Underplaying the Music You Want to Hear

This is probably my biggest frustration. I want to hear a particle artist or song, so I thumbs-up it or favorite it or love it, and then . . . I never hear it. The site seems to have that artist or song in their catalogue, so what gives? Why don’t they play the stuff that they apparently have access to that I told them I’d like to hear? A lot of artists I like get played only rarely, and many never get played at all.

I heard a Toad the Wet Sprocket song on Slacker the other day for the first time in months. Why do I never hear them? I have no idea. Their music is apparently available on Slacker, but it almost never comes up. Every internet radio site I’ve tried—Pandora, Last.fm, Slacker, Jango—has the same problem. It doesn’t really matter how many song or artist seeds I provide or how much stuff I favorite or thumbs-up. They’re all pretty similar in this regard.

It’s especially frustrating when I hear a song that I like from an artist that I’m not familiar with and want to hear more of. I’ll favorite the song or the artist or even create a new station just based on that artist, and I still hardly hear anything from them. Pandora is supposed to be specially geared towards music discovery, but I have to say that they kind of suck at it. But now that I have access to Spotify, when I hear a song from a new artist that I like, I’ll just listen to an album or two there instead.

Overplaying the Music You Don’t Want to Hear So Much

This is the flip side of problem #1. There’s plenty of music out there that I kind of like or don’t mind, and this is what seems to be played the most. Pandora seems to be the worst, which is why I got sick of them and started going elsewhere. I’ve provided dozens of artist and song seeds and probably hundreds of thumbs-ups, but half of what I get is this mediocre indie stuff that I just don’t care for that much. I kept expecting it to grow on me, but it never did.

On Slacker, I get lots of Weezer and Bush and Jakob Dylan. Not that I dislike any of them, but I’m not crazy about any of them either. And it’s always the same four or five songs from each one. Weezer apparently has eight albums, but I still only get four or five songs from them. Yeah, they’re great, but can I hear something else please?

Sometimes, as if to spite me, internet radio will play music from an artist I like, but only their songs that I don’t like. For example, I like Wilco, but I think their album Sky Blue Sky was kind of a dud, so I don’t really want to hear it. So what Wilco songs does Slacker play? The same three or four songs from Sky Blue Sky, plus the occasional song from A.M. (my second-least-favorite album), but nothing else. Again, they have six other albums. How about you play something from one of them?

Binary Rating Systems

Every site out there gives you the option to love/favorite/thumbs-up or hate/ban/thumbs-down songs or artists, but none of them give you more nuanced control. Out of all the internet radio sites I’ve tried, I’ve seen only one that got this right: Launchcast, which is now defunct. On Launchcast, you could rate things between 0 (meaning it was banned and would never play again) and 100. If I kind of liked something but didn’t want to hear it a lot, I could rate it around 60 or 70 and count on the fact that it wouldn’t be played all the time. If I got tired of it, I could lower the rating. If it grew on me, I could bump it up. The stuff I really loved got rated 90 and above, and—miracle of miracles!—it got played the most.

On every other site, you love and hate everything equally. And if you don’t commit one way or the other, they’ll just keep playing it anyway until you get so sick of it that you ban it. But I hate committing to banning something that I feel indifferent to, so I end up burning through my limited number of skips to get to songs I actually want to hear.

Bad Tagging

This isn’t that big of a problem, but I’m still surprised at how common it is. I would assume that these sites would get their music straight from the record labels, but oftentimes it seems like it’s all been uploaded from someone’s mess of a mistagged music collection. It’s especially bad on Last.fm, where I’ve seen songs with the wrong titles, live or acoustic versions listed as album versions, and missing tags. Slacker has some problems, too, but it’s not as bad. The weirdest is a karaoke version of an album I own. How on earth did that end up on Slacker? Why would I want to listen to the instrumental version? I’m not going to blast it from my cube at work and sing along.

Maybe It’s Not All Bad

For all my griping, I do get a lot of enjoyment out of various custom internet radio sites. They’ve actually introduced me to about a dozen different artists whose albums I now own. And it’s all free (because there’s no way I’m paying for one of these services), so I guess I can’t really complain. Plus, the variety of options out there means that when I get sick of one site or another, I can try something else, at least until it annoys me too much. And Spotify is a nice alternative, though it obviously doesn’t fill the same role as custom radio stations.

But I still wish someone would bring Launchast back.

We need your help to ensure the quality of our research. We’ve enclosed a thank you gift. This thank you gift is for taking the time to read this letter. Please share this letter with others in your household. (italics in original)

The thank you gift was a crisp new one-dollar bill. Of course I had to show the letter to Brinestone so she could share in my excitement. The letter continued:

If your household is selected, we will send you an additional small cash gift!

I’m nearly giddy with anticipation. What could it possibly be? Two dollars? Or—dare I hope—five?

Redbox is not a video store. It’s a vending machine. That means you browse, select your movies, and check out all in the same spot. While you can spend fifteen minutes strolling through a video store looking at all the boxes and trying to decide what you want, if you do that at Redbox, you’re holding up the line. That doesn’t seem to stop anyone, though. Imagine someone dithering for five minutes or so in front of a vending machine over whether to get a Snickers or a Milky Way or maybe some chips. Then imagine that the next three people in front of you all do the same thing, and you start to get pretty frustrated with people.

The worst part is that it’s completely unnecessary. If you have internet access, you can browse movies on Redbox’s website, find a location that has it in stock, and reserve it. Then all you have to do is go to the right machine, push a button, and swipe your credit card. Picking up a movie only needs to take about 15 seconds. And dropping off a movie shouldn’t take more than a few seconds, either, except that you have to wait until the machine is free.

Like tonight, when I went to drop off the movie we rented last night. First I went to Macey’s, but I could see that there were about five or six people in line, so I drove over to McDonald’s instead. I was excited to see that there was only one person in line, so I thought it would only take a minute or two.

It turned out to be more like five, though, because the woman in line in front of me was a browser. I swear she looked at every single movie in the catalog and ended up checking out three. While I was waiting another three people got in line behind me. And then, after she swiped her credit card, which took her about three tries to get right, the machine asked for her zip code. I don’t know what she thought it was asking for, because she punched in four digits, and it didn’t look like any zip code from around here.

She tried hitting “next” about five times. The guy behind me cleared his throat impatiently. I finally chimed in and said, “It needs your zip code.” She turned around looking vaguely embarrassed, apologized, and put in her zip code and hit “next” again. Finally she was on her way, and I was able to drop off my movie and go home. What should have been a ten-minute-tops errand turned into more like twenty minutes because one person decided to treat a vending machine like her own personal video store.

And this happens at least every other time I use a Redbox. Quite frequently I get stuck behind two or three browsers instead of just one, so I end up waiting in line for fifteen minutes. And all of that could be avoided if people were just considerate of others and kept their browsing to a minimum or just reserved their movies online. I’m sure most people don’t even know you can do it online, but that’s still no excuse for holding up a line for five minutes or more.

Like I said, I love Redbox, but I hate a its customers. I’m sure one of these days I’m just going to lose it and start cussing out the people who are making me wait fifteen minutes to perform a thirty-second task. Maybe it’s about time to finally get Netflix.

Then there was the weekend trip to Denver in late July to see Brinestone’s sister get married. It was great that we were able to go, even though El Guapo was less than two weeks old, because Brinestone and her sister are like best friends, but weekend trips always tire me out. A full day of driving plus a full day of wedding stuff plus another full day of driving with only one Sunday of downtime in the middle is not a very restful vacation.

A couple of weeks later, Brinestone and the boys went up to Bear Lake for an extended family reunion of her mom’s side. I skipped out because I couldn’t afford the time off, but it was kind of nice having a few days of quiet, even though it’s always weird to be the only one in the house.

Then there was another family reunion, this time for my mom’s side of the family. We headed up Friday afternoon and came back Saturday night, so I only missed a little bit of work, but it was a tiring trip too. It was good to see family, especially my parents and siblings, but setting up and taking down camp for only a day’s worth of camping is a lot of work.

And finally, last week we flew to Georgia for Brinestone’s brother’s wedding. It too was an exhausting trip filled with airports and rental car counters and lot of time in miserable traffic in a very hot and humid city, but again it was nice to be there to support family.

Honestly, I don’t begrudge the time spent on all these trips to be with family. I love my family and Brinestone’s family too, and I’m glad we were able to be there for some important events and see relatives that we don’t get to see very often. But man, am I ever ready to just stay home for the next few months. For my next vacation I might just pass out on the couch for a while.

We got Brinestone admitted and checked in, but we weren’t able to get a hold of her doctor for a little while. Turns out he was stuck in traffic too after delivering his second baby of the day up in Provo. (He usually does about eight a month, so this was already a busy day.) Meanwhile Brinestone was in a lot of pain and was already feeling worn out after a very busy (but productive) day. She decided to get an epidural, so they called in a nurse-anesthetist. He had a hard time getting the catheter in—apparently Brinestone has pretty narrow intervertebral spaces, so he kept hitting bone—but finally he got the job done, and she started feeling a lot better.

The doctor discovered that the baby was posterior, but he was able to get him turned pretty easily. Then it was just a few more pushes, and the job was done. The baby gave us a very healthy cry when he came out, even before the nurses had suctioned him. They weighed him and announced that he was 8 pounds, 5 ounces—a pretty healthy size, though considerably smaller than Duplo’s 9 pounds 3 ounces. I was honestly surprised at how quickly and smoothly it all went. We’d been in the hospital about three hours at that point, though Brinestone said her contractions had started about an hour before she called me, so about five hours total.

There was a fair amount of blood that came out with the baby (and some blood that came out before her water even broke), which made the doctor think that Brinestone had had a partial abruption. It must’ve been pretty minor, because it doesn’t seem to have caused a problem for either her or the baby. Thankfully everything went smoothly, and both of them are now at home. In keeping with the tradition of giving the kids net nicknames based on their initials, we’re* dubbing this one El Guapo, for GPO.

And, of course, here are the obligatory pictures.

*Or at least I’m dubbing him that. I’m not sure if Brinestone is entirely on board yet, but too late! I posted first.

At any rate, it’s been an eventful few months for us. For quite a while now I’d been planning on applying to PhD programs in linguistics (and would hopefully be accepted to at least one). As I was applying, though, something changed. I’m not quite sure what happened, but suddenly I was losing my enthusiasm for more schooling and was growing increasingly doubtful that I actually wanted to be a professor.

I mean, I love the subject and love learning about and talking about it, but teaching is something else altogether. It means lesson plans and grading and standing in front of a class of students who may or may not like me or the subject. It means doing research and lots of writing and trying to get tenure—and this is assuming I could get a decent teaching job in the first place instead of just bouncing around from one adjunct position to another.

And more school? I don’t know. Suddenly I was feeling very burned out with school and just wanted to be done. I don’t want to drag my whole family through a few more years of this, moving across the country and living in cramped apartments, racking up who knows how much debt. Lego’s going to start kindergarten this fall. I remember how hard it was for me to move out of state and then move again and change schools and then move again, all between the ages of 7 and 9. It’s hard to make friends and adjust to new places. I don’t want to put my kids through that if I can avoid it.

So I finished applying to schools, and I was only accepted to one—Northern Arizona University. It sounded like a solid program and a really great fit for my interests, but I just couldn’t see myself going anymore. And while I was deliberating what to tell them and leaning towards telling them no, I came across a job listing here in Utah that would be perfect for me. I’m very well qualified, and from all I’ve heard it’s a great place to work. I realized that even if I don’t get this particular job, it’s what I really want. I sent back the form to NAU telling them I wouldn’t be attending.

I’ve applied and have gone through the first two rounds of testing but haven’t interviewed yet. My current boss wished me luck and says they’d be crazy not to hire me, which means a lot because I know he’d love to keep me here if he could. I’m hoping and praying it works out, even though it would probably mean moving very quickly, and we’d have to figure out whether or not to buy a house or keep renting for the time being.

Who knows? Maybe someday I’ll decide to go back for that PhD and will end up teaching after all. But right now I feel like I want to put down roots somewhere and actually begin a real career in earnest while enjoying my time with my family. Which reminds me, if you haven’t heard, we’re expecting boy #3 mid-July.

One way or another, this summer is going to bring a lot of changes. I’m not sure yet where everything will end up, but I feel like it’ll end up where it should.

[phone rings]

Me: Hello?

Guy: Steve-o!

Me: I’m sorry; you have the wrong number.

Guy: This isn’t Steve?

Me: Nope. Sorry.

Guy: You’re not Steve [last name]?

Me: No.

[pause]

Guy: So who is this?

Me: Someone else.

Guy: Oh. Sorry.

Me: No problem.

[guy hangs up]

Steve, wherever you are, please stop giving people my number.

We got the kids into the car and started heading up to Provo, but after a couple miles the car started acting funny—it dropped out of overdrive and kept trying to shift back up, but it was stuck in drive. Then it started having problems with drive and was dropping into second, and we started smelling a hot, oily smell. I suspected we were leaking transmission fluid. Brinestone wisely suggested that we pull off at the next exit, which was by the Wal-Mart in Springville.

We exited and stopped at the light to try to pull into the closest gas station. When the light turned green and I tried to go, the engine revved but the car didn’t budge. I tried shifting into park and back into drive, but nothing happened. I put on the hazard lights, popped the hood, and hopped out to take a look. (By this time our green arrow had turned red, so I wasn’t too worried about being mowed down.)

I looked under the car and saw not transmission fluid not dripping or leaking but gushing under the car—there was already a puddle of it at least two feet across. Luckily it wasn’t the transmission itself that was shot—I could see pretty clearly that it was coming from a hose to the transmission fluid cooler that had popped off. The car wasn’t going anywhere, so I decided to walk over to the gas station and get some transmission fluid and hopefully a screwdriver so I could reattach the hose, clamp it down, and get enough fluid in the transmission to allow us to get out of the intersection.

I got to the gas station and looked around, but I couldn’t see any automotive supplies or tools, which struck me as pretty ridiculous. No oil? Not even any windshield washer fluid? I headed back to the car, and as I was waiting for the crosswalk a guy ran up behind me and asked if I needed help pushing the car. He’d been behind us at the light and had pulled around us and then turned into the gas station. I said I’d love some help, and when the left turn arrow turned green again, we pushed the car through the intersection and into a parking space at the gas station. I thanked him profusely but didn’t even get his name. (Whoever you are, thanks again. You were a lifesaver.)

Brinestone suggested one of us walk down to Wal-Mart to get some transmission fluid and screwdriver to fix the hose, and I decided to go since I knew what kind of fluid to get. Oh, and did I mention that it was about 16 degrees and windy that day? I was half-frozen by the time I got to Wal-Mart, but I got what I needed and headed back to the car. I got the hose back on and clamped down (burning my arm on the exhaust manifold in the process) and started pouring in transmission fluid. Meanwhile someone from our ward saw us and checked to see if we needed any help. I told him I thought I had it under control, but he said he’d wait to see if we got it running first before he left. I checked the fluid and it looked full, so I tried putting it in gear. The car moved. Success! I thanked our neighbor, and he left.

And then I tried driving again, and nothing happened again, except this time the check engine light came on. I checked for the diagnostic codes and called my dad, who then asked a mechanic at work. Apparently the vehicle speed sensor and transmission shift control were reporting problems, but he said the former might be causing the latter and that it could have fried the speed sensor when we were revving it with no fluid in the transmission. Also, I had broken the hood release handle earlier, and now the hood was closed. I’d need a pair of pliers to pull on the end of the hood release cable and pop the hood.

We went inside the gas station to get some snacks for the kids and get warm, and I noticed that they did have a small automotive section, including transmission fluid (though it over twice what I paid at Wal-Mart), screwdrivers, and pliers. I bought a pair of pliers and decided to check the fluid again, and it looked low, but it wasn’t still leaking. It takes a while for fluid to settle in, so the full reading I got earlier wasn’t actually accurate. I kept adding fluid, waiting, and checking again until I got another full reading on the dipstick. I tried putting the car in gear again, and voila! It worked this time, and the gears didn’t drop out again like they did before. Apparently it was just low fluid causing the trouble codes.

By this point we’d spent at least an hour and a half at the gas station. Brinestone’s parents would be arriving in town in about two and a half hours, so we decided to skip the party (especially since we still didn’t really trust the car) and just head home, avoiding the freeway so we wouldn’t be left stuck in the middle of traffic on an icy, windy day. (There’s construction on the freeway right now, so there aren’t a lot of places to pull off in an emergency.)

Before we left, my dad called back and offered to give us their minivan when my mom comes up to Utah in a week or so. Apparently they were planning on buying a new van and getting rid of their old one even before I called about our problem, and they declined our offer to buy it from them. We had been planning on buying a van this summer anyway, and just a few days ago we’d talked about getting one sooner rather than later, since this car seems to be falling apart rather quickly now. So this is not just a wonderful gift but wonderful timing. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mom and Dad.

We got home safely, and when Brinestone’s family got in to town, we went out to a Chinese place for dinner. (It’s called Lucky 5, on Main Street in Spanish Fork, and I highly recommend it.) My fortune cookie read, “Your troubles will cease and fortune will smile upon you.”

It was a pretty happy end to a very crappy day.