Middling MIDI
About 12 years ago, while playing around with a friend's recording studio equipment, I had a chance to try out a Casio DH-100 - "DH" for "Digital Horn." Basically a small saxophone-esque MIDI controller in the Electronic Wind Instrument (EWI, pronounced EE•wee - not especially dignified) category. I was astounded at how, with the simple addition of air-pressure sensitivity, the possible range of expression increased so significantly. Furthermore, that this could be mapped through other MIDI controllers or patch banks in order to play nearly any instrument in this fashion (though not all accept the full range of expression very gracefully).
I was hooked, but couldn't do anything about it. My budget at the time was less than meager, and I had other factors of budding bachelorhood to attend to. I kept the idea in the back of my mind, every now and then checking on prices for used Yamaha WX-series wind controllers but otherwise simply sighing it off and going back to other things. I was happy enough to have our Alesis QS 8.1 keyboard which I'd been introduced to about a year after the first EWI, and which Rachelle and I bought shortly after getting married on account of A) it's cheaper than a piano, B) easier to move up and down stairs (we were living in a 3rd floor apartment), and C) can be used with headphones. At least, those were the official reasons: the prevailing one for me was the re-enactment of the classic Wayne's World "Oh yes; it will be mine..." scene I'd done when I'd first played one. That, and how much possibility was potentially held within good studio equipment for the eager practitioner.
This was our musical mainstay for nearly 10 years, through 2 apartments and into our 2nd home (where we are now). We were fortunate enough to "store" my aunt's old upright piano for a while, and enjoyed it immensely, but had to make other arrangements while we were trying to sell the house, returning it to its rightful owner who by that time had space for it. During this time, in order to keep the place in a state of perpetual showability (or within 5 minutes of), Rachelle even had to keep the keyboard stashed away, and I didn't have room to take it with me up to Washington. I did eventually make this all up to her by the way, with my "I'm so very very sorry for everything" / "welcome home" present: Her Baby Grand.
So then, we found ourselves mostly tuneless, at least of our own making, for many months while we were unwillingly separated and trying to make the best of our situations. I briefly toyed with getting the flute out of storage (packed away in Utah), but I wanted to be a good neighbor - especially in the 2nd apartment I had in Seattle, where walls/ceiling/floors were as thin as they could be and still maintain structural integrity. The keyboard still wasn't an option, since I didn't dare trust it to anyone to ship it nor could I very well bring it back with me from one of my visits, so I returned to the EWI idea after having a Homer Simpson Tom Landry's Hat moment: "I can't buy that. Only management-type guys with big salaries like me can afford things like that. [gasps] Guys like me! I'm a guy like me!"
I purchased an Akai EWI USB controller - a fairly cheap but eminently capable device, so long as you have a machine to hook it up to. Which I did, so I did, and it was. I used it to pass the time and play sad songs, practice scales, and improv along with classical music.
Now, whether or not the device is capable, it still relies on whomever is playing it to do anything worthwhile. I don't know that I pass - I would like to think so, but I know I'm still a crude amateur next to any kind of real musician. I offer a few samples below, which lose a little in translation through the tracker back through the VST filter from the original performance, but it's close enough (yes these are all me, and I'm sorry they're all me):
What's interesting is what prompted me to finally record at least a little bit of this. I have other music projects under way (and geek projects), and have been letting the EWI gather dust since shortly after I returned from Seattle, but upon hearing yet another phenomenal cello performance in the background track of something or other wondered to myself... "How much does a cello cost, anyway?" And have found myself once again bit by another instrument bug (there are more than just these 3, too). The thought has even crossed my mind of making a steampunk style electric cello myself, in order to have something to play and practice extensively without offending others (works well with headphones), because steampunk is fun even if it is getting a little too close to mainstream, and because it would be musical and geeky at the same time. I'd even make an interchangeable fingerboard, one with and one without frets, in order to support different styles of performance (or lever-actuated retractable frets, but imagination needs to give way to reality in terms of practical implementation sometimes).
I whipped out the EWI, set the VST to cello, and started playing that instead. Maybe someday...
The Long Journey
I've written a lot about my health over the past few years, and my efforts to try and do something about it. Each little clue gave me new hope, into which I threw my full energy. I took every inch and reveled in it, moving as far as I could before inevitably declining once again (increased effort met with increased resistance). These were genuine steps forward though, rather than false starts: I lost weight, gained focus, and started sleeping better, so each time I was really complaining from a new place.
The biggest gains came from discovering sleep apnea, candidiasis, and suspicions of mitochondrial myopathy. None of these are naturally indicative of McArdle's Disease (the eventual diagnosis) though, nor are they typically concomitant. They didn't fall into their place in the puzzle until the picture was already becoming clear, when it all suddenly came together.
I should start by explaining a little about the condition. Glucose is the primary source of energy for nearly everything in the human body, the whole process referred to as "glycolysis." Most cells, especially muscle cells, have an internal reserve of it in a compact polymer-like form called glycogen. When demand for energy increases, molecules are trimmed off the end of the chain and made available to the mitochondria to do their business of converting it into active energy (adenosine triphosphate, for those taking notes).
This store of energy is pretty high - enough for 12-20 hours worth of activity before needing to be replenished. That replenishment happens on a regular, ongoing basis, to keep stores topped off whenever spare glucose is available, and any surplus is either excreted or converted into starches and stashed elsewhere. Normally this is enough to keep the body readily burning glucose between meals without running low - an exception would be fasting (more than a day), starvation, or extremely high demand: marathon runners, for example, can completely deplete glycogen stores after about 20 miles of continuous running, a phenomenon they refer to as "hitting the wall." At that point continued activity requires use of the stored fats as an alternative fuel, and risks damage to those tissues unable to do so.
McArdle's refers to a defect in or absence of myophosphorylase, which is a fancy name for "the enzyme that breaks glucose off the glycogen chain." This deficiency means that the primary source of stored energy is either completely off limits or so impaired as to be unable to meet the body's demand. This results in dramatic exercise intolerance, and in some cases cramping or seizing of muscle fibers (which require energy both to contract and relax) in a disparate and uncoordinated state so severe that they can actually rupture (rhabdomyolysis - this will be on the test), spilling their proteins into the blood and straining renal functions. Alternatively, the secondary fuel source based on fatty acids can be engaged (lipolysis).
An interesting side note here is that this is the primary intent of low-carb diets: by lowering the intake of glucose (and things easily synthesized into it by the metabolism), glycogen stores are exhausted and the body has no choice but to turn to lipids in order to remain functional. It's a hack, but a potentially effective one - your mileage may vary though, and not every system can handle the kind of stress this creates.
To point, too heavy a reliance on lipolysis floods the body with its waste products and increases the acidity of the blood (ketoacidosis). Healthy folks don't normally get to this point - diabetics can be affected in pretty nasty ways though. Those with McArdle's suffer a similar fate since the reliance on it is more absolute, and constant: this happens on regular diets without regard for carbohydrate intake. I had hit on a form of metabolic acidosis in my investigation earlier but had come to it from the wrong side, thinking that it was an inhibition of the mitochondria in making use of available oxygen, when in fact the mitochondria work wonderfully and are simply making-do with limited materials on hand. The effect is the same though: fatigue, memory disruption, stupor, and eventual unconsciousness.
Stay classy, Seattle
Ah, winter. Which, generally speaking, I love - but, if it comes with any kind of persistent precipitation, cripples the Northwest. Not just because they're wimps when it comes to snow, it's at least partially justified by tendency it has to turn into ice and the number and variety of hills which make up Seattle proper. Outlying suburbs, not so much - for them it's mostly the wimpy part.
The studio I live in now is probably hermetically sealed, as evidenced by the condensation that forms on the windows. A couple days into the various storms it managed to drip down to the bottom and freeze, pictured here.
Tigger, our inherited orange tabby, has an odd habit of licking things which suit him: gloves, coats, pant-cuffs, hands. It's anybody's guess what it's going to be, we have yet to identify any common element amongst his targets - there are other things which cats would typically love, like the wrapper from a stick of butter, which if given the opportunity to inspect he'll attempt to bury the same way he would his leavings in the litter box. However, he does leave a pretty pattern on the window:
Given my easy proximity to work, and my distrust for the driving ability of others in these conditions (as well as a healthy respect for the elements and an acknowledgment of my own limitations), I haven't been driving since it snowed. That means my car's been parked out on the lonely street accumulating snow this whole time, along with a few others in the neighborhood.
We've had about 8" so far - the first night was the strangest though, it started snowing in pellets before changing to conventional flakes. Not hail, honest pellets of snow that you could hear hitting the foliage - around 5am it was accompanied by a couple bolts of lightning less than 1/4 mile north of me, too. First time I've ever experienced lightning first-hand during a snow storm.
Last night added its own strange condition to things, blowing in tiny flakes for much of the night and eventually causing everything to ice over. I'm not sure if it was a change in temperature, or a fog which settled in on everything, or what, but the top 1/8th of an inch of snow has frozen into a texture like frosted glass. Every footstep crunch-crashes through the crust into the fine powder below. It made digging out the car an experience too, since it was not spared this treatment - in fact, any area not covered in snow is also covered with this same sheet of ice.
Which brings me to the title of this post: Stay classy, Seattle.
When I was 17 I got into a minor car accident in the Northwest. There were almost 2 lanes westbound on this street, but not quite (or at least not officially). There also isn't a turn lane, and shortly after an intersection the car directly in front of me stopped in order to turn left. I hesitated a moment, decided there was probably enough space to the right that I could go around him, and put on my blinker after checking my rear-view mirror to make sure traffic behind me was indeed stopped and was making no indication to go around me. Between the time I put on my blinker and started to move, the driver behind me decided that was a good idea too and pulled around on the right, and managed to clip the front third of my passenger side.
After pulling off to the side of the road to inspect things we wanted to make sure everything was in order and call the authorities in case a report needed to be filed. This was before the time when cell phones were common place, so neither of us had one - it was therefore decided that, since the other driver lived nearby, he'd run home real quick and give them a call from there. Which he did, and promptly returned, and everything was squared away - no report was needed because the damage to either vehicle didn't exceed the threshold, and no ticket was issued although I was apparently at fault for failure to yield right-of-way (another one filed under lessons learned).
It didn't dawn on me until days later that the driver of the other car didn't have to return. It was some time after that I realized that I too could have just taken off (we hadn't completed our information exchange yet) while he was gone and just left him in the lurch. My realization wasn't a "would have gotten away with it too if it weren't for you meddling etc." epiphany, it was more akin to a rumination about what a remarkable area to live in. That's just what the culture was.
Was. Past tense.
No note, no indication of ownership. I've heard spinning tires up and down the road and knew it was bad shape out there. I've always turned down the music and paid close attention, listening for the fateful crunch that would indicate assistance was necessary and/or somebody owed someone else money. Never heard it though - which means this probably happened some time Friday while I was still at work, and I missed it when I arrived home that evening. There are no recent tire tracks (and they're easy to spot in 8" of snow) that correspond to the accident, which is my only other clue as to the timing (it snowed fresh Friday night and most of yesterday afternoon and night). I'm fairly certain they were headed West (toward the rear of the car), as evidenced by the fact that the remains of the hub-cap were all slightly to the west of the rear tire.
Though I suppose it's just as possible they were sliding to the East, knocked the hub cap off, and a spinning tire ejected it to the West on their way. Either way I don't think someone could have done this unknowingly, which makes the lack of ownership disappointing.
Fortunately the door opens, moves its full extent, and closes just fine. There's no disposition in the tire which would indicate axle damage, and the sidewall is completely intact. It hurts the resale value of the car, and will probably contribute to the deterioration of the body, but the immediate serviceability appears intact. I'll find out when I move it later today to go to church, and eventually stash it in the garage of a friend for an extended stay while I visit Utah next week.
And if I hit anyone while I'm driving, which is unlikely, I'll be sure to leave a note.
UPDATED 2008-12-21 20:28
I was informed by a fellow motorist in passing (whilst stopped at an intersection) that it appears one of my rear wheels is about to fall off, based on how it's wobbling. A little more than superficial then I'm afraid - I have either a bent rim or a bent axle. I'm hoping it's the rim, since it's an order of magnitude less expensive - we'll find out when I finally have a chance to take it in for repairs after the holidays.