Entries from June 2008 ↓

This castle is for sale. I don’t know where it’s located, but I don’t really care. I want it.

I didn’t know people built castles, but I stumbled onto this company, Castle Magic.

They’re experienced in architecture, physics, woodworking, stone masonry, but they don’t know crap about building a clean coded website. No matter. Take a gander at their work. Be amazed. Be very amazed.

Here’s the details of the castle that’s for sale.

Built in 1999 as a snowy mountain retreat, the two foot thick stone castle walls were built by laying up double walls of split ashlar rock to create a permanent formwork for the hidden steel reinforced concrete core and layers of waterproof insulation. Hydronic floor heat hidden in the stone and hardwood floors throughout the castle keep the interior toasty warm in addition to two stone fireplaces. Stone arched handcrafted walnut windows,stained glass, torches, and hand forged light fixtures. Includes 4-car garage, indoor pool, 3 towers, and real stone & carved hardwoods. You can ski in & out to the chairlifts from the castle.

They’re asking $1,632,000. I’m a little bit short. If I sell everything I own except a few changes of clothes, I figure I only need somewhere around $1,617,450.

My subtle desire to learn to play the guitar goes back to my youth. I never acted on it though. When I was still in my 20’s I did somehow end up with a nice little Martin guitar. Good intentions to learn to play never materialized, and I sold it to a friend who did play. It was a rather expensive guitar and I remember hating myself for parting with it. I think I hated myself more for failing to give learning to play a go.

About 3 years ago I began saving my money $5 at a time. I’d stash away a little bit here and little bit there. Never anything more than $5 and usually doing it a dollar at a time. My objective? To purchase a guitar and learn to play. I had no idea what guitar I wanted or needed. I had no amount of money in mind, but I figured it might require about $500 or so.

My failures of the past were due, in part, to my inability to properly fret a guitar. The action (the height of the strings off the fretboard) of acoustic guitars seemed awkward and difficult for me. I could fret an electric guitar easily. But I didn’t want an electric guitar. Amps and all that stuff? No thanks. Not that I wouldn’t love it, but it’s just not practical for me. Even so, I was often tempted to go that route because electric guitars typically have a lower action than acoustics.

I kept saving my money. I stumbled onto Zager Guitars.

“EZ-Play” Guitars are modified by Master Guitar Luthier Denny Zager to play easier than any other guitar made. The EZ-Play modification process involves: Lowering the strings closer to the fret board so you no longer have to press hard to form a chord. Adjusting the string spacing so there is more room for your fingers which enhances speed and reduces buzzes and rattles. Modifying the bracing, bridge, and saddle in harmony to amplify the tone and resonance. The result is a guitar that is 50% easier to play with a sound that compares to guitars costing 5 times the price

First, I must brag about their customer service. I’m a customer service fanatic. These folks perform extraordinarily well. And they make a fine guitar that is admittedly easier to play (fret) than any acoustic guitar I’ve held, and I’ve held Taylors, Martins and many great ones.

Well, I’ve had the guitar since November 2007. I even got 6 months of Zager’s online guitar instruction. I’d love to tell you that I’m strumming away with great success, but I’m not. I tried to follow the instruction, but after a month I become incredibly discouraged and stopped. No, I wasn’t even able to get my money’s worth from the 6 months of online instruction.

I don’t blame the instruction though. A number of things sabotaged me. One, the instruction was online and if you don’t have constant hi-speed Internet access, then you don’t have access to the lessons. To just sit and noodle (practice) away from a computer is practically impossible. Two, I struggled to get into it. I take full responsibility for that. I just couldn’t seem to make progress. Day after day I would try to practice for 30 minutes so I could chord more comfortably and apply what few things I was learning. Truth is, I got very bored. Three, my boredom won. And I surrendered. But not completely.

Enter my next phase. I began to talk to people and ask lots of questions. I began to research taking lessons. I began to research other instructional programs. While almost everybody said personal lessons would be beneficial, they also indicated that the instructor made all the difference. Well, I suspected that. So I began to ask around about various instructors. For every recommendation I got, I got a handful of people who suggested somebody else. Then other questions began, “What style do you want to learn?” Style? Are you kidding me? I don’t have a style. I suspect I won’t live long enough to have a style. Blues? Rock? Gospel? My answer: Yes. It was all becoming so complex.

Time and again the Internet was recommended as a great source. Like I didn’t already know that. So I continued my search. This all began in earnest around March. In the meantime, I was barely taking the guitar out of the case. I had little idea what to do. Correction, I had NO idea what to do. I did, however, reach a few conclusions. I knew I needed help. I knew I needed somebody who could show me what to do. I also knew I needed somebody who wouldn’t just teach me how to chord a song. My quest to learn the guitar was sparked because I really wanted to learn music. It seems lots of people taught how to parrot. I wasn’t so interested in that, even though I wanted to see myself able to play real songs. And I also concluded that I needed something not tethered to being online. I wanted video or in-person. And I wanted some written material to boot. I also knew I needed a community of other people - guitar players - where I could ask questions without looking as stupid as I really am.

After months of doing more research on learning to play the guitar than practicing or actual learning - I finally made a purchase. I’ve not received the program yet, but I’m anxious to get it. I’ll keep you updated on my progress. It’s a highly touted program, but it may be all hat and no cattle. I’ll find out if I can at last get the inspiration to keep after the goal.

For starters, I intend to practice at least 15 minutes a day. I can find that much time every single day. And I hope to increase it to 30 minutes after the first few weeks. If I find myself enjoying the process (and making progress) then I’m liable to sit for much longer practicing. It’s more important to start out with a lower expectation. After all, when you consider all the drug-addicts capable of playing the guitar (and other musical instruments), surely I’m able to learn it. Or, maybe I’m too sober to ever learn!

I’ll post a weekly update. Look for me on YouTube in about a year.

This guy has a problem many audiophiles have, including me. A love of music, some nice audio gear and no place sufficient to set it up and enjoy it. He appears to have negotiated a closet and he’s been pretty inventive in assembling components that hopefully work well for him.

Not all audiophiles have this problem. For instance, this fellow seems to have all the space he wants. There are lots of guys like this, but I’m not one of them. And I suspect there are more of us, but we just don’t post pictures of our closets or small spaces. Tricked out Hummer owners post more pics of their rides than those forced to ride around in 1978 Honda Civics. The same is true in audio. Or anything else I suspect.

I’m going a different route. For starters, I’m selling my loudspeakers and the amp designed to run them effectively. The combination is very magical when they’re set up in a room that can be properly configured. But I don’t have a properly, or even improperly, configured space. And the set up represents quite an investment that seems wasted sitting boxed up.

I’ve taken a few steps to remedy my situation. It’s probably an unwise strategy, but it’s the only one I’ve got (for now).

1. I decided to sell the components that need a proper room. This includes a set of speakers and one amp (yes, I have more than one amp). The amp I’m selling is designed to drive single-driver speakers. So, it’s not the most versatile amp out there, but it’s incredible with single-driver speakers that have no crossover.

2. I’m keeping the components that can be engineered to work in a very small space. This includes another amp that will work with most any speaker. It’s a high quality amp that is pretty “speaker friendly.” I’m also keeping my source component, a heavily modified DVD player (used only to play CD’s, DVD-Audio or SACD’s) with a tube output stage, and a buffered-passive preamp (a glorified volume control). I’ve also got a cheap CD changer, for just grins and to use when background music is more the goal.

3. I purchased some mini-monitors to use in a nearfield situation. I may have to play with the placement when the speakers arrive, but I think they’ll be fine. I’m not worried about lack of bass because I’m not a low frequency hound anyway. And there are always subwoofers that can remedy those concerns.

4. But my primary move is the most space saving of all - headphones. I’ve been the longtime owner of a pair of Senns HD600. However, I’ve never owned a headphone amp before. So I bought one. A portable one. Battery powered, or wall wart powered. And it works like a champ! It even makes my iPod or iPod Shuffle sound terrific - and I’m a huge opponent of compressed music.

In the end, that last item may be my final state. I may wind up selling all my audio components knowing that wherever there’s room for my head, I can always slap headphones on and hookup to an iPod or my Mac laptop.

Jimmy Buffett’s “Pirate’s Look at 40″ realized he was “an over 40 victim of fate, arriving too late.” He lamented that there was no longer anything to plunder because he arrived too late on the scene to be a real pirate. I’m an over 40 victim of fate with no space - no room for the music anymore. Except in the car and through my headphones. Thankfully, technology is on my side. The sound is pretty spectacular.

I do miss the days of being able to sit quietly and listen to a great record. But, that’s what happens to audiophiles like me and Pwfletcher. We just go back into the closet to listen to our music.

Mad Max 3: Beyond Thunderdome. Ah, what a movie! Actually, I enjoyed it. Call me a connoisseur.

This week I was reminded of the line that seemed to epitomize this flick. “Dyin’ time’s here.” Thoughts of death sometimes sweep over me. This week I’ve spent an extraordinary amount of time working on the things I want to happen when I die. Morbid? Not really. Practical. Cathartic even. Extremely worthwhile and valuable. Even for now. Pondering one’s death is a grand way to get to what’s important in life. It makes you put everything in a different (hopefully, better) perspective.

I enjoyed another line in the movie. As the combatants enter the Thunderdome, they’re introduced and welcomed by the announcer who says, “I know you won’t break the rules because there aren’t any.”

When it comes to thinking of your death - there are no rules. Take the thoughts of your own death anywhere you’d like. My personal journey (which really began a few years ago) started with making some notes of what I wanted my funeral service to be like. It expanded from there.

Today, I downloaded all my notes onto a thumb drive, along with some letters I wrote. I suspect I’ll have to update it every now and then. At least I hope I’ll be able to do that. I honestly don’t want this to be my final version. I’d like to have a few more decades to work on it.

But, you never know when dying time is here!

I don’t always use my head wisely. That’s what brings about the pounding, ducking headaches. It began - the pounding, that is - yesterday afternoon. Not a good Monday. It wasn’t even noon yesterday and regret had already set in. And set up. Fully. In concrete.

People who claim stress won’t kill you - they’re idiots. It will. Last night I was watching the national news on NBC. Tim Russert’s doctor talked about how hectic Tim’s schedule was, and how much stress he was under - but he pontificated that because Tim loved his work, it wasn’t a negative stress. And in no way did it contribute to his sudden death. Well, I don’t know how he can be so sure. How could any doctor theorize such a thing? I have no idea the stress that Tim Russert was under. I’m only slightly aware of the stress I’m under.

When I was younger I didn’t think there was much to stress. Now that I’m older, I know better. Stress will kill you. But I’m burying the lead. Regrets cause even more stress. Like I don’t have enough without creating my own. But that’s how it goes with regrets. Regrets are stress that you create. Regrets are all your own. Nobody else is responsible for your regrets. That makes them even more stressful.

It’s only Tuesday - Tuesday morning at that - and already I’ve got regrets. Plural. As in many.

Regret comes in a variety of flavors. There is the regret of not doing something, or not saying something. There is the regret of doing something, or saying something. My regrets run the full gambit. There are things I’ve done that I regret. I’ve said things I regret. I’ve neglected things - and I regret it. There are even things I’ve not said, and later regretted it. That last one is hard because I probably tend to say too much - rather than too little.

For a few weeks now I’ve not been myself. I suspect my recent regrets have something to do with not feeling very well, but that’s no excuse! It’s why I began talking about stress though. I suspect stress is the culprit of my not feeling so terrific - for the past few weeks or so. Stress leads to not using your head wisely. Not using your head wisely leads to more stress. All the while the regrets are piling ever higher. Now, I’m like a hamster stuck on a wheel. Going nowhere fast.

Some days you eat the bear. Some days the bear eats you. For weeks now, the bear has a clear advantage over me. The bear has had me in a number of submission holds. I’ve been close to tapping out a time or two, but decided against it. I don’t regret continuing the fight. I do regret saying things I shouldn’t have said. Doing things I shouldn’t have done. And as always, the neglect is regrettable. It’s only Tuesday.

Thankfully, I’ve got a big portion of the week to make up for it. Or to spiral down even further. It’s up to me to determine which it’ll be. My hand is on the stick and I’m pulling up as hard as possible.

Nobody exemplifies cool as much, or better than Paul Newman.

He’s in the news this week as people speculate on his health. Does he have terminal cancer resulting from too many years of chain-smoking? Does he have cancer at all? His business partner has made conflicting statements. Newman is quiet. I hope it’s not true because I really like Paul Newman. I’ve had a man-crush on him since I was a kid. Paul Newman is just plain cool.

He’s always been cool. Even when he’s sitting in bed sewing up a jacket - he’s cool.

His movie roles have included playing businessmen, blue collar workers, cowboys, attorneys, con artists, detectives, prisoners and even hockey coaches. In every single one, he was cool. One even had to include the title of cool - Cool Hand Luke. And boy, was he ever!

Paul Newman has qualities that aren’t so common, even among movie stars. George Clooney comes the closest today. Like Newman he’s got a high likability factor. Johnny Depp is very cool, but too quirky. He’s missing out on the high likability factor. Depp also has an arrogance that Newman never did. Maybe that’s why he’s not as likable.

Clooney has most of what it takes to claim cool. Good looks, likability, funny, believable and manly. But Newman is still the Main Man of Cool. Clooney lacks Newman’s brilliant blue eyes. He lacks Newman’s swagger - something not easily done while remaining really likable. Clooney, as many have observed, is the biggest Movie Star of our current era though. And I could easily develop a man-crush on George. He’s easy to watch and like.

I don’t know all the components of cool. If I did, I’d follow the pattern. We just know cool when we see it, or hear it. We know cool when its in front of us. Sadly, we don’t know when we’re not cool. Trust me, it’s best to just assume that you’re never cool because the probability is very high that you are not. I know I’m not.

You must be a superior performer if you’re going to be cool. Has Newman ever given a bad performance? Not in my mind. He’s even married to cool, Joanne Woodward. I’m fond of her, too. She’s got a cool that’s all her own.

Their love story has been cool. Bucking Hollywood tradition they’ve remained faithfully loyal to one another for over 50 years. Few probably realize he did have a wife prior to Joanne Woodward. He was married for about 9 years to the mother of his only son, Scott. Scott overdosed in 1978 and died. He and Joanne have 3 daughters.

Some of my very favorite flicks are Paul Newman flicks. Here’s a list of some of the more noteworthy ones.

The Long Hot Summer - 1957
Cat On A Hot Tin Roof - 1958
The Hustler - 1961
Hud - 1963
Harper - 1966
Cool Hand Luke - 1967
The Secret War of Harry Frigg - 1968
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid - 1969
Sometimes A Great Notion - 1971
The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean - 1972
The Sting - 1973
The Drowning Pool - 1975
Slapshot - 1977
Absence of Malice - 1981
The Verdict - 1982
The Color of Money - 1986
Mr. and Mrs. Bridge - 1990
Nobody’s Fool - 1994
Empire Falls - 2005

Go rent any of these and see what cool really looks like. Appreciate it. Women love him. Men can openly declare their man-crush on him. Translation: we wish we were him, or just like him. He’s so cool.

Dog owners often conflict with their pets. Employees conflict with their bosses. Children conflict with their parents. Athletes conflict with their coaches. Students conflict with their teachers. The world is ripe with conflict.

I want to be like Preston’s dog. Not like Preston. Or Preston’s pants.

I don’t hate anybody. I do, however, hate many things created by people and many behaviors displayed by people. I hate them very much. In too many ways to count.

“Conflict resolution” is a big deal. Companies spend big money training people how to better resolve conflict. Therapists probably earn lots of money from people frustrated by their inability to handle stress well. Some therapist could likely retire if he were to have me as a paid patient. Not going to happen. My psychosis is my own and those I love.

Who needs to resolve conflict anyway? It’s much better to avoid it altogether!

People and creatures create most of the conflict that I suffer - and hate. Oh, sure there’s been the ocassional flat tire, or dead battery. That irks me, but there’s no conflict. How can you have conflict with an inanimate object? I’m not that skillful in my hatred, but I’m working on it. Ask my disorganized CD collection. I hate it. The disorganization, not the collection.

Why do people or creatures cause conflict? Because we all want what we want. We want to feel whatever we want to feel and we don’t much care what anybody else thinks or feels. So, we march forward with bull-headed determination to have it the way we want and sometimes we encounter resistance.

Enter the proverbial totem pole. That pecking order that enslaves all of us. About the time we get our head higher than the next fellow and figure we can impose our will - and finally have our own way - BAM! Enter some freakishly larger critter whose head towers above our own. They have a different idea. They want what they want, not what we want. And suddenly we’re right back where we started, at the bottom of the pole hating it so.

Many people feel substantially better by having as many people under them on the pole as possible. They realize there may be others above them, but that don’t much care about that. They mostly are concerned with stepping on the rest of us so they can make sure they’ve got their head higher. It makes them feel superior, better and more in control.

They create conflict so they can get their way. And most of us acquiesce. We don’t really want to fight. So we hug our little lower portion of the totem pole and make ourselves at home, lamenting our pathetic situation.

Today, I’m going to obliterate the totem pole of my life. Well, I’m going to at least get out my pocket knife and whittle on it a bit. Obliterate is probably too strong a term. My boldness will require more time to grow. One step at a time. It’s the 12 step recovery system necessary for my success in handling the conflict in my life. I don’t yet know what the other 11 steps are, but I know step one involves a pocket knife.

I think the carving needed is to alter the face on the bottom of the pole that currently seems to be my own. In it’s place I’ll carve somebody or something else. I won’t pick a specific person or beast. I’ll just alter the figure that appears to be me. I’ll make it look completely different, then that’ll get me off the pole. And if I’m no where on the pole, then perhaps I can select a somewhat higher perch - able to impose my own will.

I realize the challenge. How do I impose my will on my own life when so many others have contact with my life?

I could hole up somewhere, but that’s impractical. People would likely hunt me down and drag me back. Being wanted isn’t what I’ve got in mind.

I could severely limit the people who influence my life or even have contact with me. I’ve tried that. I still try it. It doesn’t work. It’s like trying to scoop up spilled Jello. You just smear it around and it seem so to grow worse.

I have, however, been successful in limiting my interaction with other humans, but it’s never been quite what I wanted. I still have to see people and talk to them.

Among the many tactics I could take, none seem possible or practical. So I have to concoct some other method of survival. That means I have to find a way to successfully deal with the conflict created by all the idiots who surround me and foist themselves upon me.

I have to climb the pole. I have to rise higher.

I have to earn more money because we all know that rich people are better and smarter.

I have to be buy a bigger, nicer house, too. Because we all know that the people who live in the biggest houses are better and smarter.

I have to buy a more expensive car, too. Because we all know that the people who drive a Mercedes or BMW (or something more exotic) are better and smarter.

I can’t work where I work and do what I do and climb the pole. That won’t work. I have to change my career. I can’t drive what I drive or live where I live. It won’t work.

I’m far too common to be up higher on the pole so I have to change that. To impose my will on others I must be more obnoxious. See, I already realize I’m obnoxious to some degree. I just need to ramp it up. I need to view others as being the lesser people they truly are when compared to me. I need to understand that I really am the center of not just my own world, but everybody else’s, too. I need to get up in the morning convinced that the world owes me. I need to go to bed every night thankful that I’m not like common people incapable of being as being as smart as I am.

I think I can do that. A little debt at first will be required, but that’s okay. Americans understand and appreciate the power of debt. Besides, appearance is what matters. Substance is highly overrated. If I appear to be at the top of the pole, then I am at the top of the pole.

Presto, chango! I’ll be up higher on the totem pole where I can hob knob with the other pompous people who seem to always insist on having their way causing conflict for others by avoiding it for themselves.

Don’t tell Rhonda Byrne. She thinks she’s got the Secret.

I often feel like Billy.

Life happens even if you’re not quite ready.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” is a common refrain when we look back at a decision or choice with the realization that our dreams would have been better served by doing just the opposite of what we did.

What if our dreams all came true though. “Be careful what you wish you,” has been a longstanding warning. It has always struck me odd because it presupposes so many things. Namely, it assume that merely wishing a thing will make it so. It also assumes that no matter how grand or self-serving the wish, you’ll likely get it - so wish with care. Phooey!

I cringe every time I hear people say, in their most encouraging voice, “You can be anything you want to be.” There are variations of it. “You can do whatever you put your mind to,” is a favorite of many people. “You can do it if you try hard enough,” has been uttered by many well-meaning parents. Even those who have idiots for children.

When a world-class athlete says that about himself, or herself - it makes perfect sense. Tiger Woods can tell us that he can win the next major tournament if he just goes out prepared to give it his best effort. That’s true. But it’s not true for the millions of golfing hacks. The man behind the voice matters.

Dreams vary. In scope and scale they are wildly different. Did Tiger Woods or Earl dream that he’d be the world’s highest paid athlete? He made over $122 million last year in winnings and endorsements. It’s been projected that his career earnings will top the $1 billion mark by the year 2010, if not before. Did he dream that?

I play in a volleyball league - coed recreational. It’s one of those just for fun leagues, but unfortunately the competitive nature comes out in most of us. Some of us are able to rein in our stupid thoughts of youthful athleticism. Most of us didn’t even have it when we were young. We just thought we did. I have no dreams of grandeur when I step onto a volleyball court. Well, I do actually dream about ending an evening without major injury. For me, that’s a victory and a dream come true.

Last night we were up against some dreamers. A couple of the guys had visions of being Karch Kiraly. That’s not a realistic dream to have when you: a) are approaching 40 or older, b) have a vertical leap no higher than 4″, c) have more than 30% body fat, d) have man-boobs that are the envy of every woman on your team, d) wear black socks with your white gym shoes and e) lack the sufficient hand-eye coordination to operate a paddle ball.

Some set their sights oh so low. The dream to spike a volleyball in a coed-rec league is quite a low accomplishment really. And if the dream does come true, so what? Tiger made $122 million last year and you want to feel good about being able to spike a volleyball? I’ll bet you can’t do it twice in a row!

Many dreams seem to hinge on money or fame. Some on accomplishment, but usually the accomplishment is driven by money or fame, or both. American Idol illustrates my point.

I’m unsure what my dreams are any more. I’m too old now. I’ve been jaded by the reasoning of the adult world that preaches more about goals, than dreams. Don’t you know that a dream is only a wish unless you develop a plan? Blah. Blah. Blah. Adults suck all the life out of most childhood productivity - eventually.

I remember laying under big shade trees or playing the woods running through ground blanketed with pine needles. And doing lots of dreaming. About one day being able to drive. About girls. About having fun. About building a new fort. About cars. About sports. About water balloon fights. About sleeping over at a friend’s house so we could stay up all night and cut up. About how to get up the courage to ask out a girl who captured my attention. About being a rock star. About how cool it would be to not have to go to school. About what we’d do when summer arrived. I used to do so much dreaming.

I reached an age where I could drive. I bought a car or two that I wanted. I asked out the girl who captured my attention. I even married her. I built more than a handful of forts. I played sports - still do. I’ve had more water balloon fights than I can count. I’ve slept over at many friends’ houses and we’ve stayed up all night joking and laughing. I’ve experienced summer vacations until adulthood took them from me. But, I’ve never been a rock star.

More dreams have come true than not. Perhaps there is something to, “Be careful what you wish for.” Dreaming dies only when we do. Maybe our days are numbered based on our ability to keep the dreams alive. I know I’m not nearly done with my dreaming.