Day 23: Dobject's Microphone

I

Poem 478

I hade no time to Hate—

Because

The Grave would hinder Me—

And Life was not so

Ample I

Could finish—Enmity—

Nor had I time to Love—

But since

Some Industry must be—

The Little toil of Love—

I thought

Be large enough for Me—

II

Home Four Hundred and Seventy Eight

I have signed the Hague—

Because

The Grave would hinder Me—

And Life was not so

Ample I

Could finish—In Any—

Northwest I Love—

The sense

Of Industry must be—

The Little toilet Love—

I thought

Be large enough for Me—

III

All Four Hundred and Seventy Eight

I assigned a Half—

Because

The Grade would hinder Me—

That life was also

At home

Could finish— In A—

Northwest I Love—

The sense

Of Industry must be—

Little Swimmer Love—

I thought

Be large enough for Me—

 ......

[EDIT: Some hours after]-- This poem was made using a random number generator, the complete works of Emily Dickinson, an voice-to-text translation website, and most importantly, a microphone.

1. Select a random number between 1-1776 using random.com (1776 being the total number of poems by Emily Dickinson); result: 478.
2. Record myself reading Poem 478 (first poem in sequence above) and upload to an online voice-to-text transcription software (a type of service known for its inaccuracy is great for this project. It is also a very difficult service to come by at all, as I feel that most people, save large corporations like Apple, have given up on writing a piece of code that could sufficiently handle a high-accuracy transcription software, but either way, I found a great one here).
3. Take resulting machine-made transcription and put it into the formatting of the original Poem 478.
4. Repeat steps 2 and 3 indefinitely.
5. Have fun!

Day 21: Lobject’s Microphone

Testing 1-2-3.

You could’ve been anywhere

in the world, but you’re hear with me.  We’ll be right

back after a short break. I am happy to join

you today in what will go down

in history as the greatest demonstration

for freedom in the history of our nation.

I think the game is evolving and all of us

are putting our piece of the puzzle and changing it…

you have to have a quarterback

that has ability to hurt the defense. Too young too dumb

to realize that I should have bought you flowers. I did

not have sexual relations with that woman. We

made ourselves anew, and vowed to move

forward together. Thanks for coming out tonight.

Is this thing on?

Day 13: Microphone

Every summer since I was 5, my family went to Emerald Isle – a mere 90 minutes away from my hometown – any time that we could get away.  My dad liked to sit on the deck, enjoy the sea breeze, listen to beach music, and grill or read a book.  Mom, my sister Emily, and I would spend our days on the beach because that was really all there was to do.  Until I was 8, there wasn’t even a grocery store on the island.  And my parents decided from the start not to get cable TV because “We don’t come down to the beach to watch TV.”  So we had to find our own entertainment.

When we got older, the summer rules were the same, but we were over 21.  We had more entertainment options, and they usually involved wine and karaoke.  Em loved karaoke, but not in a way that was pretentious or obnoxious.  She didn’t think she was Maria or Dolly; she just liked the fun of a good song, and Mary J. Blige was her favorite.

One long weekend, Em brought her karaoke machine – microphone and all – to the beach.  We started with wine and songs early, and by 11:00 that evening, my parents and the neighbors were ready for us to be done.  My mom walked out onto the dark, wooden deck and tried to be patient.  Emily launched into one of her best and favorite songs:  “Family Affair” by Mary J.  Let’s get it crunk, we gonna have fun, up on in this danvery…  Let’s get it percolatin’, while you’re waiting, so just dance for me, she belted into the mic with a sly grin on her face and a glass of her Merlot in her hand.

Judy was done.

“You need to stop now.  It’s late… The neighbors…,” she said firmly, trying not to yell.  As Emily ignored her, mom moved to take away the mic.  Em dodged her lunging grasp with a laugh.  My mom’s next attempt to take the mic away was closer and more serious, so Emily slurred into the mic, “Mommm… I’m sherious… shtop it, Mom!  I’m sherious,” and then she returned to Mary J.  Come on everybody get on up, case you know we got to get it crunk.  Mary J. is in the spot tonight, as I’mma make it feel alright.

All I could do was laugh.  Hard. 

The mixture of Family Affair and mother-daughter wrestling was too much.  I couldn’t help either of them.  All I could do was enjoy the entertainment.

Eventually, the karaoke machine was unplugged and our songbird dreams were squashed, but this will always be my favorite karaoke memory and family affair.

Day 6: Pobject's Microphone

My first stint as a stand-up comic came near the end of my senior year of high school. Mine was the only act in the talent show that wasn't musical. That made me feel like the guy they brought in between the befeathered burlesque babes, the one who gets heckled off the stage when the audience gets boisterous for more breasts.

I worked up about seven or eight minutes of material, keeping a couple of minutes in reserve in case I worked the crowd into such a frenzied state of belly-busting laughter that they called out for more. "They" had to look over my act ahead of time to make sure there wasn't anything too off-color or out-of-bounds. My friend Kevin's pedophilia-themed parody of Tom Petty's "Free Falling" (hey, I was 18, gimme a break) didn't make the cut, but my joke about my Irish-German heritage did.

I spent most of the show behind the stage. I'd never been a theater kid, so the environment was an alien one to me: dressers and drawers of costumes full-to-bursting lined the walls, some of which were real and some of which were set backdrops painted in over-the-top theatrical gaud. Props were piled everywhere. Only the merest of a walkway meandered from the stage door that opened onto the main hall to the backstage area. It was hard to see in the gloom, but you could hear everything that went on on stage.

The guy on before me was a kid a couple years younger than me, a talented guitarist doing an acoustic act that ended with a cover of Queensrÿche's "Silent Lucidity." He was good, his picking flawless, his soft croon turning to a heartfelt wail at just the right note. The crowd cheered. The emcee got on to announce my act. At that instance I couldn't remember a single joke.

Somehow I stumbled to the center of the stage and stared out into...I assume there was a crowd there. I wasn't used to stage lighting and didn't realize I'd have such a hard time making out faces. It helped not to be able to see anyone distinctly.

"Hey folks," I said. Something was wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

"Hey," a few people said back.

"Just wanna let you all know," I started into my act confidently, "that if you feel like heckling, let me have it. I've got the perfect comeback."

"Your mike's off!" someone shouted. The words barely registered.

"Yeah? So's your mom!" I shouted back. There was nervous laughter. The crowd realized what for another few minutes I would not: my mike was indeed off and would remain off for the duration of my act. Someone had accidentally kicked a wire free backstage, and it didn't get sorted out until I had finished my routine.

Unfazed, I went on, birthing what would later turn into my booming "teacher" voice.

"So I'm half Irish and half German," I said, "which means I'm never sure whether to get drunk and start a barroom brawl or get drunk and invade a small defenseless European nation." There was more laughter. They could hear me. I was winning.

I dove into my heritage a bit more, and then I turned to the topics familiar to most of my audience: school, the mall, the drudgery of teenage life. I got steady laughs. I don't think it was ever a tumult, but it was always more than a teehee. It was the first time I'd ever been recognized at the school for something other than academic achievements. It felt good. It felt damned good.

I don't remember most of my jokes now, but I do recall ending on a bit about crank-calling the public phone at the Minimart on Last Chance Gulch.

"Thank you so much!" I said, putting the useless mike back in its stand and stumbling off the stage to my right. "Thank you so much!"