Jeff's online journal, ramblings, whatever.

Angelfire Blog Era

Engagement

I found out an interesting piece of minutae this holiday season. And that is that Kimberly Isom, a name familiar to long-time readers of this blog, is engaged. So far, I’m not sure how I feel about that particular piece of news. On one hand, I was pretty sure there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d ever be in the running, due to past mistakes and present difficulties regarding contacting her. But there’s always that possibility that remains in the back of your mind, that, if fate went crazy and somehow we finally had that conversation about what an idiot I was and apologized, things might turn out differently. While I still would like to have that conversation at some point, if for nothing else but to put my conscience at ease, I know it won’t lead to anything else. On the other hand, to truly love someone is to put their happiness above your own, and if she’s happiest with someone else, then I’m happy for her. And that, my friends, is the truth.

In other news, I may try out for the Playmill this year. I haven’t decided yet.

Happy new year, everyone!

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For the two or three readers of this blog, I’d just like to share with you the most awsomemest piece of software I’ve downloaded recently. It’s an add-on for Firefox called AdBlock Plus, and it basically blocks whatever pop-up ads, banner ads, or whatever that show up in your browser. That way you can visit certain sites (such as MySpace) without getting pictures of girls holding their breasts while looking at your messages. And I don’t know about you, but that takes at least a little stress out of my day. I know it’s a bit of an irony advertising an advertising-blocker, but work with me here, guys.


Singing at the MTC

So the Men’s Chorus sang at the MTC tonight. It was a very telling experience, and I hope and pray that I can record all that happened and that I felt before I get distracted or something dumb like that.

I went into the MTC in Provo nearly five years ago and haven’t been back since, until tonight. Then I was barely over 19 years of age, had never lived out of Utah before, and knew basically what form my life was going to take for at least two years. Now, I’ve lived out of Utah for 3 1/2 years, am 24 years of age, and have no idea what’s going to happen even within a month or so, let alone for the next few years. Times do change.

Yet as I looked across the audience of missionaries that attended our devotional tonight I couldn’t help but think back to the days when I sat in one of those chairs on the gym floor, eager to serve a mission yet overwhelmed by the prospect of the thing. I had no idea what lay in store for me, nor the potential that I had for becoming an effective servant in the Lord’s hands. As I looked into the eyes of those missionaries tonight I could see that potential, far more clearly than I could when I was in that place. In each missionary’s eyes I could see men on street corners feeling guilty for not talking with those friendly Americans. I could see elderly ladies suddenly receiving help from two nice young men when she needed it the most. I could see young 20-something college students, struggling to find peace in the world around them, only to hear a knock at the door and find all the answers to his questions. I could see entire families dressed in white, finally receiving the ordinances and covenants that would bind them together throughout eternity in a loving unit. Every single face in that congregation tonight had been set apart to do the Lord’s will, 24/7, and whether they knew and/or felt it or not, the Lord and His angels were and are with them. I was there too, once, and I had no idea what it really meant at that time. I’m sure that I still don’t even have an inkling as to what it really means. But revisiting that place certainly brought a new perspective to my service to the Lord and what it has meant and does mean, both to me and to those I served.

But that’s not the only insight I gained tonight. Sister Rosalind Hall, the director of the BYU Men’s Chorus, believes that the purpose of the chorus is to change the world. To that end, the presidency of the chorus, without Sister Hall’s knowledge, arranged a service project. We would each in the chorus donate a little bit of money (the suggested amount was $5 per person) to an envelope passed around class. Then, some members of the chorus would, on a certain Saturday, head to the store and buy a lot of Christmas gifts Sister Hallfor some eight teenagers living in a foster home in Sandy. Then, on December 10th (a Sunday), a large part of the chorus (including myself) would drive up to Sandy, sing these kids some Christmas songs, and deliver the presents. The whole thing would be videotaped, edited, and presented to Sister Hall as a Christmas gift at the end of the semester; in fact, after the MTC concert tonight.

When we met in front of the Museum of Art on the BYU Campus to go up to Sandy on Dec. 10th, it was raining. The winter season so far had been disappointing in terms of snow: we’d had a few flurries here and there but nothing had really built up. But as I started to drive to Sandy with four other Men’s Chorus members, the rain gradually turned into snow. By the time we got to Draper, it was awfully heavy snow, and when we finally arrived in Sandy (and found out that we actually were going to Midvale, just taking the 9000 S. Sandy exit), it was very thick. Nevertheless, it was still relatively warm, and when we got out of the car the air had that wonderful pink glow that comes with nighttime snowstorms, and is the reason I love snow so much. We exited the cars and headed toward the foster home a street over. Imagine these kids’ surprise when suddenly, over 100 college men break out in song right on their front lawn, bearing an enormous Christmas tree. Imagine their expressions when in the middle of one of these songs, Santa Claus (who I greatly suspect was the “father” of the foster home) shows up, bearing over $2,000 worth of gifts. Imagine how they, and we, felt, as Santa took each one of them onto his knee (while the Men’s Chorus chanted each of their names as a cheer) and asked what they wanted for Christmas. Some were embarrassed and whispered in Santa’s ear, some were bold about what they wanted (“a ride on a humpback whale!”), and some just had some very heartfelt wishes (“I wish I had my Dad” or “I just want to be free”). After we sang “Silent Night” with them, we left them with their presents and headed back to Provo, where, for some reason, it had barely snowed at all. In fact, it felt like it had only snowed in the vicinity of that home.

Today, Provo received the first really big snowstorm of the winter season, giving tonight that same pinkish glow that existed in Midvale the week before. After the concert tonight, the Men’s Chorus met in the main LGM room in the #1 building of the MTC. This (in)famous room is the same one in which new missionaries bid goodbye to their families every Wednesday and embark upon their two-year service to the Lord. Sister Hall was a bit embarrassed to receive a big red box from the Men’s Chorus as a Christmas gift, and a bit confused when she opened it and all that was inside was a DVD with no label and a box of tissues. Nevertheless, somebody placed the DVD into the A/V system of the room and the projector played the entire story of our service project for these eight kids, ending with a lot of quotes, both from the kids and members of the chorus. When it ended Sister Hall could not even speak, so strong was the emotion in the room. All she could say was, “God bless you. God bless you all.”

That room inside the MTC holds a lot of different memories for me. It was the beginning of the most amazing journey of my life. It was where I bid goodbye to my family for two years. It was there that I saw my earthly father for the very last time in this life. And now, it is there that, during this very difficult and confusing period of my life, I can remember what it is all really about and what we are all really here to do.

For years and years I’ve celebrated Christmas, but often it just seems like a stressful time of year when finals are upon us and the family gets together to be annoyed by the step-family and other things like that. This is the first time since at least my mission, and possibly before that, that it has truly felt like the Christmas season.

God bless you. God bless you all.


On December Twenty-Five. . .

This post was created today during sacrament meeting.

Sunday. Why is it that people don’t see me how I see myself? The cello has always been a beautiful instrument; it’s one of my favorites. During the Christmas season we get a musical sacrament meeting. I am currently screwed in several ways. Firstly, I am going to fail my film class, bar none. Secondly, I am basically out of money, and, since my job with Hunt Mysteries has ended I have no source of income at all. I don’t know what to do on that front. Perhaps sell some things, take out a loan, beg the folks — that sort of thing. But I really really really need a job. Money, money, money, must be funny in a rich man’s world! Now some guys are trying to outsing each other in a rendition of “Mary’s Lullaby.” Speaking of singing, later today I am to sing at the MTC with the BYU Men’s Chorus for the annual Christmas Devotional. This’ll be my first time there in nearly five years, and the first time I’ll be able to just walk in and out willy-nilly. We’ve got to obey strict guidelines whilst in there, or they may mistake us for elders and end up sending us on a mission. Well, that’s probably not true, but there could be major problems if we go off to fraternize with the elders or (especially) the sisters. It’s probably going to be a surreal experience, since the last time I was in the MTC I was a missionary on my way to Spain. What an odd thing. It’s been nearly three years since I got home. The last time I really got caught up in the Christmas spirit was the last weeks of my mission, in L’Hospitalet. I wasn’t the model missionary, or even close, but that time of my life still means a lot to me. This year in Men’s Chorus we sang the song “Fum, Fum, Fum,” which is the quintessential Catalan Christmas Carol, and as a result I was thinking of that last mission Christmas even more. It’s been three years! It seems like a lifetime ago, yet at the same time it feels like yesterday. And now I’m going back to the MTC. What a time to contemplate my mission and the effects thereof, not just in my life, but in the lives of those I served. My mind goes back to the Nadal and Sanchez families. Alfonso, hijo, is now a priest and getting ready for his own mission in a few short years. Little Angéle Nadal Guerrero should be getting baptized soon (if she hasn’t been already). Her five-year-old visage is still my computer start-up picture, to remind me every time I start my computer (which is quite often) exactly why I sacrificed two years of my life to the Lord in His service. I wish I had a way to contact them. It frightens me sometimes, though. With so many missionaries coming and going, I’m afraid they may have forgotten me, especially since my presence in that ward did not result in any baptisms or even new investigators. Plus my Spanish isn’t nearly as good as it used to be, what with my determination not to turn it into Mexican and therefore the nearly nonexistent opportunities to practice. I just hope that, on the day we meet again, perhaps on the other side, that they will feel the same love I had (and still have) toward them.

Christmas. . .


Week 4 – Phrustration

Phrustration was written for my final project in Music 295. An appropriate title, considering I’m waiting for my accomplice, Casey Wayman, and he hasn’t shown up yet and I have to leave to go to class in ten minutes and we still haven’t practiced, leaving me a bit frustrated. Anyway, this is the not-so-good MIDI version; hopefully, I can get an actual recording on here sometime. Enjoy it anyway!

EDIT: A much better version!


Week 3.5 – Pogoman remix remix

I can’t post week 4 currently, since it will be a performance that I am doing tomorrow for my theory class (and may not get recorded anyway), so instead I offer you an alternate version of week 3’s entry. You can find it on my MySpace Music page, replacing the Doepfer Jam #1. It’s kind of Christmasy, which is appropriate, considering the current time of year and all. Anyway, enjoy it!


Krit Coincidence

Just thought you’d like to know that apparently my middle name, Krit, is in fact the name of a character from Deep Space Nine. He’s some alien who was an associate of Morn, the parody of Norm from Cheers that’s always sitting at Quark’s bar.

It’s interesting the random places that this name pops up. In addition to the K-R-I-T- Motor Car Company, for which my grandfather (and subsequently myself, my uncle, and my cousin) was named, “Krititas” is a type of cracker in Spain that is basically a smaller Ritz-type of cracker. I also found the word spray-painted on random cement walls in Spain, although I didn’t know what it was referring to in that case (doubtful it was the crackers).

There are more if you look up “Krit” on Google or Wikipedia or something, but so far these have been the references I’ve run into randomly.


Week 3 – Pogoman remix

This week’s entry came into being after last entry’s foray into video game music. It is a remix of the “Pogoman” tune from the old and little-known Atari game. I didn’t have time to finish it, as is evident when you listen to the tune, but it is what it is, and I hope you enjoy it!


Randomness, and Remixing

This has been a weird week. For starters, my car finally died. It’s had transmission problems for nearly a year now, and it’s been in and out of the shop, but now it will barely even move. Well, actually, now it won’t move at all, because the engine won’t even start, so now it’s sitting on the curb in front of the apartment complex and likely will be for quite some time until I figure out how and where it’ll be moved. For now, I am driving my grandmother’s car, since she isn’t using it anymore. The ultimate goal is to somehow purchase it, but I certainly don’t have the money to go shopping at the moment, let alone pay for a car.

As a result of the car situation, I’ve missed a lot of classes this week, including the one film lecture I’ve been really excited to attend: that of the function of sound and music in movies. I think I may fail this film class. I would have dropped out long ago, but I decided to drop it about three days after the drop deadline. Since then I’ve been trying to keep caught up, but my heart hasn’t been in it. And we all know the capacity I have of following up on projects when my heart isn’t in them. This type of thing is what spoiled my last semester at BYU-I, when I failed a Spanish Lit class (which, fortunately, didn’t end up on my transcript when I transferred to Provo). Of course, if I fail this class it will definitely show up on my transcript and probably cause me to lose my Pell Grant. Thus, I am screwed unless a miracle occurs.

We’ve had over 1,000 cans of food in our living room for about three weeks now. It was originally part of a service project that our ward was conducting: collect cans, the guys vs. the girls. The guys won with the girls collecting only around 500 or so. But in another sense the girls won, because they turned their cans in on time to the BYU charity that was hosting a food bank (itself a competition against the University of Utah), whereas the guys’ cans sat in our living room for weeks, blocking any attempts by us to have a place in which to entertain guests, watch TV, do homework, or the other sorts of things done in a living room. Finally I got so fed up with it that I just started hauling them out to my grandmother’s car (mine was broken!) to drop them off at Smith’s, which acts as a Utah Food Bank drop-off point. I loaded probably about a good third of them before Steve finally got some others to help, and consequently I am in a lot of pain right now, since I’m not used to heavy lifting. But we finally have a workable living room again, and that’s all that matters. Well, and the homeless now have seven more grocery carts completely filled with cans to eat this holiday season. I guess that part’s important too.

On a happier note, I found out that this album got released: Project Chaos Project Chaos, a Sonic 3/Sonic and Knuckles Remix project (click on the picture for a link). The Sonic the Hedgehog series from the Sega Genesis has some of the best old-school music I’ve ever known. For a fast-paced sidescroller, it’s got some amazingly poignant tunes. The very first level in the very first game, the Green Hill Zone, somehow makes my heart melt. I don’t know why, really. It’s not anything nostalgic, really: I didn’t really get into the Sonic series until I was almost out of high school, and I can clearly remember that it’s had the same effect on me since then. Sonic 3/Sonic and Knuckles had some of the series’ best tunes, and hearing them remixed so the melodies can transcend the hardware on which they were originally composed is a great treat. That’s the reason I love the remixing movement so much: it takes some amazing tunes that people don’t appreciate due to the horrible limitations of old hardware, and redoes them in a way to help them appear in their full potency. Admittedly, it is true that many remixers do not do the tunes justice, and that many video game tunes don’t sound very good no matter how they’re remixed, but when a good tune is paired with an excellent remixer, the results can be astounding. I can’t tell you, the reader, which ones you will like the best, as many of the ones I like are admittedly influenced by nostalgia (though Sonic does not fall into that category), but check out the website I linked to earlier and see if you can’t find some amazing pieces of work to add to your collection.

Video game music comprises some of my earliest and most influential musical experiences in my childhood. In fact, it is due to such games as Pitfall II, Pogo Man, Necromancer , Ball Blaster, and even Snafu that I wanted to be a composer in the first place. (Note: I apologize for the poor quality of those MIDIs I linked to. On the original machines they sounded much better.) In fact, Necromancer inspired me to do a remix of my own a couple of years back.

Anyway, I had more to say, but in search of those MIDI files I got distracted and started reading web sites with old video game reviews. Consequently, now that I’ve returned to writing this blog, I’ve now forgotten what I was going to say. Maybe it’ll come to me in the future, but for now I will sign off.


The semi-annual Kim Isom post

Well, based on this past week’s experiment, I can come to the conclusion that either a)this blog is still pretty anonymous, or b)those who read it aren’t willing to comment, even when requested to. Either way, this is still a cozy corner o’ the web for me. It’s amazing how much personal stuff you can put on the web with little to no repercussions, mainly because most people don’t care, and the ones who do are people in whom you would probably confide anyway.

In any case, I got around to thinking this past week how life still scares the hell out of me, for the most part, which led, once again, to pondering Kim Isom. Since it’s been so long since I’ve had any sort of contact with her, she’s become more of a symbol, a catalyst if you will, of my current mindset and personality. You see, before all that stuff happened with her that’s described earlier on this blog, I prided myself on being reliable. From little things, such as helping a friend get home from school one day, to big things, like helping a friend write a 40+ song musical, orchestrate it, and direct the pit orchestra at the same time, I always considered myself a man of my word. Then that incident occurred, and when it did, my faith was shaken in my own reliability. I had given my word to accomplish a very important task for a person I greatly liked, and I let her down in every possible way. It has weighed heavily on my conscience every since, and there has always been, ever-present, in the back of my mind, the need to know whether she has forgiven me. Alas, I may never know, as she is harder to get ahold of than J.D. Salinger, and even if I could find her there’s no guarantee she’ll even want to talk to me, much less forgive me.

I still try to be a man of my word. But now I know that I am capable of violating that word, flagrantly and without cause, and I don’t like that. To minimize the chance of it happening again, the simple fact is that I don’t give my word out very often. Only for the most trivial things that I can easily accomplish, or for the most important things that I probably would have done anyway. Who gets let down that way? Nobody. It’s a risk-free way to live. Unfortunately, it can get stagnant, and many opportunities for growth, friendship, and even love pass by, and that’s also not a person I want to be. Thus, life is a bit frightening right now as I struggle between safety and growth. Perhaps if I could get a hold of Kim that wound could begin to heal, and I could more clearly make that decision, but as of now there’s still a lot of pain to go through.

Another reason life greatly scares me is a more universal, less personal reason: I’m running out of cash with no easy way out of the situation, and I’ve really got to get a job this week. This is mainly due to me quitting my job at Title One in August to go back to school here at BYU. When I worked at Title One I never had to worry about money. My income far outweighed my expenses, even with larger purchases such as a new transmission for my car, a Pocket PC, or even college tuition. Last year (’05-’06), I took a few classes both here in Provo and up at the Salt Lake Center (finishing off my generals with the exception of one English class), but retained my job in order to pay for it. I made a decent $9.00 an hour doing what I did, and I was 100% financially secure. My job wasn’t horrible; on the contrary: my boss was great, the hours were good, the atmosphere was fine, and the work wasn’t too difficult but wasn’t too mind-numbingly boring either. I probably could have continued where I was for a much longer period of time, maybe even studying to be a title examiner to make more money. But I didn’t. Why not? Why did I decide to give up financial security, and a decent life, to go back to college, live in increasing poverty in an apartment, studying a subject that is a far cry from future financial security?

I was secure. But I was stagnant. Doing other people’s title work is all well and good, but how does it improve me? Where do I derive the meaning out of life searching back properties and filing microfiche? Most people who work white-collar jobs such as the one I had at least have their own family to go home to. They don’t derive passion from the work specifically, but in the knowledge that the work they were doing was supporting financially the ones they most cared about. Me? Socially, I was stuck in a rut, going out with the same group of friends over and over again, a group that was stuck in the same type of rut I was. I love Casey and Josh and Nate a lot, but they are types of people with which it is difficult to have certain types of conversation. I can’t explain it very well, but if you know the parties involved you’ll know what I mean. Also, I couldn’t even think about a family when I wasn’t even meeting any new people. It is difficult, or quite selfish, to take joy in the fact that you’re only helping to support yourself. (Not quite as selfish as relying on someone else, like your parents, to support you when you’re in your twenties or beyond, but selfish nonetheless.)

I also am a music man. I derive a lot of my own personal joy from creating music. This is something I discussed a bit in the “Far Beyond the Stars” post a few posts ago, so I’m not going to heavily go in to it here. But making music makes me happy, because I know I can make others happy with it, too. Title work does not hold that appeal for me.

So I quit and moved to Provo. At least here, I would be in a more social atmosphere. When people have a problem, changing locations is often a key to solving the problem. If a person has a drinking problem, hanging out in bars is not going to help him overcome it. If a person has difficulty making friends and going on dates, living in his parents’ basement and going to work with people who are mostly married and/or much older isn’t going to help him overcome that problem either. And you know what? It’s actually worked. I may not be currently dating anybody, but I do have friends. People who like me, not for my musical skill, or based on my siblings’ high praise, but for who I am. The walks after midnight to the 7-11 to buy hot chocolate. The door decorations of random adjectives. The making of a birthday cake with a single matchstick in it because the girls involved didn’t have any birthday candles. The random card/board games every few nights. The notes that say things like, “Jeff, you play a mean [piano]. Too bad you have to die! (You don’t really have to die, you’re great!)” These are the things that make life worth living. These are the reasons I can get up in the morning and face life. This is why I can give up a secure financial future. In the scariness of life, there are a few things that make it a little less frightening, and these particular ones I couldn’t find at Title One. I am finding them here.

I don’t want to let any of these girls down, like I did with Kim. I can’t. I just can’t.


Week 2 – Smooth ‘n Smarmy

For Week 2, I wrote a smooth ‘n smarmy jazz number. It was actually written for my theory class using block chords, but I “jazzed” it up a little! Hah! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this selection for Week #2.

And for anybody who might be following my 52-week progress, please feel free to leave comments about these little dittys. (Even if you’re reading this in the middle of May or something and I’m several weeks past this, I’d still enjoy any feedback.)


Comment on this if you read it!

This is mostly a test with my new Facebook thing. Supposedly everybody on my friends list gets notified if I post something here, and I’d like to see how many people are paying attention. So, for everybody who reads this, leave a comment on this post. If you can’t think of anything clever, just post something unoriginal: Tennyson’s “Charge of the Light Brigade,” for example. In any case, let me leave you with an eerie resemblance between a relative of mine and an evil vizier:

Ben and Abdul


Facebook Link

Seems everybody else has got a Facebook doohickey, so I bit the bullet and got one myself. Here’s the “badge:”

Jeffery Krit Parkes' Facebook profile

Apparently I can set up an RSS feed so that Facebook is notified whenever I post here. We’ll see if readership increases or anything wacky like that.

Have fun wit’ it!


Directory of the Promenade

Just for some randomness, I found the directory of the promenade on Deep Space Nine, as seen on the actual show (although too small to really make out on the screen):

Most of these shops are in-jokes among the cast & crew of DS9, although some are references to other shows (such as the “Tom Servo’s Used Robots” shop).

Just something random for you.


Week 1 – Doepfer Jam

To start off this project, for the week of my birthday I have written a “Doepfer Jam.” This is not quite an industry standard term, but it’s what we call it in the BYU Media Music Program. Doepfer is a German company known for its analog modular audio hardware systems. These include audio devices such as waveform generators, low, hi, and band pass filters, and amplitude modifiers; as well as control devices such as envelope generators, portamento controls, LFO devices, and other audio technical jargon stuff.DoepferBasically, with the system that BYU possesses, you can create a basic waveshape(sine, square, sawtooth, triangle, etc.), or create white/pink noise, and play with a lot of patch cables and knobs to make it sound cool. Our Doepfer equipment also has an eight-event sequencer, which means I can loop eight events over and over again, whether they be notes, noise bursts that sound like percussion, or whatever. This demonstrates some of the basics of sound synthesis, which forms the backbone of my current study in the synth program, which in turn is the heart of the BYU Media Music program, which is my major. In other words, I gotta learn this stuff.

In any case, the MP3 of the work I did today can be found on my MySpace Artist Page. It’s pretty basic stuff, and the “melody” line above was actually created using a different MIDI device entirely, so it’s not a true pure Doepfer Jam, but then, with the equipment we have, it would just be those same eight beats over and over again until you are driven mad. MAD, do you hear me?!? Enjoy it!

I also need to find a place to host these songs as I get more, as unless I want to make them all MIDI files I can’t put them all on Angelfire with the limited space I have, and MySpace only lets you have four songs at a time. We’ll see what I can come up with.


The beginning of 52 weeks!

Well, I’m turning 24 next Sunday. And for this new year of 24-ness, I have resolved to write one song a week, to make 52 songs or so by the time I turn 25 in a year from now. Ron Simpson, the head of the Media Music department here at BYU, said that it’s dangerous for music studios to take on people who have written their first ten-twenty songs over ten years or so. Sure, the first album might be a hit, but when another album is due to be released two years later, how will the studio know that the artist can produce the same caliber of music with substantially less time? To see what quality of music I can come up with, I propose these simple rules:

1. I have to write a song every week from Nov. 12, 2006 to Nov. 12, 2007.

2. I do not have to start the song on Sunday and finish on Saturday; I can write it any time during the week.

3. If I do not finish a song by the end of Saturday, I will leave it as-is and start a new one the week following.

4. I can count assignments in my music classes as songs for this project, as long as they are original compositions and not some figured-bass exercise or dictation or something.

5. The song can be anything: from eight measures of piano to a full orchestral thing to a simple melody to a Doepfer Jam (which will be explained once I do one for my Synthesizer class so I can post the end result here). As long as I have made an effort, it will count.

6. No using older songs as a cop-out. That means I have to write new material, not remix “Lightning” again.

7. I am not required to post my songs anywhere, as long as they are saved on my hard drive. Some songs I am more proud of I may post here or on MySpace or something, but it is not necessary.

8. The songs don’t technically have to be songs, i.e. sung by somebody, but can be any sort of musical work.

I think that about covers it. Let’s see if I hold true to this! To get it started with “Week 0,” as it were, here is a piece I wrote for my Music 295 class, in which I had to modulate three times using “miscellaneous means.” Enjoy it!


Set a heading. . .for romance!

Just two things. First, this:

The Trekkie Test.

Not a surprise. Second, why do the really attractive girls I like who seem to like me as well end up going on a mission? This week is the second time it’s happened! I refuse to believe it’s a coincidence!

Wait. On second thought, maybe it is a coincidence. Or rotten luck. Oh, well. At least I’m a captain!


More random notes from a Sunday

(This was originally a note from my Pocket PC, much of which was written using the handwriting recognition tool, which is normally pretty inaccurate.)

“It’s easier to fill your time with what’s available than what’s right.” – Me, with obviously some inspiration

32+6-71= -33 Transcriber She was talking about Chicago? The city or the musical? We also need to praya lot Guess What? Life doesn’t suck but is dart know Dart know? What the foo? Whotwill affect your eternal palwation?. Keep on keepin on Jeff. Pont lose hope:

Mmm. . .false doctrine in Sunday School. . .


I can post in church!

I’ll be brief, since I probably shouldn’t be blogging in the middle of church. This Pocket PC can either use an onscreen keyboard or a letter recognizer/transcriber to input text. I tried the transcriber last week during my film class. In addition to the notes being pretty random, the recognizer was clearly not foolproof, especially if one has bad handwriting. But let’s see what you think (note: the first part was input using the onscreen keyboard):

(begin paste)

Kids’ acting is the real thing. If a filmmaker wants a kid to act traumatized, he traumatizes the kid.

We need actors so we can learn lessons without putting ourselves into compromising situations.

Is there anything you learn in this class that you didn’t innately know before? I mean, come on! Judas Priest! It’s all this philosophical discussion without much straight learning. On one hand, that makes me feel better about missing so much.

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Hon manic OS-. us suck? What? Felt-? On stage? I’malnays on stage j- ac kie Chan is on stage. on occasion Pick your nutes,these arc quite random, Billy Acting is something we all know and do, however ti is done Now we’11 watch a ‘documentary” Ul ntrammeled Perform, Darboe! Girls love Paul Anka: And really, who doesn’t? EVERYONE is the victim of Paul Anlxa Acive you ever watched people? t7’S an amazing thing to see how people interact ,dude. Stageacting isn’t always big, and fi Im acting isn’t always small, like Jim (arrey Don’t INVALIDatf. I. 1 legible Actors are important tools Imnote hllegibrey Thour that’s better nore exuberance, the frame gets biggah! Nonsense Nun sense! Waster, there’s am mourner rakel . invalnerarble whatever. Creatively, Chaplin is the film guy but Itleatonis a master Filmmaker Jeff Parkes Requires Kumility Humility Mis on sen Play scenes talk in the partly jer kface famous performance inthe middle, let’s thing ‘”roll ) Break I think I’ve finally accurately written down what goes on in my head! -. This is totally it”! Dunude! not nude! NHS that LOWEicas_f? yes Ihaie permanently lost all bank of coherence It’s amazing how my cursive is more readable to thus thing than is my printing This is Cursive This, however, is printing aka my normal handwriting Hey: It’S not doing badly on either count: relatively speaking- o’ course. Life is beautiful It’s time to begin again Signthe damned roll, Jamba juice is like 519.OO or so! lotsot cuts in Student fi Imsidecars the acting sucks Jots of cuts in student films because the acting bucks Sam Schma Hz! Johnathan makes me want to kill myself: SeeiiouI of context Tons of music! Casablanca! Music makes yaw forced to feel badCrying=spirituality? nooo Wagner was interested in integrated art workI am improiscd) Jac kietude GestaH entity is d musical Whole exceeds sum of parts Gestalt that’Swhat You are watching beHah, mom look how Stars arent everything Rhythmic superstar transcending tirro and spare bipace not spare crap it all ??? that’I appropr rate can’f psychologically handlei-171.3, RS tha’ it? Ithinkit’S being eatenby some Linux or somethingtoo late fow their kid I’m wrtt74g horribly Shadonlands isa good show, sir LBtento Your sonncltrichy Color box Don’t get 7,7 by9 batty Sillybear kid from Jurassic Park Music was used to emphasi ze,no^t underscore Reins Reminded about The science guy may halt movies but they rural more truth than may maStraight placesntrusive Anditechts suck It keeps going You can leave things blank if you wish, but it’s just silly to fill it all in only immature. artists do it Design is keg Keys adding is immataritt F. ‘St s c- es O Someone is unable to express his emotions peopleact ditterenhfy in Response tocrisis leant Respond to his fathers death go.dawn I raeoess greatest story evah T.Otloecoffk Kendrick lfffi kendr;dx Hi,sir buttocks Exploit ation is not cool One person’S excess is another person’s heaven! laaaa! Italian know it Sophri Copolla

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Make sense to you? It doesn’t to me, and I wrote the fern dern thing! Actually, this post is mainly to draw attention away from the previous, selfish post. I’m leaving it up, as I believe in preserving all sides of my history, but I’m not proud of it. Admitting your problems is the first step to fixing them, I suppose. Anyway, I should get back to church.


Too-rah-loo!

That’s right, mates, it’s “Talk Like Monterey Jack Day!” This ‘oliday wuz invented by the regulahs at the Acorn Cafe (including yoahs truly, of coahse), and wuz intended tah celebrate that mastah of Ozzie mayhem, Monterey Jack ‘imself! Crikey, it’s a bonza ideah to ‘honah this great mouse every Octobah 19th.

That’s ’bout all I gotta say ’bout that, mates! In conclusion, heah are some bonza avatahs from way back, now in a seasonal form.

All seasons