Bad Penny

[Sparky Kronkite]

Good night everyone....

Off to be I go.

I don't thing the Shebabe would mind me saying that I will go to the stories board, search out the KM story that the hunky Vix reccommended and - WHACK THE FUCK OFF! After all, I will be mentally imaging the beautiful Shebabe making love with Vix.

Yes, life is good - even if you're whacking off.

Laurel? You're in there too babe. I'm a bit of a sucker for light haired powerfull women.

But don't you dark haired beauties get pissed - I have an extremely open mind. Believe me.

 

[Sparky Kronkite]

PS - that would be.....

BED! Off to bed I go! God! I hate it when I make mistakes. Oh well fuck it. Good night.

Nightlite or Nitelight - see(?) my mind is fried. Good night dick head. Ambro? Well? Well?

Well? Well? Don't know. Ummmmm? Carry on.

 

[Sparky Kronkite]

BTW....

I just hope you all are watching ED.

 

[*bratcat*]

hey!

 

[Purple Haze]

Sorry man, not good enough.

You can have your "Powersoakers" and your various other artificial distortion devices and they'll sound great in your bedroom. The true character of a tone comes through the POST-amp tubes. Without them, you have a lifeless being, a neutered cat, a non-alcoholic beer, "Data" from Star Trek, it's lifeless. There is no action/reaction, no force, the OUTPUT tubes need to glow, to breathe, it's a beautiful thing. It's touch sensitivity. It's a prescence, like an animal. I feel so sorry you haven't experienced that rush.

It's not about volume, a fifty watt amp can easily be run hard without overpowering the mix.

The best sounds I've heard live have always had a good strong stage volume, with reinforcement as it's needed. Most soundmen have it all backwards, you can take a band that sounds good and make them sound better by adding a little here, a little there. But to try to eliminate all stage volume is more a control thing than good sense. Take away stage volume, and you have created a lifeless, complicated, robot world. You might as well play the Macarena.

 

[Sparky Kronkite]

Ph? You fucking knuckle-head......

You don't think I've experienced "glowing tubes and their sound?"

I'm not disagreeing (what the fuck spelling is that?) with you. But.........

If you start getting "that sophisticated" the musician must bring "different amps, according to the size of the venue" to the gig. One bass rig, for example does not cut it in all venues. This is rare.

Fuck! Can't remember what else I wanted to say! I'll be back.

 

[Purple Haze]

Glowing tubes and their FEEL, Spark.

 

[Sparky Kronkite]

Okay - I remember now......

PH?

I was at the infamous (but I didn't know it then) the "Twist & Shout," there (right outside DC in Maryland) to see the "Sun Rhythm Kings," a conglomerate (spelling there?) group of Ex-Sun-Elvis side-men.

Dylan was in town. Did I care? Kinda. But anyway.

The venue, the Twist & Shout (which Mary Chapin sings about, if'n yer into coutry) is/was pretty fucikin' simple - a VFW, nothin' happen'in but only on the weekends, the basement of the place, low ceilings, no-stage/performers on the floor - a real nothing of a place.

Anyway - I met Bob Dylan there, that night - but that's neither here nor there - I went up to "see the gear." You'd have loved it - the tubes, glowing like blue fire (I'm sure you've seen it) were absolute blue fire beauty. However, they were in a small place and the biggest amp there was a Princeton!!!!!! No stacks. No bullshit. They knew!

You gotta play the venue. (If you can afford it.) You gotta have the proper size gear for the proper size venue. One hunk of gear does not do it all. And that's the muscians deal - if they can afford it. If not - it's the soundman's deal and the musician has to live with what he gets.

If you can't provide - you gotta make due.

Uber Soundman has spoken

Ps - ask me about meeting Robert Zimmerman.

 

[Purple Haze]

What about meeting Robert Zimmerman.

 

[Purple Haze]

C'mon, tell me about Bob. PLEEEEASE?

 

[Isabella Thorne]

OK I'll bite ...

tell us about Bob ... please
_____________________
the answer my friend is blowin' in the wind ..

 

[Sparky Kronkite]

I got there way early.....

Just like all the geeks do. I knew that chairs/tables would be few - hell there's only about 5 tables in there and we had friend comming.

But one table, right next to ours, had this huge black dude sitin' there. And nobody else. 9:30 rolled around, 9:40, 9:50 - our table was full, but this one huge black dude was sitin' at this table, right next to us, all alone. Boddy D walks in (I can't remember if he was in town with the Dead or Petty's boys) but he had a night off. He sat there with his bodyguard and that was that. Until, I got bored - fuck me, I don't really give a shit about starz! I, and my best buddy of all time went up to the stage (on the fucking floor mind you) to check out the gear. We were up there and all of a sudden Robert was standing right with us. Fuck! I said, no shit, "Well I guess if you're up here standin' right next to us, I'd feel guilty if'n I didn't ask to shake your hand." We shook, we talked about vintage Fender Tweeds and Tele's. But let me tell you - I'll never forget - he stunk - like a streat person. PU!

That's pretty much my Bobby D. story.

 

[Purple Haze]

Dylan Stinks? LMAO! Did he talk like he sings, all nasally and shit?

 

[Sparky Kronkite]

Good night all, my life seems long when I do this....

And all of a sudden I fell like bed-time.

I'm such an old fart now.

Later. Ask me anything.

 

[Sparky Kronkite]

PH? You caught me.....

Yes he did. Just like anyone might imagine. Bob was Bob. I didn't know what to make of him - was he totally fucked up? Or natural strange? An artist? Or just fucking burnt? I still don't know.

Since I met him that night though - I've kind of studied him. And I know this one fact - he's one prolific motherfucker. Art or trash - the bastard puts out! I think that says something right there.

I like him.

You ought to read his poetry - or lyrics that have never made it to the airwaves. I mean tons of shit.

I like to thing I'm only a little like him.

Fuckin' pump the shit out and fuck everybody else - spew baby, spew! I think he does this.

 

[Sparky Kronkite]

Here is why I hate my job.

Passions are where you place them.

Your personal priorities place your passions.

Your personal values drive your passions.

Hopefully your profession, your life-long profession, is a passion for you. It's the only way you can truly "like what you do for work." And it helps immensely if those who you work with are, "passion aligned" with you. Hopefully your "work team mates" share in your passions.

If this is not the case - then maintaining passion about anything - particularly regarding your profession - is difficult. If those you work with have differing passions than you do - it is most likely that they have different values than you do - and different priorities.

And this is my dilemma.

I have invested - invested - much time in my profession and in particular "the place where I work" and for many "adult, responsible reasons" I can't waste that investment. I must maintain, I must stay - until I retire - at this place. A place where the preponderance of my team mates hold much different values and priorities than I.

And I have no passion left for this - my profession. My passion lay elsewhere. My superiors see this - I don't hide my priorities - and I don't hide my lack of enthusiasm regarding their different priorities and values. I am going nowhere - professionally speaking.

My only hope is that someday before I retire - their priorities/values/passions will align with mine. Hopefully they will see the error of their misspent passions and see, and agree that mine are of superior value.

But I'm not holding my breath. I march onward - chin up - doing my duty. But at times I hate it.

 

[Renegade]

For all you Sparky fans.

Here's an oldie but goodie from not too long ago.

 

[Guest]

You did it! you did it!






Good boy.


lol