gregbruchert

[gregbruchert]

[gregbruchert]

NPR Voice

I am an autocad drafter for a waterproofing company. You don't need to know the specifics of this to understand that I draw rooftops on a computer for money. I have the liberty of listening to music, books, podcasts so long as it's not hindering the output.

I was considering formats of podcasts and how they impact the style of speaking within them. There are some podcasts that seem to be familiar in their delivery. These podcasts will talk about whatever subject they might be on that day in a conversational tone. They will joke, gripe, admonish, gasp...all like you and I might do.

There's the highly organized and formatted podcasts. These are closer to visual documentaries in pacing and style. There isn't much banter. It will be introductions to interviews or soundbites, followed by said interviews or soundbites, followed by conclusions or cliffhangers, followed by mood-appropriate music.

There are your news podcasts that deliver dry information in a dry tone. "In this episode, we will cover a few things that are: This first thing is, the second thing is also is, this third thing is the buried lede so that you listen all the way through all the things that is." They'll splice a 3 second music bit between the things that they're covering.

NPR sort of falls into this last category. At least, when it comes to their news podcasts. I realize they have multiple podcasts spanning multiple subjects. I don't have issues with their booktok shit, for example. I do have issues with how they inject faux emotion into the news their trying to convey.

When the news is jovial, inconsequential, or lighthearted then NPR has near their own brand of speaking. All voices are tinged with a proverbial bounce in cadence. They may crack a dad joke or two when acknowledging a reporter's story on the matter. Maybe even have a light giggle. My reaction ends up falling on how we don't need to be learning about this. It's ear candy to counter all the bummers we're about to talk about. I want the reporters to do some actual work and deliver stories that affect people. Oh, about those...

When the news is solemn. When the current event is a dystopian teaser trailer. Let's say a small town on the other side of the planet gets roasted because we're killing the climate and people still live on the equator in this hypothetical example. NPR breaks out their collective half-whisper™. Things are grumpy now. "The volcano swallowed the entirety of Pompeii and I'm having feelings about it" is the timbre they're shooting for. It's something between library volume and a whisper with some faux-sympathetic pacing worked in. Admittedly, I have had a visceral reaction to this voice. There have been times where I have said, out loud, "Fuck off. You do not care about this. You're doing the voice. Please stop pretending."

Here's the part where I undercut what I just said. No one should give a shit what I am on about. This is more or less a twitter rant, but fuck that website. Thanks.

[gregbruchert]

Noisy toys and snacks

Comforting myself with tuna snack packs from the local Aldi. I went ahead and bought this toy for myself as well:

It's a manual cassette player with mute buttons and tone/gain knobs. It looks like a grand time, but I don't fucking need it. No one needs to *scratch* cassettes. Someday soon though, I will be yanking reversed samples of kicks from old cassettes in my arsenal. Imma throw reverb and/or bit crush that shit and smile. There's this voice in my head that keeps telling me to make some actual music with these toys. I have, just rarely do I bring these ideas to completion. Most of the time I'm alright with it. Just being able to manipulate sound in different ways can be lovely.

Listen to your favorite record with a flat EQ and headphones. Focus on something other than the melody or vocals. Do all of that again, just pick something new to focus on.

[gregbruchert]

Breakfast sandwiches

Starting anew with my caloric responsibilities. Recent and ongoing stressors, weathering my resolve, have driven me to eat like a toddler at the Keebler tree. I'm trying to start the day with a solid foundation, food-wise: The breakfast sandwich. One egg fried in canola spray, two similarly fried slices of turkey bacon, a slice of Monterey pepper jack cheese, and half of an avocado mashed into the top half of a toasted multigrain sandwich thin bun. I downed that action with some caffeinated soda squirts a la my whitest personal appliance, the Sodastream. Let's just go ahead and log that into FatSecret to make things just a tad more pale around here. Not to mention, a third of my breakfast was avocado toast. Refill my mimosa at your next brunch, my fellow alabaster bros.

We are trying to sell our house. That means packing. That means painting. That means working with the wife to move forward on those things. We generally fail to see eye to eye on operations. I, being the one of the two of us with past managerial experience, seem to think I know better. She, being incredible at the same position at her respective places of employment, tends to end up being the only one that knows what is happening. I have plans, she has plans. The overlap is minimal. If you enjoy that 'blood in your stool/panic attack' type stress, be sure to add a deadline toward this endeavor that doesn't so much have a set date and time, but dictates an approach that requires everything be done as soon as possible. You both work full time, you say? You are currently raising a toddler, you say? You have multiple obligations beyond your baseline, you say? Social engagements, you say? Deaths in the family, you say? Just make sure to have all of your heart attacks on company time. Bigger payout for the bereaved.

To find a moment would be a luxury. So, my usual means of therapeutic writing can't seem to make an appointment with my self. I enjoy the pen and pad so I can sit with the thoughts a bit. This feels like a sprint. There are reasons. I am working right now. Listening to Shostakovich's 9th in E minor. My man. If you haven't ever, do. Cartoonish insanity with some beautiful resolutions within the margins. Allegorical to current events, I'd argue. I'm going to utilize the internet the way the lord, Hades, intended and seek knowledge on Dmitri... Ah, there are many a book on my man. We'll just drop a few of these into the 'want to read' column and revisit. Turns out he knew Stalin in some capacity. Will we have to compartmentalize the music from the man? Knowledge can be a real motherfucker. We shall see.

Don't tell the boss I'm unloading on an all but forgotten b-squad social media site where I have maybe 5 followers. Shout out to the Cinco Psychos. I felt it might be in my best interest to find a way to un-clench my jaw. I think the 'clenched' status is going on a month now. Rafiki voice: "It is time."

My aunt Cheryl died Tuesday night. It was reported to me on Wednesday morning. You know, just before work. A woman who had been in my life for all of my 45 years twirling about the sun. She's gone. Not to mention we lost her son, my cousin just earlier this year. She had grandkids. He had daughters. I barely had a moment to maneuver my cousin Chris's death before I heard the news Wednesday morning. Cheryl passed away from the same cancer that took my dad. The great K-Dubs. The last conversation that Cheryl and I had revolved around her concern for how I rough house with Violet. She wanted to make sure I take care of my daughter properly. I plan to honor those last requests.

So, what is the move? I've lost my map. Navigating these waters is futile. Fate is in Hades's hands now. I'll tell you what you cannot do. You are not allowed to cope with that level of bad news without a full day at a job you moderately tolerate. Go to work bitch. They'll give you a box of tissues. Wipe those tears away between emails. This is healthy and fine.

Let's follow up that work day with a visit to the dentist that has been years overdue. Get berated by the tech for not flossing, then run some errands with half your face numb and sliding off your skull. We need groceries. The baby needs milk. Kelly needs almond milk for smoothies. You need eggs for breakfast sandwiches.

To be honest, I used some of my free time to check in on mom. She lost her sister. I'm not alone in grief here. I had to make sure she was maintaining. She was. Probably better than I. Maybe she's doing worse behind closed doors. That being said, the takeaway for me was that this is something common enough in old age that you have developed processes in which to grieve. It made me feel like a novice, at best, in that regard. I'm sure I'll get the reps in. Mom has endured enough to solidify her routine.

That's probably the hardest part. I need time for me. I feel like I should be there for my mom, my brother, my immediate family, extended, etc. as well. My capacity to prioritize my responsibilities dwindles as ye scroll of tasks drops and rolls away from me as I read it. The budget will not allow for a life coach. Let's explore what the modest budget might offer as an equivalent. I bought a salmon/tuna poke bowl, extra sauce, extra spicy.

[gregbruchert]

30 years later, and still, go fuck yourself.

[gregbruchert]

Yo. Look at my dog (at Wheeling, Illinois)

[gregbruchert]

Come to this rock and roll event so that I may play you some rock and roll.

[gregbruchert]

Instead

[gregbruchert]

tomorrow!

[gregbruchert]

Come see us play this September at Livewire Lounge. #AtonementTheory (at LiveWire Lounge Chicago)

[gregbruchert]

Rocko and Rolo (at Fargo Skateboarding)

[gregbruchert]

#FargoFest #AtonementTheory (at Fargo Skateboarding)

[gregbruchert]

A little more legible. It's not Thunderstruck

[gregbruchert]

Points to whoever can namr this tune from 1 1/2 bass riffs from the same tune by reading hastily written, and indecipherable splotches of black Sharpie. I will buy you a coffee or something for real.

[gregbruchert]

Playing a rock and roll show. Come rock and/or roll with us on the 20th.

[gregbruchert]

This fucking guy kills me

[gregbruchert]

Dog's broken