Eye Candy II

 

by Gaelyn Larrick

Glyphscribe, and The Crimson King

I recently finished the two series on which, I gather, RA Salvatore built his career: The Legend of Drizzt, and The Cleric Quintet.  And I can't help but compare them to another multi-volume fantasy epic, Stephen King's The Dark Tower.

In a way it's not a fair comparison, because King's books grew from more mapped-out structures, written over the course of some three decades.  Salvatore's series have neither the tightness nor the breadth of time.  The eighteen books comprising Drizzt and Quintet, written in about half as long as DT, are more like serials. 

But a certain style unifies Salvatore's books, with overlapping characters and settings all flowing to the same tune.  He writes quickly, transforming the "Song of Deneir."  It makes for relentless adventure writing, noticeable mistakes, and a certain forgettability.  His books are fun if you like role-playing games come to life, like you are reading a fantastic Dungeon Master with writing chops. (It would not surprise me if actual games provided story material.)

The Drizzt books are further tied together by Drizzt Do'Urden, drow renegade turned servant of Mielikki.   Entries from his journals appear even the books were Drizzt himself does not, and he sometimes serves as the mouthpiece of his author.  Mostly he is protagonist and legendary hero, the double scimitar-wielding ranger of renown.


Stephen King plays no games, unless, say, something awful is about to transpire.  But DT is far from a horror series, is much more.  Roland, a central character, visits our place and time, and laments the uniformity of "story flavor."  King's actual writing present us with the opposite.  Just some of what you get over the course of seven books:  action, science fiction, Arthurian fantasy, American western, horror, romance, "metafiction" . . .

But it is unmistakably one story, unified as/by the "Song of Gan."  King openly identifies with a version of the creator god, energies emerging from places lower than Salvatore's "Denier."

The hero of Quintet, for example ("Cadderly Bonaduce"), bears telling relationships to King's "Father Callahan."  Both are gifted characters with a troubling past.  Cadderly's muse is one of art, literature, and (eventually) kicking the stuffing out of Evil, and Callahan is more fire-and-brimstone about his work.  Not surprisingly, Callahan is far more troubled.

These series are entertaining and thought-provoking epics, examining existence and relationships, values and action, magic and technology.  Tolkien, of course comes to mind, and both authors pay homage.  Drizzt and Quintet often filter through the Dungeons & Dragons gaming system, adding multiplanar dimensions akin to Moorcock.  DT extends the universe of his story into our own, turning the Rings Trilogy on it's head (probably bound and hanging from something.) 

DT brought Middle Earth to another level, and I don't think the same can be said of Drizzt and Quintet.  Mr. Salvatore is a great writer, of the imagination, but King goes beyond imagination.  Roland's mission takes seven books to reveal, with surprises that leave you in the disbelief of the utterly stunned.  King's whole universe is like that.

I think Salvatore likes King (see The Spine of the World and The Chaos Curse, strikingly similar to Wizard and Glass and 'Salem's Lot).  So I'm wondering what might happen if RA took some more time with a book.  Maybe he already has, in one of the more recent stories featuring Drizzt.  Initial perusal has suggested more as above, if perhaps riskier and more dense.

But, in the words of Bruenor Battlehammer, "A barnyard goose tastes better 'an a wild one cause it don't use its muscles. The same oughta hold true for a giant's brains!"   For all these books offer, you can almost forgive Salvatore's not-occasional degeneration into fantasy-combat porn.  And King's maddening tendency toward shuddering halts.

How to Play Guitar

This template was created with a broad range of styles in mind, and aspects are applicable to other instruments.

The Blocks are not rigid, and progress may be nonlinear and variable in time.


Block 1:  Starting

Block 1 is for beginners, and players starting fresh in some particular way.

Click to enlarge either image.

I.  Anatomy

Get regular access to a guitar.  If the styles that interest you have no preferences, it doesn't much matter what you get, and similarly with striking mediums (try three):  nails, fingers, fists, jewelry, violin bows . . .

Get a tuner, then learn to tune some other way:  to another instrument, a song, yourself (find out if you have perfect pitch.)  Learn the names and functions of your instrument's parts -- see above, or more extensively.

Clip the nails on your fretting hand, and pay attention to hand positioning  and overall posture when you play -- it affects your music.  And long term, you can warp yourself if you're not careful.

Pick three songs you would like to learn, such as Wish You Were Here, Californication, and anything by the Ramones.  Or maybe a standard from three different styles.  If you want to attempt learning the guitar without considering other people's music, perhaps start with intervals, guitar layout, and phrasing (see forthcoming Block 2).


II.  Nonsense

Learn your tunes/elements, experimenting with striking mediums, volumes, and timbre ("tone", texture, "my sound, man . . .")  Intersperse your practice with finger exercises.   Try one finger per fret, on any combination of strings, pressing the tips of your fingers just behind the frets. Get a metronome, and jam to it -- subdivide pulses into pairs, threes, etc.   If you have started to learn intervals or phrasing approaches, turn them into excercises. 

A teacher might speed your progress, but as well may mire you in nonsense.  Other resources include people you know, sheet music, TABS, and instructional media.  Consider playing with other people, and recording yourself, as early as possible.


Here are nine examples of what is possible with a guitar.  Links were selected for reasons other than sound quality, so best assemble your own mix.

Andy Summers   Driven to Tears

I smile every time I hear this guitar solo, that something so horrid found it's way to commercial radio.  But the thing is (and this makes it really funny), it's a perfect solo, totally balanced in it's unbalanced-ness.

The "watery" guitars get that way from Mr. Summers' chord, rhythm, and timbre choices (including use of effects).


Jimi Hendrix  I Don't Live Today

Note use of wha, feedback, tremolo/whammy bar, and extra distortion (he steps on the pedal on at 1:11.)  Note also Mr. Hendrix's funkiness and natural connection to the instrument, as if it were another limb.


Steve Vai   For the Love of God

Take some vocabulary pioneered/developed by Hendrix, add some subsequent developments (such as Van Halen).  Apply discipline at the Shaolin level [scroll to 30-Hour Workout].  Emerge with a virtuoso, here presented in his element.


Ana Vidovic   Grande Sonata de Paganini (Allegro Risoluto)

IMHO a peak of performance technique and musicality.


Eddie Van Halen   Little Guitars

A different kind of performance technique and musicality, with some of the most memorable electric "rhythm guitar."


Don Felder, Glenn Frey, Bernie Leadon  One of These Nights

A lot of what is "night" about this track are the guitars, thickly toned and echoed, and the way they are arranged and mixed.  Felder's solo is tastefully fierce, playing a glinting version of the dark timbres.


Joe Pass  Satin Doll

Not as corny as it may appear.  This performance includes arranging on the fly, relative to a sketch of chords and melody, riding a rickety swing.


Andy McKee  Drifting   

I have no explanation . . .


Danny Gatton  Redneck Jazz Explosion

Librarius Interruptus/TV

In 1999 I gave up television. It wasn't something I planned -- I just found myself living alone without a TV, so I went with it.  For a few years I didn't own an Eye at all, and later I watched only what I could stick in a DVD or VHS player.

Recent events have changed that.  Every night for the past few months I have had 200 channels at my disposal, which sounds like good odds but often isn't.  Mostly it's . . . excuse me, the children across the table are singing and playing video games.  I will send subtle hostility their way -- not to worry.

Mostly TV has been what I expected:  lame content and annoying commercials.  But the level of intrusion makes watching almost anything impossible: logos, pop-up-ads, movies chopped-up all sorts of ways . . .

The kids again.  Not my kids, you understand.  My prods was insufficient, so I went to the attending librarian -- all is well.


So I've had my finger on the pulse of pop culture through it's central conduit, and already I'm bored.  I can't even use to thing to unwind, so agitated is the mush of my brain.  But, I will have a TV at my next domicile, if only for news, but mostly I'll just use the DVD player -- why suffer the onslaught of advertising?  I can no longer relate to the frenzied anticipation of a favorite show being on at the same time every week, nor to a medium that feels the need to advertise itself continually (except, of course, during commercials.)

Why are those logos there anyway?  Am I incapable of finding out what channel I'm watching?  "You get used to them", I'm told. But what does that mean?  Goddamn librarian.  Coward!  He has not sent the interrupters to the children's library.

I mean, why detune myself to everything I'm watching that relies on framing?  Doesn't "getting used to" a hack job, such as this library, mean shutting part of yourself down?

OK, the insensitives have left.  But wait!  Now there are more: loud-mouth-cellphone talkers, and people with coal in their lungs.  And this crappy computer.  Attend to the network!

What was I saying?

Ballbuster

Last January, I was hired by a Large Entertainment Company.  I showed up for my first day of work, fifteen minutes early, wearing shiny news khakis.

The assistant manager met me, instructed me to don a Ballbuster shirt, and brought me out front to begin showing me the ropes.  Some fifteen minutes later came a call.  It was the manager, telling me that my job didn't actually exist -- between the hiring and my first day, there came a decision from the centralized rulership, slashing jobs like mine. 

Why nobody bothered to tell me before I showed up remains a mystery.  The manager claims to have tried that morning, and there was a message on my machine . . . when I got home. 

Of course the manager was apologetic, but neither he nor his bosses offered me a thing.  Just leave. Now.  I wasn't paid for the day, wasn't even offered a free rental.  I was, in fact, out money because I bought the khakis to comply with a dress code.

I hate khakis.


But it was really the last in a string of insults, beginning with the application.  Ballbuster wanted a resume, answers to pre-interview questions, my SS#, and permission for background checks, all before I met a single person.  And all of this was to be stored in a database -- why am I required to demonstrate that I am foolish in order to get a job?  

I managed to stem the premature intrusion somewhat, explaining to my interviewer that numbers and signatures would be provided when there was interest in hiring me, and that I would provide it personally.  Incredibly, I was hired anyway.  But maybe I overloaded the chip that runs the company.

Of course it's not just Ballbuster -- online applications in general want permission to access too much, too soon.  Are they selfish, or merely insensitive?

The only person who seemed to have something like a reasonable response to my "release" was the assistant manager, the one who shared my glorious fifteen minutes of employment.  He was embarrassed to the point of shame, apologizing more than his boss.

But he made me pay for the two rentals I grabbed.

Ballbuster got off the hook so easily, losing only the shirt that I clung to as the sole reward for this stupid day.  A decent company would have given me the day's pay, reimbursed me for the pants, and maybe offered some token to make up for the week I stopped looking for a job.  Or maybe not offered a phantom job in the first place.

They will, of course, never get another dime from me (or from you, hopefully).

Film Fests

Ideas for public showings and weekends:

Trilogies  Pick any three from Star Wars I-VI,  The Matrix, Pirates of the Caribbean,  The Godfather,  Lord of the Rings, and Three Colors.

On the Run  Run Lola Run, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, The Bourne Identity.  

Early 80's Nostalgia  Raiders of the Lost Ark, ET, a John Hughes movie.

Expansive  The Thin Red Line, The New World, Solyaris or Solaris.

Media, Greed, and Abortion  Control Room, Enron:  The Smartest Guys in the Room, Lake of Fire.  Intersperse episodes from Da Ali G. Show.

Whatever   eXistenZ, Hellboy II, Zardoz.  Or Amelie, I Heart Huckabees, Angel-A.

Nature Run Amok  Jaws, Cast Away, Apocalypse Now.

Films About Films  Hearts of Darkness, Burden of Dreams,  Empire of Dreams (Apocalypse Now, Fitzcarraldo, Star Wars.)

The Other Side  Contact, AI, 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Heavy Duty  Love and Death, Barry Lyndon, Wild Strawberries.  

 

Musical  Spinal Tap, Once, There's Something About Mary.

Romance I  Before Sunrise, Before Sunset, When Harry Met Sally.

Romance II  Kill Bill 1 & 2,  2 Days in Paris, Shopgirl.

Geeked  All three seasons of Star Trek, interspersed with Primer and Legend.

What?  Immortal, Waking Life, Paprika. Or Being        

John Malcovich, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, The Big Lebowski.

Octopus, Part 3

This is part of a series of posts, drawn from emails I wrote during the last few months, in the wake of what may have been a tornado.

Monday, September 14

The contractors hadn't worked on my place since last Tuesday (so much for the alleged rush), but somehow today, my last moving day, they just HAD to be in there. And precisely when I was moving the heaviest stuff. I asked them to wait an hour and they wouldn't.

Aren't these charming folks?

In truth, some of the guys in the crew seem OK, but why they think they can just muscle in and work when they please is beyond me. Unfortunately the lawyer I consulted when this all started hasn't gotten back to me yet.  Anybody know an appropriate lawyer for this kind of thing?

So I've had seven days in the self-destructing apartment, me and my SARS mask and more insulation every day. On Wednesday, the workers were in a neighboring apartment (why couldn't they have been in there on Tuesday?)  On Thursday they took the afternoon off -- because they're in a rush, you see.  On Friday it rained, and another section of ceiling collapsed:

The workers did not show up at all except for somebody milling about on the roof briefly, and nobody seemed to care that my ceiling was leaking in about a dozen places, streaming in two spots (I lost some more stuff, nothing important but picking up wet stuff coated with roof is not my idea of a good time.)

After the really annoying stuff was already cleared.

Landlord Jr. (the "caretaker" and utterer of "Oh Poor Baby", from my last email) showed up around the time I was there, so I know he was around . . .

On Saturday the cieling was leaking even more, and the pond had become a lake. Landlord Jr.'s son came around, inspecting the place. Nothing had been done to stem the tide in my apartment, and two more sections of ceiling collapsed.

My bedroom was developing it's own body of water from Friday -- partly from living room runoff and partly from the bedroom ceiling's own leaks.

Sunday was a frenetic move-out of everything left that wasn't large, which brings us to today, the day I walked in to find my ceiling completely gone and my stuff yet again moved for the contractor's convenience.

At one point I found one of the workers, a sort of piratey-looking guy with several gold teeth, handling a replica I own of a medieval weapon. Why he felt he could just pick it up, I don't know.

[Insert sounds of chimps here]