Hello Fellow bloggers! Blogging together on this jogging track into oblivion. Thanks for your time, patience, donations, insults, and recommendations. I have finally switched hosting companies. As you may have seen the sym-phony website is a thing of the past. Cast off like a banana peel to the Buzix island of misfit hosting companies. The new website will officially be www.thevso.com. Anyone who wishes to visit sym-phony.com may as well bang your head ceaselessly against a wall of despair as that website is history...gone, and obliterated for all not to see. Please update your bookmarks/favorites accordingly, or just never come here again as you aren't welcome anyway.

This transition means that I have a whopping 10 gigs to play with which
boils down to having an ocean instead of a tidepool in which to wade.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Saturday - 4/08/06 
7:18 pm
Los Angeles, CA
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Today I set about the task of installing the mystery hardware from Home Depot onto my performance stage to secure the rope lights which illuminate my divine self. I was able to come up with a solution that only cost a few bucks. The lights were initially secured with small velcro straps which were stapled to the plywood base. These small straps I had cut tore after awhile and I was forced to replace them. The solution I came up with was 1/2" copper pipe hangers, pictured below.

These worked out great. I bought some 1-1/2 wood screws
to affix the hangers and they are now tight and secure.

I used my trusty Dremel tool to pre-drill the holes for the screws

The screws fit tightly which now
provide a tight fit for the lights

With the addition of these clamps, and the light support system made of
plumbing pipe, I soon hope to have running water within the VSO system,

which would be nice as I get
thirsty up there on the stage

After repairing/upgrading the stage I went to Sears to buy a new large marine battery for the VSO portable ensemble. With the addition of the lightshow and subwoofer, the Power wasn't nearly adequate although I had bought a second small marine battery recently. My friend/ultra-tech from back east is sending my other power inverter to Koreatown, which I will use to isolate one of the large marine batteries. I'm not sure what configuration I'll use for the batteries/inverters. There are several possibilities for best utilization of power. I have two large deep cycle marine batteries and another smaller one. There are two power inverters I use to convert the DC current to AC, a 700 watt, and a 1000 watt. I'm open to comments and suggestions (ACF) as to the best setup for ample power drain. I believe I have come up with the best configuration. Diagram below to prove I truly need a job.

Battery	Inverter	Description
		One large Marine battery run through the 1000 watt inverter exclusively for the speakers, which use the most power
		One large Marine battery and a smaller one coupled to power the VSO racks and lightshow, run through the 700 watt inverter

In the afternoon Zen informed me he wasn't going to San Diego, and
would be able to help me set up to street perform at the Promenade

I will now start my rant. As everything about this adventure to the
Promenade is quite deserving of at least the ranting yellow text.

the

The afternoon started out bad and got a heck of a lot worse. While at Sears buying the new battery, I also bought a set of cheap bed sheets as I have been sleeping on a regular un-fitted sheet which inevitably twists itself into a turban wound around my head by morning. This was unacceptable and I decided to shell out the $20 for a sheet set as I couldn't find a fitted sheet sold without the entire set. Of course when I got home I realized I bought the wrong size. My bed is a full size and I got the twin size. Zen had informed me of this before I left, but I bought the erroneous sheets for the following reasons:

1) I thought twin and full size were the same thing

2) They only had Twin, Queen, and King in stock

3) I am a total nincompoop

When I got home and tried to fit the sheets on the bed it was like Kong trying to parade around in his hospitalized mate's underwear. The sheet simply would not fit no matter how I rotated and stretched it. This should have been and indication of things to come, I actually knew it was an omen, but I ignored it. Zen didn't end up going to San Diego as he had planned, and I jumped at the opportunity to have him help by parking my truck after unloading my equipment. As we all know I condensed the VSO into a monstrous pile arguably manageable to move by one person.

Before I get ahead of myself let's go back to the drive to Santa Monica, which is 12 miles away, or timewise, the lifespan of your average shrew. The traffic around here is stupendous. The highways are an infuriating derailed tailgate party on a quiet Saturday afternoon let alone during rush hour. I basically lock myself in my closet during rush hour and don't even venture to look out the window during the onset of the vicious gridlock. We set out around 4pm and arrived in Santa Monica three weeks later in dire need of a shave. I miraculously saw the Jesus van in front of Zen while we headed to the highway like a row of slugs seeking a slime trail. This should have been another omen because Jeez this was a bad trip. Zen is pictured in the white neon giving me the peace fingers, or some other fingering, I'm not sure which.

After getting to the highway...

...we blended in with all the other parked cars in the lot.

At one point we actually made it up to 22-1/2
miles an hour which nearly blew my hair back.

Then it was down to 11 mph, our average speed.

Then down to 7 mph

Then back to 11

oop, back to 7

oh great now we're at a dead stop

hey, there's no one in the breakdown lane!

oh wait there is

Back up to 14 mph!

wait, make that 7

Back to a whopping 11!

oop, we're stopped again

This was by far the best part of the trip to Santa Monica.

After arriving at the Promenade at the North side of Santa Monica Ave. I proceeded to unload the equipment while Zen stood around and watched. He didn't even lift a finger to help as I unloaded every piece of stinking gear from my truck. Actually that's not true, well it is, but I instructed him harshly not to help. As part of the entire VSO experiment, moving and loading the VSO gear alone is crucial if I aspire to being a true one-man-band. He attempted to help, but I told him not to, as in the movie Young Frankenstein, I wanted to do it myself.

(man I wish I had a picture of Peter Boyle struggling up that wall)

I've decided to include an actual picture of Zen's bedroom
just to get back at him for lounging around while I unloaded.

This may or may not be a picture of his bedroom, but I assure you it is.

He insists that it's so messy because he was looking for something. Whatever he
was looking for must have been pretty important to be fishing through that rubble. I didn't ask if he'd found what he was looking for in the pile of debris, though I'm assuming he didn't. Oh wait there it is, underneath the fossilized Stegosaurus.

After unloading my truck, the resulting
pile of gear was quite extraordinary.

It was a lot more ominous than I had anticipated in it's natural habitat. As Zen pulled away to park the truck and headed off to do some errands, I went about the task moving the VSO gear very carefully down the street into the Promenade to perform. This was a complete nightmare. Picture it, me pulling along this teetering rickshaw past hundreds of self indulged bustling tourists clambering through the outdoor mall. There was an outside diner set up right at the corner where I unloaded, and the involuntary spectators were witness to it all. I inched past them leaving a slug trail at the painful pace of around 6 feet per hour. The people watching must have though I was on glue, and I wish I had been. The gear was ready to topple over at any moment. In the picture you can't see the footpedals as my camera frame wasn't tall enough. I had the three racks precariously placed to begin with, and the footpedals topped it all off like a swaying cherry on a swiftly melting ice cream sundae, or in this case, Saturday. I inched along like a quadriplegic sloth, making my way into the Promenade seeking my much needed fame and fortune. A little ways in, one of the less-selfish people strolling by asked if I needed a hand. Alright let's picture this again-

1) I'm pushing the 6 foot monolithic microphone stand case in front of me that my buddy gave me which was strapped to the roof of my truck

2) I'm dragging the hand truck with the huge racks and footpedal behind me.

3) The speakers are on another dolly strapped to the hand truck being towed behind the whole thing as a demented caboose.

Now I may be an expert at moving bulky items from my vast experience moving everything from 200lb stainless steel primate cages to heavy body armor, but this feat was a task like none other. The mic stand case which I was pushing in front of me was far too long, and I kept having to do three point turns to get myself out of the twisted mess I ended up in every 16 inches. The guy who stopped to help took over the mic stand from me and vanished into the crowd. "Great" I thought, "he ran off with my lightshow." It turns out he didn't, but was moving much like a hummingbird, wielding the mic stand case easily through the crowd as I jealously watched from far behind. I felt like an utter dweeb. After making it 100 yards into the promenade I stopped to catch my breath and all the crooks who were stealing all my gear. Actually they weren't. The people who did stop to help were incredibly patient, unlike the rabid clown lady we've been hearing so much about, and who I will get to now. This lady suddenly appears out of nowhere dressed as a clown screeching at me abruptly out of the crowd, sporting a devilish red outfit with matching hair.

She says "You have way too much equipment", "the rules say
you have to be able to move everything in a timely manner"

Now let's reflect back to the point a moment ago where I said to myself that it was indeed too much gear and I was pushing the limits of the law. I immediately admitted that I was carrying too much. She continued yelling anyway, apparently upset at the thought of some real talent showing up to perform at the Promenade, taking all of her non-earned cash out from under her.

This bitch on wheels had a rinky-dink ratty stand set up and was selling dirty
drool-covered balloons to no-one as they continued to refrain from asking for them.

She insisted that the street performing at the Promenade was for "vagrants down on their luck". She used those exact words although I think she's aspiring to be a vagrant as she's a few notches lower on society's totem pole. Let me explain why I'm so irritated with this soon to be clown stain.

She was yelling and screaming at me and eventually a promenade coordinator came over to see what the raucous was about. He swiftly informed me that it was indeed too much equipment for one person to handle, and I wouldn't be able to perform. Now this was fine with me. It really was. I agree that I was pushing the envelope trying to cart all that stuff in there in a safe manner. If it had fallen on someone it surely would have caused injury. When I performed last weekend with Zen I had half the gear and twice the help. I agreed to leave, and turned around but she kept yelling at me though I was nice to her through all her insults thus far.

At this point the speaker caboose toppled over and the three Mackie's spilled to the ground. She laughed. I set the Mackie's back up trying to get away from her more than anything else and the speakers fell over again. This happened about 5 times in the span of 10 feet. I kid you not. I was tired, embarrassed, and agitated. She kept right on yelling at me even though I was leaving. Then I started to give it back to her. She said "You must be insane". I finally hollered back at her "Look who's talking!!" as she stood there dressed as a one-woman demented clown posse. 

This delighted the small crowd of onlookers which had gathered to watch our rapidly developing argument, and I nearly put out my tip jar as I continued to insult her. I assure you my swift comebacks were far wittier than her feeble attempts to insult me for the duration of the argument. If I had pulled out the big guns, with all my new found ranting experience from the blog, she no doubt would be just a demented clown-girl crumpled to the ground in the fetal position in fear of her life from the verbal onslaught of mockery.

She deserved it, she really did...you have no idea. After re-reading the guidelines for street performing at the Promenade I now know she was wrong for sure about the Promenade being for vagrants. The guide states-

"The City Council finds that the existence in the city of street performers provides a public amenity that enhances the character of the city and seeks to encourage such performances in a manner consistent with the overall public interest"

Now I'm not 100% sure, but I think the VSO is a little more interesting than a decrepit clown in need of a shower selling stolen balloons any day of the week, especially Saturday. I do know this clown lady is on the way to becoming public amenity #1. I kept moving slowly toward the exit point...

but she continued to come prancing after me
several times to tell me just how wrong I was

I plan to go back there just to spite her.

or spit on her, I haven't decided.

The funny thing is that I figured out on my own that I was indeed in violation of the rules, and would have probably left the Promenade with my tail between my legs, never to return, but she has inspired me with all her yelling to go back and perform another day. F-her. Who the hell does she think she is? A vagrant and hopeless lunatic, that's for sure. I was worried at first that she may one day read this and get upset, but now I want to hook her up with internet access just so she can see it. You got DSL on that shopping cart you're living out of? I may even print this out and give it to her. Friggin' rancid clown.

Get a job! McDonald's is hiring! oh wait, they require some background in washing your hands when you leave the lavatory before returning to work, so I guess that's out. Ohhh I'm going to tear you a new clown-hole when I go back there to the Promenade, I tell you what. I may even dress up as a clown myself just for the occasion.

I feel I have just as much right to perform there as anyone else. Just because I was able to actually get a job in my lifetime, having left it voluntarily to pursue my dream, is not grounds to incessantly insult someone just because they may defer a buck or two out of your filthy bedpan tip-jar along the way. I don't want to be in the street the rest of my life like you, you insensitive circus-reject freak. I merely want to make connections so I can eventually hire a brute squad of not so rank clowns to come after you. Demented clown. Just because you're "down on your luck" doesn't mean you should squander and pan for table scraps day after day and not go out and try to make something of yourself. You have all your limbs, what's the problem? Stupid clown. I've seen handicapped oxen that are of more use than you. Pathetic clown. Where are you sleeping tonight? There's a lovely gutter over there. Let me buy you a ticket to Siberia so you can get a taste of the cold bitter onslaught which you've bestowed on me. No wonder you're a bum with those social skills. Hopeless clown. you are sure to wind up an utter failure. Oh wait, you already are. GOOD. Moronic clown. I relish the idea that while I'm home in my warm bed, achieved by my own hard work and perseverance, you're out in the streets in the cold rain.

As you can see the incident was highly un-nerving and I don't mind lashing out at her. Normally I avoid conflict at all costs and usually can come to terms and find resolution on the rare occasion when I do get into an argument. Not this time. I tried to reason with her, but she wasn't budging. For once I didn't feel bad about insulting and belittling another human wanna-being. She earned and deserved my ranking in the biggest of ways, and I will not retract a thing I've said. You're just lucky I don't continue to rant on her.

Which I will. You are the most vile stinking clown I have ever had the displeasure of seeing. You have no life, nor will you ever. You are a waste of space and much needed oxygen. I'd rather get to know the bacteria living under your toenails than your rotten, filthy self. The genetic tree seems to have given you a miss, leaving you plummeting to earth clinging to your own mutant branch. You deserve a blanket party of the most horrific kind, or in your case, a newspaper party. You can't even afford the means for a decent suicide. The Grand Canyon is thatta way> here, I'll give you a lift. I hope you fall asleep under a moving tour bus you relentless, feebleminded destitute. If you had any intelligence you'd be a menace to all evil clowns.

I really have to stop now.

In conclusion she was right in saying I was toting too much equipment, but why did she need to persevere just to tick me off? I'M LEAVING ALREADY...but I tell you what...see you next week clown girl. No Doubt I'm bringing my bullhorn and extra-large tip jar next time...

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