This 'n' That

Wednesday's excursion to Metronome for Syd, Todd Martin and Matt York has the potential to bring together quite the motley crew of people. If you know what's good for you (that being the chance to be around similarly-minded music knuckleheads ready for fun), be sure to be there. And be there early - 6:30 start. It's going to be a good time.

Let's get it out of our systems at the onset, shall we? Repeat after me: V, you are suchadork. No, not just "dork." Suchadork. This is one of the few times I'll allow such sentiments, one of the even rarer occasions when I'll actually agree with you. My defense? I don't have an iPod yet.

Now that that's out of the way, I'll begin. Thanks to my continuous patronage with my wireless phone company, I abandoned my trusty cell phone for a newer, niftier model. With camera/video capabilities I don't really need but are amusing to play with - not to mention a reason to abandon the often cringe-worthy electronic bips trying to pass for cellphone ringtones (hey, I love some of 'em, but have you ever listened to the Ringster version of "The Remedy"? Or worse, "No Such Thing"?).

See, I've been known to be a bit of a ringtone junkie. I held off from the downloading craze for a long time, as I knew I'd get sucked in. Then, sure enough, I take a look at Ringster and next thing I know, I've got tones ranging from "Fraggle Rock" to Frou Frou. With "Rock the Casbah," "Whip It" and Matt's "Sad Songs" somewhere in the middle. It got ugly.

One would think, therefore, that the possibility of actual TrueTone rings would terrify me. Imagine all that money going down the drain, just so I can have a Sony-approved snippet of Tori's "Wednesday" or Ray Lamontagne's "Trouble." Both of which happen to be available, for the record.

Instead, I've eschewed most of the available ones (with the one exception of Jeff Buckley's "Last Goodbye" because, well, it's Jeff Buckley, dammit) and have begun to tap into the (equally addictive) process of creating my own. Thank you, creators of Audacity.

Earlier this afternoon, I was making a mini-sized bag of kettle corn in preparation for settling into my empty apartment with a movie (as the weather outside was London-calibar drizzle), when I started subconsciously humming along with Ryan Montbleau's "Stretch," the dulcet sounds of which were coming from the living room. After a couple of seconds, I realized what I was doing, dropped the bag onto the counter and raced through the open doorframes.

"Shit, that's my PHONE!"

The musicians to have made the list thus far are hardly any surprise: Ryan, Averi, Mraz, and Peter.J ("Gin & Juice" - haha!). And, of course, others will come, as I'm enjoying myself working with the audio files and coming as close to sound engineering (admittedly, a far, far cry from it) as I've been since the college theater days. As I hunch over the computer, snipping off fractions of seconds, I'm asking myself again why I never studied more sound engineering and production. And making a note to pick my film major, audio minor college student brother's brain about it. Love it.

Meanwhile, my parents decided to join the cellular world and have just received their first non-Trak (ugh) phone. Which means I've been training them on how to use it; which makes for some amusing-in-retrospect conversations.*

So conversations on the cellular topic during my weekend jaunt home were largely:
V: Hey! I can bypass the whole Get It Now thing by downloading an audio editing program! I'll be able to edit down mp3s, convert them to MIDI and email them to my phone!
Mom: That's great, hun. Now how do I turn this thing on?
(Dad always tries to learn about the new technology, especially after he knows I've become versed enough in it to explain it to him. My mother, however, has no desire to learn about the "gadgets" I enjoy. I believe the cell phone's address book will be the extent of her foray into cellular technology.)**

I'm pleased to report, however, that after some slight technical difficulties (the powers that be at the wireless company screwing up their activation, which only required an hour on the telephone and some stern tones of voice from yours truly), my entire family is now in the 21st century. Cell phone city. Huzzah, huzzah.

To think that I loathed the very concept of cell phones at this time five years ago.

In other news. Yesterday evening was composed of strong oak beams and a large spoke-wheeled window, ducks waiting on the other side of the glass-paneled door and a crackling fireplace. The mist and fog on the mountaintop made the outside world resemble the English moors more than a New England resort, but we each remarked at different points throughout dinner about what a striking backdrop it provided.

A party with people seemingly slightly younger than I was being held in the loft, which we finally decided must be a college graduation gala. Occasional chants could be faintly heard over the pleasant din of glasses and silverware, and we laughed throughout a leisurely meal. Warm honey oat bread, raspberry vinagrette dressings and meals commended and enjoyed by each of their owners. Coffee (tea for one) and dessert - a slice of cake with rasberry and chocolate drizzle for the girls to share, a raspberry ice cream truffle for the lone male (and for the sampling girls).

Leisurely, relaxed and perfect, my mother deduced as she sipped her coffee. "This was great, guys," she said with a smile. "Plenty of time to eat, talk and everything was fantastic. Thank you!"

She was the one being celebrated, so such a favorable response to the trip up Killington served as icing on the proverbial cake.

And to complete the family-focued component of the weekend? My brother took on the Nazis in Boston this afternoon - I received a phone call, in which he described the crowd of several hundred counterprotestors who beat the other group to the Sam Adams statue and later outpowered the white supremacists (very few, he reported) who actually tried to protest.

"Way to go, kid!" I said happily.

"Yeah, it was good to see the way it panned out," he replied. "Yay for lots of people who don't suck!"

Indeed.

*I worked in my college's user support center for four years. I thought I knew how to communicate patiently and effectively with those less read in the electronic/computerized world. But when coaching my father over the telephone through how to attach image files to email includes the following:
V: OK, now where did you save the images to when you transferred them from the camera onto the computer?
D: Where it told me to.
V: And where was that? Desktop? My pictures?
D: I don't know. Shouldn't it just come up for me right away?
You try keeping your voice completely even. Seriously. If you can do it, I'll hook you up with my dad and I'll buy you a drink of gratitude.

**As I finished writing this post, my phone rang (I sang along to Ryan again). I picked up to hear the following: "Hi, it's your mother." Calling from Massachusetts, where they traveled today to visit family. "Can you call your father and tell him your brother missed the train so he's driving to Grandma's? I have no idea of what that number is." I laughed and relayed what I'd just been writing. She burst into laughter and said my assessment of her cell phone intentions was just right.