Name that sound challenge

Day 99: Monday

Morning, Tim!

I have missed you. I suspect you are holding off writing in order to get the 100th post. While normally I’d be stubborn, I’ll let you have this one I suppose.

Hoping to entice you back, I have a challenge for you.

Name this sound:

Now, to clarify, I don’t mean give it a name. I know your kind.

I mean identify this sound.

Happy to provide hints in the comments for you, so just ask 🙂

Until tomorrow,

Zak

Sames and Opposites

Day 96: Tuesday

Morning, Tim!

I disagree with you. The United States has lots of colors, at least as many as Italy. But you’ve got some other great points. Like Python is great. I enjoy it. Jumping in:

I’m pretty sure drink-calories work just the opposite of colors.

I laughed heartily at work. Outloud. Couldn’t control it. I love this kind of observation. It reminds of me Demetri Martin, who does a bit on sames and opposites. An example

A musical is the same as a burlap sack
I would not want to be in either

Lots of things can be related. Isn’t that a joy?

  • Yarn is the same as headphones. I untangle more than use them.
  • Bed room and a bedroom are not the same. Direct opposites in dimensions, in fact.
  • Blenders are the same as toasters. Both had lazy namers.

Look forward to your observations of sames and opposites around you!

Until tomorrow,

Zak

p.s., the bed room / bedroom was a stretch, but I wanted to weave that joke in somehow 😉

Alive

Day 79: Thursday

Morning, Tim!

I have a new mentor of sorts at work. He’s a pretty amusing guy – wise in how he approaches situations, doesn’t take himself too seriously. He’s retired from a great job, and I think he does the work with my company largely because it’s intellectually engaging and he can make a difference – but he doesn’t ever (seem) to let it overwhelm him. I admire that. When we get on the phone and I ask how he is, he has always responded ‘alive!’

Not that there couldn’t be more, but it’s enough to move along the conversation and, at least honest.

I’ve been a bum of a correspondent recently. Lots going on. Unlike Bob, I have allowed myself to become overwhelmed. I hope to dig out soon.

Until then…I’m alive.

Until tomorrow,

Zak

Ps here are a few pictures of all the new geese exhibits they had at the zoo! Remarkable.


Also one close up of the sleepy bear…

Why won’t anyone eat my pizza?

Day 73: Friday

Good morning Zak,

I saw this the other day, and I thought of you… you know, since your real name is Ernest:

"The Importance of being Named Ernesto"

“The Importance of being Named Ernesto”

Just judging by the title… they don’t get, it do they?

Sad how much gets lost in translation.

Have you ever been lost in translation?  It’s hard to find your way back out.  It’s dark in there.  If you’re not careful you’ll trip over surreptitious syntaxes and run into cultural barriers.

But here’s my real problem: why won’t anyone eat my pizza?  Mamma mia!  About once a weak I make a big beautiful pizza from scratch.  But my roommates don’t like me enough to accept the offer.  So I have to put it in the refrigerator, which is a real peccato, as we say.  It’s best right out of the oven.

I don’t get it.  Is it something I said?  Do I smell funny?

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So that’s my sad story.

I think I’ll make one today.  If anyone reading this would like to come eat it with me, leave a comment.  If you’re not far from Milano, maybe we can arrange something.

Maybe I should try craigslist.

Anyway.  Cooking takes a long time.  But I think I want to make a habit of doing it.  You can save time by getting ready-made food, but it costs more and it’s not as good.  I don’t ever want to end up in a vicious circle where I’m paying more for worse food to save time so that I can work more to afford the bad food.  You know, that’s silly.

Until tomorrow,

Tim

Undefeated

Day 72: Thursday

Morning, Tim!

I woke up this morning bleary eyed with no tail at all. Normally you want to wake up bright eyed and bushy tailed…but I suppose, given the option, not having a tail may not be so bad this morning…

I feel compressed on time, a bit beaten down. As I hit my alarm clock this morning, I recognized it mustn’t be tired at all. In fact, it’s the most consistent thing I interact with, time ever moving onward. Time is undefeated.

 

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…Except for daylight savings…

 

I then got to thinking about other things that go undefeated.

Playing tennis in high school, I would occasionally go to the courts with no one to play against. There was a wall with a painted line at the height of the net you could hit against, practicing control and consistency. That wall was also undefeated.

 

 

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…unless I hit it really high…

The last case of undefeated I could think of was my uncle playing horseshoes. Man can that guy play horseshoes…

 

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…no caveat. The man is that good…

Until tomorrow,

Zak

 

 

 

Love isn’t onion breath

Day 50: Friday

Morning, Tim!

Yesterday wasn’t my best day. Nothing dreadful happened. Much worse has happened in my life, let alone others’. But it still wasn’t good.

I spent nearly 13 hours in a windowless room. Lunch was catered in, and we worked through it. Breath after eating Middle Eastern food is potent; multiply it by 40, heat it up – not one of my top 5 favorite smells. Following work I went to school, listening to my professor lecture about investments for 2 hours without pause. Good stuff.

Upon arriving home, I nestled in, just thankful for the day to be done. I complained to my wife, who simply listened. I was grateful.

But then it got much better.

For our first anniversary (months ago, now), my wife made me a box of presents. Envelopes to open at different times given the occasion — perhaps a wonderful day, perhaps boredom. All of these envelopes had letters fitting the occasion, a way to make me smile. Many had a present accompanying. One letter was when I needed to feel handsome — a beautiful note of encouragement, a pep talk, and a mirror to show me what she sees.

I had forgotten about these, but am thankful to have stumbled upon them last night. I opened the box, rifled through it a bit, and was thoroughly blessed to find this:IMG_1074.JPG

One was for having a bad day.

In it there was yet another beautiful letter, comforting me. Not knowing one bit about my day the near year ago when it was written, it was just what I needed. It also contained this gem:

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which should make anyone smile. Especially me. Puns are the best.

You may have noticed the Gift #2 on the envelope. In case you’re curious, it was a book – Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. So I read it in a silly voice, and felt much better.

It’s great to feel known, cared for, loved.

My day wasn’t so bad after all. I drifted off to sleep, cherishing as always the sound of John Cage’s 4’33’’ as my eyelids slowly came to a close.

Until Monday,

Zak

A few random thoughts…

Day 49: Thursday

Good morning Zak,

Some writers prefer keyboards with strong “key action.”  They like the computer to make loud satisfying click sounds as they write.  Author John Green says that the rhythmic thud of the spacebar contributes to his flow and drives his writing forward.  I’m writing this entry on a Mac computer, which have notoriously soft…  Wait a minute.  Shhhhh… Do you hear that?  That music?

The piece you are hearing is titled 4’ 33’’.  It was composed by John Cage in 1952.  I’m not sure what it sounds like to you, but where I am sitting, it includes the occasional opening and shutting of doors, the flow of water as a roommate uses the bagno adjacent to my room, and the depressingly quiet trickle of tiny little key clicks.

Okay, so technically these sounds aren’t really John Cage’s 4’33’’.  No one’s performing that piece here at the moment.  But in a way, 4’33’’ is a song that’s always happening: you see, Cage’s composition calls for the performer to sit at their instrument and do nothing for 4 minutes and 33 seconds.  During this period of time, just like during any other period of time, sounds will occur naturally by chance.  People will breath, cough, shift in their seats…  Someone might fart or drop something…  It might start raining outside…  Cage claims that all of those collective noises are a piece of music.

Anyway, Zak, I think your movie reference is exactly on point. The Brother’s Bloom portrays our concept of “poetic vision” quiet nicely.

“The reason I like the movie so much is because there is just that—commitment to the story: […] the perfect con, where in the end everyone gets just the thing he wants.”

There’s something very compelling about the image of a master con artist insidiously working all things together for some calculated purpose of his.  I think at some level we all would kind of like to imagine an artist like that working behind the apparent chaos of our lives.  It’s a common thing to wish for—almost cliché.  I mean, wouldn’t it be great to know that life is guided by poetic vision and not by mere chance?

“Indeed, when someone said that there was in nature, just as in animals, a mind, a cause of the good, cosmic order and of all the arrangement of things, he seemed like a sober man compared to those before him, who argued otherwise.”

-Aristotle, Metaphysics 984b

Who can say how much truth there really is in this kind of idle fantasizing.  I once tried having a conversation with the allegedly conscious “mind in nature.”  Then I stopped a moment and thought about what I was doing.  I was just a crazy man talking to trees.  I could say the trees were conscious if I’d like… if that would bring me some kind of consolation.  But what would I mean by conscious then?  I could also say that my potato salad is in love with me.

Anywho, the weird thing about John Cage’s piece is… well… John Cage.  I mean, did Cage really compose it if he doesn’t have a say in how it sounds?  Usually I think of an artist as an individual with some kind of conscious agency in their work.  A lot of people find the sounds of nature to be beautiful, but we have difficulty agreeing about whether there is a poetic vision behind them.  Poetry normally has an author.  Someone rhythmically hammering away at the cosmic space bar, driving the story forward to its end.

Until tomorrow,

Tim