Proof Against

We've got away lightly so  far weather-wise in Cork. There's been rain (obviously) and a chill in the air, but we haven't had the kind of snow that's hit the UK. The forecast for tonight is for a few inches of snow but there's no sign of it so far.

You all know by now that I'm not one for hot weather. One can say that one likes the winter but what one really means is that one likes to feel proof against the winter. To walk and play in the snow and then to come to a warm dry house, a change of clothes and a mug of hot chocolate; to sit by a window and watch the rain lashing down outside. So I'm about to head for bed, snuggle under my duvet and pretend that tomorrow doesn't require me to do anything!

Naïveté

Even though I don't live in the UK any more I keep up with the news over there. No disrespect to the Irish Newspapers and News Agencies but there's no-one quite like the BBC. Anyway. This isn't the BBC.

This story from The Independent bothers me:

The racist video in which a woman calls a man a 'smelly Nigerian' and he punches her shows two wrongs don't make a right - Comment - Voices - The Independent

It doesn't bother me for the reasons you might think, though. I'm not for a second condoning her reaction to his stepping on her foot. Neither am I attempting any defense of his response. What bothered me the first time I read the article and continues to do so is the first 13 words:

"Nothing is particularly shocking about a racial altercation taking place on the Tube"

If it isn't shocking, it should be. It should outrage and horrify people. It should incense them and inflame them. The fact that the author of this piece considers that it isn't shocking is one of the most profoundly depressing pieces of journalism I've read in an awful long time. People of London - is this true? Is a racial altercation on the tube really so commonplace?

And it's not only come from the author. This has been passed by an editorial team on a respected newspaper. Maybe I'm more naïve than I thought.

Carry Out

Does the convenience of digital music and mp3 downloads outweigh the majesty of a 12" vinyl record in a gatefold sleeve? No. Not even close, but I'm a realist. Not everything that's released now has a vinyl edition and vinyl is still fraught with the same dangers it always was - fingerprints, scratches etc.

So I store my music in two places. On an external hard drive and on my iPod. I have an iPod Classic with 160GB capacity. That means, in the format I use, I have over a month's worth of music I can carry with me. The iPod is starting to wheeze a little as it climbs stairs, though. It's not going to last many more years. I'd looked at the other options (ie not Apple) and there are very few options at the moment. High-capacity mp3 players aren't in vogue, with the current focus on "The Cloud".

I'm not over-enamoured with the cloud-storage idea. One is paying for it continually and it assumes a constant internet connection, or multiple connections. Another solution is expected later this year, though. Modern mobile phones use micro-sd memory cards. At the moment, the maximum capacity is 64GB but the internet is alive with speculation about a 128GB micro-sd card. One of those would probably work in my phone.

Let's be clear about this, because this is a mindjob. The amount of music that, when I was a young man, used to take up enough record cases to fill a small room, can now be carried around on a gadget which is about the same size as a pack of cigarettes. And in the very near future it'll fit onto something about the size of a stamp, that'll slip into a slot in a phone I carry around in my pocket.

Wow.

I Got The Music In Me

I work with words all day. Comparing them, refining them, editing them, finding ways to organise them to convey their meaning more clearly. I've said before that this sometimes means that I'm "worded out" when I get home and can't find the enthusiasm to blog.

This state of affairs cannot be allowed to continue.

I'm lucky enough that I work with something I'm interested in and I mustn't let the "work" kill off the "interest". If I make one resolution for the year to come and beyond it's to play with words; to find the fun and the magic in them. Whether I wish it or not I'm never going to be a Clapton, a Blackmore, a Page, but give me an instrument with the 26 strings of the alphabet and I can make music. Will others want to listen? That's not my concern. I wouldn't be so pretentious as to say something like "ars gratia artis" but you get my drift. I'm here because I want to be.

So I'll be back. Repeatedly. Until I come up with a better idea, something better to write, I'll be here practising my scales, toying with riffs and making sure that my hands fall naturally into the shapes of the chords I want to use.