Dave is learning to write:

Words are not just fundamental to writing—they are all there is of writing. As a writer, I must do everything through words. If I do not understand what they are doing, my writing will be weaker. So: Ancora imparo.

Writing music isn't writing words. And yet...

In my eleven years of playing guitar (!!!) I've never done any formal music training. I barely know the difference between a major and a minor chord. I've been using the term "bridge" wrong for half a decade now (I meant "coda", I think). Only the last few years of playing in a band have I connected the strings to the notes they represent.

I'm aware of some of the music theories of guitar. That if you play this note with that note it works better. I'm aware there is some kind of formula, an explaination of why. I don't want to know.

I've had too many arguments with fellow musicians about how a particular note can't go a certain place because of rule number blah.

I'm aware that if I knew musical theory I might be a better musician, but the magic will be destroyed. So much of the joy of getting it right by random luck and an ear for what I like will be gone.

I've learned to love musicians for their genius, only to figure out the pattern they're following, shortly after wishing I hadn't been so darn clever.

That chucka chucka reggae thing used to be such mystery. Turns out it's just a wah pedal. And that kick ass gjent you get in so much metal. It's just palm muting and well timed kick drums. That weird high note that sounds just a little wrong? Harmonics. How do they get that huge full sound? 12 strings you say? Crazy!

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I need to get past the stuffing around stage, into the serious follow the rules stage, so I can learn to do it wrong on purpose. But will I turn into Mr Bungle's "California" or a horrible wanky Dream Theater solo or worse... a John Zorn noise fest?

I'll admit, when working with other musicians, knowing the basic rules and the names for elements is a necessity. I've also had arguments with band members who want to somehow play the note between F# and F. Higher, no... lower. There are no notes between those two notes, you're thinking out of tune...

But, as I said. Writing music isn't writing words. I could try to explain myself with other bad analogies but my butt hurts.

And my opinions on music... and words... tell you a lot about me.

Is there any connection between (Jefferson's) Starship and John Farnham.

Listening to the Starship best of Built This City there are a few songs that sound very JF, and a couple that, if it wasn't for the slight American accent I'd swear WERE John Farnham.

At work for the past few months it has been a constant 28 degress C all day. I know this because I finally brought in a thermometer to check.

Nice temperature if you're on a beach in your swimmers listening to the waves.

Pretty frigging shit if you're in a suit in front of a computer working your way through your second cold (fever) in as many weeks and the outside temperature is averaging 15C.

I'm told the other side of the office is freezing. Good for them.

In the tradition of Connex I'm making up a new acronym. BALWNGTSBOOU ("bal wing, tis bow") or "But at least we're not getting the shit bombed out of us". Say it like you'd say "oh well".

The airconditioning is being upgraded to fix the problem ("feature!") but the speed at which these things happen around here isn't encouraging. Maybe they're getting us back for all those times we tell them "it's not a bug".

The Coke machine, installed for no apparent reason (I quietly suspect it's full of soldiers waiting to pounce), has never worked. The first two people to put money in lost it without getting a Coke and the call to fix it has been in for at least a month. It just sits there, spitting out black ballons.

I suspect the aircon has something to do with why we've all been feeling crap lately. It's hard to believe it's "just the usual winter colds" when you're sweating.

Recently I've been going through old family photos, scanning some of the more interesting ones (to me) into the computer.

Apart from the obvious interest in my family's history, I've found the physical properties of them interesting. Some have faded almost to orange. Useless attempts to recreate the colour in them turn them into green and purple. The really old photos are small and have round edges. Some of the professional baby photos are 30 years old yet look like they could have been taken yesterday. Some are like today's standard photos but again, slightly smaller.

It's like a history of the home use camera.

A month or so ago I sat my parents down to show them the scanning work (going through the photos on the TV with my MediaGate). Their comments were facinating and I wish I'd recorded them. People in photographs got names. Places took shape. Times were solidified. Little glimpses into my parents life before I was born were exposed.

There is so much I don't know.

A new bio-therapy for the dying [Herald Sun]:

Eastern Palliative Care is based in Boronia and has started a client biography service for those suffering from a terminal illness, thanks to grants from the Federal Government and a large corporation.

The service involves training volunteers to visit the dying and make audio recordings of their memories, which are then transcribed and edited into a written biography, complete with photographs where possible.

This service is nothing short of brilliant and exposes some interesting issues with today's society.

Why wait until someone is dying to learn about their life? How horrible.

We're so willing to expose ourselves and yet hide so much. Or, we're willing to expose ourselves and don't appear to care about anyone else. Everyone is shouting and no-one is listening? Blah.

Here we are, with everyday homes filled with all kinds of technological wizardry, MP3 recorders, word processors, digital cameras.

Yet we are not using this technology to trap the information that one day we might consider precious.

Lazy Luddite had similar thoughts recently:

Another thing I want to do is interview my parents and provide transcriptions of those interviews on-line. Why? There is nothing particularly exceptional in the life history of my parents. And yet every life has things that make it interesting even if only to illustrate life in general.

Am I more interested in history recently because suddenly the (world) future doesn't look so great and my own personal future looks so certain and thus less interesting?

Is this what the Cold War felt like? I don't know. Maybe I should ask my sister.

People fear biographies for various reasons. They may appear like an end when there is so much more to do. They can seem to stroke the ego.

I remember once someone sent me an email about my Approximate page saying it was the most egotistical pile of turd he'd ever seen. This was before blogs and before self-made made music was "cool". It's true. It is egotistical. I keep it only for historical purposes and every now and then I look at it to remind myself I used to care.

Housing (un)affordability problems are caused not by interest rates, but by the cost of land, which the Fed. government blames on the States not releasing enough land [The Age].

What you may not know is, although it may look like there is no land left within 30km of your local capital city, as a matter of fact there are thousands of square kilometres of beautiful land just waiting to be turned into 3 bedroom+backyard. Shock!

The State government has been hoarding this land. They've been hiding it away (probably under the MCG or something) and they won't release it because they're evil and greedy.

I believe we currently call this land "roads" and "nature strips" and possibly "child care centres", "zoos", "parks" and "petrol stations". The government should "release" this land to the masses!

By the way, it's also the State Government's fault that there isn't enough water or public transport because they let the city expand far into the wilderness without building infrastructure first.

If only they'd stopped hiding that land! Oh the humanity.