Blue Burns Orange

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 14:12:56 GMT

Right, I wanted to rant on the topic of the Afghani election, or lack thereof, but I'm pressed for time and I feel like writing. I'll do what comes easiest: talking about recent events in relation to myself.

A few nutty days have come and gone. Put the pwn on a much anticipated Learning Psychology test, and kicked the bollocks out of a Philosophy presentation on Russell and Berkeley. Had a few party days, can't complain. Halloween was alright, spent it dealing with some shit with some of the boys, situations involving (invariably) a girl.

My roomie Tom has his girlfriend (of sorts) from Nova Scotia up this week, but she's cool so I don't mind that much, hah.

The recording of my bands' EP goes well, slow but well. We're nearly done with the demos, and once we're squared away there (and can get ahold of some decent interface equipment) we'll start multitracking. We have 2 gigs next week, headliners at both, wednesday at the common man and friday at Junkyard Dawgs. We're starting to put bids in at bars and other attractions, we're getting some great attention, and are actually making some cash on the side! The name is "Rescue Toaster," by the way.

PSU Goes nuts.

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 13:48:03 GMT

This is not something I'd expect to occur at my college.

Last night at 6:49pm, on my way to my public admin class (sucks) I recieved a text message from the PSU text alert system. Usually it's notification of cancelled classes because of weather or pipes bursting, ect.. But this one was different.
It read:
"FR: PSU Alert System, SUBJ: Gunman on campus. MSG: Possible gunman on campus. Subject spotted in several locations within last 90 minutes. As a precaution, please stay indoors."

One of my roomates, in his infinite wisdom, comes bursting around the cul de sac, "PSU IS UNDER ATTACK!"
Great choice of words. Turns out the bugger was spotted about 400ft from my apartment, at 5:45pm, an hour before a warning went out.
The second text from the PSU alert system read as follows;
"Alert Update: The unidentified male is approximately 5'7" and wearing (a) white baggy hoodie and dark baggy sweats. He has a hat or bandana. Please check e-mail for additional updates. In the meantime, please stay inside. Buildings are being checked by police now."

It was about this time that WMUR got ahold of the story, and made a grand fuss over it. I proceeded to get phone calls from Tim, Evan, Anthony, Abi, and IM's from a few others. To which the leading question was, "are you 'the gunman'?"

Not in the least bit worried, I proceeded to watch an annoying film about evangelist christians in the south, at my roomates incessance. I got mad, (these are people who proclaim the entire nation of Islam the "enemy of Christ," and that "we must purge those who wish him ill". Even I'll say that the majority of practicing Muslims are genuine, peaceful, people of faith.) and decided to play Fallout 3 for awhile.

At 9:43pm, my phone lit up with the following message:
"FR: PSU Alert System SUBJ: Advisory Alert Lifted MSG: No further Sightings-Police have searched campus & all open buildings. You may return to your residences."
Swell. I haven't left.
At 11:35;
"FR: PSU Alert System SUBJ:Incident Resolved MSG: Individual identified and interviewed by police. Incident safely resolved. See Email or web for details."

Fast times at Plymouth State.

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 12:58:06 GMT

Back on the macbook. I'm still in love.
Thought I'd comment on this news story, before I jump off to philosophy class.
Read it here.

So basically, a couple of NW Air pilots decided to facebook shit for an hour during a flight.
Will someone PLEASE explain to me how this is any different from the case of the 2 pilots drunk on the job 10 years ago?
This is not my primary concern however, rather, it's was NORAD's response to the situation.

NORAD (North American Aerospace Defense Command) is essentially the military oversight concerning air & space traffic to, from and inside our borders. It is relevant to note that NORAD was held in contempt after 9/11 for failing to order fighters in the air in such a manner that they could've prevented flights Flight 11 & 175 from colliding with the World Trade Centers.

Let's follow up with the facts of Flight 188. Essentially, they overshot their landing by nearly 150 MILES because they had been using their personal computers. This brings several concerns to bear;

What the bloody hell were they using laptops for? It's a strict violation of FAA, NTSB and NW Air policies, not to mention fucking stupid.
How many bloody people are in the cockpit of an Airbus 320? The answer is two. Both were occupied by their computers. Slap both of them for a lack of common sense- if someone wants to goof off at work, you obviously have one of your buddies keep a lookout.
Radio contact with the aircraft was lost for over an hour. Now this aircraft was en route to Minneapolis, MN, a city with a population of just under 400,000. You mean to tell me that ATC (Air Traffic Control) lets a plane chill out for more than 30 minutes without contact before saying, "Hey, perhaps something is askew! Let's holler at the Air Force!"
NW Airlines defends their employees actions thusly; "The crew stated they were in a heated discussion over airline policy and lost situational awareness." Yeah, and I can discuss philosophy while driving and not drift off for an HOUR.

My greatest concern is that regarding the response of NORAD, mainly, that even though an hour had passed without contact with flight 188, fighters were still not airborne. Now, I'm not famiiar with the amount of time that NORAD had to deal with the hijacked planes during 9/11, but at what point do we say to ourselves, "Okay, to be on the safe side, put some F-22's in the air?"

In the case of AA Flight 11, one of the planes that crashed into the WTC on 9/11, its last regular radio contact was at 0813, after turning off their transponder ( at 0821) AND changing course to NYC, it was at 0825 that Boston Air Control alerted East Coast ATC about the situation, but they didn't inform NORAD, that is, until 0834. NORADs northeastern unit, NEADS (NorthEast Air Defense Sector) was informed about the possiblity of a hijacking, and pilots were being prepped at this time. It wasn't until 0837 that the hijacking had been confirmed, and Boston Control asked NEADS for assistance. Flight 11 crashed into the North Tower at 0846.5, F-15's were in the air a mere 30 seconds before flight 11 took the North Tower down.

25 minutes. 25 minutes from loss of communications to military notification. 9 minutes thereafter - disaster. It appears that our response was a bit too late. NEADS was informed of the crash at 0850, while F-15's were still searching for the hijacked aircraft.
Now, if it took 25 minutes to go from "all is well" to "all is hell", you would think that our crack professionals at the FAA and NORAD would have altered their protocols to be more assertive and responsive. For those of you that aren't in the know, the US Military likes to respond to situations in such a way that they; a) learn from said situation, and b) create measure to ensure that it won't happen again.

Now, let's put it all into perspective here. Flight 188, our crack geek squad, was out of contact for more than an hour, with the transponder still broadcasting. Flight 11 was out of contact a mere 8 minutes before its transponder was cut, 17 minutes later it had crashed.
From my perspective, it appears as if they dilly-dallied for FAR too long. If NORAD was really concerned (and how could they not have been?) then WHAT BLOODY KEPT THEM FROM DOING SHIT?! If it takes 25 minutes for shit to go wrong why on Gods green fucking Earth would you let them fuck around for a damn hour without doing anything?! In my opinion, you put those birds in the air within 10 minutes of last required contact, and you put them on standby if there's no contact within 3 minutes of requirement.

That's my rant. Airline pilots are morons, this I've accepted. But this bugger was in daudling at 37,000 feet for more than an hour and there were no fighter jets ready to blow the thing to hell, and pre-empt another 9/11. It seems to me like NORAD didn't learn their lesson.

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 16:00:34 GMT

I've had girl issues,
but this,
THIS,
is something more complicated, confusing & aggravating than anything I've ever known.

It seems that all this girl does is bring drama to me and my boys.
This ends now.

Tue, 13 Oct 2009 13:33:16 GMT

skipping class, so rebellious. Giggity.

Woke up this morning, to find... waaaait for it
SNOW.
Plummeting in big, wet, heavy flakes.
God loves me.

Started recording tracks for the EP with Ian yesterday, hopefully it'll be finished by winter break. It's gonna be something else.
All because of the MacBook.

Right, time to be responsible and clean shit. Peace.

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 16:28:13 GMT

I'm typing this, a long overdue entry, on my new Macbook pro. Long story. Here goes:

A few weeks ago, my Sony Viao started acting odd. The left mouse key stopped working, and one of the speakers died. The battery life withered to a mere 30 minutes, and the 80gb hard drive was overflowing. But it was last weekend, while having peeps over at the apartment, that the catalyst occurred. A friend of mine, who shall remain nameless, somehow launched a beer from halfway across the room, landing on my keyboard. No sparks flew, but there was a river of beer on the keyboard. Come morning, the thing refused to start, and the keyboard was sticky as hell. I was able to get the damn thing to start, but the results were less than appealing. Half of the keys were stuck down or completely dead.

Now, I love my Sony, it has served me well for 4 years, surviving 2 different colleges, 2 trips to Vail, and God knows what else. However, she has shown her age, slowing down, getting clogged, crashing for no good reason. I've been a PC user all my life, and had no good reason to switch. Until my apartment-mate Mike turned me onto his mac. A slick black machine, with gnarly software, and the ability to record a album right out of the box. How could I not look into it?

So I started rooting through the internet and my peeps with macs, and the praise was immense. So, on Monday, I zipped in good 'ol Slick Rick down to Salem, the nearest Apple Store. Sidebar: I use a check from my investment fund to pay for all my college expenses; books, tuition, room & meal plan, ect.. I deemed having a working computer essential to my education (and it's a great write-off come tax season), so I snagged my checkbook and made of Salem. Before leaving however, I called ahead of time to, a) ensure they had the model I wanted in stock, B) accepted a student discount, and C) could use my check. The man on duty assured me there would be no problem with any of the items. So, and hour and a half later, I arrive in Salem, pick out my Mac (a 13'' MacBook Pro, 2.59gHz processor, 4GB ram, 250GB HD), various accessories, and make for the checkout counter. Turns out, they don't accept checks that have a PO Box as the referenced address (as I send my business mail to my dads companies address in Plymouth). After ripping the sales assistant a new one, I was forced to visit... *shudder*... Best Buy.

Now, for the sake of entertainment, I'll elaborate on my hatred for this big-box cockslap. When I bought my Sony from the Best Buy in Concord, I asked that they install an extra 512mb of ram into it. When I got it back, the dicksuck that installed it registered my new $1,500 Viao in HIS NAME. So for the last 4 years, I've seen this douchebags moniker appear every time I start that bitch up. So, it goes without saying, I was not impressed with their customer support, and was perfectly intent on never purchasing from them again.
But this time, I had no choice. I had lost my philosophy presentation on my Sony, and had to reconstruct it from scratch before the due date: tomorrow at 9 am. I needed a computer TONIGHT.
So I sucked it up and visited best buy, where I was met with some of the most incompetent sales associates in the history of retail. First off, the long-haired, WoW playing fuck that I actually had to physically GRAB to get to pay attention to me, didn't know shit about the Macs he was selling, or about the accessories, or about the software. I had to get his manager to get any shit done, it took an hour of fucking about to finally get out of there with what I wanted. (It wasn't until today that I discovered that my macbook doesn't have the new Snow Leopard OS X, even though Douchy McDouchestain said it did.)

However, all bullshit aside, I do LOVE THIS THING. Not only is it pretty lookin' and fast as hell, but it is soo easy to use, and intuitive! That's saying ALOT from a life-long PC user. Itunes got right up on my music library, and I actually think my music sounds BETTER now than it did on my Sony. Sweet digs. Although there are a few Mac eccentricities that I have to get used to, for the most part, I'm ecstatic. I do, however, get Boot Camp up and running so anthony and I can use Hollywood.

Okay, I'm working on a hot-shit playlist for our Columbus Day party, and it requires my full attention. Peace!
~J

Sat, 22 Aug 2009 03:42:35 GMT

Long time, no post. My bad

Turned 22 years old on wednesday, and its dawning upon me, I'm getting old. And I'm not excited about it. Maturity, at least for me, has always been feigned. I'm simply much more amused with cheeky, childish shennigans.

Fatness comes home tomorrow, finally. I've missed him so much, as homoerotic as that might sound. He's my best friend. To think that he's gone for good in a few months, that's just a bit too much at the moment.

But anyway.

Moving into my apartment next week, and I really can't wait. It's a new start, at a familiar place. How many chances like that am I gonna get?
I won't waste this one.
Right, back to eating my birthday cake.
Peace

Mon, 10 Aug 2009 15:33:35 GMT

oink oink oink

can't wait to move out

time for a drive to nashua

Thu, 23 Apr 2009 15:25:40 GMT

Real quick update here.
School is great. Kickin ass in my classes. Did a massive presentation for my philo class the other day ("Peace Thru Strength", how Israel staves off destruction) and killed it, A+. Along with a 98 on a Polt test and a 92 on a philo test. Doing a 89 in my Psych of music class.
Ballin.

New girl in the picture. I'll talk about her later.
I must get to class. Lame.

As if things have changed, my father is still an ass.

Fri, 20 Mar 2009 14:51:34 GMT

I've figured it out.
You see, I process things differently than most people. When it comes to their actions, I judge them by their intentions, not by the action itself. Most people do the opposite, my father included.
The problem is illuminating other to my process.

Fri, 20 Mar 2009 13:24:54 GMT

I've discovered something recently,
There are some people that you just can't please. Regardless of the effort, irreverent to the minor succeses, they endevor for perfection. Their error lies in forcing that whimsical drive upon others.

This is the story of my Father and I.
Jay the 4th, always the black sheep of the prodigal Buckley clan, will always be a disappointment to his father, the Harvard educated, prodigious businessman. You can see the conflict; a young man who gives his hobbies his utmost passion, and a man who devotes all his focus, energy, and sanity into his work.
One of us isn't coming out of this alive.

Mon, 09 Feb 2009 04:27:27 GMT

Do a Google Photo search for "The Falling Man"

I haven't been this disturbed since the day it was taken.

Thu, 29 Jan 2009 16:19:09 GMT

As afore mentioned, spring semester has started, and I’m working out the kinks in my class schedule. I’ve got 2 psych classes, a philosophy and polysci class, along with a special psych lecture; “ Psychology in Music.”

Should prove interesting.

Right, so the situation with work. So this is my second season as an instructor at Waterville Valley, a job which I enjoy immensely. I started attending staff training in early December, when I was approached by the assistant director of snow sports operations, a lady named Lisa Bell, with whom I’ve had a few “conflicts” with in the past. (Simply, I don’t like a snowboarding instructor to tell me how to coach skiing, but she’s my superior so I ate it, sort of.) She pulls me aside whilst my training group is actually on the mountain, and asks me if I was planning on working in junior seasonals again, the weekly group I was with last year. I replied in the affirmative, unless they had bigger plans for me. Apparently so, as the BBTS Mighty Mites coach asked for me by name to coach his 6-8 year olds.

To fully appreciate this, I’ve must provide a bit of background on BBTS (Black & Blue Trail Smashers). They’re the oldest ski club in the East, over 70 years old, and they’ve produced countless Olympic and professional athletes in the fields of Alpine racing, freestyle, aerials, moguls, and snowboarding. Mighty Mites is a joint program with coaches from BBTS and instructors from the Snowsports department of WV. They’re a very elite and crass, as I discovered when I was 12, and spent the season training with them. I wasn’t impressed and never returned to the program, and BBTS racers & coaches have the reputation of the biggest cocksuckers on the mountain. The director of the Mighty Mites program (let’s call him Steve) has been running it for 5 years, and has no prior experience with children, but is well respected by the BBTS community.
I took up the job offer, and found myself in a totally new environment amongst the BBTS coaches. These were people as serious about their skiing as I was, yet, fully aware that they “owned” the mountain. I resented their entitled outlook, but tried to integrate myself into their enclave nonetheless, albeit unsuccessfully.
3 of my students from my previous seasonals group had enrolled in Mites with hopes of gaining more race training than WV was allowing me to conduct. I was able to coax Steve into letting my favorite student into my group of 5 racers; 2 girls, 3 guys.
In preparation for the season, I wrote up a lesson plan & list of objectives for each skier, and made copies for Steve, the parents, the racer, and myself. When I brought them to Steve so he could look them over, I was treated with contempt.
“We don’t do that. We just kind of wing it.”
“If we’re just ‘winging it’, can I use my program?”
“Nope. We’re winging it my way.”
Okay. I can deal with that. Turns out his way was at odds with mine. I began to notice Steve using very silly and obscure words to describe technique to the children, which my veteran racer complained about as “confusing”. He was right. I even got yelled at for not adapting Steves modified lexicon. And yet, I was still having a good time with my racers, and at 3 weeks, I was already seeing improvement in my charges.
About a week and a half before I left for Vail, Steve asks all the 10 year old and younger to follow him to a trail, a very mild black diamond. He instructed the kids to take off their left ski, ski down, take the lift up, and meet him back at the top of the trail. This was not the first time I found one of his requests blantly absurd, but I swallowed my doubts and popped off my ski. Steve grabs my arm and says “Hold on, the coaches stay here.”
“Well who’s gonna clear up the straglers?”
“They need to do this on their own, It’ll help ‘em grow some balls.”

I was appalled, astonished, at the inhumanity of his directions. He didn’t give the racers any instruction on how to handle skiing with one ski, or any tips on how to make it down the mountain. Hell, this is a drill some of the coaches can’t do, apparently I’m the only one of the mites coaches who is proficient enough to fully carve both ways on a single ski. How does he expect the 6 year olds to do it?!
The children began to fall on the densely packed snow, and some began to cry and throw fits. My favorite racer, Sash, who has an indomitable personality even became frustrated and had to be coaxed down. I approached Steve after practice that day and voiced my concerns as tactfully as I know how.
“Steve, I’m trying to discern how the kids learned from the last drill we did.”
“Well they learned some valuable balance skills, and gained some tenacity, I hope.”
“They seemed to be falling over harder after the drill than before it, and some of them were straight up crying during the drill.”
“You point?” He quipped.
“Well I think we could’ve done it differently.”
“Well I’ve been doing it this way for 5 years and we’ve produced some great skiers this way, so I think we’re going to stick with it.”
“Well, I’m seeing it this way; what if on one of these icy slopes, a racer rips around and tears something, or some other injury? You greatly increase the chance of injury by putting them on one ski, a drill I don’t think they’re ready for yet.”
“Well Jay, I think we’re gonna do it my way.”

It was the most polite “sod off you worthless blonde” I’ve ever gotten. What Steve didn’t know was that I’ve got nearly 10 years experience working with kids, 5 years working in emergency medicine, and I know a thing or two about skiing, I think you’ll agree.
Unable to get any traction with Steve, I approached Lisa, the lady who sent me over there in the first place. She was as appaled as I was, and told me she’d talk to Steve.
The next day, as I was booting up for training, Steve asks me aside, and tells me that I’m fired, and to report to Lisa immediately.
According to Lisa, he didn’t take it too well that I was constantly second guessing his drills and decisions, and going over his head and talking to the Assistant Snowsports Director was the last straw for him. It sucks, but Lisa assured me that I still have a job at Waterville, and I’ve been teaching random lessons on the weekends.

So yeah, that was the big story of the last month or so. And now that I’ve spent considerable time telling it, I’m live journal’ed out.

Peace.
J

Sat, 22 Nov 2008 21:49:24 GMT

ski jackets

Buy this stuff.
I already have, and will continue to.
~J

Wed, 15 Oct 2008 21:45:02 GMT

It's official

Vail
January 5
I cannot wait.

Thu, 28 Aug 2008 12:31:39 GMT

I'm saddened at the state of American e-mail ethics.
Or a complete lack therof.

This was the subject line of a message in my inbox, obviously spam, but amusing nonetheless.
"Meet Married Women Looking TONITE! Life is short - have an affiar."

Et tu, email? Redicluous.

Mon, 18 Aug 2008 16:11:31 GMT

Ever have that looming danger feeling? The kind that tells you that something incredible & wonderful will happen only to be smothered by a giant mistake that'll stop you dead in your tracks?
Yeah I've got that feeling. I'm trying to ignore the bad half and concentrate on having fun for the next 48 hours, seeing as it's my 21st birthday tomorrow.
And I'm not as excited as I should be. I'm not cool with growing up. But more on that later, I guess.

My bass playing has gone thru the stratosphere. Like incredible, damn near overnight I went to hobbyist to rediclous. I think it's all this Red Hot Chili Peppers I've been listening to, and I've always idolized Flea. He's redonk.
I almost bought a vintage Rickenbacker 4003 bass yesterday, the bass of my dreams. That dream will never change.

I'm thinking of buying a new iTouch, seeing as that vintage tele is now out of the picture. But part of me says save the cash.
But part of me says "Fuck it. You can't take it with you."
I could do with a bit of spoiling. If anyone deserves it right now, I think that I do.

Work.
Lame.
~J

Thu, 14 Aug 2008 13:15:50 GMT

I can't wait to tell you about my new girl....
But I'll have to. Heh.

Yeah, so lafayette somehow fuzzed my application so I'm stuck at plymouth state for another semester. But it's not all bad, it'll give me a chance to work at waterville again and continue my skiing renessance, continue getting killer grades, and live with mikey no less! We scoped out our house, which his dad is letting us use, we're gonna start redoing the interior hopefully in the next week, the irishmen isn't too keen on living in a dump and neither am I. Good thing we're on the same page.

Right. Work. Gay.
Peace.
~J

Wed, 13 Aug 2008 12:31:24 GMT

Haha, so quick addition to the ongoing Vintage Telecaster story.

So I go into the fret shop yesterday, tried the last of the telecasters that they had in stock, nothing exceptional. I start talking to the dude that appraised that ladys guitar. I was quite surprised when he said, "Well she's coming back in this week for us to re-appraise it. She told us the whole story, and she's not really clued into the whole vintage guitars thing."
"You mean, how when they're more worn in they're worth more?" I asked.
"Yeah, that, and having the certificate of authenticity helps. But we're gonna take the thing apart and check all the serial numbers, on the neck joint and under the pickguard. If it's really a Fullerton special, then it'll have his initals and the serial number in a special place. But I doubt it's one of those. I think she'll be calling you asking if you're interested in it again."
To elaborate, George Fullerton was a master luthier (guitar maker) that helped modernize and revolutionize the production and crafting of electric guitars. So naturally, the instruments that recieved his personal attention are worth more. This example however, I believe is not sucha recpient.

Anyway. Gotta get to work.
~J

Stress...

Tue, 12 Aug 2008 15:50:52 GMT

...so much of it. My father has been on my ass lately, about everything. Constantly pushing me about school, work, my finances. I know he just wants me to succeed but goddamn, it's suffocating. Argh I can't wait to get out, be it to PSU of Lafayette, who I'm still waiting to hear back from coincidentally.

I also want ski season. Bad.

I've been working at megaprint for about 5 days now, and it sucks very hard. Sitting on my ass all bloody day working on a database is not my idea of motivating. I can't freakin' stand it. I'm going home at 1 to play some serious rehab guitar.

Speaking of which. The lady that I had previously mentioned that was going to sell me her telecaster? Yeah she was on ebay and found a more worn-in version of hers selling for $2,499.
So she tripled the price on me. Needless to say I was pissed, so I told her.
a) It's on ebay, hardly an accurate barometer of your guitars value
b) the Ebay example is much more worn in- which fetches a greater price
c) the Ebay example has a certificate of authenticity, hers dosent
and d) NOBODY HAS BLOODY BID ON THE FUCKER YET.
You trust a random ebayer over the guys at the fretshop to give you accurate apprasials? I'd tell you to suck it.

I'm giving her until the end of the week to come around, and wait until that auction runs out without one bidder. Should prove interesting.

right, going back to work for 30 minutes.
~J

Sun, 10 Aug 2008 20:12:09 GMT

I am 21 years old in 8 days.
Cripes, time hauls ass.
I've got alot of things to do.

Fri, 08 Aug 2008 13:29:16 GMT

Yeah so, waiting to hear from lafayette officially, but I talked to them over the phone, and the dean of admissions said "You're nearly a shoe-in." I like that.

So mikey is back! And it's so nice to see him again, I missed that bastard to death. We've been doing alot of guitar, bouncing ideas off of each other about gear, trading music, catching up. You know, that old friends thang.

And I know I say this all too often, but I've found the last guitar I'll ever own. And that's partially because my father made me promise, "No more guitars until you graduate!"
The story is that I went to the Vintage Fret Shop on tuesday to replace the strings on Grahams Fender before he comes back from london. I pass it off to one of the techs behind the counter and snag a glance at a beautiful butterscotch blond Telecaster.
I can't avert my eyes. I let out a low whistle, which gains the attention of the owner, a 30-something year old Brunette, and we get to talking.
"I bought it new in 1982, it's a 1952 American Re-issue with a fat neck. I might've spent 200 hours on it over the years, I've been it's one and only owner."
I pick it up, and line the neck up to my eye to check the action, which is perfect. The parts, the tuners, the saddle and bridge, the knobs and switch are all beautifully aged, in a perfectly vintage state. I plug it into a Vox AC15, the same amp I own, and let it rip. For the 20 or so minutes I played this instrument, I've never been so "in the zone".
It was nirvana, with strings. Perfect action, perfect sound - clear and crackle free, oozing with tone. Once the amp warmed up I was able to let swing some Alkaline Trio riffs that I reserve only for my decked out SG, the Tele sounded better, duh.
Apparently, the Fret Shops owner Dave (who is a friend of mine, I tune his skis for store credit) personally cleaned up and rewired the electronics, resulting in a telecaster with incredible bite and tenacity. It would be incredible for my modern rock applications.
But for kicks, I roll off the tone, swap to the neck pickup and turn back the gain on the amp, and was able to roll off some of the most pure and emotional jazz licks I've ever improvised.

If you've ever talked to a guitarist, especially one whos in the market for a new rig, he'll tell you that it's not just how the guitar sounds, it's how it feels. I've played $5,000 Les Pauls and Paul Reed Smiths, and while they sounded phenomenal, they didn't stir me emotionally, intellectually.
This tele, it's different. It's fate, karma, serendipity. It's the musical equivelant to a powder day, when the snow is so light and responsive that you don't even have to change your style or attack, you just let it ride and you're catered to, reciprocated. This analogy was especially relevant to the owner, Kathy, who apparently works for Cranmore Ski Resort, as a racing instructor no less.
To be a ski racer is a rare endevor, to be a racing coach is more so. So we chat about the good ski days we've had over the last tenacious winter while Dave finishes his apprasial of her instrument. I was stunned with his verdict.
"Well shes got the original case, and the body is close to flawless, action is spot on, and the electronics are perfect. That said, there are a few things keeping this telecaster from being a collectors item. First, it's missing it's certificate of authenticity. But the neck and body serial numbers match, and it looks right, so I'm sure its genuine, and the computer confirms that. Second, theres a removable bridge cover that came with this new, and I don't see it here, and some of the case candy is missing. If you had all of that, you could see up to 6 grand. But now, I think you would see it bought wholesale for about $900 dollars."

I paused.

"I'll give you a grand for it," I blurted.
You see, wholesale is the price at which a guitar shop will buy an instrument, ususally thats between 35-45% of it's retail value. So in this case, if she were to sell the guitar to the fret shop, she'd get $900, and they'd sell it for, probably $2,000. And it's worth that much. Emotionally, it's worth 5 times that to me.

"Hmmm, I could do that." She replied. "Let me see if I can track down those parts one last time though, I'm positive I won't find them but I gotta try anyway." We exchanged business cards, and I went along my way.
It wasn't until I got home that I realized, I don't have a thousand bucks. I sold my Gretsch to one of my councilors a few weeks ago for $350, I bought it for $450 a year ago, and I think I got a hundred bucks of playing out of it. Not a bad deal, seeing as the fretshop was selling a lousy one of the same year for $400.
But anyway, I've got about $300 of that left, and my father, in a rare showing of empathy, offered to give me $300 twords the fund, on the condition that I don't buy another guitar until I graduate. I accepted.
So, at this moment, I've got $600 out of a needed $1,000 for this rig. I've started full days at Megaprint doing database work (which pays $15 and hour, sweeeet). So between that, and any money I'm able to finagle out of my mother in the name of my 21st birthday gift, I think I'll make away with the guitar of my dreams.

I have no other words for my excitement.

Oh yeah, insane weather closed all roads to my house last night, and claimed the life of a 7 year old girl a few miles up the road from my house. I took some pics, and will upload the insanity.
In the meantime, heres what my baby looks like.
Cheers,
~J

Mon, 21 Jul 2008 00:49:56 GMT

So livejournal, it's been awhile, eh?

I went to tour a college last weekend, Lafayette, it's in easton, PA, about an hour from Philly. Thought it was great, I got the feeling of a middle ground between Colgate and Holy Cross, 2 schools I still love. Not as snooty as either of them though, but just as intellectually powerful. I came across a few good vibes that I had not encountered since New Hampton, a good omen in my opinion.
Then, I had an interview...with the dean of admissions. I was a little nervous.
So we sit down in a well furnished interview room, on leather chairs that would've been at home in a smoking room: the brown, leather ones dimpled with brass buttons. It was actually very similar to the room that I had my Bowdoin interview in. The dean, a middle aged woman named Joan, reminded me of Mrs. Guardenier; very loud and extroverted, she wasn't what I expected from the dean.
And apparently, I wasn't what she expected from a normal transfer student. We covered nearly every facet of my life, in particular, the events of the last 2 years: the rough year at UNH, my invigoration semester off, and my return to college. I impressed her, I think. I was astounded when she asked me to submit a late application for fall. "We want you here," she said, "I can't offer you any financial aid first semester, but perhaps second semester. I can promise you on-campus housing for your entire time as a student. We pride ourselves on individual mentoring, professors to students, which sounds like something you've responded well to. Send me your app in the next 2 weeks, and I'll push it through."
We went over the appointment by 30 minutes, during which I went into painstaking detail about my life, hopes, passions and dreams, and I left that interview feeling like I belonged to Lafayette. It's nice to be wanted.
So I've sent the app in, and it's a waiting game.
Same with Holy Cross.
It's killing me.

More later.

Thu, 26 Jun 2008 03:38:38 GMT

Oh my gloriously aggrivating friends. Dana needs to find some of her own and stop hanging with mine.

Started working for park and recreation last week, getting things ready for camp orientation, which started yesterday. So far so good, we've got a good crew of staff this year, only one problem child so far.

My father dropped a pane of window glass on his leg last saturday, slicing through the extensor tendons in his right foot. He's in a cast for 6 weeks. Thank god I was there to do my first aid thang.

I had to save a child from drowning on monday. That's my 10th save in my 6 years of guarding. Perfect record, knock on wood.

Been driving the porsche alot lately, good times.
And things genuinely look good, mikey is coming back early and is apparently STAYING!!!! Like for good. Fer eva.
We're totally gonna be roomates if I'm forced to stick around this podunk town for another semester.

Still waiting on Holy Cross, Touring Layfeyette next month, really excited about that.
Kpeace
J

Sun, 08 Jun 2008 16:49:36 GMT

Saturday was interesting.
Woke up early, hopped into Slick Rick and got his oil changed, filled up the tank ($55 bucks, *gag*) and bounced over to Meridith. Stopped at the bookstore, ordered a few works by Soren Kierkegaard and Bertrand Russel, and picked up "Art of War" by Sun Tzu and another philosphy book that escapes me at the moment. I proceeded to visit the Harley-Davidson/Buell motorcycle dealer up the street (I've contracted a desire to own a motorbike, don't ask why) and checked out a few entry-level models. I love Buell, American-Made Muscle? Dopee.
And no visit to Meridith would be complete without stopping at the Volvo Dealership and chatting with the manager, Andrew, who's a friend of mine (I coached his kids at Waterville). He wants me to swing by next week and test drive one of their C30 coupes, apparently I'm their prime demographic, and I know cars. I guess he wants my input.

Swang by the fret shop and played some guitars, and found out the telecaster I fell in love with might be rubbish. It's got an American made neck, but the body dosen't have a serial number, which isn't good news. But it sounds GREAT, looks awesome, but dosen't have enough sustain for an American guitar. They offered me a good deal on a new Texas Telecaster ($300 bucks off retail!), but that would require about 130 dollars in modifications to get it the way I like it. We'll see.

After a relatively brief guitar binge, I met the Boys at grahams boat on squam, and we drove around the lake for a few hours, went swimming, all that jazz.

Saturday, it was one of those rare, magnificient days. If only I could indulge more often.

In other news,
I'm remembering that I actually enjoy reading recreationally, and I've been lucky to find some sintilating material. I've got another 3 days off coming up and I'll probably spend a good bit of them finishing Claptons autobiography (you don't know drugs and booze until you've heard the shit he did), catching up on my writing & guitar, finish some songs, and dive into an intellectual stupor for a few days. I deserve it I think.

Okay, back to work