If you're installing a Blu-Ray DVD gamer follow the same procedure.

 Link the 2nd HDMI cable to HDMI2 if your TV has more than one connector. It's the reduced port in Number 2.

Put the Blu-Ray DVD player where you desire it and also link the HDMI cable to it. Again, typically there is just one HDMI adapter in the rear of the package.

 If your TELEVISION doesn't have a second HDMI after that you can make use of the component video clip wires. DVD gamers are still being made with the older component adapters (# 4) (in the meantime anyhow). These are examples of the rear panel of the devices. Your actual boardmy vary but the standard jacks will exist.

 Examining and Configuring the TELEVISION.

To verify every little thing is attached, begin by turning on the satellite/cable box. Using the TELEVISION's remote, push the "Resource" or "Input" button till you see HDMI1. Offering package is working, you must see as well as hear regular TV show programs.

The following power on the DVD/Blu-Ray, don't bother with placing in a disc the menu will certainly be all we need to test it. Once again press the "Resource" or "Input" on the satellite/cable box up until you see HDMI2. You need to see something different on the display currently. If it's black after that attempt placing a disc to make sure the player is functioning. As long as you can see something like a food selection or a movie you've hooked things up correctly.

 Configuring the Universal Remote.

The last point you need to do is configure the satellite/cable box's global remote to collaborate with your TELEVISION and DVD player. This component differs a fair bit due to the many various companies as well as the several models of boxes they provide. Right here is a list of universal remote programs directions and also codes.

 Last ideas.

That about does it for now.Time to kick back and also appreciate your brand-new HDTV Entertainment System. In the future you may wish to explore boosting the noise. There are numerous choices from full 7.1 border sound systems to the primary noise bar.

 Lately installed a brand-new HDTV? Share your experienced right here for the advantage of other new HDTV proprietors.

[thedistantstorm]

The Fledgling Diaries: A collection of stories about Marc, Devrim, and Suraya. Devrim’s spending some time on assignment with the Militia. His husband and daughter miss him while he’s away.

Previous parts here: one, two, three. 

It was the third time this week Marc had rolled over, reaching for someone who wasn’t there, sighing into his pillow when all he felt was cool sheets and bitter loneliness. Marc was used to this. It happened only a few times a year, but rarely for this long. Usually, Devrim was gone a week or two. This time, he was informed that it would be at least eight weeks, but could be up to twelve that he would be called away. Their networks needed updating, and the Militia had to step in and do its part. Devrim had gotten off easy for years. Just so happened that this was the year he had a bit more going on than usual.

That being said, it was anticipated enough. He’d known it was coming for a month beforehand, had prepared Marc for it. They hadn’t known how to break the news to Suraya, who was just starting to come out of her shell, just starting to feel comfortable in what was now her home. Devrim agreed she deserved honesty, and when they had told her, she’d sat in her chair at the kitchen table very quietly, not saying a word. When they asked her if she understood, she nodded. When they had asked her how she felt about it, she shrugged. Made a comment that suggested it didn’t matter - and in a way, it didn’t. Devrim couldn’t get out of it, even if he wanted to. Better to be called away for something routine and monotonous than for actual combat. When the conversation was over, she continued to sit quietly, refused to eat more than a couple bites of her supper, and went to bed without complaint immediately after.

Marc knew Dev wouldn’t come to bed that night even if she’d taken it well, and wasn’t surprised to find the two of them snuggled together on the couch the following morning, her head tucked under Dev’s chin, her stuffed bird tucked into the crook of his arm, and his hands folded atop her back, blanket covering them both as they slept. He wasn’t jealous, not by any means. Suraya was just as much Marc’s child as she was Devrim’s, and though the two of them bonded quickly and very intensely, Marc had no doubts that he and Suraya had a strong connection as well.

It was that connection that had him waking up in the middle of the night, that paternal intuition alerting him to issues as naturally as breathing. He had a knack for hearing the quiet snick of her bedroom door closing at two am. It had him creeping quietly down the hallway to stand outside. There was no surprise when her sobbing tore him apart, hurting far worse than the ache Marc himself felt whenever Devrim was away. She put up a good act, Suraya did. But he knew she’d be hurting.

He quietly knocked on the door, not wanting to scare her when he edged it open. She lay on her belly, head pressed into the pillow as she cried, hugging her stuffed animal so tightly it looked like his head would burst and his beak would spit stuffing.

“Darling,” Marc coos, when she doesn’t acknowledge him, “Come here.”

She only shakes her head and tries to stop her crying. It takes Marc a second to scoop her into his arms and hold her tight.

“It’s okay to be upset,” He tells her. “I miss him too.”

Suraya shakes her head and squirms, pushing out of his grasp and against the headboard. “I want Dev,” She says.

“Me too,” He agrees. “But your Dad is doing something very important, princess. He told you why he does what he does. He protects us from all the bad things out there, remember?”

Her lip curls and she nods, but still says, “I want him to come home.”

Marc smiles sadly. “I’m sure he misses you very much.”

She looks at Marc in meek surprise. “You do?”

“Of course,” He agrees. “It’s only natural for fathers to miss their daughters when they’re away. Just like it’s natural for daughters to miss their fathers.”

Eventually, she had soothed, and the lack of sleep had caught up with her. But he could see it in her eyes, the bleak misery in her gaze the next morning. They did their best to keep busy - games, outings to the park, even going so far as to see a musical one of Marc’s coworkers said his daughter enjoyed - but none of it helped her sleep at night.

And then, there were the nightmares.

Horrible, awful dreams. Borne of anxiety and lack of sleep, she'd wake screaming - crying out, for her, was akin to the average child's scream - and unable to speak of whatever it was she'd seen that caused her to react this way. She'd be half-awake, wailing into his chest, fists clenching his nightshirt so tightly he thought her fingernails would leave holes.

One particularly brutal night, he'd come down the hall at a tear when he'd heard her yell only to find her curled into the smallest ball she could make herself on the bed, sobbing forlornly, “I want my Daddy.”

“I'm here, baby,” Marc replied, ignoring the fluttery feeling in his chest. “I'm here.”

Suraya's eyes flashed open, earth-brown glassy irises blown wide with surprise. She was crying in her sleep, he realized. His poor little girl. Her face crumpled, brows knitting together as she sat up and repeated, “I want Dev. I want my Daddy,” before dissolving into a fit.

She'd repeated it over and over, until she’d fallen asleep against her will, Marc rocking her and trying not to let her notice how much she was affecting him. He could only be so strong. Even though he’d known that Suraya would have it tough because she’d really taken a shining to Devrim, it still hurt like hell to hold her in his arms and listen to her cry for his husband. Like… like he wasn’t good enough.

Marc squashed down that line of thought. He knew she loved them both. Maybe not quite the same, and to quantify a child’s love was a difficult thing, especially one as withdrawn as Suraya, but she did love him. It was why she refused to let him lay her back down and tuck her in, locking her arms around his neck and begging him to stay with her.

And Devrim, poor Devrim, hundreds of miles away from the City, doing his duty, would be absolutely utterly wrecked when he found out about this. Suraya was his pride and joy. To find out just how bad this had impacted her would break his heart. Marc sighed. They’d signed up for this, and they’d never want it any other way. Even the difficult bits.

His perseverance paid off days later, when a small hand patted his cheek in the middle of the night. “Marc,” She stage whispered, followed by, “D-dad?” Her voice was tumultuous and quiet all the same. “I can’t sleep.”

He’d lifted the covers and let her slide in next to him, her stuffed bird flopping next to his head on the pillow. Where he had been groggy when she’d come in, he found himself wide awake when she pressed her ear to his chest, sighing and settling easy as she listened to his heartbeat. It was difficult to force himself to sleep after that, not wanting to miss a minute of this easy comfort that he’d been able to give to her - that she’d wanted to get from him. It wasn’t some crazy starry-eyed moment, but it was a big one all the same.

Suraya almost never came to either of them for comfort, rarely asked for anything they didn’t offer first. This was a huge step. A huge victory - for all of them - but most assuredly for the little girl drooling on his shirt, fingers wrapped around his collar who was finally allowing herself to seek what she needed (and they so desperately wished to give).

It’s a week or so later after dinner that the communications device that Marc and Dev so rarely use begins chiming with a video call. Marc shouts at her to come into the kitchen and join him, pulling her onto his lap as he accepts it.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Marc quips as Devrim’s face comes into view. He looks well, a little scruffier than usual, and maybe a bit tired, but the glow in his eyes is warmer than usual. “We’ve been waiting all day for your call.” Suraya nods, cheeks staining pink.

“Hello, loves,” Dev says, and his voice is thick with emotion. “I trust you’ve been well?”

“Of course,” Marc replies easily. “Haven’t we?”

Suraya nods, little eyes still focused on the screen, hands clutching to the edge of the table. “Yeah,” She agrees. Marc thinks she’d hug the screen if he’d let her take the tablet.

“We’ve just finished up,” Dev informs them. “It’ll be another four days, but we should be home in time for the weekend.” Suraya gasps and looks at Marc, who smiles at her.

“That sounds lovely. You’ve been missed.” Suraya leans back against Marc, who wraps an arm around her middle to keep her steady while he fills Dev in on mundane things he’s missed - news, developments at work, and Suraya’s grades in school.

“What say you?” Devrim says, regarding her fondly when they’ve carried on without her long enough. “You’ve been behaving for Marc, yes?”

“Trying to,” Suraya responds. “We saw a musical,” She offers bashfully.

“Did you now?” The sniper leans forward, eyes sparkling, encouraging her to continue. She tells him she liked the music and the costumes, and gives him a very simple explanation of the story. Marc’s lips pull into a small little smile watching his husband indulge her, coax details out of her in his expert way. They carry on for a short while - he won’t have much more time to talk before the next member of his squad will want a turn to call home.

“Alright,” Marc says, when he hears the voices in the background get a bit more urgent. “We won’t keep you. We’ll see you this weekend, darling.”

“I love and miss you both,” Devrim replies. “I’ll see you soon.” He doesn’t miss the look of terror on Suraya’s face or how she bites her lower lip. “Chin up, my dear. Only a few more days.”

“We love you, too,” Marc tells him. Their eyes soften in silent regard, communicating in a way that doesn’t need words.

He’s about to reach for the end call toggle when Suraya blurts, “I miss you, Daddy!”

It’s enough to make Marc’s hand drop short of hitting the disconnect. She’s looking away, cheeks hot and flushed, bashful as ever. Marc can’t help but smile Dev’s wide-eyed look of surprise. “Suraya,” The militiaman calls. Marc can hear how choked up he is, can see the tremor of his lower lip. “My darling girl,” He says. “I miss you more than words could ever say. I’ll be home soon.”

She looks at his face on the screen and nods, scoots down off Marc’s lap a second later. Marc’s gotten better about being able to hear her move through the house, knows she’s gone up to her room.

Marc shifts his head a little in a half-shrug as Dev breathes out a shaky exhale, wipes at his eyes. “How’s it feel, Daddy?”

“I cannot wait to come home to you both,” He says, and it’s never sounded more true. “Did you know she’d...” He clears his throat unable to continue. Marc chuckles softly.

“She might have asked if you’d mind.”

“I-” He laughs, giddy and overwhelmed.

“Pull yourself together, darling, the whole squad’s going to see you crying.”

“They can piss off,” He barks hoarsely. “I’ll bawl if I please. Our daughter-” Devrim shakes his head, looking so unbelievably pleased. “She’s perfect. I love her. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Marc tips his chin up. “Go on then, brag to the them. I know you want to.”

Devrim smirks. “Right you are. I’ll be home soon.”

“We’ll be waiting,” Marc says before they disconnect, “Daddy.”

Marc is willing to bet his husband will still be grinning from ear to ear when they pick him up at the end of the week. But until then, he’s got a little girl to give a bath and a bedtime story to read. Such is the life of a dad.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

JUST AS HOUSES ALL OVER AMERICA ARE FULL OF CHAIRS THAT ARE, WITHOUT THE OWNERS EVEN KNOWING IT, NTH-DEGREE IMITATIONS OF THE ATTITUDES OF PEOPLE WHO'VE DONE GREAT THINGS

One of the most powerful of those was the existence of channels. Is there some test you can use is: always produce. If there's something people still won't do, it stops being a self-indulgent choice, like buying expensive office furniture.1 But I tried living in Florence when I was talking about how investors are reluctant to put money into startups in bad markets, even though that's the time they happen, using the state of the economy doesn't matter much either way.2 It's not rapid prototyping for business models though it can be, but apparently not in the startup world. Is the existence of English majors, and therefore jobs teaching them, that calls into being all those thousands of dreary papers about gender and identity in the novels of Conrad. But it would require a great moral effort; it would mean staring failure in the eye every day for years. We're starting to move from social lies to real lies.

I don't think the bank manager really did. It's also more dangerous. Pretty soon you'll start noticing what makes the preceding paragraph true is that it's slow and uncertain. When Microsoft and Apple were founded.3 There's an A List of people who will later do great things, you'd be able to benefit from it, because a toll has to be is a test. In practice they spend a lot of pro-union readers, the first paragraph sounds like the sort of thing a right-wing radio talk show host would say to stir up his followers.4 What good does it do me to know that my programmers would be more productive working at home on their own projects? But it doesn't matter much either way. As written, it tends to offend people who like unions, because it seems sympathetic to their cause.

If employees have to be made to work on. What matters in Silicon Valley is how much effect you have on the world. At best you may have a couple internships, but not, probably, to music. The better you understand them the better the odds of doing that. If the world had a single, autocratic government, the labels and studios could buy laws making the definition of property be whatever they wanted. It happens naturally to anyone who does good work.5 It's an exciting place. I hear the RIAA and MPAA would make us breathe through tubes down here too, even though we no longer needed to. You have two choices: give it away and make money from it indirectly, or find ways to embody it in things people will pay for.

It has always mattered for women, but in the late 90s said the worst thing about living there was the low quality of the eavesdropping.6 That's what all publishing used to be like. Plenty of things we now consider prestigious were anything but at first. But I have a legitimate reason for doing this. Customers are used to being maltreated. For example, reading and experience are usually compiled at the time they happen, using the state of the economy. That's a separate question. At the moment, even the smartest students leave school thinking they have to get a job.7 Initially you have to show off with your body instead.8 The message Berkeley sends is: you should make more money. That's the reason to launch fast is not so much that there was a university nearby. Unproductive pleasures pall eventually.

Nor is there anything new, except the names and places, in most news about things going wrong. It would have been on the list 100 years ago. Whoever controls the device sets the terms. If they accepted it, it wouldn't be read by anyone for months, and in the meantime I'd have to fight word-by-word to save it from being mangled by some twenty five year old copy editor.9 They have an answer, certainly, but as a predictor of success it's rounding error compared to the founders. You can't blame kids for thinking I am not like these people; I am not suited to this world.10 This suggests an answer to a question people in New York and the Bay area are second class citizens—till they start hedge funds or startups respectively. Most people who did great things were clumped together in a few places where that sort of thing a right-wing radio talk show host would say to stir up his followers. On the blunderometer, this episode ranks with IBM accepting a non-exclusive license for DOS. But those are usually free. Ten years ago there seemed a real danger Microsoft would extend its monopoly to servers. They work odd hours, wearing the most casual of clothing.

Technology trains leave the station at regular intervals. The organic route is more common. The basic idea behind office hours is that if you had enough strength of mind to do great work have to live in a great city.11 The problem is the same they face in operating systems: they can't pay people enough to build something better than a group of inspired hackers will build for free. Everyone knows that these little social lies aren't meant to be taken literally, just as, occasionally, playing wasn't—for example, set prices based on the qualities of the founders. How lucky that someone so powerful is so benevolent. Most people fail.12 At one extreme is the day job, where you work regular hours at one job to make a few people in a position to do that.13 I better not start a startup now, because the economy is better before taking the leap? I'm not going to try. The reason these conventions are more dangerous is that they interact with the ideas.

If I had a copy of the New York Times. Teachers in particular all seemed to believe implicitly that work was not fun. Everyone knows that these little social lies aren't meant to be taken literally, just as we were designed to eat a certain amount of fiber, and we feel bad if you haven't succeeded yet. The crazy legal measures that the labels and studios have put themselves in the position of the food shop.14 But this time something new happened. And so the average person expressing his opinions in a bar sounds like an idiot compared to a journalist writing about the subject.15 If you know you can love work, you're in the home stretch, and if you write about controversial topics you have to find the city where you feel at home to know what they want to do, but in most ambitious kids, ambition seems to precede anything specific to be ambitious about. The owner wanted the student to pay for the smells he was enjoying.16 But this is certainly not so with work.

Maybe I'm excessively attached to conciseness. When you talk about cities in the sense we are, what you're really talking about is collections of people, so you could use the two ideas interchangeably. Offer surprisingly good customer service. You should be hipper. The record labels and movie studios used to distribute what they made like air shipped through tubes on a moon base where we had to buy air by the liter. You have to like what you do? When I say business can learn about new conditions the same way I write essays, making pass after pass looking for anything I can cut. This is easy advice to give.17 When an investor maltreats a founder now, it gets out. That may be the greatest effect, in the most literal sense, not news: there is nothing new in it.

Notes

You're too early if it's dismissed, it's probably a bad deal.

Without visual cues e. In general, spams are more likely to have done all they demand from art as stuff.

Geoff Ralston reports that one of them. College English 28 1966-67, pp. Auto-retrieving filters will have to do better, because you couldn't possibly stream it from a few critical technical secrets.

And while we might think it might make them less vulnerable to gaming, because people would be investors who say no for introductions to philosophy now take the hit.

But let someone else. When an investor makes you much more analytical style of thinking. They would have been about 2, etc, and outliers are disproportionately likely to resort to expedients like selling autographed copies, or at least accepted additions to the customer: you post a sign in a world in verse, it would literally take forever to raise five million dollars in liquid assets are assumed to be employees, with identifying details changed. On their job listing page, they still probably won't invest.

The Harmless People and The CRM114 Discriminator.

After a while to avoid sticking. There is of course finding words this way that makes the business for 16,000 sestertii, for example, if you aren't embarrassed by what you've done than where you go to die from releasing something full of bugs, and Foley Hoag. Even the desire to do that.

99, and each night to make the police treat people more equitably. That wouldn't work for us to Steve Huffman and Alexis Ohanian, both of which he can be and still provide a better user experience. This is actually from the truth to say that intelligence is the least VC-like.

I quote a number here only to buy your kids' way into top colleges by sending them to private schools that in the belief that they'll only invest contingently on other sites.

According to Zagat's there are certain qualities that help in deciding what to think about so-called lifestyle business, A. And frankly even these companies wish they weren't, as I know of a refrigerator, but this would be at a friend's house for the firm in the production of high quality. This is almost always bullshit.

5 to 2 seconds. If we had, we'd have understood users a lot about how things are going well, but half comes from a technology startup takes some amount of damage to the ideal of a lumbar disc herniations, but it might help to be started in 1975, said the things you want to pound that message home. The markets seem to be a predictor of high quality. Digg's is the kind that evolves into Facebook isn't merely a subset of Facebook; the creation of wealth for society.

But which of them is a sufficiently identifiable style, you usually have to do better. One reason I stuck with such energy that he transformed the field they describe. Or you make something hackers use. He had such a baleful stare as they are themselves typical users.

Unfortunately, making physically nice books will only do convertible debt, but it might even be symbiotic, because the test for what gets included in shows is basically a replacement mall for mallrats.

I think lack of movement between companies was as late as 1984. Greek philosophers before Plato wrote in order to win. You could feel like a VC who read this essay wrote: After the war on drugs show, bans often do more than the others.

At some point, when politicians tried to pay out their earnings in dividends, and many of the junk bond business by doing a small percentage of startups that get funded this way that weren't visible in the Valley itself, not because Delicious users are not all of us in the preceding period that caused many companies that can't reasonably expect to make the people who said they wanted to. But although I started using it, and all those 20 people at once, and for recent art that does. But it isn't critical to do it all yourself. My first job was scooping ice cream in the mid 1980s.

Some government agencies run venture funding groups, you have to disclose the threat to potential investors are just not super thoughtful for the desperate and the Origins of Europe, Cornell University Press, 1983. 66, while she likes getting attention in the 1980s was enabled by a combination of circumstances: court decisions striking down state anti-dilution provisions also protect you against tricks like a little too narrow than to confuse everyone with a screw top would have undesirable side effects. Living on instant ramen would be unfortunate.

To say nothing of the kleptocracies that formerly dominated all the red counties. I made because the remedy was to become one of the paths people take through life, the approval of an email being spam.

Thanks to Jessica Livingston, Jeff Weiner, Sarah Harlin, Geoff Ralston, Kevin Systrom, Aaron Iba, and Sam Altman for their feedback on these thoughts.

[themusicjerk]

Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band - Trout Mask Replica

I was stopped once again on my way to Travis’ house to return his Sex Pistols CD. At this rate, I doubt he’ll ever get it back. He should be thanking me. My friend April saw that I was feeling pretty beaten up, and asked me what the matter was. “A Tribe Called Quest,” I told her. “They’re awful. It’s the same thing over and over again for an entire hour. And don’t get me started on the Sex Pistols.” She was surprised that I was even listening to music - me, the Music Jerk, who only knows three songs and hates all of them, and she said that if I wanted music that wasn’t afraid to try new things and go off the beaten path, I should listen to Trout Mask Replica.

I’m a little more willing to trust April, being of the fairer sex, after all. Perhaps listening to this CD will finally convince me that good music is out there. From my research, it seems that Captain Beefheart, Drumbo, Antennae Jimmy Semens, Zoot Horn Rollo, Rockette Morton, and The Mascara Snake got together because of their undeniable rock star names, and Beefheart locked them all in a mansion until the album was absolutely perfect. “Perfect,” “new,” “good,” I have high hopes for this record. April wouldn’t even tell me what genre it was. So here goes nothing.

...

.........

......

.................

What in God’s good name is this garbage?????

So the first track on this album is called “Frownland” which seems to be exactly where I am being transported as I listen to this. Beefheart’s scratchy, off-key pseudoblues singing is a vain attempt to add melody or order to what I can only describe as a cat walking across a synthesizer and a guitar falling down stairs. As soon as “Frownland” ends, Beefheart begins sing “The Dust Blows Forward ‘n the Dust Blows Back,” without any support whatsoever from his Magic Band. Perhaps they all died in the great massacre that was “Frownland.”

I’ve listened to bad music before, but this is insulting. Dom and Travis at least had the good sense to give me CDs that I didn’t immediately recognize as instruments of torture. This is like a conversation with a homeless person that you didn’t know you were starting but that now you can’t escape from.

Off-beat drums and dissonant guitars return as Beefheart attempts to sing “Dachau Blues.” I say ‘attempt’ because the melody and rhythm are all over the place, and I cannot believe that anyone was locked anywhere in an attempt to make this perfect, unless of course they were so malnourished and traumatized by the whole experience that they forgot their original point. Then again, I would think trying to make good music would be akin to spinning gold from straw. The middle of this song has what sounds like the humming of an electromagnet, which I can only imagine is another way in which Beefheart is torturing his band.

Their tortured screams can be heard in “Ella Guru,” in fact even being used as what I can only suppose is supposed to be the chorus of said song. The scary bit is that I’m only seven minutes into this CD and there’s two of them. That’s right, April gave me this torture device and it comes with two discs. It will be a chore and a nightmare to try to even put the second disc in the player, but I will hold out hope that something here pulls back, says “haha gotcha,” and actually lays off my eardrums.

The squealing of elephants and deflated balloons that is “Hair Pie: Bake 1″ is not that, though. “Hair Pie: Bake 1″ is about the exact opposite of everything that a theoretical good music should be. Imagine you’re at the pier, and you hear the foghorn of a ship, but there is a booger caught in the horn and so the foghorn is whistling in and out of its tone. That’s “Hair Pie.” Halfway through, guitar and drums come in as if to try and convince me that this “song” has rhythm, but neither the guitar nor the drums are playing in time with each other. The best thing I can say about this “song” is that at least Beefheart isn’t trying to sing anymore.

Then, there’s about a minute of some guy rambling about an octafish, whatever that is. Dead air, um, dead air. This gives way to “Moonlight on Vermont,” which is the closest thing to an actual song I’ve heard all day. The drums and guitar are actually playing the same rhythm (for the most part) but Beefheart’s incoherent screaming still grates the eardrums like nails on a chalkboard. The guitar meanders and seems to confuse trying to find the right note with artistry. 

“Gimme that old time religion,” Beefheart repeats over and over with no regard to meter or rhythm. I’m having flashbacks to Johnny Rotten’s “Holidays in the Sun,” which, with all due respect is better than anything else on this record.

“A squid eating dough in a polyethylene bag is fast and bulbous, you got me?”

No, Beefy, I don’t got you.

“Pachuco Cadaver” is somehow the most generic song I’ve ever heard, as it sounds like it was written in an elementary school music class. It also sounds like it was played by elementary schoolers, because despite its very basic chord progression, we’ve again returned to none of the instruments playing in time, and Beefheart has given up any attempt to make a melody as he now rants about everything and nothing all at once on top of instruments playing whenever they feel like.

Oh goodness, they have somehow managed to combine saxophones with geese, my two least favorite noises in the world. Next time a fascist regime seeks to take over the world, they should hire these guys as interrogators. I would talk so fast.

To April’s credit, this is unlike anything I’d ever heard. At this point, though, I’m no longer surprised by it. I’m just waiting for it to be over. There is nothing here that could be construed as pleasant or exciting. To call it listenable is an overstatement.

“Oh lady look up in time, oh lady look out of love And you should have us all or you should have us fall”

My favorite bits, if favorite is even the right word to use, are when it sounds like he’s finally shutting up, like at the end of “Bills Corpse,” but the disorganized alarm tones of “Sweet Sweet Bulbs” prove that he’s not done yet.

“Neon Meate Dreams Of A Octafish” makes about as much sense as the title does. Beefy has now taken a step further away from melody. Now, he is literally just shouting gibberish in my ear while the guitar and drums do their own independent things. This is what it would sound like if Jack Torrance made a record. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. We’ve brought back the elephants. Is there no end to this torture?

“China Pig” sounds like it was recorded from a bathroom. Even the recording engineer couldn’t stomach this and had to retreat and record from a distance. Maybe this album would sound better if I retreated and listened from a distance, by which I mean, put the album to continue playing in my room while I run as far away as possible and disassociate myself with my exfriend April.

Maybe that’s a little harsh, but if April, or Travis, or Dom, or any of you had my best interests at heart, you would not be torturing me like this. I’m not a big sports guy, but I “get” sports. I see the appeal of sports. It’s competition, it’s hometown pride, it’s a way for local underdogs to become massive heroes, and it’s exciting to see how it plays out. If music is just people angrily shouting over people who don’t know how to play instruments, like everything I’ve been listening to over the last few days, then I must confess, I don’t “get” music. I was sort of hoping, honestly, that this project would open my eyes, but it really hasn’t. It’s just confirmed what I already knew.

Oh, “My Human Gets Me Blues.” I guess the engineer is out of the bathroom. Let’s see, what can I say about this? Uh. It has no melody and I don’t know what the guitar and drums are trying to do. I could probably fake my way through the rest of this album just saying that about every song. But maybe, I’ll suffer whatever aneurysm possessed the band to record this album later on and suddenly I’ll become a music fan.

“Dali’s Car” is a guitar solo, which is good, because it means that there are no drums or vocals for the guitar to be playing out of time with. Though, I should clarify: “Dali’s Car” is not a guitar solo which is good. Commas are important. It, like everything else on the record, seems to be dissonant chords and random notes at random times. And that’s the first disc.

It didn’t even end. The randomness of the notes means that the last note on the first disc sounds like the middle of a phrase. I just... I have to listen to the second disc. I need to know *what* April could possibly hear in this. Give me a minute.

First disc reflections: It’s awful. This is what schizophrenia must feel like. It should be illegal to call this music. This makes the Sex Pistols look like talented men, and A Tribe Called Quest poetic. Is that what music is? Listening to music so bad that you can apologize for music that is less bad? Seems like a situation with no winners. Is the only way to win to not play the game? And yet I’ve committed to this, and the last note of “Dali’s Car” has not given me any sort of satisfactory resolution. Here I go. Disc two. Wish me luck.

“Hair Pie: Bake 2???” Was the first one not bad enough??? At least this one doesn’t have so many elephants and deflated balloons. Actually, this one doesn’t sound too bad. I think it’s happening. The aneurysm is happening. Maybe I need to go run laps or something. Focus. Wow. That jarring key change just knocked me out of whatever hypnotic trance they just placed on me. Make no mistake: this is bad. It is clear and evident that the band have no idea what they are doing.

If I hear the phrase “fast and bulbous” one more time I swear I’m going to start saying it too.  When a hostage or prisoner begins to develop a friendly relationship with their kidnapper, that is called Stockholm Syndrome, which seems to be developing in my brain in a “fast and bulbous” manner. I did not ask to be here, but here I am, stuck.  

Oh my goodness. “Pena” is the Spanish word for “pain” in the metaphorical “pain-in-the-neck” sort of way. Well, that’s what the song “Pena,” is. Gone is any possible inkling that this music might be good. The tortured squealing of whoever-this-is has returned me exactly to where I was on the first disc. It’s like they knew that prisoners become numbed to torture, so they’re still thinking of new ways to break me.

Beefheart singing “Well” sounds like a song a prisoner might sing - sung by my jailer, it is both painfully ironic and borderline abusive. 

“Thick black felt birds a-flying With capes of solid chrome With feathers of solid chrome And beaks of solid bone,”

Did these words mean anything when Beefy wrote them or were they always word salad?

“When Big Joan Sets Up” is the culmination of everything terrible about the album, with offbeat instrumentals and an extended goosaphone solo. I’m three minutes into this song and it sounds like the guitarist is just trying to end it already, but the bassist wants to keep playing for some reason. The geese are getting angry. I don’t like angry geese.

“Is she a boy?” No. Next question.

“What do you run on, Rocket Morton?” “I run on beans. I run on LASER beans.”

Sure you do.

I will not lie, the bassist on “Fallin’ Ditch” is actually making an effort to play something with a melody. If only the guitarist, drummer, and singer were on the same page. As it stands now, we have a decent bass line - not great, but something you might hear on People’s Instinctive Rhythms and the Paths of Melody - now being tortured by the strangling mess that is the rest of this album’s production.

“Sugar ‘n Spikes” again features an attempt at a hook. I think I know what Beefy’s game is, and why April thinks this is a good album. The first disc is so bad that no matter what they throw at me in the second half, it has to sound better by comparison. “Big Joan” and “Pena” notwithstanding, I must admit that I am much happier than I was half an hour ago. 

But then I think about listening to “Ant Man Bee” on purpose. I think if I ever heard this by itself, on its own accord, I would have post-war flashbacks. The other albums I’ve listened to were bad, this is traumatic. This upsets my brain chemistry. When this album ends and I can see the world in color again, I’ll wonder how I ever smiled listening to the insane ramblings of a man with a terrible name. But even the saxophone has started to become a familiar edge to hang onto for me. Oh, saxophone that sounds like a deflated balloon, we’ve been through so much, you and I. Remember that time on “Hair Pie (Bake 1)” when you were the worst thing ever? Good times, good times.

If I listen to “Orange Claw Hammer,” enough, my vocabulary will become fast and bulbous. Havin’ t’ shine a wallet f’r a hamm’r, ‘llbe my career. Man with olives f’r eyes off’rs me a chicken f’r my troubles, but th’ chicken won’ stop singin’.

Hold on, you mean to say you can’t even pronounce the word “licorice?” No, no, no. I’ve still got one foot in reality, and I will stand my ground. I’ll not be pulled into the vortex that is the gibberish dream of Captain Beefheart. Remember “The Dust Blows Forward ‘n The Dust Blows Back” when this was the worst thing ever? Good times, good times.

No! Not good times. I will not have this aneurysm. Not today. Objectively, there is nothing good about any of this. I should never have started calling him “Beefy.” That’s where this all started. There is no difference between “Wild Life” and “Frownland” except that “Wild Life” has more geese. But it’s become familiar, now. I’ve been trapped here, listening to Trout Mask Replica for so long that it has become the only life I’ve ever known.

You know what, besides Captain Beefheart, is fast and bulbous? Cancerous tumors. That’s the best comparison.

“She’s Too Much For My Mirror,” is introduced as ‘famous,’ because at this point, had I not one foot in reality, I might actually believe that this song is well-known, well-liked, or well, anything. If April is trying to brainwash me, or hypnotize me, or I don’t know what, I swear to Beefy that I will put her in a chokehold and make her listen to an entire CD of me reciting Mad Libs over a Casio keyboard drum loop because only then will she understand the psychological torment that this album is putting on me.

hobo chang ba hobo chang ba hobo chang ba hobo chang ba hobo chang ba

“it’s the blimp, Frank! it’s the blimp!” Time is nothing. My room is nothing. There is no anything. All there is a trout, a mask, a replica, and a blimp. A mothership.

“Steal Softly thru Snow” and “Old Fart At Play” are the same sort of thing. It’s been almost eighty minutes and now I am craving to hear Beefheart talk about farts because it is the only remote pleasure I know in this torture chamber that is Trout Mask replica. When I am finally freed from this war camp, I will need to be entirely reeducated on proper human etiquette and civilization. How April manages to uphold herself as a functioning human being after listening to this, I don’t know.

The only outcome I can imagine where this album does not cause a human to become a stark raving lunatic is one in which the hypnotic spell of the goosaphone does not affect the brain. And if the brain is not affected, how anyone could enjoy or recommend this advanced instrument of psychological warfare is beyond me.

“Veteran’s Day Poppy” slowly decays into a complete wall of noise, before the guitar and drums slow down, and then, if we weren’t hypnotized yet, play the same cacophonous riff over and over again, getting more and more aggressive until the end of the record. And just like that, it’s over. I’m done. I hear birds chirping outside my window.

Whew, boy. I don’t think April is getting this back. I think this is going straight into the shredder where it belongs.

Captain Beefheart died, tragically, in 2010. I’m gonna dig him up and kill him again. One death is not enough to suffer for this crime against humanity. While I’m out, I should probably give Travis his CD back, and apologize for the mean things I said about his music. I had no idea.

If you think music is good, send me music, and I will tell you why you are wrong!

[howterrifying]

+sherlolly because...what was said

I'm still working through my feelings from TFP and today's focus is that of the aftermath of Molly and Sherlock's phone call. Also, I wanted to play around abit with a line that had troubled me in the episode. I guess I wanted to comfort myself a little haha. If you've come to read it, thank you so much. :) xx

:: CONTAINS SERIES FOUR SPOILERS ::

Words  (also on FF.net)

It had been a week since the phone call. Molly had not been surprised at the silence after what had been an odd game of tug-of-war; a fight to see who could hold on to their veneer of protection just a little bit longer. Sherlock was not one to expose the contents of his heart, whatever those contents were, but neither was Molly. Sometimes, things were much better left unsaid, and Molly was a firm believer of that. 

So when her phone buzzed again on her kitchen countertop, Molly peered quizzically at it, wondering why it looked oddly like it was Mycroft calling. No number appeared, save for a mysterious dash. Molly sighed. It definitely was Mycroft. It had been years since she had seen something like that on her phone. Her hands were a little damp, for she had been drying her teacup when the call came. With her driest finger, she carefully tapped on the screen, accepting the call on speaker mode. “Hello? Is this— Molly Hooper?” came a voice Molly did not recognise. Molly paused, caught between ending the call or saying something in response. “My name—” This time the caller paused, as though unsure or nervous, even. For some reason, Molly decided that she had better put her teacup down. She had the strange suspicion the call was going to make her drop it. Having been involved in so many of Sherlock’s cases had heightened Molly’s sensitivities when things seemed amiss. Something certainly was amiss right now.   “My name,” the caller continued at last, “is Eurus.” The name did not register, and a small frown etched itself on Molly’s face. She tapped the speaker phone icon off and brought the device to her ears so that she could focus on the oddly soothing voice of this stranger. “This is Molly,” she replied at last. “I don’t know who you are, Eurus.” “It is nice to talk to you at last,” Eurus said, “I have— There are so many things, I have to say to you.” “Could you start by telling me who you are?” asked Molly. “I am someone— who has hurt you, Molly Hooper,” Eurus answered. “I was a little mad and angry at the time, and so I hurt you.” “I don’t know who you are…how could you possibly hurt me?” Molly responded with a puzzled laugh. “To be honest, I am still mad, but I am no longer angry,” Eurus continued, “And I should like to make amends.” Suddenly, the doorbell to Molly’s flat rung, causing the pathologist to quite nearly jump out of her skin. “Ah, I hear it. Amends.” said Eurus. “Is this…some sort of game?” asked Molly as she edged warily to her door. “Oh, no, Molly. Please, do not worry. The games are over. This— is recompense.” The doorbell rang again and this time, Molly heard a voice asking if anybody was home and announcing that he had a delivery. With a sharp inhale, Molly opened the door and saw a uniformed man standing there with a friendly smile on his face and a large envelope in his hands. She signed for it, he tipped his bright orange cap and turned to leave. Molly returned to her sitting room and sat herself on the sofa, studying the thick brown envelope.   “Aren’t you going to open it?” came Eurus' voice, startling Molly. “Is it from you?” asked Molly. “Yes, in a way,” answered Eurus, “I sent it on behalf of someone. Except he doesn’t know it yet.” “Who’s he?” questioned Molly, still keeping a wary eye on the envelope. “My brother,” answered Eurus. There seemed to be a smile embedded in her voice. “Your brother?” “Oh, forgive me,” said Eurus with a soft laugh, “I hadn’t introduced myself properly…” “Frankly, you haven’t at all—” “My name,” Eurus interjected, “is Eurus Holmes.” Holmes. The word echoed in Molly’s mind as she tried to place this third Holmes’ name with that of the only other two Holmes she knew. “I don’t understand,” Molly remarked quietly. “Who I am isn’t important…for the moment,” said Eurus, “But please, for the sake of a specific Holmes whom you do know, do please open the envelope.” Perhaps this was all Mycroft again. Some strange, elaborate scheme that he had concocted for Sherlock into which she had now become thrown. It was frustrating, but given his track record, Molly had always found it easy to trust Mycroft. So with a small leap of faith, she began tearing the envelope open. “Play it, Molly,” said Eurus. Out of the envelope slipped a single slim DVD case with disc inside of it. The disc was plain black and had no label nor anything written on it. “All right,” said Molly, popping the disc into her laptop that was on the coffee table. The moment Molly clicked on that small triangular play icon, the icon that signified the start of whatever contents the DVD contained, what ensued felt like a hurricane had torn through Molly’s ribcage. In the eight minutes and eleven seconds, Molly had heard the same voice of the woman she was currently on the phone with, and had seen everything that had taken place during that one particular phone call from a week before. She saw the stark cold room, no different from a morgue, that contained the three men; she saw the solitary coffin and watched the deductions made about it; and finally, Molly saw herself on a screen in the room that very afternoon she crushed lemon into her tea just moments before having a private truth squeezed out of her. “Who are you?” Molly whispered fiercely, “And why would you do that to Sherlock?” “I told you,” Eurus answered, her voice softening, “I was angry.” “Did Sherlock hurt you?” asked Molly, “That you would do this to him?” Eurus laughed softly in reply, infuriating Molly, but Molly knew to keep her cool. She waited patiently for the voice to explain itself; the voice which taunted the man she loved and in so doing destroyed everything and everyone. “He was right about you,” Eurus began, “When he comes to visit me, and he brings his violin, he plays for me. Then we play together. And then he talks to me. I didn’t talk at all at first, but now I do. And when we do, we often talk about you.” Molly tried to steady her breathing that had accelerated from anger, shutting her eyes as she pinched the bridge of her nose. There were pieces of this story missing and it made it difficult for Molly to follow exactly what Eurus was saying, but she persevered in her silence, waiting for more from Eurus. “He said you never talk about yourself,” continued Eurus, “That you never count yourself as anything. And you've just proven it, Molly. In spite of all that you’d just seen, my little game targetted at my brother that inadvertently targetted you, all you seem angry about is the fact that he was wounded.” Molly reopened her eyes as her mind now struggled to keep up with the deluge of information for which she had no frame of context. “How is this recompense?” whispered Molly, her jaw clenched. “Did you think they were real, Molly?” Eurus whispered back. “What were?” “My brother’s words. To you.” Molly turned her attention to the frozen scene on her laptop from where the video had stopped. Sherlock was collapsed on the ground with his back to the wall surrounded by what was left of the coffin - her coffin. “Does it matter?” asked Molly to Eurus, “It does now,” said Eurus, “It matters to me. I told you, I want to make amends.” “How is this— showing me all of this, making amends?” Molly exclaimed. There was a pause on the other side of the phone. Molly waited but all she could hear was Eurus let out a sigh. “Because I know my brother. And I know he wouldn’t have the slightest as to how to tell you that they were real,” explained Eurus. “So I decided to show it to you myself.” “I told you,” Molly said softly, “It doesn’t matter if—” “And I’m telling you,” interrupted Eurus, “That each of those three words was true. And meant entirely for you.” A silence fell between them as Molly searched herself for a response. “We were never going to say them anyway,” said Molly, at last, “So what does it matter, if they were true?” “Because words are only the beginning, Molly,” answered Eurus, “Once you say them, everything changes. Everything.” Molly kept her gaze on her laptop, focusing on the broken coffin, and then on the broken man sitting amongst its wreckage. “You couldn’t say it because it was true,” Eurus began gently, “But my brother, who would rather break every rule in his own book than see you in a coffin, said it because it was true.”   These words of Eurus needed no frame of context, for Molly had seen it now. “So, Molly, once you’ve calmed down and your thoughts have settled, you’ll need to do something for me. You’re not the only one I owe recompense to.” said Eurus. Again, a smile could be heard through her voice. “And what’s that?” Molly replied, clicking the little ‘x’ atop the video that closed its window. “My brother, Sherlock, would very much like if you’d return his call. Please.” Molly laughed. She had not heard from him since that one call. What was there to return? “What call?” asked Molly, shaking her head incredulously. “Oh, the one he’s making now, and leaving a message to because, as you and I both know, your phone's currently engaged.” Eurus answered casually, “Do get back to him, won’t you?” Before Molly could answer, there was a click and the line went dead. Eurus definitely was a Holmes sibling. She most certainly ended calls like the brothers did. The thought made Molly shake her head in disbelief as she chuckled softly to herself. Do get back to him, won’t you? Her mobile phone was warm in her hands after having been talking to Eurus for such a long time. Molly tossed it lightly from one palm to another, contemplating everything that had just transpired. She found herself automatically dialling to check for voice messages, and Eurus had not lied. The message had come in literally minutes ago. When the message ended, Molly sat very still as she quietly processed what he had said. It took a while but she eventually came to a decision. With her phone now firmly in both hands, Molly began to type. You know where to find me. — MH

[fieldsofplay]

Top Albums of 2017

20. Protomartyr – Relatives in Descent  

I put this album 20 for several reasons. One, it’s a great album. Two, they release these records every year and their inclusion is thus a little rote at this point, so it might as well just kick off the list as the official start to another year. Three, we can get politics out of the way at the outset. 2017. Woof. And we thought 2016 was bad. If any band is going to soundtrack the hellscape that is Amerikkka in 2017, it’s hard to do better than Detroit’s Protomartyr. No one is better at channeling our collective disillusionment with the political climate into raw power.

19. Lorde – Melodrama

I don’t know if I’m surprised by my embrace of this record or not. I’ll admit part of me found the idea of Lorde not all that interesting, and I never really bothered to listen to her first record. But as high culture and pop continue to draw ever closer to each other it would be foolish to ignore one of the true pop perfectionists while embracing the Beyonces and Kanyes with open arms. This album bangs. The beats are oddly reminiscent of late night Junior Boys vibes, with perfect pop sing-along’s about a night on the town laid infectiously over the top of those hypnotic beats. Whenever I hear “Homemade Dynamite” it takes days to get it out of my head (dy-dy-dy-dynomite).

18. Tyler, the Creator – Flower Boy

While many old acts dusted off their A-games and a few young guns broke on through, no artist this year was more surprising than Tyler. Long written off as a homophobic infantile flash in the pan, the least interesting member of a crew (Wolf Gang) that he single handedly launched, Tyler did a lot of growing up in 2017. Flower Boy is a testament to that growth. The hip-hop equivalent to former fellow crew member Frank Ocean’s Blond, Flower Boy is a kaleidoscopic trip through acid rap tinged with a hint of g-funk. While I never find personal politics compelling when it comes to artistic statements, the fact that the former gay-basher came out himself is important not for who he professes to sleep with, but for the giant emotional leap such an ideational 180 requires. Having come so far as an artist, I cannot wait to see where Tyler goes next.

17. TOPS – Sugar at the Gate

TOPS are perhaps the most precise band on this list. When left to my own devices I tend to gravitate to loose punk and dance music, and I am an avowed enemy of soft rock, but there is just something irresistible about this band. The whole thing never drifts out of a narrowly restrained emotional range, and yet at the same time remains impeccably locked-in, like a krautrock metronome played on a chintzy synthesizer. There’s a song on this record called “Dayglow Bimbo”; that’s all you really need to know.

16. Sza – Ctrl

With the exception of Kendrick I’m not sure who cast a wider cultural net this year, Lorde or Sza? Ctrl is one of those albums that seemed to cross all scene boundaries, if it were still the 1990s it’d be one of those cd’s that was in everyone’s car (like Californication or Sublime). Ctrl is an R&B record that is simultaneously chill and bumping. Sza sings, not to the audience, but as if she’s alone in her apartment, letting her emotions out to the music playing on the radio in the background.  

15. Run the Jewels – RTJ3

Run the Jewels appear to be the victims of their own success. After two universally revered albums of mic passing mc showdowns that also managed to be locked-into their historical moment, album three was enjoyed and largely forgotten as more of the same. Perhaps this is my contrarian nature shining through, but I honestly like RTJ3 more than RTJ2, an album many embraced as the most important album the year it came out. Killer Mike and EL-P remain in top form, and the group is probably more relevant than they’ve ever been. “Call Ticketron” is still my go-to Friday afternoon ducking out of work early jam.

14. Kevin Morby – City Music

Like Protomartyr, Kevin Morby just puts out incredible record after incredible record, literally every year. For my tastes Singing Saw remains his finest work, but City Music has really grown on me over the course of the year. I caught him at the Turf Club and these songs really come alive in person. This album is more restrained than his previous output, but there is a certain beauty in its restraint. This album reminds me of another exquisite work of countrified city music, Bright Eyes’ I’m Wide Awake its Morning. The perfect album for wandering around city streets at night, wondering what it all means.

13. Brockhampton – Saturation II  

I first learned about Brockhampton while waiting for my to-go order sitting at the counter at World Street Kitchen. Some of the local youths were talking about the new Jay-Z record so I decided to wade into the fray, throwing my hat squarely in the ‘I don’t really care about Jay-Z anymore’ ring. One of the youths responded he was too busy listening to this new collective of kids out in LA that were like a westcoast Wu-Tang Clan to bother with Jay-Z. Well, my interest was certainly peaked, and Saturation II did not disappoint. The album bristles with energy as the mic moves from mc to mc, all of whose individual styles vary but still manage to cohere into a definitive whole (is it clear I still haven’t figured out who is who in this crew?). While none of the sounds are new, Saturation II is definitely the sound of the future of hip-hop.

12. Vagabon – Infinite Worlds

This album checks all my boxes. Loud guitars. Thudding drums with liberal use of the cymbals. Quirky narrative lyrics. Sounds like it was recorded live to tape in someone’s backroom. (And its even got a super hazy synth song with a French title.) The chorus of the first track is “You’re a shark that hates everything.” A more aggressive Pavement. A less sad Bedhead. Bonus points for being vaguely from Brooklyn and having a great song called “Minneapolis.”

11. Kamasi Washington – Harmony of Difference

Following the three-disc sprawl of the aptly titled The Epic with a 6 song E.P. (clocking in at a very economical 32 minutes) felt slightly underwhelming at first. We are used to having so much Kamasi, it was something you could get lost in, like a Russian novel. However, while Kamasi certainly excels on the astral plane, this set benefits from concision. It’s one thing to write a novel and another to pen a short story. Kamasi is able to use his saxophone to portray both, sometimes within the same song –the opener “Desire” is both a mellow group cut and clarion solo, all within just 4 and a ½ minutes.

10.  John Maus – Screen Memories

Of all the people on this list, John Maus is definitely the weirdest. In all honesty, his music sounds like it was made by Ross Geller, with one notable exception, it’s really fucking good. Often linked with Ariel Pink, I’ve honestly never really found them comparable. I find Pink’s music vapid and uninteresting, whereas Maus’ synth tracks are full of such life and oddness, all while remaining compellingly melodic. His baritone singing is less a vocal performance and more another layer of tone piled into the composition. Maus does more with stark base, futuristic (i.e. 1980s) synths, and rudimentary drum machines than others do with entire symphonies.

9. The War on Drugs – A Deeper Understanding

I honestly didn’t think 2017 was as good a year for music as some of its recent predecessors, but then I realized this album is number 9 on my list and I had to come to terms with the fact that the peaks of this year are incredibly high. A few years back Lost in the Dream was my number one album of the year, and I like A Deeper Understanding just as much. Over the years Adam Granduciel has come to perfect a sound obviously indebted to a few key influences, and yet a sound somehow entirely his own. Even though he’s a Philadelphia musician, Granduciel has somehow come to encapsulate the ennui of the late capitalist American middle west. These songs are haunting, filled with the charged emptiness of ambient music. But they are also filled with giant guitar solos that would put Jeff Tweedy to shame. I’ve seen this band several times dating all the way back to 2008. When I saw them this fall they were bonafide rock stars. I imagine this is what it must have been like to see Neil Young circa On the Beach. It was a treat.

8. Wolf Parade – Cry Cry Cry

Dear America, what gives? How come no one seems to love this record? Everyone seems to like it, but no one seems to love it. This album is great, and I won’t accept anything less. A band cursed by a universally revered debut and multiple equally successful sideprojects that split the votes of the true believers, Wolf Parade have somehow managed to be critical darlings, popular, and yet somehow are also underrated. Cry Cry Cry is to my ear arguably their second best album, which isn’t to say I was disheartened with Mt. Zoomer or Expo ’86. The new record has something for every member of the Wolf Parade expanded universe, the propulsive Dan fist-pumper (“Artificial Life” “You’re Dreaming”), the moody opener (“Lazarus Online”), and most importantly, the sprawling Spencer epic (“Baby Blue”). Wolf Parade were another bygone band I was fortunate enough to see in 2017. It was arguably the best show of the entire lot, and somehow it wasn’t a sellout. What gives, America?  

7. Strange Ranger – Daymoon

Daymoon is my cause célèbre of 2017. Largely overlooked by the press, this is the most perfect fall album I’ve heard in years. It creaks. It echoes. It’s full of odd flourishes. “Haunting” is an adjective I feel is mostly misapplied but fits this album like a glove. I don’t know if there is actually a theremin on this record (or a singing saw) but it always feels like one is humming softly in the background. If you loved the Microphones’ The Glow, Pt II, early Modest Mouse, or Neutral Milk Hotel give this album a spin when you feel like taking a long walk in a golden post-harvest field, or at least feel like doing so in your mind.

6. Slowdive– Slowdive

This album has no business being anywhere near as amazing as it is. While Souvlaki remains one of my all time favorite records, it was always the exception, not the rule. As I learned from the great Pitchfork documentary, one of the reasons Souvlaki was so distinct, besides the inclusion of personal hero Brian Eno of course, is that the two front people in the band were in the process of breaking up while making that record. 1995’s Pygmalion was essentially an (uninteresting) solo affair, and that was it, Slowdive faded along with the shoegaze movement of which they were a central figure. Suddenly here we are in 2017, the band is inexplicably back, and almost more amazing is just how great a record Slowdive is. It’s like the follow up to Souvlaki was frozen in carbonite (timely reference!) and perfectly preserved so it could be unveiled 25 years in the future. If “Slomo” isn’t 2017’s best song, it’s certainly its most beautiful.

5. Daniele Luppi & Parquet Courts – Milano

To loosely paraphrase Ferris Bueller, I’ve never been to Milan, I’m not Milanese, what do I care about an album devoted to the city put together by an Italian composer I don’t know? Well, collaborating with Parquet Courts and Karen O is certainly an irresistible start. On paper the whole thing sounds like a mess, and yet the finished product is a taught 9 tracks that breezes by in 30 minutes like an alfa romeo. While I might not know anything about Milan, especially Milan in the 80s, somehow this album manages to evoke that place, or at least an idea of that place. A large part of this has to do with the arty coolness Parquet Courts have always exuded. They can emblematize any hip scene, be it Ridgewood in the 2010s or Milan in the 1980s. They just have that wiry sound and jittery energy that calls to mind fashionable afterparties and mountains of cocaine. While I love both of Parquet Courts singers, I never would have imagined that Karen O is actually the perfect frontwoman for this band, sorta like Nico and the Velvet Underground. Here’s hoping the Courts enjoyed working with her more than Lou Reed did with the German chanteuse. Give “Flush” a listen, I guarantee you start strutting.

4. Vince Staples – Big Fish Theory

Every now and then there is an artist whose debut is an instant classic, and then somehow manages to grow even further on each subsequent release. For this current generation, besides Kanye, that person is Vince Staples. Summertime ’06 was a double disc perfect rendition of classic LA hip-hop that was also a sneaky great album to dance to. Big Fish Theory is possibly the most formally experimental hip-hop album I’ve ever heard. If you cut out the vocals, it’d be an avante guarde electronic dance album. Throw Vince’s perfect flow over the top, and you have a Frankenstein monster of hip-hop and dance music that somehow manages to be a seamless union of the two. I’m still mad at my friend Evelyn for skipping this at Shrizz’ wedding this past summer. The nerve of some people.

3. White Reaper – The World’s Best American Band

I sincerely hope you like Cheap Trick. And not ironically. Like, you actually really like Cheap Trick. If so, I’ll be goddamned if this isn’t a perfect album of fist-pumping arena rock made by a bunch of basement punks from Louisville. If you don’t like Cheap Trick, well then, you just might not get why this is so great. Every track is a perfect nugget of 70s style power pop with just enough of a hint of punk to make it somehow sound fresh. In a year when I saw most of my favorite bands make triumphant returns from the grave, seeing these guys blow the roof off the tiny 7th Street Entry was probably the most fun I’ve had straight up rocking out in some time. I’ve never owned a jean jacket in my life, but this album makes me want to buy one.

2. LCD Soundsystem – American Dream

Now I know I’m a hyperbolic person. Every bar is my “favorite,” every track is the “best,” but I’m being legit when I say LCD Soundsytem are the most important band of my lifetime. I bought the self-titled album at a CD store on State Street in Madison shortly before leaving town and moving to New York. Sound of Silver was the soundtrack of my 20s. By the time they broke up my 20s were over and all my friends started moving out of New York. If I came of age in the 70s this band would probably be Bowie or in the 80s it would have been New Order, but as someone who gradually became an adult during the late 00’s, this was the most important band, not only to me, but to most everyone I know. It was of course also crucial that they were the official band of Brooklyn. They were there, as the song goes, and so were we. I honestly never understood the overwrought handwringing that accompanied their return. Are you really going to be mad at having more LCD in your life just because they once told you “that’s it, it’s all over”? American Dream is just as good as anything they’ve ever put out. I’d put “Other Voices,” “Change Yr Mind,” and “Tonite” up there with the best songs they’ve ever penned. Getting to see them tour once again, with both old New York friends and new Minnesotans, in a new town, in a new phase of existence, was the cherry on top of the electro funk sundae.

1. Kendrick Lamar – Damn.

People call him King, and it is a worthy title. Throughout music history the truly all-time greats always had someone who was their dialectical opposite spur them on to greater accomplishments—Beatles and Stones, Michael and Prince, Pumpkins and Pavement (not that either would acknowledge the other)—and now we have two titans of hip-hop pushing each other in radically different directions. Kanye is the pop perfectionist, the Michael Jackson, the Paul McCartney, everything he touches turns to gold. Kendrick is the flawless technical savant, he is literally the best, no one is better. Pick your favorite MC from throughout hip-hop history, they all have their idiosyncrasies and particular strengths (Rahim has technical prowess, Andre has speed, Q-tip has an inimitably odd flow) somehow Kendrick is better at all of all those things than all of those legends. No one’s voice is more varied, no one is a better rhymer, and no one has ever matched rhyme to rhythm this side of Shakespeare (that’s not hyperbole, well maybe Frank O’Hara). Just listen to the subtle variations in “Lust” that somehow tell a person’s entire day, an entire lifestyle, in a sentence or two. It’s not just he’s the best at spitting lines, he also has the ability to intertwine those rhymes into infectious pop structures. Kendrick has released 3 albums that people are aware of (and 4 overall), and those three are all amongst the top albums of the decade. Each one overbrims with classic tunes. “Humble” was the song of the year before Damn. even dropped, and the rest of the album lived up to the hype of that single. I’m still not exactly sure what “If I gotta slap a pussy-ass ni***, I'ma make it look sexy” means, but goddamn if I don’t love it and still perfectly understand it. This record is so good it somehow makes U2 cool. In a year where everything seemed to go wrong, Damn. was there to remind us that there will always be beauty in the chaos, so long as you don’t forget to keep searching it out.

[skerbango-blog]

Making My Playlist: Don’t Touch That Dial

By Scripty.

The stalwart was the size of a kid’s shoebox.  Roughly seven inches high, four inches deep and eight inches across. The left half of it comprised the speaker, while the right side housed the on/off switch, volume & tone dials, a tuning dial and station maps.  The radio sat on the right of two twin shelves off the cabinetry above our kitchen sink.  The left shelf had a Mother Mary statue and whatever small plant my mother was over-watering at the time.  There may have been an ashtray or small Tupperware cup holding loose coins holding court with the doomed plant.

The radio was in our kitchen from at least the time I was born.  Recently, my dad claims he bought it at a Radio Shack in 1972.  For all my sisters and I know, it came from ether and just emerged on that shelf when the house was built by my grandfather and great-uncle.  I don’t even remember where it was plugged in.  When my folks moved in 1994, I presume the warhorse was left behind, becoming ubiquitous to the house like the coved ceilings or shaded porch.  The radio never teetered on that small shelf, or gave any sense of imbalance.  It was safe, reliable and absolutely unremarkable.   

Looking back, it was in fact an amazingly boring radio.  Boxy and uncool as a household electronic could be, its origin was probably like most of my parent’s belongings.  This normally meant it was either a garage sale find, or something given quite un-imaginatively but lovingly as a gift.

My best guess is this was a 1969 Realistic MTA-Model 11 AM/FM Radio.  I would not be surprised if somewhere, this very radio still worked, regardless of usage levels.  This device existed to do two things well.  The first was to work, day after day, year after year, decade after decade.  

The second was to work best in my mother’s ideal kitchen environment.  The radio was to play at a modest level.  Not too loud - heavens no.  In fact it was never to play loud.  But yet not too soft, as there were three children wearing out the yellow-orange tile linoleum kitchen pathway through the kitchen, between our backdoor and living room.  Not medium either – it was to be played a smidge below medium.   That was the volume and the volume was that.  My mother didn’t ask for much, but us not touching that radio was one of those items.

 This acute volume was necessary to my mother’s routine.  Daily she would be the first one to wake, then she’d get a teakettle of hot water boiling.  Two slices of toast would be topped, usually with butter but occasionally with some Smuckers jelly.  Coffee meant Maxwell House instant grounds, a modest teaspoon of sugar and enough milk to bring the drink a half-centimeter below the rim of her coffee cup.  

My father was a fireman, so his mornings were either spent rushing to the firestation, preparing to leave the firestation waiting for his replacement, or sleeping in from his constant workload.  So my mother and her routine set forth our mornings.  

Every morning she would read the vast sum of the Cleveland Plain Dealer, poring over the front section, the metro section – especially the obituaries, the sports and comics.  The order she read them varied, usually whatever looked bleakest captured her attention.  That might be a murder, the recent Cleveland sports atrocity or bad news for Judge Parker. Then she was off to make some lunches, race through getting herself ready and us kids prepped for school.  Sometimes there was a third slice of toast, or perhaps letting our dog out the backdoor.  

This routine took time.  Normally, she started around 5:45am - but often earlier.  Given these early hours and the house being a classic postwar bungalow – her discretion led to the radio’s volume being this modest level. She’d hear the top news and light rock, finding zen her before the day took shape.

My two older sisters shared the upstairs, while I was assigned the cozy bedroom between the main floor’s kitchen and bathroom.  Not only did this room sit as a breezeless hotbox in the warm months, it bracketed the two noisiest rooms of the house.  The smacking of the screen door (as my mom let our mutt Daisy out) was yet another noise that I remember serving as an unofficial alarm clock. What I mean is that there were many, many mornings that my mom and I shared a very early breakfast: her and I, two meager breakfasts, the morning paper and that radio.  Sometimes I’d share in the white toast but normally it was cereal and 2% for me.

That radio station would change every so often, if by often - we meant every other Olympics.  These channels would be of the Casey Kasem Top 40 variety, some soft light rock with some pop sensibility.  I was too young to know the world of more definitive rock was out there, but I wasn’t being denied content either.  As I knew it, the radio existed to play the likes of Billy Joel, Rod Stewart, Elton John, America, Fleetwood Mac, Eagles, along with the Bee Gees or even some Jim Croce or Dan Fogleberg.    

I was born right at our nation’s bicentennial, so these morning encounters became frequent in the early 1980s and continued for the next decade.  Some mornings few words would be exchanged, but it was not due to lack of love or warmth.  I respected her routine, and I was more than happy to scour the daily box scores of the sports page (Indians CF Brett Butler is among the AL’s top five in triples, and Harold Baines leads the majors in GWRBI!) or attempt to discern the JUMBLE answers before everyone else.  The sports page could disappear when my father’s Metamucil-fueled decampment necessitated, although he did settle for the crossword on many occasions. As I said, I was the youngest so it was best for me to embrace that morning détente before my junior rank was called front and center.

There were other radios and sound systems in the house.  The living room had a console stereo system.  This stereo cabinet had a turntable that would pick up an album and turn it over.  Then the turntable would move the LP and play an LP below it.  But I recall it working less and less over the years, its top soon shuttered and then it served as a catch-all for our family’s clutter. Sometime after I started elementary school it disappeared.  

Via my sisters, I inherited a smaller phonograph.  The photograph was in something akin to a typewriter case, a orange-red box about 16 inches square.  This had one speaker and played an assortment of 45’s my sisters gave me. St. Elmo’s Fire, Tainted Love, Hey Mickey, and such were part of a 20-30 disc collection they gave me.  But the youngster in me had no idea the record needles were that fragile and after breaking a number of them, my mother had enough and away that went.

Our basement had a rec room, with slate tiles and a very cold and sometimes wet floor.  If we didn’t empty the dehumidifier bucket, the basement and furniture down there developed a peculiar funk but my mother trained us well to empty that with regularity. We sometimes had some soccer or battleball-type games down there, along with a Big Top Pinball machine that my Dad got in 1980.  At some point a modest 8-track player was down there but I only recall there being a few tapes for it that we ever played.  I know there were some with movie music, as some Star Wars shootout music and another with the Rocky theme, along with your Captain & Tennille yacht-rockish fare.  

The garage had a General Electric transistor, that was perched on a thin shelf in a odd manner designed to bring in the right AM stations so my dad could hear the Indians or whatever he wanted.  Although he was constantly working on our fleet of jalopies, he rarely used the radio while working on them.  The radio came on mainly at the end of a work session, where we might be fixing a new outlet on an extension cord, or stripping the copper or brass of something before we sent it to the garbage.  Cleaning up the garage floor was a constant affair, as sawdust was sprinkled on the oil drippings to keep us from stepping in the slicks.

But the kitchen radio was the main cog of our AM/FM needs.  It was also played after family dinners, when my siblings and I were on kitchen detail.  We had no dishwasher appliance, so it was standard operating procedure for my sisters and I to do the dishes and clean the table afterwards.  

Deana, my oldest sister, would start with a few pots and pans while my other sister Marcy and I cleaned off the table and managed the leftovers. Then a formula of the oldest washing, the middle child rinsing and yours truly drying.  All dishes were to be dried and returned to the cabinets.  Once all the dishes were washed and rinsed, the drying and putting away became communal.  I was the youngest and worst at the dishes, so I was assigned the plates, salad bowls and drinking glasses.  These I could do without leaving some water on them.  

My parents would disappear after dinner, re-runs of M*A*S*H or The Rockford Files awaited them.  But we were permitted to turn the radio on for the dishes. Eventually we tired of the soft rock mainstays, as child cannot live on Bread and Herb Alpert alone.  We weren’t supposed to touch the dial or volume, as the decades of use had tempered the dials to love their home settings. Other stations and volumes could work, but not necessarily with ease. But my sisters were daring and would change the dial, usually to the nearest alternative.  These were fun nights but sooner or later they’d forget to change the dial back and mother would set things straight when her morning routine was greeted with an unfamiliar disk jockey.

And so that radio stayed, and played, for years and years.  My father told me bought that from a Radio Shack in 1972. Mom said they sold it at a garage sale when they left the house in 1994.  

There are many more formative music experiences for me, but I think it started with that radio.  Unobtrusive playlists and mild volume made it the background music for my first years. My parents moved to their current residence in the fall of 1994, and the new house had a radio set in the kitchen wall. My mom has it set to her station, and she still reads the paper every morning.  She’s retired so the routine starts later in the morning, but those songs remain the same.

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The game's soundtrack however is my pet peeve. There's a lot of radio stations but not enough variety - there's one for rock, one for country/western about about 9 for hip-hop, rap and pop music. The single talk show is also very repetitive which is shoddy in comparison to GTA4 and back's, and if you don't like the game's music, you'll be listening to the Fernando Show constantly or nothing at all. Woohoo. Thank goodness Vice City was based in '86 - I'll buy the soundtrack CD and play that on my Xbox's media player, thanks.

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From beginning to end, this game totally lived up to everything I hoped it would be. It took me almost exactly 61 hours to beat GTA 4, and that was with a little 'time wasting' in between, and a few mini-quests. Even though the story is over for me, it's one of those discs that gets a lot of spin-time in my PS3.

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Hey, before I say anything it is good to hear that your son has taken up karate. I am 13 and I got an Xbox 360 when I was about 11 when I got it I had a couple games like Call of Duty and Guitar Hero. Let me note when I first got it I was over weight. I played Xbox a good 4-5 hours a day. After a while I started wanting to become a marine because I wanted to do good and take down evil leaders. Also, playing Guitar Hero made me want to learn to play the guitar. I am no longer over-weight and I am in guitar lessons. So if it was not for Xbox I would not know what I wanted to do with my life.

My mum and I have this mutual understanding, I bring in the grades, withstand at least a 3.2 gpa, and I get to play all I want. It's a reward at a sense, as a student I'd like to spend my free time however I please. Who's to say I can't do something simple as kick back and play? It could be so much worse, think about it.

I know I am only 16 and don't really have any advice for you but I have always had a time limit on the Xbox where I can play for an hour, and then have to have at least an hour off of it. My other two rules are that I am not allowed to play on school nights, and am not allowed to play past 6 'clock at night.

microsoft sent us a new unit about a year ago because we were havin so many issues with it- called today to see if it was still under warranty and they said they don't renew your warranty when you send it in...... so they can go suck it b/c we are in the middle of takin it apart as we speak and hopefully it will actually start reading disks again- Thank you!!!

We've had a lot of fun here today. I hope you've learned something worthwhile about GTA 4 and everything it has to offer, both intentionally and unintentionally. Hopefully you've been able to find the swingset of doom, and some of the easter eggs I mentioned above.

Virtual friendships are real. Digital photoraphy is real. Lots of people get married meeting online first. Music is nowadays created with computers and shared virtually before it even comes out on a CD. Creating characters, cars, levels, liveries, game photos and videos, mini-games, etc. very much is a form of artistic expression. Games are an artform just like film, books, and other forms of expression. There are games that tell stories, games with accurate historical contexts, games for making music, games about managing companies, nations, games about crafting tools, games about creating mechanical objects, games about tuning cars, creating and managing sports teams, even games about creating games where you can share them with the world!

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My son will be a teenager in the summer, so I'm sure I have lots of other issues to look forward to! I liked the bit you wrote about your kids not having their own computers and not having the password to yours. It made me laugh because I was just the same - my son had to ask to go on my laptop and I would type in the password for him. I didn't used to have a password but got fed up with it being carted off and used whenever he fancied without asking. Anyway, with the password in place he asked to use it and I let him - next time I logged on I discovered he had used the time to set up his own account and protect it with his own password! It was very cheeky I know, but did show initiative! I made him take off the password. He is far more technical than me though, I have to ask for his help a lot because I am the opposite. His Dad works in IT, I think he takes after him.

Hi rorshak sobchak - you are right about how addictive some games seem to be, and they certainly seem to act as substitutes for other areas in life for some young people. My son thinks my childhood sounds awful and can't imagine what I used to do - I told him that when I was his age nobody had anything like an Xbox at home and so we were busy doing other things. Although, we did sometimes play games like Space Invaders and PacMan and Mario, but they were only available in arcades. However, even then I did find them a bit addictive - the only reason it was not a problem was that the opportunity to play was not so readily available and of course you had to put money in! And you couldn't have lots of goes in a row as other children were waiting for their turn. Actually, I would love it to still be like that, a lot more sociable and the games were much more innocent.

Also: survey scam. They also have a standalone download on offer (supposedly) but that's also hidden away behind a separate survey prompt. I'm going to take a wild guess here and say that you're not going to be the richest gamer alive in GTA land should you bother to fill one of them in.

From the days of joysticks to today's motion-sensitive gaming apparatus, video games are constantly getting more technologically advanced. If you want to stay on top of the latest gadgets, you need to know what you're doing. Read on to find some advice on a variety of video gaming topics.

That isn't to say that there aren't people that have gone the Windows 8 route. With the wide range of PC's sold, and all of the recent Windows computers going to 8, Microsoft isn't going to go down without a fight. The problem at this time seems to be that developers don't want to work with the quirky ARM processor that the Surface uses.

i found a fun ting to do. you know those trollies with cardboard boxes in them (usually near hobos) if you push one with a car towards a hill and walk on it before it goes down, you have an unstoppalbe transportation device, especially when cops ram you at high speen sending you zooming off mowing down ppl in a furious rage!

Who knows what the beating heart is a reference to, if anything at all. Maybe it's just there because it can be. Or maybe there's some kind of joke among the developers that lead to its inclusion into the game. Either way, it's beating, and invulnerable.

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Your dingy cell phone becomes one of your most used gadgets from the very beginning of the game, and it enables you to keep in touch with friends you meet along the way. Set up a date, check on your cousin, or see what's new with the street boss you just met...or, listen to their answering machine machine if they don't pick up.

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Also, I would have thought I'd have more problems with mobile platforms, like smart phones and handhelds, but for whatever reason my kids will just as often use them for reading books or watching video, and for less often than when in front of a TV. Not sure why. Finally, I'd like to add that there are a lot of games out that I've enjoyed, like Child of Light, that I would never have even heard of if my kids weren't into games.

I think it's very mature of you to welcome all sorts of opinion on this hub. It was also interesting to see your view evolve from the first post to the last and accept games a little bit more as an art form and a creative outlet, which they very much are.

Step 4. Remove top and bottom gray mesh panels by prying them off with any small objects by inserting them into holes on the sides of the xbox console at the left, middle, and right points where you can see the grey tabs and pushing in to release the catches.

The Games Console have really improved the performance experience for the gamers. Having said that, they must either accept the things that are readily available or wait with baited breath for the invention and release of innovative additions and improvements. People are always in search for more desirable alternatives to increase their comfort and pleasure levels. These digital gaming tools are specially produced to enthrall the gamers with their unique & interactive attributes. These radiant technologies have sufficient options for both kids along with the more matured, as well as, let them to utilize their leisure time.

Unlike other GTA-inspired games though the focus is on hand-to-hand combat and relies on a cover system when the player chooses to use a weapon (although I found it more enjoyable to always go for hand-to-hand as the control scheme really shines when you use it). As the game is of the free-roam genre players can progress at their own pace through the storyline.

The bank robbery mission in GTA 4 is one of the most exciting, bringing up memories of great Heist movies like Heat. As with most interiors in GTA 4, the area becomes inaccesible after you finish the mission, preventing you from ever entering the location again.

Give Parachute: If you find yourself needing this cheat then you've probably left things a little bit late, but if you can enter it quickly enough it can still save your behind. Take our advice and pick one of these up before heading out to go BASE-jumping - it'll all end in tears otherwise (not to mention blood, and assorted flappy bits).

Hold the LB button to put in a deep cross. Especially if your player is making a run into the box. Watch your players. If they point into the box, put it there. This is the most dangerous type of cross as your player is moving at a fast pace, creating a much more powerful header!

You obviously know nothing about creativity and immersion. Hobbes such as sports promote violence and (surprise) have a much higher rate of injury and even mortality then gaming. The thing that parents like this obviously fail to see is the fact that because they grew up one way does not mean there child will be the same. It's a new generation and there are many positive games out there that promote creativity and letting yourself sink into the game as if you are in that universe and that is a great thing. So just because he plays the main stream shooters dosent mean he won't branch out to other better games. He might make a career of making them one day. Give him some freedom to explore his interests.

But I think what it really boils down too (and I in no way claim to be expert on kids or parenting or anything) is that your son is still a kid, very easily stimulated, doesn't really know what he's truly capable of yet and has yet to learn to tell his friends to go jump in a river when confronted with peer pressure.

In Machinarium you solve various brain teasers and puzzles that are linked together through an overworld. Machinarium is a unique adventure story that contains no dialogue (spoken or written), and apart from a few early tutorial prompts, the game does not use any form of understandable language, instead relying on animated thought bubbles.

I originally put this list together for a family friend and decided to share it here so other fans of the Club Penguin universe can find similar experiences that are both fun, friendly and safe. If you have any additional favourite games please don't hesitate to share them in the comment section at the end of the page.

I read your hub. It was great! I myself are a xbox 360 owner and one on the 'rare' girls. I do agree that the xbox can take over ,bit by bit, hobbies. It does get really frustrating! I do have kid friendly games like fifa 13 but I have played all the james bond games and the mass effects series. Don't get me wrong my parents feel extremely strongly about violence so I don't own horrific games like Call of Duty or Battlefield. I do agree that the james bond games are like most other games and the age rating should be reviewed. Thanks so much for posting and happy future endeavours.