Hello hello hello, is there anybody in there?

Perfect pitch is the ability some musicians have to perceive musical notes independent of any tonal reference.

Perfect pitch is used primarily to make other musicians without perfect pitch feel inferior. Typically, this is accomplished as follows. The musician with perfect pitch points at the musician without perfect pitch, and says something like, “You lack perfect pitch! Ha ha ha!” At this point, the musician without perfect pitch runs away crying.

However, I am here to tell you that the notion of perfect pitch is bunk. All humans have perfect pitch. You have perfect pitch already. Would you like me to prove it to you?

First, choose your favorite song by your favorite singer or band. Yes, you love lots of songs. Think of one that you would love to turn up if it came on the radio, because you’ve heard it like a hundred times and you still think the song is cool. Go ahead and choose the song. I’ll wait. While I’m waiting, I’m going to choose “Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd. Note! You don’t have to choose “Comfortably Numb.” Any song will do, whether it’s by Pink Floyd or not.

Okay, now you have your song. What you’re going to do is play the opening section of it right in your mind. You’ll just close your eyes and think the song right now, like it’s playing on the radio. Dum dum dum dee dee dee… and you’re going to hear the singer start to sing the song. In my case, Roger Waters is going to go, “Hello hello hello…”

Now did you just hear the singer sing that note in your head? That note is, for you, an absolute pitch. You could, if you wanted to, hum that note very quietly. And you could do it today or a month from today, and you will always hum that note.

You could even walk over to a piano or a guitar, sing the note again, and futz around on the keys until you found the exact same note that Roger Waters was singing (F-sharp below middle C). From now on, if you want to know what an F-sharp sounds like, just play the opening sequence from “Comfortably Numb” in your head¹, and wait for Roger to sing an F-sharp for you.

If you did this for twelve songs all in different keys, you’d know all the notes of the scale. Poof! Perfect pitch for you!

—-

¹The original 1979 version, not the cheesy harmony version with post-Waters Floyd they did in the mid-80’s. That was a B-minor chord.

Which pets get to sleep on velvet mats?

[Laughing] I have a joke. It?s a good one. This joke is called “The Aristocrats,” okay? So the setup is, there?s this guy, and he runs a talent agency. He?s an agent. And a man comes into the agent?s office, says Have I Got An Act For You. And the agent says, We Don?t Take Family Acts. And so the guy says… no wait, the guy?s got his family with him. Yeah, the guy walks in to the talent agent?s office, he has a wife and a son… So the guy goes in, with his whole family, says to the talent agent, Have I Got an Act For You. Talent agent says, We Don’t Take Family Acts. And so the guy goes, You’ve Never Seen Anything Like This. And so the daughter… Wait a second, this is important. There’s a daughter there. So the guy has brought his wife, his son and his daughter. And he goes to the talent agent, Have I Got An Act For You, blah blah blah. And so the daughter takes out this big thing, it’s like about this long and like this. It’s some sort of sexual device. And the whole family is, like, “whoa!” … Let me see if I can remember how this goes. So the son takes the thing… I’m sorry, I’ve totally screwed this up. Wait, wait! There’s a pony. They’ve got a Shetland pony with a velvet collar covered with sleigh bells and blue ribbons. And the pony is pulling this sleigh, and the sleigh is full of toys and gifts and things… I always wanted a pony. It would be nice to pet one. They have those soft manes. [Make pony noises] The joke! So okay, we have a pony. And so the daughter, she has this sexual device, it?s like this big, and everybody’s like, “ohhhh!” And then… So maybe, the pony isn’t actually important to the story. I can’t remember. The pony comes in, and then… [Long pause] Knock knock. [Who?s there?] The Aristocrats! [The Aristocrats who?] Um… [Long pause, then cry quietly]

Your menstruating heart, it ain’t bleeding enough for two

You haven’t missed much. I tend to sleep poorly. Most days I wake up around five-thirty, doze for a few hours. Weekdays start at eight or so. I drag my sleepless butt out of bed, watch the coffee maker drip, and saunter into the office. I spend my days hunched over a computer, spinning out miles and miles of code. I’m writing audio rendering code, the auditory heart and soul of a new video game. If I do a good job, the game will be played by over a million people. If the game sounds bad, well, that’s my fault.

Producing, listening, testing. It must be perfect. I must be perfect. It’s music and art multiplied by all my programming and techie abilities. I argue with other engineers. I get frightened: am I too old? Too arrogant? Too sleepless? Am I wrong? Can I build what I can imagine?

Not enough time, never enough time.

I stop work usually around seven-thirty, my head still spinning from code and digital-signal algorithms. The global-positioning system in my Prius guides me home. I’ve driven this route for months, but occasionally I still get lost.

My head, you know.

Usually, the wife has made pasta and salmon, or maybe chicken. We watch the big-screen TV (nature documentaries from the BBC) and maybe talk for a little while. Usually, I don’t talk to her about work.

Lather, rinse, repeat. It?s been six weeks that I haven?t auditioned for anything, and only written one script. And here I am, in the shadow of L.A.

I think I’ve fallen into a pattern that I know too well.

Everybody cut, everybody cut, everybody cut, everybody cut

John Byrd
has a Bacon number of 4.

John Byrd
was in Ambassadors Day (2006)
with Taylor Ray Taylor Ray
was in Voyeur (2006)
with Dalila Ali Rajah

Dalila Ali Rajah
was in Darwin Awards, The (2006)
with Wilmer Valderrama

Wilmer Valderrama
was in Beauty Shop (2005)
with Kevin Bacon

Bacon number is 4

black sabbath
played with nashville pussy at shoreline amphitheater on jul 20, 1999

nashville pussy
played with flush at c.w. saloon on may 3, 1999

flush
played with smokejumpers at tip top inn in sf on january 29, 2000

smokejumpers
played with the kuntry kunts at edinburgh castle on jun 11, 1997

kuntry kunts
played with the hungry hungry hippeaux at edinburgh castle on may 22, 1998

Sabbath number is 5

John Byrd coauthored Game Programming Gems 3 with Eric Lengyel

Eric Lengyel coauthored Game Engine Gems 1 with Richard Egli

R. Egli coauthored with Neil-Frederick Stewart MR2062029

Neil-Frederick Stewart coauthored with Stanley M. Selkow MR0366737

Stanley M. Selkow coauthored with Paul Erdős¹ MR0584517

Erdos number is 4

The vines are good, the fruit is sweet this year

Dad writes about my stepmother:

Family,
We got bad news yesterday. Rachel’s lung cancer had recurred and involves her right lung, mediastinum, and right neck. We saw her oncologist today. He is scheduling a repeat bronchoscopy and and biopsies. She may receive lung irradiation if there is tumor blocking her bronchi. Then probably a trial of another biological. Her spirits are good and she feels generally well except for cough and hoarseness. Sorry I haven’t got back, but pretty busy with her tests, etc.. We have a lot of good friends in AA sustaining us. We have a Higher Power, and we are taking it a day at a time. We are grateful for every day we have together. Will keep you informed. Keep us in your prayers.
XOXO Dad/Uncle Bill

Chickety chick chick the Chinese chicken

I LOVE CHIKINS!!!!!!!!!!!!

CHIKINS R BIRDS THT HAV FETHRS!!!!!111!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

TH3Y ARE MAKING EGGSX BY LAYING!!!!!!!!!11111111111111

BUT TH3Y DO NO GIVE MILKS, BECUZ TH3Y R NOT MANIMALZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

CHIKINS CIKINS CHIKNS WOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooOOOOOOOO!!!!11111111

WOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!111111!!!!

Update: WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!11!!!!!!!

What’s playing at the Roxy? I’ll tell ya what’s playing at the Roxy

I purchased a Chemex coffee maker about a week ago. It’s basically a large glass bauble. You put coffee and a filter in it, pour boiling water in, and watch your coffee drip through the specially constructed paper filter. It’s a meditative, mellow experience, at seven-thirty in the a.m., just watching your coffee drip drip drip through the Chemex, standing in your brown fuzzy slippers and dingy blue bathrobe, watching your coffee and watching the gray California morning sky, drip drip meditate drip.

As much church as I’m going to get, for the time being.

The weekend was lovely — we did a one-nighter to SF to visit a few folks and attend a birthday party. Alex is thin and brown, ready to do some modelling. Katie is as intense as ever. Sean is moody as ever, and still funny as hell.

Ambassador’s Day is playing San Francisco on August 12, 13 and 15, at the Roxy Film Center.

Where any office boy or young mechanic can be a panic

Hell of a weekend. So Friday night I played guitar in The Burlesque of Bond, same as usual. (The show?s extending through next weekend.) Next morning, I hopped a plane with my wife from Orange County, grabbed a plate of amazing pasta at Zza’s in Oakland, and went to Rhythmix for the closing night of The Death of Ayn Rand. The show was awesome; I received and gave a lot of love; Rob and Linda and Angela were awesome folks to hang out with. I was gratified to discover that since I am apparently dead, my writing’s now worth a lot more than when I was alive. We stayed up till the wee hours, drinking and talking, and bright and early Sunday I hopped a plane back to Santa Ana. I drove to Los Angeles at ninety miles per hour, arrived just in time to catch the Dances with Films festival. Ambassador’s Day was playing at the shiny Laemmle 5, on Sunset in Hollywood. I just made it in time to catch myself, with Dave and Charles sitting beside me in the theater. Now I know that names are just names, and places are just places, but there was a never-to-be-forgotten thrill in leading in a Hollywood film. Yes, that’s me up there, making you laugh! After the film, I took the guys back to Costa Mesa, got them all nice and drunk, and we all watched the current cut of Absolute Pleasure. I collapsed in bed, failing from sensory overload, as the calendar turned from Sunday to Monday. Yeah, hell of a weekend.

Me here at last on the ground, you in the air

Well, the East Bay Express liked it, and they panned the other show it was paired with. You got two weeks left; check it out.

To drench your skin with lover’s rosy stain

A month ago, my friend Dean told me: “I’m music-directing a show over at the Maverick in June. It’s called ‘Burlesque of Bond.’ It’s got all the theme songs from all the James Bond movies in it. Wanna play guitar for it?”

“Sure,” I said.

When I told my wife, she asked, “You’re going to be part of a burlesque? Isn’t that a lot of women dancing around without clothes?”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

I looked up the word “burlesque” in our big dictionary. It said: “an artistic composition, esp. literary or dramatic, that, for the sake of laughter, vulgarizes lofty material or treats ordinary material with mock dignity.”

“There you go,” I told her. “It’s a parody. A bunch of Bond jokes, I guess,” I said.

“No nude women dancing around?” she asked.

“That’s definition number four,” I said. “Very unlikely.”

Fast forward to two days before the show opens. Set construction took longer than anticipated, and so this is the first time that we’ve been able to rehearse the band and the stage act at the same time. Bass, drums, and rhythm guitar are all perched on metal scaffolding to the right of the stage. Dean plays keyboards and the familiar sampled sounds roll forth. I’m strumming the guitar and trying to sound 80s as I sing: “Meeeting yew… with a vyooo… tew a killll…”, wocka wocka wocka wocka.

And I look over to my right, and there are three very young, very hot women on stage. They proceed to take off their baby-T’s and dance around in pasties and G-strings.

At this point, memory becomes befogged.

When I came to, I asked Dean, “Dean, how come you didn’t tell me before that this was essentially a strip show?”

Dean said, “I did tell you. Burlesque of Bond. That’s the name. That’s burlesque,” he nodded.

“No,” I mumbled. “You didn’t. I figured, burlesque, like an artistic composition, esp. literary or dramatic, that, for the sake of laughter, vulgarizes lofty material or treats ordinary material with mock dignity.”

Dean looked at me. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Stripping!” I said. “This is a strip show! There’s stripping! In this show!”

“You got a problem with that?” said Dean patiently.

I thought.

“Moof,” I said.