Since I last posted, I learned how to download pictures from my new (to me) DXG camera. That was how I was able to share the pictures and YouTube footage I shot at the "Kill the Bill!" rally at the Statehouse on Tuesday. Until yesterday, I hadn't paid attention to the fact that this camera features the ability to record audio files. Between the lens and the shutter, there is a small microphone, and close to it is a speaker about the size of the nail on my pinkie.
Currently, I'm a little more than halfway through a taped letter (as in magnetic recording tape) to a friend in St. Louis, a tape I've been promising to mail him since before Christmas. As I've been spending my breaks and lunches with my Memorex portable cassette recorder in my hand, I've also been wondering about the possibilities that the audio feature of my camera open up to me.
One thought has crossed my mind, the possibility of occasionally posting spoken-word entries to this blog. I have made very short-lived attempts at keeping taped diaries in the past, never lasting more than a few days. I was most prolific when I was carrying a microcassette recorder with me most of the time, a machine that has since conked out on me, but which I will replace this spring.
But for the moment, I am stymied as to how to proceed. I made small sound files last night, of about 30 seconds' duration max, consisting of little more than "Testing one, two, three." I was able to load them to the laptop, but how to get them from the hard drive to the blog is still a mystery to me.
And maybe it's supreme arrogance on my part to think my life is so worth chronicling that I should endeavor to record it in yet another way. I already have a voluminous diary, and I think that paper will ultimately keep longer than computer files. I have this blog, which I've kept for four years (including its time on LiveJournal). So do I need to turn on the microphone and open a vein?
I pondered this for awhile at work yesterday and today. The surface of my work table here at home is too cluttered (beyond just the usual genius-at-work scattering of papers), but I did manage to clear away some of the detritus that has clogged my L-shaped desk at work.
The closest the Industrial Commission came to this was when an elderly woman in my department retired. She had been there since about 1942, and she was hired quickly because most men were in the service by then. She retired a year or two after I came, and when people cleaned out her desk, they found several uncashed paychecks. (Compare that to me: If my paycheck is $50 short, I notice it immediately and I'm on the phone to payroll at warp speed.) I am not sure of this woman's precise age. There are unconfirmed rumors that she waited tables at the Last Supper, while others claim she is Millard Fillmore's illegitimate daughter.