Cranky Weasel
A Little of Everything

Over the years I’ve accumulated a bunch of rack-based musical gear. I have compressors, equalizers, guitar effects processors, microphone preamps, patchbays… all for just little old me. I’ve had my fun with it, but the truth is that I haven’t turned any of this gear on in years. Time marches on, and my computer now does the work of all that gear in a tiny fraction of the space, and there’s no chance in the near term that I’m going to need to lug all that stuff on a stage.

I tried advertising it for sale as one big discounted block, but what I got back was musicians wanting to buy single pieces. Being musicians, they’re broke, and I would have to drive somewhere to sell each one at a deep discount. That’s a really big pain in the rear, to be sure. So I thought about it again.

What is the gear worth? If I was to part it out, it’s between $800 and $1000. That’s substantially less than what I paid, but, as I said, time marches on, and nothing loses value like electronics. But what is it worth… really? Well, that’s relative, isn’t it? I’ve had my fun, and the gear is essentially worth less than nothing to me – it’s taking up space I could use. But in the hands of somebody else, that equipment might be invaluable. Computer software is nice and compact, but there’s no better way to learn how to operate a compressor than by twisting the knobs and hearing what it does.

So, in an inspired moment, I googled “youth outreach music” in my area, and presto! I found a music studio in the city that works with at-risk youth, teaching music and recording, as well as art, spoken word, dance, drama, and fashion. I called them yesterday, and today I’m dropping off the entire stack of equipment at their office.

One man’s boat anchor is another man’s instrument of expression. You can’t always measure something’s worth in dollars. May that gear find passionate users.

Cranky

Today, for whatever reason, I just craved pizza. I haven’t had it in quite a while, but I was thinking about it all the way home. I even wanted pizza from Pizza Hut, and I haven’t had that since my sister worked there as a teenager. That’d be two decades ago.

I drove past one which was close to home, but it was too early in the evening. When I got home I went to their website, and perused the offerings. Right away the classic “Meat Lovers” came to mind.

However, I’ve been trying to avoid meat during the week… and the more I looked at the pizza the less I wanted it. Processed meat and way too much cheese… and even with a small I would eat too much of it, and yet not finish it. Lose, lose. Same for Chicago Deep Dish… way too much terrible awesomeness.

So I looked up Panago, Papa John’s, and even went to Urban Spoon to check out which pizza places rated the highest. The more I looked, the less I wanted it. Then I thought… maybe I’d just like to meet a buddy at Brewster’s next door and have some Won Ton Soup. I called him, but there was no answer.

So, to hell with it. I went into the fridge and came out with seared cajun prawns on a bed of celery, carrots, caramelized onions, and pineapple chunks sauted in a small amount of grapeseed oil.

I’m glad I’m learning to cook.

Cranky

I’m comfortable with my views of religion and those who practice it. I’m tolerant, I’m remarkably free of prejudice, and I bear nobody ill will. Those who take their views to extremes and harm others – whether through terrorism, the suppression and harm of women, or any other form of, frankly, evil – those people I would like to see go away. But there are those people in every religion. I would no more automatically consider a Muslim suspicious than I would a Christian.

I first realized religion was not for me at the age of 15. I distinctly remember the first time I opened my Bible and realized I no longer felt it contained anything but old stories.

Am I richer for having no religion? No. But I don’t feel any poorer for it either. I do charity work on occasion, I’m a United Way contributor, and I sponsor a child in Ethiopia. I believe in good works, and I believe in doing right by others. “Good” doesn’t require an afterlife. It feels just fine without such a promise.

The Roman Catholic Church, however, claims me as one of its own. To this day I’m a bit miffed that they asked me to confirm my baptism by sacrament before I was old enough to meaningfully consider the question of whether or not I wanted to do so.

So recently it occurred to me that membership in the church is a loose end that I’d like to make right. Turns out that I need an “Actus Formalis Defectionis ab Ecclesia Catholica”. Basically it’s a written declaration of the intent to leave the church, filed with the bishop in charge of the area where my baptism was performed.

I also need a time machine. In 2009, the Catholic Church struck all mention of the process from the Code of Canon Law. In August, 2010, the Holy See confirmed that it is no longer possible to formally defect. In essence, “Haha! We got you forever.”

Well, poop.

Cranky