(K told me the name of this one but I can’t remember it, so I’ll go with my name for all non-weed flowers: Pretty.)

Indeed.

New pod equip arrives today: a Zoom PodTrack P4 recorder. After Friday’s disaster of a recording session and implementing many of the fixes my exceedingly generous and understanding guest suggested, I couldn’t wrap my head around one issue: that I couldn’t hear the recorded version – had I been able to do that, I would have caught the level/clipping issue while it was happening and fixed it - as it was being recorded.

In a callback to my documentary / video days, I remembered, fondly, the joys of having a physical intermediary (in this case, my still-beloved DV tape) between capturing and processing. That the Zoom records on an SD card which can then be transferred to the iPad for editing adds a layer of mindpeace: at least I know what’s going on on the recorded version – and have a hard backup copy in the event that something goes wrong in the DAW processing.

This is my working theory, anyhow – a working theory about to be put to the test this afternoon: first call with my next TSR guest. Hopefully, by recording the first, initial chat, I can get a better idea of levels, capabilities, and workflows before the actual recording; the dress rehearsal, as it were.

Apologies for multiple deletions, repositings, and etc yesterday: trying to find the new rhythm of the day and it wasn’t gelling. Think I’ve got things figured now – in theory, of course.

Listening: BREAK STUFF, by Vijay Iyer Trio.

+++

A quick message from my one and only sponsor, me: If, over the last 15 minutes or 15 years, you’ve found my work to be a worthwhile use of your time, I’d be honored if you’d consider supporting it via my Ko-Fi tip jar.

Efforts at quieting things down are afoot and, after much (over)-consideration, I’ve determined three basic components to be foundational to this switch.

One, starting this morning – or, really, starting the last few months – I’m returning full-time to my daily posting routine to make it once more the head-clearing, interstitial ritual that it used to be and as I hope it can be again.

Two, I’m retiring THE GROUND LOOP as I want to focus, in my non-fiction podcasting efforts, entirely on THE SOCIALIZED RECLUSE and being a better interviewer. Hopefully I will increase the frequency of episodes as I move forward with it. Over the last several weeks, the purpose of THE GROUND LOOP’s existence, that of practice, has subsided – especially as everything I’ve learned had to be thrown out with the equipment changeover to the M1 iPad – and, with the return of the daily pieces, I don’t really need to talk to myself in public; I’d rather type to myself in public. Thinking out loud in public.

Three, my primary focus at Parenthetical Recluse will be additional stories, novellas, THE SOCIALIZED RECLUSE, long-form essays, and transforming it even further into my jazz club. Aiming to release a new story exclusive to newsletter subscribers by my 40th birthday, 07 August.

(Are all these changes related to that impending birthday? Probably, at least somewhat. Evolve, evolve, evolve…)

Anyhow, these are the changes as I see them at this point. More are probably afoot, but I do think that this switch is, currently, the best way to focus on what truly gives meaning and purpose to my days.

Playing:

First bookstore visit in a year and a half:

Slowly coming around – and by slowly, I mean it’s taken ten years – to the truth that I will not be able to accomplish much of anything in the summer: it’s the time of year that the Writer must fade into the sanctity of the early morning hours.

Taking Cal Newport’s notion of treating each role one plays as a part-time job to heart – particularly the bit about the import of timeblocking (which I’ve done for ages) in ensuring that one part-time gig doesn’t start resenting the other part-time gig’s hold on the day’s limited brain-time; to each full-time gig, then, its own part-time block – The Writer, The Podcaster / Interviewer, The Husband/Son/-In Law – and a begrudging acceptance that, in order for the summer dominance of the Husband/Son/-In-Law part-time gig to not result in jailtime, either the Podcaster/Interviewer or The Writer must recede a bit.

(Current solution: the pre-breakfast sanctity of The Writer will remain undisturbed – for my day to not devolve into a melange of depression that sanctity is required; the post-breakfast, pre-run chunk will be dedicated for pod/interview writing and research – as well as these pieces – and general Parenthetical Recluse stuff; afternoons, when not engaged in Husband/Son/-In-Law duties, will be the domain of recording and editing shows.)

Might venture out today, first bookstore in a year and a half. Cover and title reveal of the upcoming novella in this Sunday’s MacroParentheticals newsletter. On wth the day.

Once thought that 23-week-old German Shepherd puppy-assisted yoga was the apex of my wild times. Little did I suspect what wonders 23-week-old German Shepherd puppy-assisted office rearrangement would bring.

In which one of my “might as well have a sense of humor about your chronic illness because you’re stuck together for life” days is represented in sartorial form:

EarBliss: TRENCADIS, by William Parker.

… partway through GUNPOWDER MILKSHAKE: so far, the most interesting part of it is the title… yesterday afternoon wasn’t a total waste, as we got to spend part of it listening to Ezra Klein’s must-listen interview with Ibram X. Kendi… almost done with Rushdie’s JOSEPH ANTON, finally: while I like Rushdie’s work he ends up, invariably, be it fiction or non-, grating on my nerves by the halfway point and ANTON – a nonetheless excellent memoir – is no exception (that said, I still want to spend an afternoon or evening playing SUPER MARIO WORLD with him)… though my victories carry with them an asterix, I nonetheless vanquished my niece, finally, in one Grand Prix race in MARIO KART, the asterix being that the controller was wonky and I, being the cool uncle and determined to be the one postive male influence in said niece’s life, took the wonky controller in our next circuit and proceeded to be vanquished, as per normal in our Saturday MARIO KART battles… “Goat poop bingo” will be among the notable events in town next weekend for the annual “throw a pot on somebody’s head and have him lead a parade of locals up the road while they hurl enough candy at goers and gawkers to make an insulin company sales rep salivate” festivities … and, finally, spent much of the morning asking myself a recurring question: am I asking the paragraph to do too much?…

Yoga.

Weary, worn out and all of that.

While my relief that yesterday’s interviewee was so gracious – and willing to spend more time helping me troubleshoot it – after learning that our recording was mutilated somewhere between the mixer and the iPad (TRRS, TRS, you bastards) is limited only by my capacity to express boundless gratitude, I remain horrified that this distorted audio clusterfuck happened at all. The only way out is, as ever, through, and I’m finding (thanks to Fran) solutions, I think. A rush to get it all sorted before the next interviews (and a re-do of yesterday’s guest late next month / early September).

While I had considered weekly pieces at PR, I simply prefer this format – I enjoy having writing in this space, in addition to the dog pictures.

In-lawn and an afternoon wasted lie ahead. At least the office didn’t flood.

Status, 16jul2021

Frequencies and methods: the evolution continues (or devolution, whichever).

Journals, 2009-present.

Few things draw my ire as much as sticky notes that don’t stick.

Greetings.

The dog-children, in their natural habitat.