Moving forward

I didn't realize that it's what I'm doing until I explained it to a friend this morning, but I'm slowly putting myself into a corner, from which the only escape is selling some writing. And mind you, this is on purpose. I've never had problems writing for other people. They just tell me what their deadline is and set me loose. I come back, almost always ahead of deadline, never behind it, with good, solid (sometimes even fun!) writing. For some reason, I don't do that for myself, though. I've given myself deadlines, then laughed at them as they fly by. I've given myself structure, only to smash it later. I've even tried to cajole myself into writing, which is really hard to do when I'm not listening to me. So far, it's only my journals (this blog being one of them) that get attention. But that's a starting point. "Knowing is half the battle," says G.I. Joe. Now, I'll just work on my own projects in my journals. Maybe I'll even start something in the blog. Oh, mystery! Oh, suspense!

Oh yeah... the point

You ever get so carried away with your rant that you forget your point? Yeah, me neither. It's like this: There is no easy answer. Each of us has to make our own decisions, and more importantly, be willing to live with the consequenses. If I take off the counter link to whatsit, then I directly reduce the income potential of the fine folks who made the code freely available in the first place. So then future purveyors of fine Web sites like this one will have to pay for the ridiculous things. On the other hand, if I leave the link in, then I maintain my implicit endorsement of whatever the whosamawatcha's site may be saying or selling, not to mention giving my electronic thumbs-up of the traffic-for-functionality currency the Web currently runs on. I could change the link, but that's almost worse than removing it. It's way more underhanded and devious. It's changing someone's work without notice, and without changing their byline. I hate it when people do that to my work. Here it is ladies and gentlemen: The moment we've all been waiting for... The Point: Chart your own course. Sail it. Enjoy the scenery. Repeat.

Like lemmings to the sea

I have joined the crowd. The flock. The herd. I say "baaaah," and relish each syllable as it rolls off my tongue. I have added a hit counter. That way, I can know how many of you don't come to read this rambling monolouge. Like a good boy, I started the counter at 0 and left in the silly little ad link. I wouldn't click on it if I were you. Like the naughty boy I truly am, I'll be taking out the link to whereever once I feel like the crew of the mother ship has had ample time to probe my poor little blog. I actually doubt they'd waste their time. I mean, come on. If I had enough traffic, time, and talent, why (oh dear god, *why*?) would I put a silly little graphical counter on the Web page? And since I don'have enough of the holy trivecta, is it really worth a company's time to make sure I'm toeing their particular line in the sand? This is the same dilema faced by anyone who has pirated music on thier computer. To paraphrase one of my favorite bands:

Should it stay or should it go now? If it stays, there will be trouble If it goes, it will be double Come on and let me know: Should it stay or should it go?

Then, to be really accurate, a spokesman for the RIAA dressed all in black leather, and with plenty of dark makeup and black fingernail polish, should storm onto stage, grab a mic, and scream:

GONNAKICKYERASSKICKYERASSKICKYERASS, GONNAKICKYERASSKICKYERASSSCARSWILLLAST! I'MGONNABREAKYERFACEBREAKYERFACEBIGDISGRACE, LITTLEPUNKWITHTHEBIGCPUBIGCPUBIGCPU. COMEONDOWNANDDOSOMETIMEPAYFYOURFINEITLLBEFINE.

Here's what I figure:

1. The vast majority of working musicians are following their dream, putting their creativity and chutzpa out there on a daily basis. We should reward them for this because following dreams is the only thing that's ever gonna change the planet for the better.
2. Since we (I'm talking about Americans here; Sorry rest of the world; I don't know how it is for you so I'll be damned if I'm gonna speak for you (unless of course you want me too, in which case, I'd be more than happy to. Have your people call my people and we'll do lunch.)) all share this mass delusion that we have to have newer and faster boxes that sit unused on our desks at home and at work -- how many billions of floating point operations per second does it take to type that e-mail, Bob? -- I figure we can damn well afford a buck a song or so, especially if most of it goes to the artist.
3. I have a small, cold, dark corner of my heart for big corporations that try to tell me how to live my life; try to take our (as in yours and mine) world away from us; wage business as war. So I say stick it to 'em, but only if you're ready to live with the consequences, which right now are:

   "The online infringement of copyrighted music can be punished by up to 3 years in prison and $250,000 in fines. Repeat offenders can be imprisoned up to 6 years. Individuals also may be held civilly liable, regardless of whether the activity is for profit, for actual damages or lost profits, or for statutory damages up to $150,000 per infringed copyright." So sayeth the RIAA.

• Of course, the best way to stick it to the corporate man is to not buy his crap. Litteraly. Keep your dollars in your pocket. Come on, you can do it, big spender!
4. If you really want free music, write your favorite artists, and make your case. Maybe you can convince them to post a few MP3s online. Maybe they'll send you the complete box set of all their work ever. More likely, they'll say "No, but thanks for asking." So you're back where you started, no harm done.
5. Ask yourself this: If I was trying to make a living by sharing something beautiful I made with other people, how would I feel if they ripped me off?

*Gets off his soapbox and dusts himself off* And now, to breakfast!

Scratch-a-frass

Alarm clock? I don't need no stinkin' alarm clock! I got me a scratch-a-frass. A harass-a-frass. An it's freakin' 4:50 in the morning and I dang well am not getting out of bed to feed-you-frass. An it's 4:52 and I'm getting ready to open the briefcase for the launch-codes-a-frass. An it's 4:55 and I'm stumbling down the stairs to feed your silly ass-a-frass. And now I'm up. And I've figured out how to install the digicam on the Linux box. And how to use Flickr to upload pics. And I've posted. All before 6 a.m. It's going to be one of those days, eh?

Me.

This is me. Today. But not right now.

The flower lady

I was downstairs getting a drink at the water fountain when the flower lady came around the corner. "Excuse me," she said in a strident flower lady voice. "What's the address here?" I shruged and laughed a little. "I'm sorry. I really don't know. Can I help you find someone?" "Well, I'm looking for 'Desnch... Lench... I don't really know, but I thought maybe you could help," she said, shaking her boquet-laden vase at me, coming dangerously close to soaking the carpet. "After all, the sign says 'Information.'" "Ma'am," I replied, biting the corners of my mouth to hide my grin, "This is information technology. Maybe the campus post office can help you out."

My name in lights

Check it out: I made the "Fab Five" of this month's music reviews at Indie-music.com with my thoughts about K.J. Denhert's "Girl Like Me." I've been writing for Indie-music.com for a couple months now, and dig it. My editor is really cool to work for; she's very laid back and easy going, but also competent. Soon, I'll even start getting paid for my words. Yee-haw! Check out my other reviews there:

• Claudia Jane: Identity Crisis
• C. Jane Run: How Do You Like Me Now?
• Johnny Reliable: Enough is Enough
• The Yesterdays: Everything You Never Knew
• Tiffany Petrossi: Circles

Oh, God, I hate...

What's with the profile builder in Blogger? It's no good, I tell ya. I've entered a profile in the dang thing twince now, and no information from either one is saved. What a job of work. Reminds me of my office...

The birth of the Digital Beest

If P.T. Barnum was living today, he might say, "A pain-in-the-ass blogger is born every second." And, of course, this second, I'm the pain in the ass. I'll be coming to you from the tippy-top of Wisconsin, on the shore of Lake Superior, and where ever else I roam, on a regular basis. You'll notice I slyly didn't mention what "regular" means. It could be daily. It could be regular like uncle-louie-in-the-outhouse-for-45-minutes-every-other-Tuesday. You choose. I'll post. Maybe we'll meet somewhere in the middle.