August 2006
Tuesday, Aug 29
This evening, I spent several hours planning my patchbay layout. Not an easy task. A fellow I know recently observed that making decisions for a studio's construction and workflow is merely an attempt at predicting the future.
Where do you think you'll want to position those mic panels, how many inputs on them, what bases do you need to cover in what situations? We're trying to predict the future.
I believe I have accurately addressed the probable workflow according to the intended uses of the gear at hand. It was hard - quite harder than I thought it would be.
I wanted to plan for some specific growth patterns, like when I build a second room for a grand piano (admiring my optimism), and additional hardware devices. I re-aligned my thinking on the former, and concentrated on the latter.
I will require three (3) ninety-six point patchbays, and after allowing for eight more Pro Tools inputs and additional outboard gear, I have five empty points remaining. I also have a headache.
But I have predicted the future, and I don't think I'm wrong.
Monday, Aug 28
Marco is back. Once again it's Mike and Marco...the Dynamic Duo...I should have had both these guys actively building my studio all summer, and now I'd be working in there instead of writing bullshit blog posts about it.
There are good omens about. Marco's return, a promising call from a highly esteemed client who's moved to a different ad agency with lots of broadcast work, rave reviews of what I believe will be my main monitors, freshly waxed wood floors in the home.
We will order wall and ceiling fabric tomorrow. I need to choose the carpet for the control room and flooring for the back foyer, and find a bar refrigerator.
The Eventide H8000 is not feeling well. I opened a warranty service ticket with Eventide; in a three-way call between them, Sweetwater, and me. THAT, friends, is service.
Wednesday, Aug 23
Studio news: not much. They're working (they'd better be, or they'd be fired), a few things have transpired, and there is progress, but I haven't posted any photos, for two reasons: one, the changes are not dramatic enough to be of interest to anyone but me, and two, I now have such a desperate and angst-ridden attitude toward the whole thing that I no longer feel compelled to share any visual reference.
Believe me, there is work being done...and I'm pretty sure that I've created an atmosphere of underlying tension after my written and spoken ultimatums, and throwing a temper-tantrum in the presence of several workers last week.
I have learned that kindness does not always pay, particularly in the construction world, and that nice guys do indeed finish last. So much for my generous patience.
All right, that's enough of that. Now onto why I'm logging in here and posting an update to the glimpse of my incredibly fascinating life...
I maintain several separate email addresses. This enables me to create specific addresses to use in online purchasing, information updates, and other applications. I keep them separate due to fear of unwanted email, although I have noticed that over the last few years, that problem has largely vanished. I think that it became a very real risk to a company's reputation and client base to share customer's email addresses; I haven't experienced any problems in a few years. In 2001, some little piss-ant company shared/sold my info. I know they did it because I bought a book from them through Amazon, and I only had one email address at the time. About a week after I bought the book I suddenly began getting spam from all over everywhere, to the point where I had to completely shut down the account (along with my internet service) and open a new one...and wasn't THAT a barrel of fun with BellFuckingSouth.
But I digress. I have a contact email address for my domain name registration account, and this account's contact information is publicly viewable from Internic | Whois. And being publicly viewable and harvestable means a continual shit-stream of spam.
So what I do is periodically log into a web-based email client that comes with my hosting service, avoiding actual download of spam to my desktop machine, and clear out the mailbox of that particular account. And boy, does the shit pile up fast there. It's nearly all sexual in nature, followed closely by real estate offers, and quick money schemes.
I have to ask: who on earth responds to this shit? No really, who? It is inconceivable to me that anyone with the savvy required to maneuver on the internet would even consider doing so, but I guess somebody does or we would not have a junk email factor.
Anyway, tonight I logged in to clear it out, and decided to look at one of the "messages." And I was going to post it here because it was so absurd, something about a solution for the sensitivity of the head of the penis being a chronic problem (????????). But I just hit Command-V to paste the text, and realized I'd dumped it when I copied the Internic URL to paste earlier. I guess that's what I get for posting here after three glasses of Forest Glen Merlot.
What the fuck - it's my website. Who cares? I can ramble and babble about any goddamn thing I want - which I obviously have done this evening, with shitfaced abandon.
Friday, Aug 11 (later)
I've been wondering why this site's comment page wasn't remembering visitor's info in the form. So I took a look at the code documents, and realized that when I built this site, I'd only set the cookie expiration date for the end of 2004, the year I built the thing. Such short-sighted pessimism.
I've re-coded it for 2008, which means that as long as you have your current computer, your browser will remember the name you entered here until the last second of 2008.
Friday, Aug 11
I pulled the trigger on a Telos Zephyr Xstream ISDN codec. An integral part of the media production world, it enables two similarly equipped studios in different locations to connect via multiplexed telephony (ISDN lines). An ISDN-equipped studio in Nashville, for instance, can connect with an ISDN-equipped facility in London, or in any geographic locale with solid telephone infrastructure, and provide live feeds for radio and TV broadcasts, or record voiceovers or music overdubs.
On many occasions, I've used this method for guests on syndicated radio programs, for NPR and the BBC. It is a cool thing to seat a person at a mic, establish the ISDN connection, and monitor a conversation between parties three hundred or two thousand miles apart.
Often, there is very little actual work involved; you bring your guest's fader up, feed their channel to the codec, bring the remote feed up on another channel so your guest can hear them, and sit back and enjoy the show.
It can also mean very good income for a studio. It is common practice to charge an additional fee for its availablity. The monthly line charges are reasonable, and once the codec is paid for, it is good money.
The acronym ISDN officially stands for Integrated Services Digital Network. But any engineer with experience will tell you that it means, I Sit Do Nothing.
Friday, Aug 4
The Speck Lilo console has arrived. It is nice to see it in actuality rather than as a picture on my computer screen, and it looks about like I'd imagined. Rather slick and handsome.
Haven't powered it up and played with it yet. My only current method of monitoring involves a small unbalanced mixer, and a faithful old Yamaha stereo receiver. I have the usual tangle of balanced-to-unbalanced cables though, and will fire it up this weekend.
Space is another issue. What will I put the thing on, and where on the floor will I put it? Silly, I tell you.
Tuesday, Aug 1 again
Our house, 10:45 P.M.
Tuesday, Aug 1
Happy August. It's hot and humid as hell.
Useless details of my fascinating life:
Had an acupuncture appointment last Wednesday. (Readers in close contact with me will know why; for those who aren't, never mind - it's boring.) Very little to it. Went in, removed shoes, socks, and shirt (funny how trusting we are in some situations). Laid face down on an exam platform, face resting on a commode-like padded thing. He stuck a few needles in, and said he'd be back in twenty minutes. I sort of dozed off.
He came back, I turned face up, he stuck needles in my feet, heels of hands, top of head, and put on some Enya and left. I spaced again. He returned, and asked if there was any noticeable difference. I politely said no.
The needles don't hurt at all, you just feel them.
We began with the understanding that four to six "treatments" would be necessary. Whatever, I'm game. I'm willing to try pretty much anything - and after flushing away thousands of dollars on the mystery ailment so far, some ancient Chinese methods might be worth another couple hundred. Not that I'm CYNICAL or anything.
Neuro wonder boy (the latest in a series of arrogant, condescending failures, not counting Dr. John Witherspoon) has no answer, and is going to set me up with a "neuro-otologist." I told his fucking nurse that I'd walk to the Mayo Clinic if I had to.
Good stuff: band camp (pre-camp) started last week and continues (hard-core) this week. The drumline was going to another fellow's house this week, but since the guy's mother was going to separate their sleeping arrangement by gender and none of it sounded like fun, they asked to stay here again this week. Our place is the fun place. The wife unit and I are cooking meals twice a day and scrubbing bathrooms for eight kids. They all pile up in the living room to sleep, after watching movies. This old house has been really chugging. The dogs love it. The cats are okay with it.
A couple of weeks ago, I happened across the web site of my desired console, and glanced in the Used Gear section. There was the board I want, at a significant discount. Turns out it's not really used at all, only sent out on a magazine review, fully warrantied and re-tested. I snapped it up, and it's on the way. Great -more gear to cram into the back bedroom.
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