Les said, the better II

According to http://supercollider.sf.net/:

SuperCollider is a state of the art, realtime sound synthesis server as well as an interpreted Object Oriented language which is based on Smalltalk but with C language family syntax. The language functions as a network client to the sound synthesis server.

SC was written by James McCartney over a period of many years. It is now an open source GPL’d project maintained and developed by James and a few others.

Which is to say that SuperCollider is a tool to help you use your computer to make sounds. It’s free and open source. That means that you can look at how SuperCollider was written and modify it, share it with other people and use it any way you want.

SuperCollider has a steeper learning curve than some other music programs like MAX, but it is more flexible and more powerful. This book is written for people who have not programmed before. If you can use your computer, you can learn to program.

That’s from my 2 page introduction. Not yet written in the introduction is a list of people to thank. You could be on that list if you want to try using my two (soon to be three!) completed chapters so far and give me feedback on them. (If you think you should already be on a thank you list, you probably are. . . ) Send me email at celesteh at gmail dot com

I need volunteers who can take my drafts of a SuperCollider book and try to teach themselves the language and send me feedback. I’m writing my text book and I need user reviews. Non-programmers preferred, but if you already know some MAX/MSP, that’s ok. And if you already know a real language, that’s cool too. How do my efforts compare to your “real” textbooks?

My goal is to get people able to make pieces quickly, but also have them understand things about data-types and programming languages. I want non-programmers to be able to follow and use the book, but I also want it to be useful for experienced programmers. This started life as lecture notes for the SuperCollider classes I taught last Spring. We didn’t make as much progress as I’d hoped, but the class only met once a week.
If you’re interested in helping me out, drop me an email: celesteh at gmail dot com. So what I get out of this is feedback on my book-in-progress. And what you get is a correspondence course in SuperCollider.

[Disclaimer: this is me not writing my thesis]

A few days ago I posted a link to a comic about Saturnalia. It was pro-pagan, but I would like to note that it was poorly drawn. It was exceedingly phallocentric. And the protrayal of women was highly problematic. The two female characters were a femme-bot stephford wife and a meddlesome prudish church lady who was disabused of her prudery through having sex with a well-endowed male. Not exactly groundbreaking social messages. However, there’s a good chance it was intended to be ironic. Also, it makes me not want to sit on santa’s lap ever again. not that I wanted to anyway.
Then I posted a text-sound version of Away in a Manger. Ok, so it’s not my best work. I’ve never been good with arrangements. And some people don’t like the computer generated voice. I love it though. I love putting emotional statements and statements of faith and have them be read by the cold, lifeless, souless computer. When the computer exclaims, “I love you, Lord Jesus!” it’s cold, cynical and meangingless. Also, I hate Christamas carols a lot. However, some part of me still wants to write one. I’ve gotten as far as “Santa, don’t park your sleigh / atop my solar array” but then I ran out of steam. Why wouldn’t Santa be able to park on the solar array? His sleigh is obviously near weightless, or flying reindeer wouldn’t have a chance. Maybe reindeer droppings would cause shaowds on it until the next rainstorm, but that hardly seems like a topic for a carol.
Clearly, I will go to any lengths not to work on my thesis. Bah. I feel all stressy today. I dreamt that my mom had discoverd some of my undergrad-era misdeeds (she didn’t specify which ones) and decided to disown me and adopt my ex in my stead. I’m sure the meaning of this is perfectly obvious to everyone but me and I’m going to embarass myself by posting it. But every moment I spend typing in my blog is a moment I don’t type on my thesis. blah blah blah. I used to have dreams where I would be hanging out, talking to my mom and something would be nagging at me and finally I would say, “hey! You’re dead! Why am I talking to you?” and she would apologize and walk around a corner and just disappear, and I would be “Hey! Wait!” but it would be too late, she was gone. I hate dreams.

December 26th’s is St. Stephen’s Day. so Good King Wenceslaus is actually a Boxing Day carol. Also, he wasn’t a king, but was a Duke. And was killed by his pagan brother at the behest of the majority Christian populas due to his poor leadership skills. But then sainted for political reasons surrounding the Christianizing of Bohemia. So there you go. Neither good nor a King. His skeleton is on display in the Cathedral in Prague. The name will come to me. Or not.
For several years, when I was a child, my grandma would host Christmas dinner and then my parents would host a second large dinner with all the same people on St. Stephen’s day. Since they all came in from out of town, they got two dinners. I don’t remember this well, but it must have gone on until I was in highschool, because I remember my cousin Tom sitting on the floor trying to play my sousaphone. There’s a picture of this someplace.
Brother Bob hosts Christmas dinner now. The guest list has been declining. Seymore died. Then Bro. Bob was trying to get ahold of Bunny, Seymore’s widow and couldn’t reach her. I did an obituary search on Lexis Nexus, but I don’t know what I’m doing. Bunny died in August, but we didn’t know. He got back a letter informing him a couple of days ago. There were gifts addressed to Bunny sitting under the tree. I never liked Bunny and now she’s dead. I feel kind of guilty about this.
I have mixed feelings about the holidays. They make me miss all those dead folks. It seems like the dead outnumber the living. Another Christmas without my mom. Another Christmas without my ex. Without Tom. without Catherine. without . . ..
My dad’s girlfriend seems to be a good match for him. She can a word in edgewise, which is good. I wonder if they’re sleeping together. I don’t really want to have that conversation with either of them though, so I’m happy being in the dark. My dad and my uncle go back and forth about how transitors were invented and poor computer design and how to fake out the patent office and who discovered what and how naysayers held back great discoveries for years. Every time they’re together. sometimes they talk about motorcycles, which is good because my brother can tell the story about how his bike no longer meets emission standards but goes faster. All these stories everytime. they could have numbers which could be read off in leiu of telling them. But sometimes new things emerge, like how my dad was explainign that if Sweden ever got an army, they would have to drop that socialism, public healthcare things because states that offer healthcare and have armies become totalitarian. He’s always coming up with reasons why socialized medicine is about to collapse in Sweden. I wish I could say I was joking. my dad and I spend a lot of time talking about Sweden. They’re about to bankrupt. They’re about to become a police state. They’re about to fall into the ocean. They don’t actually, exist, I don’t know. My family is on crack. And that is my family. My dad, my brother and my uncle. The family friends / hangers on have dwindled down to Brother Bob and now my Dad’s girlfriend. I love brother Bob. He’s great. But this family is too insane. I fear he will flee. And the last couple of years, I’ve been brining Ellen.
I kind of knew that my mom was glue holding everyone togteher. I didn’t realize she was the most sane and socially equipped. It’s amazing I can have conversations with people, given my background. The fact that I can interact with anyone at all is amazing.
The cathedral in Prague is called St. Vitus. It has St. Vitus’ shoulder there on display, I think. Catholics are a weird bunch.
Ratty indicates that it’s not nice to say what one got for Christamas, so I won’t except to note that I am exceptionally fond of the camera cozy that Nicole knitted me.

Here is a carol for you. It’s a bit tuneless. I wass going to Phase Modulate the lyrics with the melody, but I couldnt figure out how to play a dern MIDI file. Also, I baked 372647914697216 cookies today. Cookies that are shaped like things are a a major pain. I spent hours rolling dough and refrigerating it after each rolling. Bah Humbug. I ate nothing but cookies today. And some noodles that I think might have been lurking in the cabinet for rather too long. Yay for carbs and fats. Maybe I’ll eat a vegetable before I get scurvy. I need to get on some vitamins. If only chocolate soymilk were more fortified with things, I could live on it. You know they don’t put calcium in silk soy nog. those bastards. that means i can’t subsist on it or my bones will crumble to dust.

Being in cola’s apartment without her is a bit weird. i wish i had my dog, because i have to walk her every few few hours, which thus necessitates things like going outside. Instead, I try (and fail) to send out documentation on how to spatialize sounds in supercollider using delay lines and differing amplitudes. Cola has been gone for two days and already i am a nocturnal hermit. I’m waiting up for Santa. I’ve got a whole bunch of cookies for him. No fireplace for him to gain access, though. Alas. My computer is too slow for spatialized quadraphonic sounds that exceed 100m distances! woe!

Podcast: Play in new window | Download

http://www.e-sheep.com/Saturnalia/

I like knowing the history of holidays. The solstice is mighty ancient. But christmas consumerist hysteria is very recent. Brought to you by the Coca Cola corportation.
Speaking of which, time to start shopping! bah humbug

Had a flash of realization this afternoon: I am my parents. Which is not so bad, but it would be ice not to repeat all of their mistakes put together. So do I go with it while ferritting out bad behaviors or spend years in therapy trying to undo it?

I’m gone tomorrow. And I really need to work on my thesis. This blog deluge will not last. Don’t change your channel.

Before you rule homosexual men out of your life, however, let’s consider. Are they really monsters? Some very famous and beautiful women are married to them.

Psychiatrists tell us homosexuals have a strong sex drive. They are little boys, or girls, in an arrested state of sexual development (except the ones who are so strongly developed that they like boys and girls). The former, like you and me, arrived at the age of puberty when girls like girls and boys like boys. Only they never left it. They have tremendous emotional problems, which presumably respond the least of any to psychoanalysis. (If you think you have trouble and are about to open your veins over a man, consider how much lonelier and sillier you’d feel if it were a girl.)
– Sex and the S1ngle Girl: The Unmarried Woman’s Guide to Men, Careers, the Apartment, Diet, Fashion, Money and Men by Helen Gurly Brown p 30

Yes, I should be working on my thesis instead of snooping in Nicole’s bookcase. But I opened a page at random and there that was. I feel so silly. For being about singleness, there certainly is a lot in there about how to find a man to marry you. Even you can be a beard!

says William Donahue of the arch-conservative Catholic League

Well, who doesn’t? Somehow, though, this has something to do with hating Christmas. Um, right. Not satisfied with destroying marriage through consentual anal fisting, fags are now bent upon destroying Chrstmas with the combined super powers of their anuses. How exactly will this occur? What are the mechanics of this operation? Will they [editors note: rest of paragraph removed]
So those filthy fag, jewish, atheist communists are out to destroy Christmas. All of those groups are the same people because they’re all the alien other. I’m sure that Islamofascism is also in on this some how. None other than Osama bin Ladin himself issues the decree that newspaper ads now say “happy holidays” instead of “merry christmas.” Because pluralism is a terrible thing for america. If we accept the alien other, well, marriage will collapse, the races will mix, everyone will become atheist and women will turn lesbian, divorce their husbands, murder their children and all practice Wicca.
Of course, it does weaken patriarchial hegemony if we embrace diversity. Most people will still be heterosxeual and most Americans will still be Christian, but some will be off doing their own thing and out of control, and I guess that’s a bad thing for total patriarchial domination. Also, it’s hard to have a philosophy of being persecuted when you control everything, so you need to find new scapegoats periodically, or the same old suspects. Wouldn’t it be great, though, if their dire warnings could ever be true? What if switching to saying “happy holidays” really did end capitalism and make everyone bisexual? That would be awesome. It’s enough to make me want to launch a boycott of Christmas.

The New York Times is reporting that the pentagon plans to release lying press releases to the foreign press. Does this mean that they’ve been telling the truth until now? I’m confused. I thought most of their press releases were already lies. Apparently, we need to lie to the world so that they will beleive us and like us. This reasoning seems faulty. I find it prfoundly disturbing that we think the only way we can combat anti-American sentiment is to lie. Is that a tacit admission that every bad thing folks are saying about the US are true? If the only way we can argue with critics is to lie, well, the critics must be right. I think the people who are coming up with these plans are communist plants: people who were recruited during the cold war to destroy the US and have risen to power and have not abandoned their mission. How else could a plan so obviously stupid be hatched? If we have any credibility left at all, well, forget it.