Monthly Archives: August 2007

Trying the Rhapsody Service: First Impressions

In a previous post, I had grieved over the impending loss of the URGE music service, but grudgingly decided to give the service to which us URGE users were being dumped – Rhapsody – a try. Well, as they said in Groundhog Day, “Rise and shine campers, and don’t forget your booties ’cause it’s cold out there today!” That quote has nothing to do with anything regarding Rhapsody, but I still think that’s a funny line. Yes, by the way, I have tried Rhapsody, and I have for you today, hot off the presses, my own “Rhapsody Report”.

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Cool Plugin for iTunes: Share Music Over the Internet

Here’s an interesting tool that I found while reading an article on TUAW (that’s “The Unfficial Apple Weblog” for the uninitiated). Yes, it’s already been blogged, reported, reviewed, probably upgraded twice, and blamed for global warming by now. What can I say? I guess that’s why those guys get paid for what they do. They find stuff first, while bloggers like me simply regurgitate information to our tiny little spheres of readers. So, really, this post should begin with the phrase, “In case you don’t already know…”

Moving on…

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Red Light Avenger


Another traffic light turned red in front of me. This was the fourth light in less than a mile that I would now be forced to wait at, my foot unable to pump the gas pedal, my engine and I making the same grumbling noise as we both sat and fumed. I squashed my head tightly back into the headrest, and closed my eyes, attempting to squeeze my frustration out through my ears, where it would vaporize into the air, and streak harmlessly on the windows in the car.

I hate traffic lights because they all turn red when I approach them. Always. Every stinking time. Everyone laughs at me when I tell them that. I get all sorts of advice: Hit the gas quicker when you start. (Didn’t work.) Go right at the speed limit, because the lights are all timed to stay green at the speed limit. (Bull crap.) Hit the gas slower when you start. (Strike three.) Then they all get in the car and drive with me, and they are simply shocked that I was actually telling the truth. “You’re right,” they would admit afterwards. “It’s every light!” I usually smack the back of their heads at this point.

Today, though, I had crashed head on into my red light limit. I opened my eyes, and thought for all the world the red light was smirking at me. The sensor next to it looked too much like a middle finger, which it was waving too gleefully at me. At that moment, something in me snapped as violently as a thrown rod in an engine.

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Managing, Sharing, and Mapping Your Photos with Picasa

So, What is Picasa?

First of all, these days, if you’re still managing your digital photos by way of tedious and endless trees of directories, shame on you. Besides quickly becoming unmanageable for thousands of photos, there’s too many good tools out there that make viewing, managing, and even minor editing of your photo collections easy, intuitive, and even – ahem – fun. I guess.

All you Mac users should already know better. There’s a little program that came with your computer called “iPhoto”. Use it! Now! (No, wait. Finish the post, first.)

One tool I used to use while I was still an unenlightened Windows user was a program called “Picasa” – which, since it showed a lot of potential and usability, was immediately bought by Google. Picasa is basically the Windows version of iPhoto. Once installed on your machine, it scans your hard drives for all of your photos and videos, and creates a library of them within Picasa. Once you have your library initially imported, your life will already be ten times easier than before, because now, all of your photos are presented to you in an easy-scrolling, see-it-all-at-once sort of flow. On the left side will be a list of all the folders on your hard drive, which you can click on for quick access.

The best feature of Picasa that, when I first began using it, had me dancing, singing, and rolling on the floor in silly giggles, is the ability to create albums, and assign your pictures to them. These albums are independent of the folders and files, thereby freeing you from the tyranny of the folder tree!

Get it? This means that if you have taken scores of pictures of sea gulls in flight over the years, and have them spread out over multiple folders, you can now select them all in Picasa, and assign them to one album. Now, you can see hundreds of the little feathery creatures at once, without having to find them all in your extensive pile of directories.

Anyway, I really don’t want to get too involved in describing Picasa. I had to say something about it, though, because the main point of the post is built on it.

Try Picasa out when you get a chance. It good. You like. Download here. (This will open a new window.)

Moving on… Read More »

Losing the Urge

I’m losing my Urge. I can’t tell you how disappointed that makes me.

Don’t worry. It’s probably not what you think. No, this concerns something all glitzy and technological, with a large helping of music thrown in. Ah, yes: computers and music – my idea of the perfect post. Now, to the problem at hand.

As a recent and enthusiastic convert to the Mac platform, I rarely need to fire up Windows. Mac OS X is just too nice. Unfortunately, there are two instances that are important enough to run a Windows install through the Parallels virtualization program. The first is for the little bit of .Net development work I continue to do on the side. The second, though perhaps not as important to paying the rent each month, is profoundly more important to me, and was the sole reason I decided to install Windows on my MacBook at all.

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The Bewildering Effects of the Tristan Chord (And Other Thoughts on Going Back to School)

I walked up the aisle in my dorky looking graduation gown, my even dorkier looking cap (it’s hard to argue that you don’t look like a square when the cap you’re wearing is, in fact, a square), and my pink tassle.

I don’t know about you, but I think making music majors wear some springy pastel color on their hats is a subtle insult by the universities. Other majors get cool colors, like brown, or silver. These colors suggest a strong foundation of knowledge, or a valuable education. Colors to be proud of! We get pink. That’s right. Music is nice, and all, but it’s nowhere near as important as the silver tassles.

I digress. Read More »

Sealed for Your Frustration

My fingers were sticky. My face was red from frustration. My coffee sat on the counter untouched, its steam wandering listlessly into the air, wondering where I had gone. A pair of scissors rested in a sticky pile next to me, their blades opened at a grotesque angle, having been thrown from my trembling fingers not two minutes ago. My fingernails probed and scratched at the object I held before me, looking for something to grab, something to pull. Alas, they found nothing.

Worn out, and resigned to this hopeless situation, I groaned a sigh of utter defeat. Lost in the hopelessness of the situation, I was shocked to hear a snicker next to me. Looking beyond my defeat, I saw my wife standing next to me, shaking her head and smiling at me.

“Having problems?” she giggled. I had to take a few deep breaths to calm down before I answered her.
“I can’t get the Agave Nectar bottle open!” I finally spat out in a wave of rage you could see. Mindy stepped aside to let it pass.
“Poor hubby,” she answered, and opened the refrigerator in search of breakfast.

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Cop Out

Cops are an interesting breed. They are one of those folks that can, at the same time, be very understanding and human, but still angry and mean, sort of like a confused compass twitching between north and south.

I got pulled over today on the way to Denver International Airport to pick up my sister. Of course, her boyfriend was with me. I was coming off of a road where the speed limit was 50, and was accelerating to merge with a road whose speed limit was 65. I was at about 58 and just merging when those blue and red lights flashed behind me. Feeling that special tingle in my stomach reserved for that delicate blend of embarrasment and fear, I pulled off to the side. I had heard that cops are impressed if you’re ready with the proper documents when he gets to your door, so I pulled out my registration, insurance card, and license. I was ready to score some brownie points when he got there. I could just imagine the conversation: Read More »