You Are Here - FYI

And So It Has Been Decided

A Declaration
based on a single email thread over the course of about an hour

We shall move to France and eat and fuck and take codeine with R.Crumb, Johnny Depp, and Chris Cornell. Flavored vodka plays some part too.

We declare that for entertainment purposes we will watch Wipeout on the TeeVees and laugh at the fatties biffing on the big red balls. But if given the opportunity, we shall also biff on the big red balls on the TeeVee as well.

We will teach all our "urban" children to be Jr. environmentalists and Jr. house-sitters and Jr. pet-walkers and Jr. thinkers and Jr. artists.

We command all of our iPods to only crank out The Hits (all rapid fire style because style never, ever, ever goes out of style).

We shall build churches, houses, hospitals, and business offices because we can, even though it's all so pointless anymore.

We declare John Kerry to be The Worst and when John Kerry visits our France, we shall leave only to return when John Kerry leaves our France.

We declare that life is grand and that we are the new "spineless heroes to 60 million water cooler wimps who have their password written on the back of their hands."

With Commentary

Charm. Charisma. It never, ever, ever gets old and it will never, ever, ever go out of style. Not only was this woman sitting with her sig-oth (just out of the frame to the right) minding her own business, but dude rolled up in an electric wheelchair. And, just look at how much play he's getting. Look closely, he's on fire! It's his eyes. He didn't say one word to her sig-oth either, I don't think he even looked her way. It was almost like he dared her pansy, late-20s sig-oth to intervene in his scene. He just wheeled up to her dog, petted it and immediately went into action. She was hesitant at first but look, he's owning her, isn't he? But when you have this kind of magic, what can the world do? Not a goddamn thing. That's what. He's an hypnotist, obviously. I wish I could have heard what he said.

This is the male praying mantis. He will die after he has sex for the first time, sex with the much larger, much more aggressive female mantis. And you know what? He's a guy, he just doesn't care. It's worth it to him. He has a place, he has a role. No wining/whining or dining. No house hunting. No table manners. He never has to shop for a minivan. Just sex and death. Strolls up and says in his mantis way, "What's up, I'm ready?" The male praying mantis has a perfect, short life.


St. Nick Rising

Welcome to Your Future

"Now it appears that, after some stops and starts in recent seasons, the men of the white collar work force are marching into the office in shorts."

- New York Times

Uh, you just figured this out, fellas? It's 2008 and you just now need the NY Times to show a bunch of twitchy dudes in the gayest of shorts for it to be OK? Welcome to my world, guys; hairy legs and scabby knees. Oh, you shave your legs and you don't get scabs? Sorry.

I've long had a rule, at least since moving east (because shorts was an everyday thing in CA), if the weather prediction was for the day to be 90 degrees or over, I could opt for shorts. Sort of a formula or a contract.

You're welcome.

Video Web Log - KodoSapien

It must be Thursday, Middlespacers, because I'm "Vlogging"

[This video required by contract]


Alma Mater

In today's email I received the school song--the Alma Mater--for Columbus, Georgia's Hardaway High School:
The Hardaway High School Alma Mater

In halls of learning, friendship flows,
Voices swell for all to know.
Our Alma Mater stands above,
Guiding all with love.

To show the way t'ward goals so high,
Our Golden Banner waves,
Sing praises of her glory - HARDAWAY!

Cute, huh? It's funny, because I was just thinking of my old Fight Song, from Claremont High School of Claremont, California (91711, represent! All I remember from my Alma Mater is something like, "Now to thee, Alma Mater, our heart go out in praise..."or some shit.

The fight song was sung to the tune of the Notre Dame Victory March:
The Claremont Hight School Fight Song from the early 80s

Beer-beer for Old Claremont High
You bring the whiskey, I'll bring the rye
Send the freshmen out for gin
Don't let a sober sophomore in
Juniors will stumble, seniors will fall
Then we'll get drunk on wood alcohol
'Till the loyal faculty come staggering back for more
Seriously, this was our actual fight song, all about getting hammered. We sung it in rallys and shit. Your classmates would yell and scream when the song got to your class ("juniors!!"). As you would guess, it was changed a few years after I graduated. I was (and wasn't) surprised that they changed it to, "Cheer-Cheer!"

Sing praises of her glory - HARDAWAY!

Mo Skeeto

I've Always Been This Awkward - Sixteen


How To Make Your Next Record Album

One of the most difficult things you can do is make yourself your next record album. The making of part is actually kind of easy, that's not the problem at all. It's the getting started part that's an angry, spiteful asshole! Typically once you've actually started, you're well on your way to completion, and barring catastrophe it's the lesser of the record-making battles. If you can get into a flow, you'll tidy things up in a month or two, typically.

But getting started? Believe me, pre-production is a series of heavy sighs and embarrassing missteps. Pre-production is all about ADD where the slightest hint of anything else happening in the world will distract you and postpone you for yet another day. Adderall would be a handy little helper.

There are generally two ways to start a record album and here's another Handy Guide:
Method One to Get Started Making Your Next Record Album – You practice the new songs that you have recently written about everything and nothing. You either rehearse your new songs during formal rehearsals with your band or you play some of the "new ones" during your gigs until they're ready to record. Often this method involves the booking of rehearsal space and the booking of so-called "gigs." Then there's the hiring of producers, engineers, and any additional musicians you may need. Method One requires a lot of focused planning, budgeting, and the diligent adherence to schedule and budget. You rehearse until you're nice and tight because studio time is preciously expensive. We'll call this method the "conventional," or "smartbomb," method dependent on who is actually fronting the money to make your next record album. Don't get me wrong, you'll end up paying for every last penny of it at some point, and if you're recording for a record company then paying might be feel more like a student loan in that you'll be paying for your next record album for the next 20 years. Maybe it's more like a mortgage.

Method Two to Get Started Making Your Next Record Album – The other way to start your next record album is based on fate. Not the hokey-pokey superstitious/omen type of fate but the coincidental timing of brain, will, and circumstances. It has little to nothing to do with songs either. That is, sometimes your prefrontal cortex begins to vibrate with gamma rhythms and you feel an "insight" to "get this era recorded" just like that. You feel oddly genius and mope. Your brain simply on its very own or through specific and deliberate or deeply subconscious stimulation decides for you that the time has come to make your next record album. For the lack of a better term, this method is known as the "epiphinal," or "tKoL," method. You have little control of what is happening to you because your brain has hi-jacked all systems. You can either fight it or roll with it (known in the literature as "the flight or roll response").
I'm going to ramble about Method Two for a while since Method One makes no sense to me at all. The feeling that you should start making your next record album could happen anywhere or at any time. You somehow believe yourself to have a sudden knowledge that it is time to make your next record album. Intellectually you fight this urge because you tell yourself that, for a million reasons, you're just not ready. You conclude everything from having no "songs" written to having no "time" to make your next record album. You justify the suppression of these urges by reminding yourself that you "just made an album." You remind yourself of your blog, of your photography, of your board responsibilities, of your thousand other "commitments" that leave you with precious time for friends and family. You just can't make a record right now. You contend that you're not set up to record this record. You believe that you're missing some key instrument or software component.

But the brain, that goddamn demon mass up there in your skull, is already making your next record for you. It's taking in ideas, it's processing notions that will serve as the rough framework for your next record album.

You find yourself, despite your brain-fight, doing little things in preparation. You record snippets of everyday sounds just to hear it. You note things. You drop the notion of "pre-production" in casual conversations. You listen a little closer to your favorite songs. You pay attention to engineering. You test some waters in many little ways. But you're certain that you're not going to do this because you're not ready to make your next record album. It's impossible. It's like dating after a bad break-up. You don't feel you've reached a particular threshold or something.

And why do you fight this effort so strongly? Why is it so painful to get started making your next record? Because it's goddamn fucking hard, that's why. And no matter how brilliant your next record album is, you'll never appreciate it fully. It'll always be about that error here and the levels there and every little mistake magnified a
hundredthousand times that cause you to not enjoy the fruits of your efforts for years and years down the road. You will skip it on the iPod shuffle every single time. You will play zero tracks for your pals. It's simply a short-term lose-lose proposition; very hard work for very little reward.

And not only is making your next record actually a difficult thing to execute, it also takes a little something out of you. It maims you in small ways. No matter how much it adds to your life, no matter how rewarding it ultimately is for you, no matter the satisfaction of completion you might get, making your next record album will kill you a little more than it will prolong your life. It's like cigarettes, alcohol, or any of the other classes of harmful addictives. Like piranha, making records will nibble at you until you drown a sad, unfortunate skeleton.

But your brain is all, "Go!" So you consider it all at 3:20 AM. Over and over.

That is exactly why the making of part is so easy. The brain has already moved on by that point. Next! While you were fighting yourself over whether or not you make new art for the humans of the world (as opposed to watching the TeeVee by yourself), your brain has already put into place everything your conscious and willful mind and body will need to execute your new record album. To not make the record is a terrible thing to waste.

No, you are not Mozart and you will never be. There are no finished compositions queued-up and ready to write in your head. Your brain has just and only set up a ready framework for you to use. The rest of record album making takes work. Actual work. Real work. And you're still exhausted over the go/no-go battle. You have cognitive dissonance. You are a fool and a sucker and a slave and a bitch to your own brain. You are in that Matrix movie or some shit.

Sure, you have nothing formally prepared. So! Once you commit your willful and conscious mind and once you finish the big, dramatic play called "Pre-production," you can just turn on the recorders and get to recording stuff. Then you can mix it just so. Then you can master it just, just so. Then you can market it. Then you can distribute it somehow. Then you can suffer the indignity of feedback from friends, family, and mopes alike ("Dude, I like your CD, can I borrow a twenty?"). But, record what? And, why? Shit if I know, I ain't Kreskin. Nor am I Mozart. I'm not even smartbomb. Neither are you. It's beyond control! It's the Outer Limits!

So just open your eyes and look around yourself. Better yet, open your ears. Those are the head-holes you're going to need the most for your next record album. Like my old mentor Ralph used to say, "Don't ask – do!" Like Nike says, "Just Do It!" You don't have to try from this point on. Nor is there need for any more self-battle. You shouldn't even think much anymore. Your brain has done most of the heavy lifting. You just have to ride it out. Just fucking Go Dog, Go!

Your next record album doesn't even have to be a collection of unrelated songs that you hope to someday get on the radio. That's aiming much too low. That's so Method One. Just make it happen. Impress yourself. Make yourself jealous of how dumb you were for questioning your brain in the first place.

I'm talking about creating. I'm talking about creating the truest audio version of the definition of words "record" and "album": A collection of moments that documents time, place, or context; an interpretive manifestation of thoughts and ideas as expressed within the context of personal or intimate experiential journeys. You have the opportunity to make something to personally reference years out and go, "Oh, shiiiiit!" You have the power to make something that stimulates your memory cells and devices. A future gift to and for yourself.

Oh, and when I said "you" before, I meant, "me." I'm almost past the "fighting phase" and am actually dipping my toes into the "doing shit" one.


I've Always Been This Awkward

Next topic: Chocolate vs. Cocoa



two: [clicky]
one: [clicky]

Lily's Birthday


"Technically, I declared you King Leisure (on your throne in a brown velour sweatsuit). But you took it and ran with "the king of leisure". An early lesson in the values of improvisation and collaboration."

- RW

Ask Ty...July 29

It must be Tuesday, Middlespacers, because I'm answering your questions

Q: When I works with the pretty girls of the opposite sex, I wants to fuck them all. Whens they looks at me, I cant's hide it. What's shoulds I do?

- Creepin' Out Da Ladies

Ty: Good question and an even better observation, CODL. Say hello to my little friend called nature. Yes, put a male (and I'm assuming you are a male) in the presence of females with sex characteristics that said male finds alluring and there you have it. Yes, you do "wants to fuck them all." That's both how it works and why it works. You are a breeder, it's what you do.

Problem is, this sort of unwanted breeder attention is generally not cool in the workplace. In fact, there are layers of rules, regulations, and laws surrounding this very behavior. It is not comfortable to work in an environment where creepy people cannot control or hide their breeding behaviors toward you. You are the office perv. People do not trust you and the womenfolk are frightened of you. Watch their behaviors, you'll see. Better yet, STOP watching them all together, Creepy.

What "shoulds" you do? Here are options how to handle yourself when you are feeling particularly lecherous, as I see them:
1. Read a bible passage. If anything, it should distract you from your own creepiness. People will just think you're a weirdo bible freak and excuse you. They'll leave you alone for fear of religious persecution.

2. Read the Mormon "Guide to Self Control." If anything, it should distract you from your very own creepiness. Yes, amuse yourself with real weirdo bible freakdom and you'll feel much better for being just an office perv.

3. Cut it the fuck out, dude! Gain some focus and concentration and don't be a goddamn creep because word's going to get out around the office that you're the creepy pig in the office. Forget that, it's already out. You have nothing left but damage mitigation. Once rumor spreads you can count the hours until you're "unfortunately terminated" for some unrelated reason (because they'll be too frightened to call you a perv for fear you're just a bible freak). Besides, creep out the wrong woman and you're either going to take a self-defense class kick to the nuts or some big boyfriend named Luther's gonna do it to you in the parking lot. Just stop it! Have some dignity. You creep out someone from my clan and I'monna kick your rat perv ass! Just grow up.

4. Go to your supervisor and tell him or her that you have a problem; that you're a perv. They should be obligated to help you find help. Or maybe they'll just toss your sorry perv ass to the curb (and into a good beat-down). Perv! Get off my blog!
Just a guess,



Fashion Note

The following photographs were taken a decade and over 3,000 miles apart. I ran into the first one today while in the deep hard copy-only archives (also see: clicky). I remembered the second so I looked it up.

Please note that when I, Ty Hardaway (tm), play the banjo, I seem to have a particular uniform, or costume.

Working man jacket over hoodie with jeans. That be my Banjo Suit.

His & Hers

I've Always Been This Awkward - Fifteen

Chris Cornell was on the radio this morning. I forgot how much I liked Chris Cornell. My non-stop world-traveling friend, Johnny B. ran into Chris Cornell and his family (and his "hot nanny," apparently) a couple of years ago in a fancy airport lounge in Paris and John told Chris Cornell how much his friend, Ty Hardaway, enjoyed his music. Like, by saying my first and last names maybe Chris would go, "Oh great, Ty Hardaway, I'm so psyched!" At that time I hated Chris Cornell's music though.

Chris Cornell was on the radio doing kind of an in-studio interview and promotion for a new record coming out later this autumn. To be honest, I really love Soundgarden. I still cannot stand "Black Hole Sun" or "Spoonman," but the stuff that bends minds, like "Limo Wreck" and "The Day I Tried to Live," is totally my bag. True, Superunknown was huge, but it wasn't my favorite Soundgarden album. While I love several songs on that record others really suck. C'mon, "My Wave?" Please that's dogshit music. Badmotorfinger (1991) totally rocks. Ultramega OK (1988) is great rock and roll. My favorite Soundgarden record though is Down On The Upside. That shit is gloomy, powerful, and depressing. Nobody likes that album but I fucking love it!

Then Soundgarden ended and Chris Cornell did the solo record Euphoria Morning, which was another great, great album that was also sad and depressing. In many ways it was Soundgarden's last record since several of the players appeared. And I love it! He then did a record I gave no notice to. I assume that album sucks because by that record's debut in 2007 I had lost 90% of my respect and admiration for Chris Cornell because of that horrible nonsense called Audioslave. I detest that noise so much I cannot even communicate the depth of my disdain in writing. Maybe this is a start: Audioslave makes me want to pierce my eardrums. Hate is too soft a word. I hate Audioslave more than Hitler would hate me. Obviously.

But I had heard through the mill that Chris Cornell was doing a new record to be produced by Timbaland. You know, that Timbaland, the King Midas of the hip-hop scene? Still sore from the Audioslave debacle I was hesitant to give any new Chris Cornell record credence. But while on the radio, they play several songs from his new record, Scream. And you know what, through all the levels of hate and disgust and through the low-fidelity of the FM radio (in the car) I heard some really, really interesting and compelling sound recordings. Then I listened to the interview and remembered that, Oh yeah, dude is one of the good guys. Good stories. Intelligence. Adventure.

Perhaps I can begin to forgive, it's not like every project I've begun has been perfect. Forgiveness is...divine.

It was Down On The Upside's "Blow Up the Outside World" that I "auditioned" my drumming for Rich. I just recorded myself playing along to that song on some of the pieces of a drum set in Rich's basement after not having played the drums for like nine years. Maybe auditioned is too formal a word. More like I demonstrated what I could possibly someday do with two sticks and some drums. Maybe I was auditioning for myself.


Several days or weeks before that recording session Rich had been chillin' at my The Zone when Rich mentioned that he had "recorded some songs into the answering machine." I mentioned that I played some drums. Then he said that there was a drum set in the basement of his group house; that the guy whom he replaced in the house had left it there. What? Sometime around this time Rich had declared me—in reference to my The Zone lifestyle—the king of leisure. It sort of came together

Around that time Rich loaned me his Monkeyboy tapes, music he had recorded into an answering machine and he mentioned two things about it: 1) No one had heard these tapes, and 2) He couldn't imagine ever playing any of these songs for anyone ever. The Monkeyboy tapes are titled, "Tape I - Fall 1995" & "Tape II - Spring 1996." Ha.

"Butterpump" was on one of those tapes as was "Gay and Mexican," I believe. Great songs. Greater vision. The original tapes are still in my archive, slots one and two, upper left hand corner.

So one day while Rich was at work I looked into this drum set in the basement business expecting to find a total piece of shit that would do no one any good. What I found was the foundation for putting together a pretty decent set. It was in no shape though, but I decided to put it together as best I could and see if I could get some sounds out of it. I put on Down on the Upside and played along to several songs until I even embarrassed myself. I had little drum set experience at that point. I totally sucked but spark became a blowtorch of inspiration; we could do this shit. So I played that tape for Rich.

It was summer. We were on the cusp. Of something. We somehow decided to take our informal bad boy act to the outside world, to kind of blow up the outside world. We probably did it half for validation and half out of pure hubris. We had ideas. It must have been July because sometime between July 10th and 11th 1996 a contract was signed between us and the Kingdom of Leisure was born. We call it tKoL (pronounced, TEE-coal).

Oh the places we played (clubs, bookstores, house parties, and the Lost Dog) and, even weirder and more important, the places we recorded. We recorded while house-sitting, we recorded in mad Mike's Williamsburg chump love mansion, and at the Cat Box in Virginia. But mostly we kept the recorders going at our very own Smelly Hell studio and, more often than not, on the road. Twelve years later, we're still doing exactly everything we want to do even though we have about 3,000 miles between us.

That's show business, folks.

[To Be Continued]


I've Always Been This Awkward
Next topic: I Have No Idea

Still From A Video


Pete's Garage

Star Bling

Grab Bag - UPDATE

1. Dang
Sadly, Randy Pausch, the Carnegie Mellon University computer scientist whose "last lecture" about facing terminal cancer became an Internet sensation and a best-selling book, died Friday.

He was 47. [clicky]

Yeah, I harshed the guy [clicky], but you know what? I hope people are harshing me when I'm on my way out. I'd do it again too.

RIP. I'll pour one out for him later.


I Said It...

That "Last Lecture" was fucking garbage. I couldn't even make it through all eleven minutes of a dying man's final words because it was such deplorable tripe.

"The true meaning of life is taking your kids to Disney World!"

I'm paraphrasing, obviously. But I would hope that if I were faced with my impending death I could search my soul a little deeper and find something a little more profound than the soccer mom pleasantries he managed to conjure.

"Don't worry! Be happy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Okay, I have nothing against the guy and probably would have liked him but he's emblematic of this country's cultural and spiritual decay that ultimately results in things like President George W. Bush, the H2, and other such bullshit.

That's all. Thank you."


2. Rang

I don't want to harsh your buzz or anything, but I'm pretty sure that's not an iPhone.

Did the Apple Store you bought it from have cardboard walls, cardboard doors, and was made out of a cardboard box?

Were they also selling pagers and DVDs of The Dark Knight?

You might want to look into that.


Jealous much? Ha-ha-ha, very funny, sucker. You're not harshing my buzz, son. This is the NEW iPhone dummy. It has three major advantages over the old piece of crap iPhone:
1) Antenna for better reception
2) Flips closed to save space
3) Buttons for easier dialing.
Look into that, dumbass! You look so good in that shade of green.


3. Ka-Chang
I don't know anything about Tim Kaine. I don't care about Tim Kaine. I just like the flow of Obama-Kaine.


You know, "I'm gonna hit you like OBAMA-KAINE KATRINA!"

Keep on talking like Obama-Kaine hurricane!

- US American



Keep on trucking' like Obama-Kaine's hurricane
Blowing static on the paranoid short-wave
Short fuse, got to dismantle
Code red: what's your handle?

Mission incredible undercover convoy
Full-tilt chromosome cowboy
X-ray search and destroy
Smokestack blacktop Obama-Kaine boy

Got some rum, longhorn drums
Detonate with the suicide gate
Test tube, stillborn and dazed
drugstore plains in the razor's haze
Got the momentum radioactive

Circumcised for the operation
Full spectrum generation
Cyanide ride down the turnpike
After hours on the miracle mic

Grinding the gears eighteen wheels
Pigs and robots riding on their heels
Power through the roadblock
Making a sandblast

Diesel aluminum cruising like drain-o
Down the horizon purple gasses
Semi-trucks hauling their asses
Obama-Kaine, hit the road expressway

Obama-Kaine, da da dah

Obama-Kaine, da da dah


Ooof! That's a little bit, uh...terroristic.


I've Always Been This Awkward - Fourteen

I've always been a bit of a geek. I know, hard to believe, huh? Not the hard-core programming type of computer nerd since I don't know my BASIC from my Fortran from my Java, but I know enough to get by. I know enough to know when to call others for help. I have solved numerous computer-related problems though, since most problems, in general, are only a matter of logic and stick-to-itiveness. Stubborn and smart is a bittersweet combination. But with technology I've always been appreciative of the elegance and sophistication and thought processes that go into making intuitive and graceful hardware and software. The stuff that make the machine feel like it's a part of you; like you're part of the machine (see geeky). This is why I hate all things PC and Microsoft. That shit's just junk. This is why I drive the '06 GTI. I've thought it out, perhaps too much. I know what I like. But I do not nor have I ever played or owned video gaming systems. My TeeVee ain't plasma or LCD or hanging form the wall.

Which is also why, for good and for bad (and through a long period of shitty hardware and software) I've been associated with Apple and their consumer electronic products. Not a "fan." Not a "groupie." I do not enjoy giving Apple my money. In fact, Apple kind of annoys me nowadays. But I get Apple (maybe they get me). I've lived in Cupertino. I know people who work there. I kind of understand. And, for me, their stuff works. It syncs with me. I am not shilling for them.

I've used and owned the Apple ][, ][c, ][e and the earliest Macintoshes. I've owned a Mac Plus (the plus is for 64 kilobytes of RAM. I updated my Mac Plus to 128K of RAM (and an internal fan). Blah-blah-blah and on through the Performa, the second Macintosh laptop, and the iMac. I've had two iBooks and am burning through this Intel-based duo-core MacBook right now. I've owned three iPods. I recommend some of these things to people whom I like and whom I think would get it. I hate it that it's all so popular now but I don't hate 'em for being successful.

I do believe the whole iName convention is tired and weak. But, it's their thing and they're rolling with it. So what? They're doing well and I attribute it all to Steve Jobs. He left and they sucked. They begged him back and they rule again. He's also the Pixar guy. That's a good life. He beat pancreatic cancer. He's prickly and he's known to be an ass. He beat that whole stock scandal thing. Fuck it. But he does look sick of late which makes people consider Apple's succession plan. Dang, who could succeed Steve Jobs? That will be rough time come retirement or the croaking. I can only think of one person who could succeed Jobs: Jack White. That's right, that Jack White.

Anyway, when the iPhone first came out last year, I was immediately asked if I was going to get one. My answer was no. It was $400 and, what, 4 GB (or $500 and eight). I claimed a defiant position of superiority in that I was 1) weaning from the mobile phone and that, 2) I wasn't in search of status symbols. Both remain true. I hate the telephone. Who do I have to talk to? Nor am I seeking status identification. Nor, coincidentally, am I attempting to affiliate with any "kind" of people. I really wouldn't want to be called an iPhone type of guy. See what I said last year here: [clicky]

Yet I've always felt that I possessed a keen sense of timing when it comes to consumer electronics, trends, and design. I typically felt that I could tell when it was time to invest in something, when the technology—hardware and software—was right. I may not be the earliest of "early adopters," but I feel that I am a "timely adopter." I'm not on the cutting edge but on the early second wave. When it's right. I'm okay with all of that.

So, I decided that this new iPhone 3G bullshit was something that I'd like to have. Yes, it's just another toy; it's a want not a need. It was time. Not for the telephone that's for sure because AT&T sucks. In fact, having shitty voice service is a good thing for me; it's a convenient excuse to not talk on the phone. But, I have been in search of a good portable internet device. Even though my laptop is small and powerful, I don't enjoy lugging it around anywhere for email or music. But, this new "phone" has a few things that make it interesting: internet browsing capability, map-based GPS, it's a pretty good music and video player too. Oh, and it syncs seamlessly with my laptop. Oh, and it has multi-touch (the future). It should never have been named "iPhone," though, that's just terrible and fairly weak. It should have been called the "iPod Talk." There's no going back.

Aside from the twice the speed/half the price bullshit (actually that is a brilliant tag line given that the overall price is more than the old one) this thing has generated crazy hype. Launched on July 11 there are still suckers lining up for hours and the supply or availability is sparse. I would never wait in line for more than, like, a half-hour for most things, especially a telephone. That's just beat. That's just embarrassing. That's just the mope-ness. I did read on the internet that people were celebrating the fact that they were getting their vaunted iPhones after waiting for only four hours. Still. I'm not going to do that.

Well I bought an iPhone yesterday (see photo above). Here's my how it went.
Ty's Handy Guide to iPhone Buying (at least how I did it):

1) Check out Apple's Apple Store iPhone Availability tool thing.
2) Go to a store that shows zero availability.
3) Walk into store early. I went at 9:30 for a 10:00 opening time and found that they were running a kids summer technology camp and were open.
4) Have your number and porting information available.
5) Buy your phone.
10 minutes. Done. Activated. Home by 10:00.

When I was at the Apple Store I asked the staff if it's been crazy. They conceded that it had been and that people were going nuts for this thing. One young woman indicated that "Watch, in an hour they'll be lined up all the way to Nordstrom and won't have anymore in about five minutes." We laughed. We were friends. We shared an experience.

I never interacted with a mope during my 10 minutes at the Apple Store (and I hate the Apple Store with the stupid Genius Bar and shit). There are some interesting and quite brilliant subtleties built into the transaction. They open the box for you but they have you take it out, "There you go, there's your iPhone," they announce. They have to take it out to activate it but they make it your decision to touch it first. You are congratulated on your choice and your purchase. Pleasant smiles all around. Then you get a very special bag that feels like luxury itself. The bag has the image of the phone and announces to the world and to crooks that you are one of the lucky/chosen with and iPhone 3G. Even when I was leaving the mall, an employee coming in said, "Enjoy your iPhone."

It's all status cues and me-first heuristics. It's straight out of Pratkanis' chapter on "how to start a cult" and Caildini's chapter on "why people agree to things." Social Psychology is my thing, baby, and I was totally enjoying being witness to this blatant and elegant and convincing theater. I do not for a minute, though, believe that the AT&T store people can pull the act off anywhere close to the Apple Store version. Brilliant.

It's a great device too. Everything and probably a bit more than I expected, really. But I'm not reviewing my phone here. I'm not showing off. There's no status involved here. I'm just another mope with just another thing in the end. It's just another item to check off on the master list of geekdom.

I've Always Been This Awkward
Next topic: Sparks a tKoL


Today's Daily Quote of the Day (for Today)

Fuck Style

"Style is for people who've seen and tried it all. Formula is a form of structure, but it's a shabby, flimsy one. It's possible that the communicative aspects of the things I make suffer from a uncommitted presentation, but I prefer that risk to the self-flagellating that it would be for me to shove aside formats, approaches, ideas and imagery I hadn't tried or didn't specialize in for a certain kind of image I knew you or some other audience innately understood or expected.

You can make one kind of image for a long time, but the rich vernacular of that Look gets pulled apart and fucked and satisfied and sighs and something shiny, some other approach to portraits, saunters in. And who would you be not to chase it into the corner?

All the artists I love dabble and dip and bend where they're inclined. The more flexible, the better. I want you to know it's an image we've made by the approach to it, maybe, but I want it to look unfamiliar, strange."

- Rose of Rose & Olive

Pairs One

Pairs Two

Video Web Log - Spaceman Called God

It must be Thursday, Middlespacers, because I'm "Vlogging"

[This video required by contract]


(With) Friends Like Dan

Dear Ty:

1. Why isn't "middlespace" defined on Wikipedia?

Middlespace - the interpretive manifestation of thoughts and ideas as expressed within the context of personal or intimate experiential journeys.
Thanks, Dan. Good question (and an even better observation). Dunno, maybe the Wiki folks don't think I'm 'widely known' enough or something. Can't say I haven't thought about it though, but I don't really know how that stuff gets up there. I'm not going to wrestle my mind over it too much.
2. Regarding "So this 'Dan' and some so-called 'Donna'" entry [clicky], too literal, man! Our in-unison "Ty can never really get a "job" was all about compliment, admiration, reflection of our recognition of one elevated above the rest of us, us [corporate work world]. Not "fuckers," "friends." (Plus I know what you do is "work" if the word must be applied somewhere.)

Ty can never get a job; he might get employed, but he will remain Ty, he will never become his employer -- that's something special. "He's all about brand." Right, not about an employer, a queue, a mindset; about Ty. But you know all this shit.

Sorry, "fuckers" was
meant to be all about compliment and admiration (now who's literal, 'eh?). "Fuckers" is the highest of compliments when used as a positive (well "motherfucker" is higher, but that's reserved for weddings and package delivery, "UPS is a motherfucker!"). Maybe you're just a racist and don't understand me or my people, Peter Dan.

Thanks, though! I appreciate that you think positively of me and my work and such. Shucks! I'm blushing (but you can't tell but I am, because you're probably a racist).

Mostly I was attempting
satire though, like the New York Elitist Democrat America-hating The New Yorker magazine, Barack. Also, remember that in this middlespace thing, as much as I get to build myself up, I get to knock myself down. I know you get it, I just forget that anyone reads the damn blog. Mostly, I'm amusing myself (like masturbation or iPhones or something).

I was never offended. I LOVE you (even though you're probably a racist).

Sorry, friend.


Today's Daily Quotation of the Day

"God Bless the nerds who pull up their socks, step into the fray and say, 'I'm vastly different than most of you reprobates. Deal with it.'"

- Gavin


I've Always Been This Awkward - Thirteeen

OK, take a ride with me. Be patient and just try it. I know reading takes mas energy and focus for you but can't you at least try to focus yourself for ten minutes, for me? That’s all it'll take, ten minutes, if that. Hey, over here! See, you got distracted already. Breathe...what are you, ADD now? Just calm yourself down for a moment and let me take you somewhere. Don’t worry, it’s not a scientific paper and there's no quiz at the end. I’m just riffing here. No tricks. And it won't hurt, I promise.

Need Want Power Sex Desire

Oh, now there’s your focus. Good.
We have needs and we have wants. It becomes pretty easy to confuse the two because we’re not always paying close enough attention to ourselves. But that’s normal so don’t beat yourself up over it too much. It's totally easy to live a clueless life. Most people do. But let us aspire for more, for just nine more minutes.


Basic life-sustaining needs are universal and include just a few core elements: sustenance, hydration, oxygen, and shelter. What else is there really? Everything else, including the resources necessary to procure the minimum of our basic needs, is secondary, those are your wants. Hunger is a need. Cheeseburger is a want. Money for a cheeseburger is a want.

Without moneys or barter-fodder, we still have the capacity to steal, coerce, and kill for the acquisition of need. We are animals, literally. But we are pretty smart animals for we can plan, and lie, and cover-up our most brutal tendencies, with varying success. When it comes to need, we can be fearless. Then we bury all the associated guilt and sadness deep into places in our brain where we don't have to confront the terror that is us. We can justify the efforts of need acquisition and reduce all dissonance associated. It's that easy.


Our problem is, however, we’ve taken to stealing, coercing, lying, and covering-up our transgressions in the pursuit of the stuff we just want. We’re greedy motherfuckers, us humans. We will kill for shoes, oil, and golden items large and small. We kill because we didn’t want someone to walk on our lawns. We do a lot of killing for money and power and sex. Vengeance is up there too, but not at the top. Vengeance isn't as pure as you believe, it's a summation of volatile mixtures of peer pressure and insecurity and adrenaline. We are savage beasts. Sometimes we are dumb savage beasts. Sometimes we are just dumb all over.


Oh, and there’s also this thing called power. With power comes control—control of the entire spectrum of want and need. The possessors of power needn’t concern themselves with the basics of personal or basic need because they already have it all. Powerful people need new toys. The powerful can and do, with care or with malice, control life and death matters involving the need acquisition of others. Sometimes for sport. Again, there is justification and there is dissonance reduction, but if you had sensitive enough scientific equipment you learn that most power is fun.

Need Want Power

Parents have the power over their children’s needs and wants. You’d never know it sometimes because most parents appear to be huge mope babies themselves nowadays, but they do (supposedly). Governments have the power, likewise, over their citizens, visitors, and squatters.
Government is the seat of power. Power is so simple. And, admittedly, it is extraordinarily complicated.

You see, all simplicity evaporates once our long history of rules, tariffs, laws, and other associated person-to-person and entity-to-entity and entity-to-person interactions kick in. We’ve developed (devolved) formalities that have only helped to blur need, want, and power balances. We've confused everything associated with need and want, built huge puppets and lost any idea who controls the strings. We have only our lazy, selfish, distracted by want-having selves to blame for our present state. But, that’s where we are as a population, at least as western, industrialized, democratic nations.

At present I personally have little concern for the basics of need. So far there is an ample and clean enough supply of potable liquid, food, and air available to me. I'm fortunate. I have a roof over my head. I stay dry and the temperature stays between 60 and 80 degrees Fahrenheit in here, year round, under my roof. Think about that for a minute, it's unprecedented in the span of human history. It ain’t much, but it’s cozy.

My roof also has insurance just in case, and I have a viable contingency for need resources in the unlikely event of flood, fire, or contamination. So, yeah, the basics are covered. Believe me, these taken-for-granted basics are a lot more perilous than we realize, but shit, they’re covered for now and that's what really counts. The bottom line is the powers that be allow me to have these things. It comes with a cost that I can afford, financially and financially, but I'm allowed to have it. For now.

I want a banjo. I don not need a banjo. I just sometimes want a banjo. I sometimes want nifty personal electronical gadgetries too. I want a better cup of coffee right now. I want to sell more art. I want to sleep past seven sometimes even though I get ample sleep. I want to fly in an airplane, hell, I want to fly the airplane. And what's best is, I do have some power and/or restraint with regard to the acquisition of most these and other wants. I could just walk out and buy a banjo if I really wanted, but I’m content to just let that simmer in my want pot.


The physical act of intercourse aside, life-form reproduction is an even more elemental necessity than the basic life-sustaining needs previously mentioned. Our problem with sex is that the roller-coaster ride toward reproduction is now nearly exclusive to reproduction. Sex is a force, sex is a business, sex is a premise, sex is a paradigm, sex sells other stuff.

The urge to "do it" is biologically hard-wired in the deepest folds of our lizard brains. That urge is a permanent state with which we have very little control. Individually some of us can live without it, but the survival of the species is wholly dependent on us "doing it." Our primary function; the reason we have to eat and breathe and play the banjo is so we can have enough energy (and the attraction of potential mates) to fuck one another so we can have more damn babies. Our code demands it. We've just separated the sex yolk from the reproduction white.

Every utterance and activity in our plentiful repertoire of talents and tricks supports the biological and reflexive robot command to hump on each other. And as much as we've separated sex and reproduction we have also suppressed the basic biological and evolutionary underpinnings of what it is really all about. It has nothing to do with religion, that's just a scam. And think about this, the active decision to not have babies totally cheats the entire reason for living. It cheats all of history. It cheats all religions. It cheats all philosophy. Non-breeders, in fact, are some dope ass motherfuckers when you get down to it. Yet they are typically all over each other, like rabbits. It is the most intelligent of our species who decide not to reproduce. On the other hand Shawn Kemp, thus, is one of humankind's most perfect specimens. Shawn Kemp may be my father. He may be yours. No one knows.
Up is down. Down is up.

So, yeah, sex is both need and want with varying and often uncontrolled degrees of power associated with it.


Take a want. Get that want all confused with need (realistically or not). Manipulate the levels of power. And you create desire. Desire is when you believe you need a want (or as often with sex, when you want a need) and you have little power (or access to power) to control whether you can have it (the way you want it-when you want it).

Children and rich people (who for the most part may as well be children) have a bit of trouble with desire, I believe, because they are void of or shielded from context. Adults, in general, and the poor can separate need and want and modulate desire a little bit better. Perhaps. But desire is by no means binary. All desire is a matter of degree. You can order your desires. You can compare desires. I have desires, and so do you because we are impulsive creatures (and we're all distracted by our wants and getting our sex and the acquisition of need).

Here are five of my most curious desires, in no particular order, that I am active-mindedly pondering:

1. I desire to have the capacity to be completely honest with myself about who I am, where I come from, what I want, and how I can become what I believe to be the best "me" possible (whatever that is). Some people stop growing, amazingly. Some even retard. But I feel there's as much internal exploration as there is external exploration left in my span.

2. Formally articulated or not, I actually do desire to be recognized for my contributions to others, near and far, for the products of my toil and imagination. I may poo-poo praise, but I'm not immune to the want/need for recognition, if only for the amount of time or thought I've put into even the most bug-riddled and faulty of my inventions.

3. I desire to have a free mind and a calm soul when there's so much to distract. The Buddhists work to empty the mind which is almost wholly counter-intuitive to all things western, progressive, and future-focused. But, you know what, when you free your mind...well you know what happens to your ass.

4. I desire to love and be loved without restriction and without fear. I am certain that I receive and give tons of love, but there is always the capacity for better quality and quantity. Perhaps balance is what is needed, and finding ways to lift conditions, restrictions, and fear when it comes to how we share ourselves with each other may be how we begin to achieve appropriate and comfortable balance.

5. I desire the space, time and opportunity to scratch every artistic itch that arises. Oh, if only I could adequately execute just some of the ideas that have passed through my mind. But with space and time there is a matter of resources. The acquisition of resources cycle with the quality and exposure of completed works; you have to sell to afford to keep playing. Selling to advance is nothing like selling out.

That's it. I know what you're saying, "What the hell was that all about?" But does it matter? You thought, didn't you? You considered. You may have even learned something. I may be right about some things and I know I'm way off base about others but I got you to think about some things. And that's what I hoped to do and that's what I hope my products do for you too; take you on rides--Fine Rides--that get you all thinking about shit you hadn't been thinking about for a long time if at all. I lured you with sex, I teased you with desire. But I made you ponder your existence, if only slightly. No tricks.

The end.

I've Always Been This Awkward
Next topic: Geekdom


A Conversation Forwarded to Me

So this "Dan" and some so-called "Donna" were talking about me on the computers today. I got the FWD of the convo. My palms were all tingling (all of 'em) and my ears itching or some stupid superstitious nonsense for a reason! Here's the transcript:
Dan: Go to

Donna: What is that, some porn site?

Dan: It's Ty. He's got these cute freckles.

Donna: He's all about brand.

Dan: I know. Ty can never really get a "job," because . . .

Dan & Donna [unexpectedly simultaneously]: . . . Ty is Ty!

Donna: No one else like him.
Hey, I can get a job! I are entirely employable, sucka (save for the fact that I cannot write). What?! I'm looking for a job. I have leads! Besides, what is this if not work? Fuckers.

This Week

This week's features on Ty Hardaway dot com:
  • I've Been This Awkward Like Forever (the blog)
  • An Historic Record (the book)
  • Free Milk Seminar (the 2007 album)
  • Creation (the video)
And keeping to imposed schedules, I am still doing this here:
  • Sunday - Sunday Worship
  • Monday - I've Always Been This Awkward
  • Tuesday - Ask Ty
  • Wednesday - I've Always Been This Awkward
  • Thursday - Video Web Log
  • Friday - I've Always Been This Awkward
  • Saturday - Saturday Workshop

Being Ann Coulter

Transcript from a Morning Email Quickie
Ann Coulter's a coke addict. Of course! It all makes sense now.

Note that I have no evidence that Ann Coulter's a coke addict. Nor have I even heard such a rumor. But think about it. It explains EVERYTHING.

well, guh. google: "ann coulter" cocaine
217,000 hits [clicky]

So it IS true. Good for her. I like her so much better now knowing that she's just saying whatever it takes to get enough money to fill her coke hole.

She may be the most brilliant performance artist of our generation.

no shit. she has no idea what the fuck she's talking about. she's just filling time between sucking dicks for blow.

And the brilliant thing is that she's figured out that you don't have to know what you're talking about. You just have to be a spectacle.

"Hugemungus walrus mitts," huh? Hot!