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It Happened to Me

"The Call", Again

I got “the call” again today.

“The call” my own little name for the phone call I get from a family

member to inform me that Dad has yet again wound up in the hospital. As

I’ve probably mentioned dozens of times before in this blog, the

“perfect storm” of diabetes, a heart condition and lowered immunity

because of the anti-rejection drugs he has to take for his kidney

transplant means that keeping Dad’s health in balance is like trying to

keep a marble on balanced on the head of a pin by blowing at it from

all sides.

Long story short: last night, after we had our regular Sunday family

meal (a special treat this time: lunch at Dynasty for dim sum), Dad

didn’t feel like eating dinner. This morning, he took a turn for the

worse and got taken to the hospital, where he had some kind of cardiac

attack. Luckily — it feels strange to use the word “luckily” in this

context — he just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

The appropriate measures were taken, and Dad spent the afternoon

sleeping peacefully.

He woke up at about 5:30 this afternoon and saw me by his bedside.

“So,” he asked immediately after coming to, “Is the wedding still on? You can’t back out now that your mother has bought her dress.

(That’s his favourite joke; he says it every time he sees me.)

Daaaaaaaaaad!


I thought I’d send out a special thanks to both the staff at St. Joseph’s Health Centre for being such top-flight and nice people and to Boss Ross, CEO Elliot

and the Tucows human resources staff for understanding that I’ve got to

blaze out of the office and into the hospital every now and again.

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It Happened to Me

And Now, a Letter from the Editor…

From the look of it, this is going to be one of those years that I’ll

look back upon and say “Whoa, I was pretty busy back then!”. Hence the

shortage of more personal “Hey, look at what I did” entries. It’s not

that I haven’t been up to interesting stuff; it’s just that those

entries take the most time and energy, and those are at a premium. I

find it far, far easier and quicker to write op-ed entries and point

you to interesting things on both the web and in real life. I plan to

get back to writing some “It Happened to Me” stories soon, but in the

meantime, I hope you’re still enjoying the sort of posts I’ve been

making of late.

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It Happened to Me

Last Night

It’s always a blast to step out for food and drinks with our friends from the Tucows office in Starkville, Mississippi,

and last night was no exception. My coworker Darryl and I hung out with

Bill, who was visiting from Starkville and had a blast. We talked about

work, poker, booze, alcoholic Van Halen bass players and even a bit of

politics. Anyone who says that “Red Staters” and “Blue Staters” (or

well, Darryl and I would be, if we were American) can’t get along needs

to get out of their echo chamber for a stretch.

We all agreed that the Bush plan to privatize social security sounds

like a perfect opportunity for financial institutions to gouge people,

which in turn sounds like a perfect opportunity to post this comic:

Comic: Geroge Bush in a tank approaching a building marked 'Social Security' saying 'We'll be greeted as liberators!'


We talked for a little bit about tech enclaves and what painful social

scenes places with nine-to-one male/female ratios have. Naturally, the

movie Office Space came up. Bill and I love that movie.

Strangely enough, my fellows in Tucows’ Reasearch and Innovation

department haven’t seen it yet (when I started working at Tucows, Boss Ross

didn’t know what the “Is it good for the company?” sign I posted at my

des referred to). What the hell kind of research group are we? I must

correct this oversight soon.


We ended up at my favourite watering hole, Smokeless Joe, where they

know me well enough that as soon as I sat down at the bar, the barkeep

said “Sorry Joey, there’s no Black Katt

on tap this evening.” That’s why I love that bar so dearly; they know

me there, and they’ll often turn down the stereo to let me play

accordion for the crowd.

Rick Mercer happened to

be sitting at the bar beside us and we got into a conversation with

him. Mercer, for those of you who don’t know him, used to be on a CBC

news satire show called This Hour Has 22 Minutes and does an occasional special called Talking to Americans,

in which Mercer does “man on the street” interviews in the US that show

how little our friends to the south know about their largest trading

partner with whom they share the world’s largest undefended

border.Americanophile that I am (hey, I’m marrying one, and I’m the

direct descendant of one), it pains me to note that a number of their

politicans have used “I’ve never travelled outside the country!” as part of their campaigns.

Bill asked Mercer if he was the one who fooled  then-Governor

George Bush (he got Bush to comment on his endorsement by Canadian

Prime Minister “Jean Poutine”), to which Mercer replied “yes”. “I’m

glad you didn’t interview me; I might’ve made the same mistake,” Bill

said.

To be fair: can any of my fellow Canadians name the G8 member countries

— we’ll exclude the European Union for the purposes of this question

— and their leaders? (I can, but I’m the smartest accordion player in

the city. I have a level of excellence to maintain.)

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In the News It Happened to Me Music

RIP Jimmy Smith: 1926 – 2005

Photo: Jimmy Smith at the Hammond B-3.

Jimmy Smith, master of the “Full Eights” sound on the mighty Hammond B-3!

Around 1985, the Yamaha Organ School was doing its damndest to expunge

my love for music and my sense of rhythm. While Yamaha’s musical

instrument division were practically redefining instruments — consider

the Yamaha grand piano’s bright sound, favoured by Glenn Gould and many

rock pianists, as well as the DX-7 synthesizer and the WX-7, which let

sax and clarinet players play synth — the ghouls behind the home organ

division crafted a course bereft of soul and full of schmaltz. I had a

teacher who had a bit of a legato fetish; she was an advocate of a

playing style in which the notes blurred together into a bland aural

mush. To make matters worse, I was only two out of fourteen songs

through the required Barry Manilow songbook.

After making sure that I got kicked out of organ school at the annual

recital (long story, which I’ll recount later), I became a synth player

full-time. I even went to far as to erase any of the organ sounds from

my Akai AX-60 synth. I’d had enough of that infernal instrument.

What changed my mind was a music course I took at Crazy Go Nuts

University: “Science and Technology for Musicians”. It qualified as an

“arts” course for engineering students and as a “science” course for

the music students. I often gave them a hand with the science parts

(“Uh, Joey, how do I draw a graph of a 5Hz sine wave with an amplitude

of 2?”) and they gave me a hand with non-keyboard instruments (“Uh,

Dave, how do I play a scale on a clarinet?”).

During the course, I wound up writing a paper on the Hammond B-3 organ.

This instrument was clearly the invention of a former watchmaker: a

classic Hammond is essentially a big electric motor driving a gear

system which in turn drives a series of wheels that made sound. While

writing the paper, I decided to hit the music library and listen to

artists who were considered B-3 virtuosos; that’s when I discovered

Jimmy Smith.

My bad experiences at the Yamaha Organ School, coupled with a teacher

who was more devoid of funk than the entire Michigan Militia, led me to

forget that one could play the organ with rhythm and even staccato

attacks. On the organ, Jimmy Smith’s hands and feet could be weapons;

his playing style defined what we now considered to be the de facto

organ soloing and pedalling style.

Musicians who redefine the way their

instrument is played tend to draw inspiration from other instruments. For example, Carlos Santana says that in order to perfect his signature guitar playing style, he played Dionne Warwick albums over and over and listened to her voice.

In Smith’s case, he drew inspiration from trumpet players, mimicking

their lines. He even emulated their sound in solos by killing the Leslie

(an organ spaker mounted on a rotating stand that gives organs their

“whirling” sound) and slamming every drawbar save the lowest and

highest to the “zero” setting.

After buying Jimmy’s live album, Root Down (whose name you should recognize — the Beastie Boys covered the title track on Ill Communication),

I reprogrammed the organ sounds back into my synth, and made sure than

any subsequent synth I bought could do a decent B-3 impression. Later,

when the organ made its comeback in rock in the early 1990’s (thanks

largely to the “Madchester” sound of bands like the Charlatans,

Inspiral Carpets, Milltown Brothers, et. al.), I copped more than my

fair share of Jimmy Smith licks at gigs. In 1994, I got to completely “Smith

out” when the band we opened for let me use their B-3 and Leslie. It

was heaven.

My last

synth — a Korg WaveStation A/D,

which I still have — has a patch I programmed: a monster B-3 sound

with a touch of distortion and a decent Leslie effect paired with

spring reverb. When you dial it up, its name appears in capital letters

on the display: JIMMY SMITH.


Jimmy Smith died on Tuesday at the age of 79. He’d been playing the organ for 50 years and would’ve embarked on a tour with Joey “The other keyboardist named Joey” deFrancesco next month.

Thanks, Jimmy, for all the music, and for helping me fall in love with the organ again.

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It Happened to Me

Forgot to Get Schmutzed

Photo: Shrek billboard above a a church banner reading 'He Is Risen'.

Best. Sign placement. Ever.

I just read this in Deenster’s blog:

is it just me, or did every one seem to walk around with a bit of schmutz on their forehead?

Oh, crap. I knew I forgot to do something today.

(Note 1: Hey, Wendy! I didn’t have to look up “schmutz”!)

(Note 2: I wonder if Adina spent half her time in India going up to people and

saying: “Excuse me, I thought you should know that you have a bit of

pimento on your forehead.”)

I’ll bet this guy remembered:

Photo: Hairy dude wearing a speedo and a big honkin' crucifix medallion.

Get this man a waxing and some low-carb communion, stat!

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It Happened to Me

Your Valentine’s Day Warning

Photo: Me and Wendy.

T minus three days!

A scene from last Thursday at the charity event during which I enjoyed more than my fair share of drinks:

Her: So, Accordion Boy, do you and your fiancee have plans for Valentine’s?

Me: Yeah, she’s flying up here Friday evening, and I’m taking her out to Crush for dinner on Saturday.

Her: [Her boyfriend] is soooooo dead! Just one time a year — One! Time! A! Year! — I would just like him to do something romantic

[approximately five minutes of her ranting and my silent nodding deleted for brevity]

Learn from this, attached gentlemen. Stay out of the doghouse and make reservations while there’s still time.

As for you unattached local guys, she’s pretty and might be available soon…

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It Happened to Me

Free to Good Homes [Updated]

I’ve been sorting through my technology trunk and found a couple of

goodies for which I have no use.Drop me a line if you’re interested:

  • 128 MB PC2100 DDR RAM (from my PowerBook 12″ 867Mhz — I replaced it with a 512 MB stick) Claimed!
  • Mad Catz DVD Remote control and receiver for the original

    PlayStation 2. It was given to me for Christmas, but it doesn’t fit the

    new, slim-profile PS2. It looks like the remote control in the Mad Catz PS2 Starter Kit. Claimed!

I

assume that they’re in working order (the RAM should be — it’s never

been used, outside of some possible QA testing at Apple).