Seven Ugly Zebras Quietly Got Asthma. That was the story I told myself as a mnemonic to remember the pickup code for an Amazon Locker order I just picked up. The code was 7UZQGA. I guess I can share that without fear, since it is a disposable access code. No creature great or small gets asthma quietly, do they? Well, the story does not have to make sense. Maybe Seven Ugly Zebras Quickly Galloped Afar.
The order comprised a mass of AA batteries and a suction cup shower head holder, for my new handheld shower head. I now shower like an old person, sitting down. For this I purchased a shower head with an extra long hose and, now, a little thing with which to hold it. Delightful? Yeah… One little footnote that only informs this change in a very small way is the fact that someone from Sunswick died after falling down in the shower. That’s all I know about what happened. I do have to wonder if alcohol was involved. I fell down and broke my head a while back. There a picture of the blood coming down my face somewhere in the .MOBI. It was icky. Blood is gross.
At the ghetto coffee shop, where it feels like I have not been for a very long time. I spent much of yesterday in Manhattan, confirming my suspicions that LinkNYC’s free phone call feature only works about half the time, maybe even less. But what I further surmise is that Citybridge thinks the calls are all going through. That’s because the on-screen messages that appear during these calls seem to show that the Link device itself thinks the call went through. I don’t know if I’d call it a scam or a scandal but the fact that they replaced payphones with allegedly superior devices is just another from their pack of lies and propaganda.
Some stream of consciousness yesterday reminded me of the time I got a bona fide fan letter at my 181. It was a handwritten from someone named Bethany. I won’t give away her last name except to say that from appearances and from her 1940s-sounding I assumed this letter was from an older person. In fact she was in her early 30s. We met up around Central Park and went payphone hunting for a few hours, lingering in the park until well after dark. It was a strange and interesting encounter, one which (for what it’s worth) I never assumed was heading toward anything more than a passing acquaintance.
She said she would send me payphone photos from across the country on her summer camper scamper. She never did. I e-mailed her a while back when talk of truck stop payphones passed through my realm. She had a particular thing for truck stop payphones. I don’t remember why, except I guess she assumed that truck stops would be a rich source for such things. She may be right. Certainly in the 1980s and 1990s they were considered a no-brainer for payphone installations.
Whatever the case I never heard from her again. Toward the end of our meeting I got a sense that she thought I had suddenly fallen in love with her, or at least developed a crush. She seemed nice and all but I had no thoughts beyond our shared interest in payphones.
There was one unusual and even beautiful moment. We found the only working payphone in Central Park, by that lake where they sail model ships. That phone has a placard that says you can call a “Daily Prayer” by pushing something like *20. We tried it and were connected to a live person at DayStar, a nationwide ministry that has its own television network. It really was enchanting. Neither I nor Bethany are religious but you didn’t have to be for the charm to work.
She was from New Orleans, and claimed that post-Sandy PTSD guided her to a career in disaster planning. She lived in a house where Dr. John used to live. Evidently half of New Orleans could make that claim, as Dr. John was rather itinerant.
She was a cool person. Too bad we couldn’t stay connected.
Speaking of mutual interest I started using this semi-weird dating app that connects you to people whose path you crossed, or came close to crossing. It’s too bad it’s intended solely as a dating app because I think something like this could be used to connect people with unusual mutual interests. Payphones come to mind, but so does Lubomyr Melnyk and Kaikhosru Sorabji. I would probably be willing to talk about these topics with *anybody*, and an app that tells me I am within 100 feet of someone who shares that interest would be pretty cool. It might never go off for me, given the relative obscurity of my interests. But if it did go off it could be uniquely cool.
Another app, more of a gag, would be one that goes counter to apps that can tell you where the nearest bar is, or where the nearest place you can buy alcohol is. My app would alert you when you are out of range of alcohol, like when the nearest shop is 5 miles away.
I guess that sort of “warning” application could be put to more legitimate use. I just can’t think of any right now. Maybe involving medical conditions and access to a specialist. Or… wait for it… access to a payphone. Hah.
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I’ve been experimenting again with my binaural podcast idea. I recorded some hours of myself walking, and talking. This was yesterday, whilst on Link detail. I might call this podcast “The Sound Of My Own Voice.” It would not be 100% binaural, but mostly it would be. I do not understand why binaural has failed to catch on over the centuries. Binaural is not new, not even close to new. I guess the requirement that one wear headphones to fully appreciate it is enough of a barrier to entry. And I guess the gear is not exactly cheap.
Then again I’ve encountered a surprising number of people who simply do not hear the world the way I and others do. Even what I think are painfully obvious sounds slip past some people as if they are not there. The difference between the title track of the “Let It Be” album in the quadrophonic recording versus the flattened version released on the Blue Album, for instance. To me the differences in the guitar solos on those two tracks is so obvious it goes without saying. But I’ve encountered many people who simply do not hear the difference.
And forget about how Pandora, in certain circumstances, plays only part of the songs. I have not encountered that lately but I do not understand how people can hear something like Bowie’s Major Tom song with half its channels missing and think this is the whole song.
Another aural artifact is from the studio version of “Hey Jude” by the Beatles. Right at the point where they are going into the “na na na naaaaa” thing I hear, reasonably clearly, John Lennon yell “OH FUCKING HELL.” Evidently he borked a guitar riff or something. I’ve played that moment for I don’t know how many people. Some folks hear it, most folks do not. I don’t understand how you can not hear something that is absolutely present, although in this case I’d allow that it’s a little harder to hear than other things I’ve described.
There is a sound I’ve been curious about. I should ask around about this. It’s John Ogdon playing Liszt’s “Dante” Sonata. Somewhere toward the beginning there is a thwack sound, as if somebody just took a piece of wood and smacked it on the surface of a table or a floor. What the hell could that be, and why was it left in the recording?
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Listening to a bunch of Alexander Tansman piano music now, after playing through some of his scores at home. It’s gutsy but still kind of brittle. I used to play something of his but I can’t remember what it was. For this kind of stuff I prefer Turina and Surinach, although I don’t think the latter wrote much for solo piano.
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Calling the LinkNYC project I’ve been working on the “Howler Project”. I’d need a cohort or two but basically we set up a Link to blast air raid sirens and the howler sound, then just record people’s reactions. That noise you hear when a landline phone has been left off the hook too long is called the howler. I never knew that until this week. In high school I actually called the operator and asked if she knew what that noise was called. She did not know, and in fact seemed almost offended by the question. So I never asked anyone again.
The other noise I’d been using, which I refer to as an air raid siren, was really one of the MRI noises heard by anyone unfortunate enough to have one of those tests done on them. MRI noises are pretty righteous in their ugliness but the howler noise is more symbolically suitable for this endeavor given its telephonic heritage. It might even be louder than the MRI stuff.
Did I say that I took a panic pill today? I did. Maybe an hour ago. Everything is settling down inside. It gets into everything. I tell people I might not be drinking for a while and, basically, they roll their eyes. I can’t call it rude, exactly, but stopping by with a couple of beers when you know I’m not drinking is a bit tactless. It doesn’t take much to set off the trigger in me, although sometimes it is not a problem at all.
Going to see if I can learn a bit of Adobe Premiere. I should be good with that, right?
