Remember that night I recorded you while you read one of your bedtime books? You read Slip, Slide, Skate, and then you asked me to record myself reading the next one.

In my hotel room on Tuesday night I listened to you reading the one about the little girl who goes ice skating. I listened to the whole thing, and you did a great job. I smiled when I heard your voice and the pages turning.

I thought that on your last day of being six you might like to hear the recording of me. If you are at home, then pull out Duck and a Book and follow along; if not, then just imagine the pictures. It’s only a little more than a minute long.

I am sorry my work trip got extended by a day and I can’t be there to read it to you in person. I will see you on your birthday.

Love,
Daddy

I parallel park Homer along a city street just two blocks off McKinney’s downtown square. Alvis and I grab our cameras — similar Nikon DSLR’s — and meander across the road.

As I step onto the opposite sidewalk, I see a dejected clown coming right for me. He is not smoking a cigarette, but he looks like he wants to be. We sidestep Sparkles and stroll along to a street barricaded at one end by a stage.

Onstage a two-man middle-aged band sits playing an upright bass and a steel guitar. Microphones pick up the sounds of both instruments, and a small PA mixes both and spits the results out waist-high speakers at the front of the stage.

The bass player’s creased khaki slacks, burgundy socks and black shoes belie the mood of his bright blue Hawaiian shirt. He occasionally blows on a harmonica mounted on a contraption that wraps around the back of his neck.

The guitarist’s scraggly gray goatee juts four inches below his chin, so that when he sings he appears to be trying to shake off a small kitten. While not a fashion plate, he at least looks like he planned his bright yellow sneakers, blue jeans, and southwestern shirt. His nose divides two seemingly opaque black disks that must be sunglasses.

Both wear what I can only guess are fedora hats. They’re no Razzmajazz, but they have style.

I clip my binaural mics on the ends of my camera bag and record a few bars while Alvis and I take pictures. It’s a great day to just wander around watching — and hearing — people.

(use earbuds or headphones for a more immersive, albeit short, experience)

I took along my digital recorder to capture some of the live music. What I got was not what I expected.

In this clip, the young lady explains the bow, and Benjamin’s input bewilders one of his fellow Scouts who happens to be just as vocal. If not more.

A transcript follows after the more link below, for those who either have no way to listen or cannot make it out.

Guest: You think so?
Me: But it’s not a rubber band, Ben. What is it made out of, the bow?
(cut)
Guest: This part, the hair…
Den Leader: Can’t touch it.
Me: Don’t touch it, though.
Guest: Even if you have clean hands, that hair… umm, your fingers have oils on’em and you don’t wanna get the hair dirty.
Me: That’s actually hair, Ben.
Guest: Yep, horse hair.
Boy: So, if you want… if your… if your hands are clean, you can touch the hair?
Guest: Nope. Even if they’re clean you can’t touch the hair.
(cut)
Benjamin: ‘Cuz…’cuz if… ‘cuz if the oil goes on that… if the oil on your hand goes on that part, it won’t… it won’t make a very good sound on this part.
Guest: That’s right. That’s exactly right. That’s exactly right. It won’t sound as nice. So… umm… Sam, show
Other Boy: Where does Benjamin get this!?
Guest: Show the scouts what you put on the bow.

(set to auto-publish at 8 a.m. CT)

 
Sound Clip – Ben explains how some spiders catch their prey.
 

It wasn’t what I had in mind when I started the car Sunday morning.

After my son and I played catch and other games in the back yard early, I decided we needed to get out of the house, to one of the places I recently discovered while wandering away from work.

On past walks and bicycle rides to the donut shop, Benjamin had toted along books in his backpack. The tradition became this: move a while, then stop and sit on the sidewalk for me to read him a book. Benjamin decided to continue this tradition on trips that don’t involve deep-fried breakfast food.

This time there was a twist that, while initially undesirable, turned out to be pleasant. (as usual, please use headphones or earbuds for maximum immersion)

Shortly after we entered the woods, I had Benjamin stop and pose with the first big tree. The boy doesn’t do “still” very well, but on some level I think he likes to humor his old man. He compromises by striking wacky poses.

In our stillness, we were bombarded. Newborn mosquitoes, hungry and agile, attacked with a vigor unknown to summertime bloodsuckers. Maybe they knew that cooler weather was coming soon to cut short their miserable lives.

“The mosquitoes found us already,” I said. “Come on, son, we need to keep moving.”

Benjamin quickly unzipped his backpack and chose a book: Green Eggs and Ham.

“We can’t stop and read a book on this trail, Benjamin.”

“I can read it while we walk, Daddy.”

It wasn’t a particularly treacherous trail, so I let him have his fun. “Just keep up with me, son.”

My memory of these woods rooted in harsh noon light, I noticed how much more serene they seemed in the morning sun. The shafts of light came in at a sharper angle and made the forest glow.

“I do not like them, Sam I Am,” Benjamin intoned from behind me.

As we approached the creek’s high bank for a second time, I stopped in a patch of sunlight, with hope it would provide respite from the biting bugs. I snapped two quick shots of Benjamin, the water rushing past in the background as he continued reading aloud the timeless words of Dr. Seuss.

Unlike their vampire cousins of lore, the mosquitoes seemed completely unfazed by the sunlight. They swarmed.

“Okay, son, let’s get moving again.”

We did, but less than a minute back on the trail, Benjamin’s reading stopped and he grunted. I turned back and saw him, still standing as he bent over a fallen log that blocked my view of his shins and his feet. He tilted his head up to face me. “I’m okay,” he said.

“Try to watch where you’re going, Benjamin,” I said, and made a note to myself to warn him of future obstacles. Sure, I probably should have told him to keep the book in the bag while he walked, but if I couldn’t put down the camera and just enjoy the walk, then I suppose I wasn’t going to insist he put down his book.

Plus, when you tell a six-year-old boy growing up in a big-city suburb that you’re going to a park, he’s picturing playground equipment, not a trail in the woods. He might have arrived with something completely different in mind, and there were worse things than his asking to read a book. I was surprised to find that I enjoyed hearing him reading confidently as we wound our way through the 800-acre oasis.

The only drawback — besides the danger of tripping — was that we were not going to sneak up on any wildlife with his voice carefully enunciating the persistent insistence of Sam I Am.

At one point as we walked under a low canopy of tree branches and shrubs, Benjamin stopped and said, “Wow, this is cool, that we’re under right now.”

“Yes, it is,” I said. You might see some other cool things, too, if you look up from that book a little more often.

“Okay, we’re at the spot now where we can walk down to the creek, like you wanted,” I said. “Let’s zip your book back into your pack and check this out.”

With me in the lead, we worked our way carefully down the bank toward toward the stream. The trail was muddy clay and my feet slipped a bit with each step. Only half way down, so much clay was caked up on my shoes that I couldn’t keep from slipping. “Okay, son, we need to go back up.”

“Daddy, I’m slipping!” Benjamin said.

“I got you. I got you,” I said.

But nobody had me.

My feet slid toward the edge of the steep trail. One hand still on Benjamin, I grabbed a thick tree root to steady myself. “Okay, we’re fine. We’re just going to make our way up slowly,” I said. “Sorry, kiddo, this trail wasn’t like this the day I came out here from work.”

“Daddy, I’m scared,” Benjamin said.

“We’re fine, son. I have a grip now.” Viny undergrowth covered the hill to our left. “You just grab onto whatever you can if you start slipping, but I have you, too.”

We worked our way up, very slowly, and made it to level ground. My shoes were noticeably heavier from the clay covering and sticking out from the edge of their soles.

The rest of the walk went smoothly, although we had to turn around once where a puddle pond made the trail impassable. On the parking lot we dragged our feet with each step to clear off some of the mud, then doffed our shoes before getting in the car.

“Daddy, can we go somewhere to a playground now?” Benjamin said.

“You mean with equipment?”

“Yes.”

“You bet, kiddo.”

And we did.

Naming the clip is encouraged.

 
I wrote this in anticipation of a movie slated for a 2010 release. For extra phantom bonus points, name it.

I also came away with a much better understanding of what root beer can be. Tower Root Beer in a bottle — try it if you have a chance. Apparently it started in 1914, went out of production in 1978, and just returned to the market last year. It is made with (a lot of) pure cane sugar, not that corn syrup-based crap (but they now offer a diet option, too).

I got (and this time recorded) directions from a Redbones staffer and easily made it back to the main highway and then my hotel. I found during my trip that the abbreviation she used for “Avenue” is quite common in those parts.

The next day I ended up working later than I had anticipated, and missed meeting up with Dave and his brother in Boston. I was very bummed about that, but at least he had someone along with him to still have a good time.

One of my goals for the trip was to see and walk around the grounds of Harvard University.

I got out of the customer’s site a little late on my last night there, so I was in a rush to get to my hotel, change clothes and grab my camera, and get to the campus before dark.

As the pictures show, I didn’t make it.

Despite that, through the course of the evening, I:

• Rode a subway for the first time ever,
• Ate an amazing barbecue sandwich and drank the best root beer I’ve ever had, and
• Added another area to the list of places I would like to live

.

The best thing to do when driving to Harvard, it seems, is to park somewhere near Davis Square in Somerville and then take the red line “T” to Harvard Square. The worst way to accomplish that is to leave behind your written directions, have no GPS unit in your rental car, and stop and ask directions from a convenience store clerk and then an old man who mistook a falling leaf for a dropped set of keys.

Calling your wife and cussing about being lost is completely optional and, depending how her day is going, potentially detrimental. I was fortunate on that particular call.

I parked at a house less than a block from the businesses on Davis Square. Still hoping to outrun the setting sun, I weaved through all the folks taking a relaxing walk. I only knocked over one kid, but he was eight, so he bounced right back up without injury. His grandpa, whose hand the kid was holding, didn’t get up as quickly, but I kept looking, like Bo and Luke Duke, until I knew he was okay.*

I found the “T” and rushed downstairs, where I bought a ticket with $5 credit on it. I think I made a guy uncomfortable when I skipped only one seat between us although I could have sat at least five seats away from anybody on that car. It was his fault for not looking scary.

I debarked at the Harvard Square Station. Upon emerging, I thought maybe I hadn’t left Davis Square, or somehow had come full circle. The people, the places… all looked the same. Then I turned and saw the University.

On the tail of several students, I made my way across the street and onto the campus. I managed to capture a few images before the sun completely set, but only a couple are worth sharing. Below is Massachusetts Hall on the left and, in the background off campus, the First Parish Cambridge.

(click to enlarge)

I shifted my focus to what I could capture no matter the lighting — sound. I happened upon an impromptu performance plugging the Harvard Glee Club, a 60-man chorus looking for new blood.

Then I worked my way over to what I later found out was Harvard Yard, and took a few pictures of Widener Library. On that sidewalk, somewhat hidden in the dark, I captured sounds of the night, including passing students.

I included the next one mainly because reader Dave called my mobile phone at the end of it.

Without any idea where I was going, I wandered over to Memorial Hall, constructed to commemorate those who fought in the Civil War. Unlike the library, it allows the general public to enter. Sadly, I was there after hours and had to settle for what the exterior had to offer.

   
The picture I got (left) with my “snapshot” camera on the clamp pod.

I quickly made my way back to the “T” and rode back to Davis Square, where I ate at a most unexpected place, but already I’ve gone too long here.

 
Another shot of Memorial Hall, with clamp pod on a bicycle rack.

 
* No, I didn’t really knock over anybody.

While visiting family over Memorial Day weekend, Benjamin and I lit out Sunday morning for a nearby Tulsa city park. The air was dry, the breeze was light, and the sun shone down just hot enough to make us appreciate the shady spots.

The birds sounded glad to be alive and were busy impressing, defending, and maybe even making small talk. Benjamin was his usual talkative self.

Use headphones or earbuds to let the clips below surround you in exactly what I heard (and hear what makes a binaural recording superior to mere stereo).

You might feel like you’re walking right alongside Benjamin. His mother and grandmother come up on the right in one clip, coincidentally about the same time a blue jay gets annoyed.

It sounds corny, but closing your eyes enhances the listening experience.

(click any image to enlarge and any play button to listen)

Here Benjamin gets a bit insistent as I try not to talk because my mouth is very close to the microphones. Finally I turn and nod so he knows I’m not ignoring him.

And I think maybe he gets a little tired of the silent treatment.

Here’s his quick return after I tell him that we’re not going in the van.

Benjamin explains a car parked at the curb. In the end, he’s uncertain, and something distracts him.

Cars pass very nearby and Benjamin finishes with the classic kid question.

Someone upstages us as we discuss a berry Benjamin found.

A blue jay tells us to get lost, and my mother-in-law and my wife pass on the right. Benjamin promptly joins them as I’m left standing trying to capture more bird sounds.

Blue jay, other birds, and a distant dog.

Benjamin had a great time at the park, where he made a temporary friend. As we crossed the last field on the way out, my recorder tucked away for the return trip, my wife called from back at the house.

“Did you see the turtle by the road?” she said.

We found “Shelly” exactly where Shannon and her mom did. Benjamin picked her up and got a good look before sending her back on her way. It was a great way to spend the middle of the morning.

Back in February, Benjamin improvised a song — part gibberish, part sweet, and part nonsensical. In other words, all the parts that make up most popular songs today (except the sweet part, maybe).

Click the “play” button below to listen.

I’m trying something different today — brief comments on What I’m Hearing, What I’m Reading, What I’m Seeing, and What I’m Doing, including sound clips and pictures.

What I’m Hearing

Lately I have been listening to a mix CD made by Moksha Gren (frequent commenter here). High points are artists Sufjan Smith Stephens, Death Cab for Cutie, Rilo Kiley, and The Hold Steady. While cruising home from work with the top down in Texas, I can’t get enough of the opening line, “They got to the part with the cattle and the creeping things,” on The Hold Steady’s “Cattle and the Creeping Things.”

Also, a Jedi with an identity crisis has been hanging around our house. I recorded a bit of my conversation with him.

What I’m Reading

I’m reading To Seek Out New Life: The Biology of Star Trek, by Athena Andreada, Ph.D. Snatched up for $1 at a local library’s fundraising book sale, it has helped me remember how much I enjoy science. When not working as assistant professor of neurology at Harvard Medical School, Andreada is quite capable of debunking (or “bunking,” as the case may be) the “science” of the various ST series and movies. As a student at Harvard, she graduated magna cum laude in biochemistry and earned her Ph.D. in molecular biology from Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT, in case you aren’t used to seeing it spelled out). So far she’s established why humanoid species hybrids are impossible, and why silicon-based life is not.

What I’m Seeing

Over the past weekend we rented Horton Hears a Who and The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, both on Blu-ray Disc (BD). The latter, a thought-provoking look at the last days of the James gang, is stated by many to be the most accurate filmed re-telling of that period of Jesse James’ life. The former is a colorful treat for the senses that perfectly demonstrates the deep, rich color reproduction on our 42″ plasma. I had to drag out our surround receiver, center channel, and subwoofer for the occasion. (Our son watched Horton and somehow slept soundly in his room while we watched Assassination at a very loud volume — the train rumbled the whole house!)

On Monday night Shannon and I watched my first purchased BD, bought used at Blockbuster when we rented the aforementioned flicks. The Dark Knight looked amazing in high definition, and Ledger fit brilliantly into the engaging story. It was several notches above other recent superhero flicks — Iron Man being the most notable exception.

U2 is playing on David Letterman’s show as I write this, and they sound great. Bono can sing just like he did 10 or 15 years ago. If you don’t usually watch Dave, record him as he features this supergroup every night this week.

What I’m Doing

My parents made the jaunt from Arkansas on Friday. Among other fun, we played a game of dominoes that found us learning the rules as we went. Dad and I each endured a hand in which we drew from the bone pile on every turn, never to lay one down on the double that started the round. Trust me when I say you’re not coming back from having 23 dominoes left (we drew 12 to start the hand). Brutal.

I returned the wall-hanging bracket for the television and with that credit I ordered the surround receiver that will fit in our new TV stand.

I’m taking vacation the week of Benjamin’s spring break so that we can relax, paint another room or two in the house, and maybe actually get away for a night or two on one of the adjacent weekends.

Now, have a good second half of your week.