After a number of years of sombermoose.com existing as a (largely ignored) unique domain of its own, the moose temporarily moved to a new location as a subdomain of gardenvarietymusic.com. That lasted a few days, and in fact, at this writing, the subdomain is still there, but not for long. The moose is back home, at its own domain, and ready for some new life.

After all the back-and-forth, some of the old content is still here, but some of it has been allowed to sink into the sunset. I hope that I will be inspired (or forced by guilt) to add some more content. If that comes to pass, it would be fun, and if not, if a blog post never falls in a forest, does anyone not hear it?

We’ve all been locked indoors of late, and I’ve taken the time to do some playing with video. Here are a couple of examples:

A pyrotechnic goat
Exploded in the moat
And little goatley parts were strewn in places quite remote

I’d never tasted flan
I’d never gotten hurt 
’til falling in a restaurant I landed in dessert.

A novel that I bought
Was lacking so in plot
I started with intent to read but then decided not.

I think we need to have a discussion. Not about guns vs. no guns, but about where we draw the line. We already have a some lines drawn, but it’s clear by now that they are not drawn in a good place. It’s hard to feel safe anywhere in America anymore. Because of where we draw the line on guns.

I once met an exchange student from Europe who told me that her parents’ biggest fear in sending her to the USA for study was the fear that she might be shot and killed by a gun. They knew she was safe at home, but they were worried about her here. Such was their impression of our United States.

I think we need to have a discussion, though I know there are many people who don’t even want to talk about it. I know we’re never going to create a situation where we can guarantee safety for all, at all times. The cat is already out of the bag; there are so many guns, of so many kinds, already out there. But doesn’t it make sense that we should try to make things better than they are? Can’t we at least talk about it?

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

“Arms” is a broad category, and I wonder if the writers of the text of the second amendment had any way of imagining the technologically advanced Arms that are now available, sold today by large, wealthy, powerful companies. And what words might they have written had they witnessed the havoc wreaked by one individual shooter at a music festival in Las Vegas this week?

And did the writers of the amendment imagine that children would be shooting other children with easily accessible arms in our too-numerous school shootings? They had the foresight to suggest that any Militia ought to be well regulated. Does it not make sense that, had they known such things could exist, they would have written that massively dangerous weapons ought to be “well regulated” too, in the name of “the security of a free State”?

I believe that most people who advocate for gun safety believe that gun ownership ought to be legal. I believe most people believe in your right to own your hunting rifle, or your handgun, or your shotgun. But was the amendment language, crafted over 200 years ago, intended to allow a single individual to amass an arsenal of weapons capable of killing and injuring over 500 people in a matter of minutes?

One would hope that the large national organization originally created to promote safe and respectful use of firearms and firearm sports would be leading the way on this discussion. I’ve personally lost hope that that organization cares.

So maybe we can have the discussion. Maybe some of our political representatives will lay down their party hats for a bit and join in. I don’t want to worry all the time that my children, my grandchildren, my friends, my neighbors or myself might be mowed down by a weapon of war owned by an unwell or antisocial individual.

If we can have our discussion, I don’t think that we will ever completely solve the problem. But maybe we can move the line on how our second amendment is implemented to a better, safer place, for “the security of a free State”.

Mike McCornack

October 3, 2017

I want to work with you on some rules of device etiquette. These days I think we all often find ourselves alone while among others because of our devices, and we don’t know how to make it better. So here is my first attempt at some guiding principles for how we might manage our devices in social settings. Please read the suggestions, think it through, and help refine, improve or maybe replace the list. Perhaps together we can find a a way to find each other again, in spite of our devices.

Device Etiquette, draft one

1. Put devices away during shared meals.
2. During conversation, disregard your device. Concentrate on the person who is present.
3. If you still feel the need to consult your device during a conversation, explain and ask permission of the other person.
4. Don’t assume the other person wants to see your photos; ask.
5. If someone else hands you a phone to look at a photo, don’t swipe further without permission.
6. In public settings, leave your ringer off.
7. In focused public settings (i.e., concerts, church, meetings, movies), turn your phone off.
8. While walking in public, keep your eyes on your path, not on your phone.
9. In social settings, put your earbuds away.

One of my favorite Gary Larson “Far Side” cartoons features a dog walking behind a lawnmower which has cut an erratic path through the lawn. The dog’s owner on the porch is admonishing the dog and hollering “Bad dog! You call that mowing the lawn?”. 

When I complain about my technology I feel as if I’m following the example of the man on the porch: witnessing a near miracle, and complaining about its lack of perfection. All in all, it is amazing that this stuff does what it does as well as it does. Still, it sometimes feels necessary to complain. 

One of the great pleasures of my life these days is the freedom to get out of the house and go for a walk, pretty much at will. I find walking to be a deeply pleasurable activity. The physical activity is healthy, of course, but the mental lift the walk provides is real, as is the space to think in an unfettered manner.
I am walking in a suburban area, which is a mixed blessing. There is beauty in the area where I walk, but there are also roads, and I have made an unsettling discovery about roads while on my walks. There are motor vehicles on roads.
Okay, so this may sound a little obvious. But what is new in this discovery is how violent motor vehicles are. I am a veteran driver of motor vehicles, and as such, I take their benefits for granted: they are self-contained, pleasurably air-controlled environments, and they get to places quickly. What I now observe from outside of the vehicles is that they are also very, very loud, unnaturally faster than other things in the environments through which they travel, much larger than the people they contain, and very inhuman in their behavior and appearance. From the point of view of the pedestrian, they don’t seem to belong in some of the places they travel. When walking down a quiet street, watching the birds and squirrels, and enjoying the suburban flora, an approaching car sounds like an attacking Smaug, the fearsome dragon in The Hobbit. The scale of the car’s roaring sound and speeding presence is so far removed from the sound and appearance of the neighborhood, that it shocked me the first few times it happened.
The sound of a motor vehicle from the outside is different than I thought it was. As a driver, I knew the sound as the not-unpleasant hum of the engine. As a pedestrian, I hear the sound of the engine as a roar, the sum of the many rapid little explosions that make an internal combustion work. And the sound of the motor is only part of the sound. The other unexpected sound was that of the tires on the road. The friction that causes the car to move forward on the road creates a harsh, vitally present white noise that sounds as if it is ripping the fabric of the tapestry of the gardens of the suburban neighborhood. It is a sound that doesn’t belong to what you see as a pedestrian.
I am not a Luddite. I will not be writing letters to the editor, or blog posts, demanding the elimination of motor vehicles. I still drive, and will continue to do so. But I also think I will increase how much I walk, and I will try to find walking places where there are no motor vehicles. And I will also think about how much I am driving, and where, and whether or not it is necessary. I would rather not be a violent part of my environment if I don’t need to be. And that may be my new perspective: driving is a violent activity, and one should be violent only when violence is necessary.

I stumbled across this old carol in a recording by the choral group, “The Sixteen”. In English, it’s usually called Rocking or The Rocking Carol. I loved it immediately. It’s simple, but haunting.

I recently watched the Duck/Huskie football game with a couple of close and dear relatives who happen to be Beaver fans. This kind of division can happen in the best of families. At any rate, I was concerned that the situation might be stressful for them as they are unaccustomed to rooting for the Ducks. I provided them with the following primer to help ease their discomfort. I hope that you, too, might find this useful.

1. Throughout the day of the game, and especially during the game, you
   need to occasionally and randomly shout “GoDucks!” at the top of your
   lungs. Shout this anytime anyone in the room does anything, like
   coming back from the bathroom, applauding a good play, sneezing, or
   doubling over from an acute appendicitis attack.
2. If the Ducks defense does something good, say “Alright! Don Pellum is
   a stud!”
3. If the Ducks defense does something bad, scream “Whose idea was it
   to hire that idiot Pellum?”
4. Regardless of whether the offense or defense is playing, it’s appropriate
   pretty much anytime to pump your fist and say “Alright, Marcus!”. Don’t
   try to use his last name. Even his parents don’t know how to say it.
5. If the Ducks score, jump around and high-five everybody as if you’d
   never seen a touchdown before. Please remember that in the 90’s, this
   was true.
6. If the other team scores, first let out a stream of profanity (or random
   words with many consonants), and then turn to your neighbor and say,
   “Whose idea was it to hire that idiot Pellum?”
7. Throughout the game, chew your nails, fidget, pace, and look really
   worried, as if a flock of fruit-eating seagulls was flying through your
   kitchen over your brownie batter. If the Ducks lose, keep this up for a
   week. If the Ducks win, jump up and down and scream for about three
   minutes, and then start thinking about next week while chewing your
   nails, fidgeting, pacing, and looking really worried, as if a flock of fruiteating
   seagulls was flying through your kitchen over your brownie batter

Recording is hard. Okay, digging ditches in the rain and cold is hard, but discounting for obvious physical labor endeavors like that, recording music, and recording music worth listening to, is very, very difficult. Self-recording adds even more difficulty. There are some technical difficulties right from the start, like having a good acoustical space to record in, having access to the equipment (a recording device, microphones, stands, pop filters and the like), and having good, well-rehearsed music to record. But beyond that, things get tough. When you self-produce, you are creating a situation where you must do two very different things at the same time. You need to be an artistically engaged, immersed performer, filling the core of your performance. At the same time, you need to be an aware technician, making sure the performance is captured in a way that will make it listenable. An artistic and moving performance can be thickly veiled by poor technical efforts. Poor recording technique can hide wonderful parts of a performance, and bring to the fore distractions that detract from the performance.
As the performer, recording offers unique challenges. You have the usual performance pressure to make technical difficulties disappear, and to put across the spirit of your interpretation. You add to that the pressure of the invasive feel of the recording process itself. It’s as if the audience is in your lap, well inside your comfort boundary. And the ability to do multiple takes adds almost too much opportunity to try to jump higher, run faster. Every take is in competition to be the best, most meaningful performance ever, throughout the duration of the performance. Each small failure of nuance becomes a rock thrown at the performance that can distract you from the current moment of performance.
For me, the challenge becomes to disconnect from everything outside the performance moment, to connect to the flow, and to ignore the recording. And this separation from the technical has to happen in an instant after hitting “record”.
I think this will get easier. I’ve been doing this in some variation for over forty years and I still see it as an unsolved problem. Which may be why it qualifies as an art.