Author: elvis

prog-by-numbers

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Wow, what a resource. I just found progressiverock.com; a massive timeline of Prog, from 1967’s proto-prog Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, all the way through Pink Floyd’s bloated radio-rock opus The Wall, featuring reviews of pretty much every major prog-rock and krautrock album in between. There are reviews of major works – The Yes […]

Wow, what a resource.

I just found progressiverock.com; a massive timeline of Prog, from 1967’s proto-prog Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, all the way through Pink Floyd’s bloated radio-rock opus The Wall, featuring reviews of pretty much every major prog-rock and krautrock album in between.

There are reviews of major works – The Yes Album, Thick As A Brick, Brain Salad Surgery, Trick of the Tail; but also of minor but important acts like Jade Warrior, Premiata Forneria Marconi, Camel, Gentle Giant, etc.

This is a work of major geekery, arranged in cronological order. And importantly, while the dude who wrote all this is a fan-boy, he generally gets it, nailing both why the particularly great albums work, and why the over-rated ones (like The Wall) are not all they’re cracked up to be.

It’s an impressive piece of work; and for stoner prog-heads like me, it’s like a personal, bong-hit-and-black-light history of my teenage years.

Wow, man.

spamattack!

elvis11 Comments

comment spammers have brought my (brandon’s) server to it’s knees. If you can’t comment that’s why. Sorry about that folks; we’re working on it. I dunno if we finally did the right thing or if the spammers just gave up and ran, but this finally calmed down. I do NOT get what they think they’re […]

comment spammers have brought my (brandon’s) server to it’s knees. If you can’t comment that’s why. Sorry about that folks; we’re working on it.

I dunno if we finally did the right thing or if the spammers just gave up and ran, but this finally calmed down.

I do NOT get what they think they’re achiving. We all have nofollows on our links and most of us restrict who can post, so they’re spending cycles attacking the world, spending effort (and often using illegal resources).

And for what? To annoy us so mch we eventually find a way to cut them off. Unless they’re in the business of selling more security software and hardware, they’re not getting dick from this.

So it’s hard not to see it as malice, you know? Malice or stupidity. I’ll admit stupidity is the easy answer, but malice is just somehow more satisfying.

This caps a day where I struggled all morning to over-come a hangover and to write; the hangover I beat, the writing though, I never did, instead spending my day moderating domestic mayhem and cooking all afternoon. I shopped, did laundry, and while ideas floated through the back of my skull, they never stuck long enough to get down on paper or keyboard.

At least my kitchen smells of fresh turkey stock, which tomorrow should become asparagus soup, or possible tortilla soup; and I finished the day with little tequila while Papa Christo played guitar in my living room.

Days that end peafully are a good thing. I need them on almost all days ending in ‘y’.

You look like you been losin’ sleep

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I posted that Swervedriver song the other day which made me go listen to Mezcal Head. And I’m reminded what a fucking brilliant album this is. Here then is the one I can’t get outta my head, just cause I can’t get it outta my head: Last Train to Satansville.

I posted that Swervedriver song the other day which made me go listen to Mezcal Head. And I’m reminded what a fucking brilliant album this is.

Here then is the one I can’t get outta my head, just cause I can’t get it outta my head: Last Train to Satansville. Images

Motörhead Girl

elvis7 Comments

I looked over my lunch date’s shoulder, as we ate garlic-and-chili tofu and rice. I can’t even say exactly why the girl in the corner of the restaurant distracted me so much; or maybe it’s as simple as what she was wearing. She was blond; long, wavy hair. My best guess puts in her late […]

I looked over my lunch date’s shoulder, as we ate garlic-and-chili tofu and rice.

I can’t even say exactly why the girl in the corner of the restaurant distracted me so much; or maybe it’s as simple as what she was wearing.

She was blond; long, wavy hair. My best guess puts in her late twenties, though early or mid thirties might not be far off. She had a pretty, round face, and a figure you might call lush, or less flatteringly, round or plump. She had that pretty, shy look, like she had no idea how good looking she was.

She was wearing a Motörhead tee-shirt; I noticed this second, after I noticed that she was pretty. I have the exact same shirt.

I was looking at her over my lunch date’s shoulder; she looked up, looked away, down at her menu, then looked back at me. She blushed, I think, her pale cheeks coloring just slightly.

Maybe she knew me from work; I don’t know. When I later walked out, I caught a glimpse of a work id at her belt. Or maybe she just liked me looking at her, or in her insecurity, wondered why I might stare.

She was eating with two men, one asian, one not; both geeks. I could imagine them discussing gaming, or operating systems, or which Rush album was best. Co-workers, not boyfriends; Body language made that clear. She was one of the boys. I had an eye on her, without seeming to stare, all through lunch.

Later, when I walked out, I looked at her from another angle. She was in jeans, a little too small for her but in a good way. I wanted to see her standing, walking. I wanted to see her ass.

The t-shirt had ridden up slightly. She wasn’t wearing it that way in purpose; I’ll bet she feels too fat. A soft curve of skin showed between the top of her jeans and the bottom of her tee-shirt, creamy-pale against indigo denim and jet black shirt.

I imagined the feel of her skin, soft against my palm. The contrast of rough denim and soft, soft hip. Pictured stepping close behind her, one hand there, fingers inside the waist of her jeans; one in her hair, pulling her head back against my shoulder, turning her face to kiss me.

“You are getting into my head,” I wish I could tell her. From across the room; your face, your hair, your cool, rock-n-roll tee-shirt. Because when you reach across a room full of strangers and grab someone’s attention, get in someone’s head, you should know about it.

Motörhead girl, I want to kiss you.

girl on a motorbike

elvis3 Comments

I sat at a light, and watched a girl on a motorbike.

The bike was yellow; the girl was in leather, jeans. Her booted feet looked like a child’s, tiny black leather boots.

She passed me in an intersection as I waited for green, and then I tried to catch her; in my huge gray truck, it was hopeless. But I tried, ran a light to stay with her, passed my stop.

Her helmet was decorated, neck to crown, in sparkling stickers, whorls and flourish and little stick-on gems. It was a helmet a little girl would imagine on a princess, should a princess ride a motorbike; perfect and elegant, yet child-like.

I lost her at the next light, carving between cars on her fleet little yamaha; her black braid trailing behind her in the wind. I never got a look at even the sliver of face a motorcycle helmet would show, only a pair of mirrored shades, no more.

I turned my truck around, a great tire-screeching arc, and went back to my errand.

This is the song I dialed on my iPod as I drove away.

 

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Your First Tattoo

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I was talking to a friend recently about tattoos (ok, so, this could describe about a full quarter of the conversations have on a daily basis but nevermind).

This is one of those conversations you get in regularly if you’re heavily tattooed and in any way expert.

“I want to get a tattoo, can you tell me were to go.”

This is different than who did that tattoo or where did you get that tattoo; that question comes from two groups. One, those who are looking and know enough to know good work and to inquire as to it’s origin, and two, those who feel the need to comment and don’t know what to say. That second group, i can say 222 tattoo, san francisco, or I can say, san francisco or I can say katmandu and it won’t make any difference. They stare at me blankly either way.

But those are not the conversations I’m talking about. I mean the ones where someone who’s never been tattooed asks for help or advice. This is always a difficult conversation. Because tattooing is so completely personal.

Thus, here’s some general advice for those who want to get a tattoo and have no idea where to start.

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Angry Atheists

elvis5 Comments

Stolen from the lovely and talented OG, because it’s about time for a Really Stupid Quiz: You scored as Angry Atheist. Whoah! Down boy! It’s time to let go of the belligerence and let someone else talk for a while. Even if the religious don’t make must sense, you should probably observe the unspoken rules […]

Stolen from the lovely and talented OG, because it’s about time for a Really Stupid Quiz:

You scored as Angry Atheist. Whoah! Down boy! It’s time to let go of the belligerence and let someone else talk for a while. Even if the religious don’t make must sense, you should probably observe the unspoken rules for human interaction and not yell directly into their faces.

Angry Atheist
83%

Scientific Atheist
67%

Spiritual Atheist
58%

Apathetic Atheist
50%

Militant Atheist
50%

Agnostic
42%

Theist
8%

What kind of atheist are you?
created with QuizFarm.com

like a start-up

elvis1 Comment

Skip this one if you’re here for the dirty stuff. This is one in which I bitch about work and stress. How did another fucking week get by me like this? It seems like yesterday I was saying, i’m off for sake bombs and then two blinks I’m back, and the list of things I […]

Skip this one if you’re here for the dirty stuff. This is one in which I bitch about work and stress.

How did another fucking week get by me like this? It seems like yesterday I was saying, i’m off for sake bombs and then two blinks I’m back, and the list of things I need to get done is no shorter, in fact it’s longer.

I need a vacation, so very fucking badly. Hell, I needed to take a couple sick days this week (doctor’s orders – i got me a wicked sinus infection) but fuck it, I’ve no time to be sick.

I’m counting days til I get a break; 18. I head to anaheim for an all-too-short family trip to see The Mouse. But while that’s good for the soul, it’s not rest; four days of mad rush and then back at work.

My real vacation isn’t til august, and even that is still in a state of flux due to some scheduling difficulties. If I’m lucky though, I’ll be under water in about a hundred and twenty days.

Ignore me while I grumble. This shit ain’t as easy as when I was 25. This is why i didn’t move to a startup company six, almost seven years ago when I left Cisco. I had offers; I had several offers. But I had a moment of clarity, and though, sure the big money, maybe, if the dice land right, but what else? And I thought about my first run in a start-up where home was a memory, a place I showed up at to sleep and shower, where life was what I did at work, not the other way around. And I turned down an offer or two and took a job in a big corporation.

This last month it’s like I’m on one of those shops, where we are in push mode all the time, short handed and long-houred; and we don’t even see when the light at the end of the tunnel is, we don’t know when the ramp stops going up. It’s that kind of push, we’re in uncharted waters here. The schedule tells us nothing, because for my team, the work is setup, support, methodology. And we don’t know what is going to explode around which corner yet.

We’re makin’ this up as we fuckin’ go, y’know?

I had a conversation with a co-worker the other day; one of those relaxed, happy, eternally competent people who almost never gets riled, who never complains even when he has to work long house (ie, nothing like me), and he remarked, this is getting really tense, you know? Stress is getting to everyone. And I said yes, and dude, it’s going to get worse.

To be sure, I’m actually into what I’m working on, which hasn’t always been true the last two years. My days are winging by and I’m doing work I’m good at (i’m at my best at the bleeding edge). This isn’t misery I’m talkin’ about. But damn, I’m tired.

Happy D-day

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I just wanted to say happy birthday to my dear friend Doxy. I don’t think she even dwells in the blogosphere anymore so I doubt she’s reading, but still, she’s one of those people who should be celebrated. Here’s to ya, Girl.

I just wanted to say happy birthday to my dear friend Doxy. I don’t think she even dwells in the blogosphere anymore so I doubt she’s reading, but still, she’s one of those people who should be celebrated.

Here’s to ya, Girl.