Gkikas, as in Chris Gkikas.
The great fun with this looper pedal continues.
This is my effort at duplicating Mark Galloway’s amazing cover of this epic Allman Brothers classic. Dedicated to Mark, and David Childers, who cheated death (again).
This starts out kinda rough, but has some choice moments later on down the line.
Not having anyone to jam with, I made what’s turning out to be the greatest investment in my guitar experience since the guitar and amp themselves — the Boss RC-20XL Loop Station Phrase Sampler, or Looper for short. It plays back exactly what I want, when I want, without having to listen to it bitch about wanting to play something else, or faster, or slower, or it’s tired, or whatever. Turns out, I am my own best jam partner.
I also spent some time today putting my recording gear back in order. Previously, I had a fairly bulky and complex recording setup involving a dedicated laptop running Ubuntu Studio, which is wonderfuly robust and feature-packed, but required a separate laptop. This morning, I set up the required packages on my daily-driver Kubuntu 8.10 Intrepid Ibex laptop and got the Jack Audio Connection Kit working properly with my (Sean’s) Alesis Multimix 8, being fed by my (Sean’s) Schure SM57 mic, close-miced to my (my) Fender Hotrod Deluxe. I’m getting lossless, high quality audio recording using Audacity, which I then align with the exported audio from the onboard mic on my mini-DV camcorder and then overdub the video with the now-synchronized audio for an HQ musical experience. Now, if only I could play as precisely. 
Althea will be 8 weeks old tomorrow. Swingin’.
Elise at 8 weeks, learning some Spanish on her new Boppy pillow
In my online “travels,” I have made a number of truly good friends. I can name many, both by their handles and by their real names. Some prefer to remain anonymous, which I can understand, but sort of chuckle at the notion that anyone seeking to protect their identities online could even dream of being successful at this. Some give their full names, like me, because they know that if someone really wanted to find out their names, or even where they lived, they could, so why hide.
One of these friends is a guy named Mark Galloway. He’s a golf pro from Oklahoma, who also happens to be, as he puts it, a semi-retired professional guitarist. He has a Youtube channel, much like I do. He shares his skills and his passion with anyone who happens to happen by, and gets out of it what he does, much like I do.
Recently, he posted a video of “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed,” an epic Allman Brothers Band song, using his looper pedal. I bought one last week, and spent a good deal of time today fiddling with this particular song, and though I think I’ve got it, for the most part, I’m still going to work on it a bit before recording and posting a video of my own effort at this awesome Dickey Betts tune.
This is a very, very short bit of Mark’s take on “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed.” Please see the full video to appreciate his skills.
It’s been two nights since the pig impressions have begun.
At first, while it was occuring during daytime naps, it was cute. It was more than cute, actually, it was downright adorable — especially when Elise started making distinct snorting sounds. She even chuckled along with us after a good long snort, once.
But now, it’s different. Now, it’s not so cute any more. Now, it’s all night long, after their second feeding, around 3am. A bicycling of the legs in their Kiddopotamus SwaddleMe wraps, a nearly-constant torrent of grunts, hacks, squeaks and peeps, and a general squirminess that lasts until their next feeding, now a shorter two hours later. They sound like a horde of pigs rooting through the underbrush in search of truffles.
We are zombies, or more accurately, Idoia is a zombie. I am fluttering through existence nowadays as a multiurnal cohabitor of night and day. I never know what time it is, and I am really fuzzy on what day it is, most of the time. She’s taken to napping in the a.m. with the swaddled girls resting next to her in the bed, in the spot I attempted to sleep earlier. I take these early morning opportunities to either write, catch up on email, or sleep on the couch, which is far more comfortable than my bed lately.
For the second, or maybe third night in a row, the kicking and grunting has been constant. They aren’t crying. Their diapers have been changed. They just ate. They aren’t cold or hot. They don’t have gas, because they just produced their award-winning belches and/or farts. They’re just grunty. Like old men clearing their throats in the morning, or crusty old smokers wheezing between productive coughs. And the weirdest part of this is that they’re asleep the whole time.
I’m reading that this is normal, and a phase. It has something to do with their intestinal development. Ironic that their intestinal development puts our intestinal fortitude to the test. Most of these “issues” seem to be normal developmental quirks, so I’ve decided that a return to my previous position of “don’t worry about anything” is a wise move. After all, what has worrying ever done for me?
It’s a Friday night, and all is well with Elise. She’s been in a good mood all day. Althea, however, has been a cranky little thing all day long. Figures. There will be a lengthier piece forthcoming pertaining to their coordinated clock-punching, shift rotation-taking rhythms.
We got a photo – of nice resolution, of proof that Elise is having a great night tonight.
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I also had trouble not grabbing my camera when we saw that she was doing quite well, thank you very much. Her smiles, as are Althea’s (when it’s her turn to be in a good mood), are more response driven and not as much reflexive. They still laugh and chuckle in their sleep, which they don’t do as waking muffin heads.
They are my heroes of a thousand faces, already. The other day, remember when Elise looked like Al Pacino? Also, when Althea does her “Bat Boy” expression? They’re completely and utterly fascinating to me. Far more interesting than anyone that can acually speak English, or are aware of their own hands, or have any control over their basest bodily functions. Ironic that these two little people, who can’t communicate with me in any way us “adults” would consider meaningful, have my rapt and completely devoted attention.
