Saturday, May 18, 2013

The Rock Solid Foundation of Your Recording Studio Business


Every good contractor knows that in order to build a quality home it all starts with a solid foundation. The land the home is built upon must be stable, the trenches for the footing must be deep enough, the concrete must be mixed properly and it must be poured in a timely fashion. If the foundation isn't built correctly, it leads to all sorts of problems ranging from cracks and leaks to crumbling and shifting that jeopardizes the integrity of the entire building.
The same holds true for your recording studio business. If the foundation isn't rock solid, the entire business risks crumbling to the ground. Twenty years ago, the lack of competition and a high barrier to entry into the recording studio business was enough to almost ensure substantial profits for the studio owner, even if the foundation was less than perfect. But much like the new housing boom in the early 2000's that flooded the market with poorly built homes made for quick profit, the home and project recording studio boom flooded the market with discount pricing and, in general, a subpar product. Many professional studios were quick to drop prices, and the professional itself competing directly with home studios. Although it seems ridiculous that Rolls Royce could be a direct competitor to Hyundai, that is exactly what has happened in the recording industry. Studios built without proper foundations were exposed and forced to compete on price alone.
The simultaneous collapse and fragmentation of the record industry sparked more fear throughout the recording studio industry, as shrinking label budgets dried up profits. In the end, all of these changes have caused hourly and project rates to erode to almost unsustainable levels. When you take into account all the expenses of a working studio-- lease/rent/mortgage payments, electric, insurance, security and equipment repair, just to name just a few-- charging the "going rate" makes it hard to just break even. For the studio owner trying to make a living, it's downright frustrating.
We could sit here and complain all day about local bands using Garage Band to record their songs, or the ad agency turning their broom closet into a recording booth, but it's not going to change. At least not in our favor. Recording gear will only continue to get better and cheaper. The low prices will only tempt more would-be clients into trying to record themselves. I know I fell for it. Back in the 90's, when my band decided it was time to make a record, the first thing I did was to go out and buy an ADAT and a Mackie 32x8. And, like anyone who begins to get serious about recording, I slaved many, many hours over that recording project trying to get it right. When it wasn't right, I began purchasing thousands of dollars of new gear that promised to unlock "that sound." Soon, I basically had my own recording studio, but at a cost. I had spent thousands of dollars and dedicated a substantial portion of my life to making a record that turned out decent. Not great. Just decent. It was something I was proud of because I did it myself, but it wasn't record label quality. Part of it was lack of engineering skills. Part of it was lack of production skills. I tried my best to cram as much learning as I could into this year-long recording project, but the truth was that these skills take many years to develop, and it was impossible condense so much into so little time.
I'm sure this story is very familiar to a lot of engineers and studio owners. It may even be how you got your start into the recording studio business. But no matter how easy and cheap it is to buy and set up some recording hardware or software, the difference between your first project and your most recent is probably mind blowing. There were many years, many teachers, many successes and many failures between those two points in time. But to your potential clients, toying with the idea of "saving some cash" and recording themselves, they don't know any better. They think it's easy. They don't know what they don't know. But it's up to you to show potential clients that you will actually be saving them a lot of money by paying you what you're worth.
To reach your potential clients in a way that they will be more than willing to pay you high-end rates for your work, you will need to lay a solid foundation first. This foundation comes in two parts. The first part is the talent, skill and expertise you can offer your clients. This is why you are in business in the first place, isn't it? Because you can deliver a superior sounding recording. This is what sets you apart from everyone else.
The second part of your foundation is being able to effectively communicate what sets your business apart from all the other recording studios in your area. Although the word "marketing" may mean something a little different to each person, this is how I define marketing. Specifically, communicating your offering in a way that that would make your potential client feel silly if they didn't record in your studio.
This is where many major studios crumbled. Once upon a time, relationships with major record labels would bring high paying work into the studio almost automatically. There was no reason to market a recording studio. At the time, the thought of it almost seemed absurd. But as the major labels shriveled, so did the studio business. The studios had no process in place to get new business. Bands and artists without labels didn't have money to pay high studio rates. Combined with the rise of the home studio, it became even harder to reach potential clients. Recording studios without a solid marketing foundation began to drop prices to attract business. This caused profits to nose dive and many studios went out of business.
So, both the skills AND the marketing are important to create a thriving recording studio business. But as the advertising legend Rosser Reeve so simply wrote in his 1961 classic, Reality in Advertising:
"A gifted product is mightier than a gifted pen."
It probably goes without saying, but if the end product is subpar, then you need to spend more time honing your chops before you can earn premium rates. That's just how it is in every profession from landscaping to sales to sports. You can't reasonably expect to get top dollar for your work without top results. You or your hired engineering talent needs to be able to provide a stellar product that's on par with the best in your market. Anyone can buy the same gear or build a good sounding room, but all that stuff needs to be used in a way that makes an awesome sounding recording.
Then, when the talent, skill and desire are there, you can package these qualities into a message that reaches your potential client and wins their business almost every time. To find success well beyond the break even point of your business, you must reach outside the one dimensional word of mouth approach and use proven marketing techniques to attract clients to your studio like bees on Hawaiian Punch.
In a future article I will discuss some of my favorite marketing techniques for a recording studio in an early growth phase. Until then, keep those (analog) meters pegged!
Jim Siwek is the President of Recording Studio Marketing Solutions (RSMS). RSMS is dedicated exclusively to helping Recording Studio businesses increase their profits through innovative sales and marketing strategies. To get valuable tips on recording studio marketing, join Jim's free e-newsletter or schedule a complimentary 30-minute marketing tune up session.


Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/7703242

Friday, May 17, 2013

Man With the Oxen (And Other Poetic Prose Poems) Part One


1) Man with the Oxen
Dark brown was the oxen heading down the brown road in Port du Prince, Haiti, by the orphanage (in July of 1986); and browner the hides on the oxen as it stretched backwards, but the long thick horns, pale white! Driven and toiled, tired and worn were the oxen, blending into the earthly browns! They blended into the earth, bleeding into the dark brown-black Ox-man's flesh with pale rose cooled lips, drenched in sweat from the flames of the sun-his shoulders overcooked: charred! He walked alongside, beside them, behind them, in-between them, wherever he needed to be in the beaded sand, with his long brown crooked and reckoning tree branch he used as a whip ((oh how he looked, fantastic spirit! His brow burnt, slanted back, jaw hardened; with towers of corn rods in the fiery far distance, in a veiled phantasm) (and though I stood watching in solitary silence, he never once noticed my nobly etching and my livid yellow gleam on my face watching this scene of humanity, draped in the mid-afternoon heat, as it was all a bit warmer between eleven o'clock, and three): dark brown were his eyes, eyes with the light blown out; dark brown, with black splashes was his hair The wild tall rod looking corn in the adjacent farmland, was green, with some dowdy browns but neither black nor olive His oxcart-brown woodened framed, was filled with browns and greens towering over his head a pale brown straw-hat, as he walked in-between Old rubber tires, worn axle, dark blacks, blending into all the browns Bowls of brown air- twisted dust and earth, they came (the whole earth turning brown for them) The shinning gaze of the ox-man's shirt was neither brown nor green, but bluish-green as the sea Over the stone brown road they came, and even the sea behind them-had, had he looked backwards-turned into a tint of brown (dust and dirt, soot and soil all blending into the atmosphere); it seemed at the time- his life, -would always unlatch for me, patches of browns and blacks and pale greens...
what breaches between him and the ox? Save he is made in God's image He is no Plato nor Socrates, nor could he be- He is no rose from the rosebush neither: nor could he be He is if anything, time's tragedy, betrayed by the world, by his own time, his own kind...
and I thought at the time: how close they are to life, how hard the life is, for the oxen and for the man-day after day after day: sun striking down upon their heads, their shoulders and hands, touching the body, the root of the soul, for the man the badly situated, and a near likeness to the broad back of the oxen And how the afternoon birds hid from the crude sunlight-but not him, them, not the man nor the oxen, and thus, sadness that is genuine falls over my face, because so lonely they seem, lonely in the soul, in my time- This thing in itself, created expressly for me by my soul, I could never follow those footsteps, all who have never known could not, all who have forgotten could not, only those who have loved all things for themselves In such cases the soul follows blindly, forever, evermore, in search, dreaming, as the body is left dreaming, of the other world, that also is not his, and surely not the oxen's-
and so I thought at the time: 'Where have they hidden all of nature's bright colours in this land, other than browns and blacks, and watery greens, and greens from the sea? And even at sunset, nearly a gleam, more liken to a rusted-red-iron, with tints of yellowish brown, drab orange: nearly as the day was long, brown and black, with patches of green, no more (or perhaps, perchance, possible, I just did not see those gleaming bright colours, nature's gift to humanity-I was looking too close at the man and his oxen)
this land then, was to me, an island, ideally alone, with a fountain of browns, timeless ecstasy, unending smiles among the people, tropical ashen like gardens, with vast indelible streams and mounds of moist manure, brown huge dug-heaps, flies sweeping around sugarcane, slices of food eaten here and there by brown and black strange faces, seemingly barely awake, in the crude evening moonlight, street lamps almost out, a strange collection of people! All day, leading into the colourless night, as black magic, hushed-up, inside those sounding voodoo drums, echoing alongside those Christian bells, always there is room for imprudent life
and I felt at the time, and time again, and I still feel at this time, let everyone leave me alone to write this poem, a poem I could never have written but now, before to-morrow's sunrise, for my mind will never overflow, nor rain like this again-as it has now done for this land and for the Man with the Haitian oxen; hence, it has been an empty roof above, but not today, not today, today a dazzling light of bitter life I, oh yes I must remember the peace and the delicate tranquilities, the browns that fell like snow upon the ground that engulfed this island and me: this, if at all possible this world hidden from humanity, all alone.
#3886 (4-27-2013)
2) The Dog's Longing
((Poetic Prose) (a poem out of Lima))
I don't know why the huge gray mutt sleeps in the street by our house, as if guarding us, and our two neighbors, waiting for an invader, intruder or another mutt to trespass (only God knows for sure). But there he is nonetheless with his heavy tail wagging to and fro, his big head hanging low, what's his brain thinking, his brain not thinking? That in some odd way he is protecting the image of God? Or perchance, he just likes the chicken and turkey bones my wife provides for him. The eyes of the mutt glows when my wife feeds him; to him she's like a handsome priest, I suppose.
I wrote this poem with the Holy Spirit happy in me-I guess that means I'm having a heavenly morning.
#3844 (4-14-2013)
Note: Poetic Prose and the poem: first, in essence the poetic prose poem is a short story, I believe. Second, an image centered on an object: expressed in layers, in this case, a dog. Third, the mind does not leave the subject, as you can see by reading "The Dog's Longing" and forth, the tone is set in the first sentence: "... the huge gray mutt... ". One must remember, it is not the stanza, but the sentence we look at. The author also uses metonymy in this poem, mutt, for dog, for instance.
3) The Old Poet
((Robert Bly-a Minnesota Poem) (Poetic Prose))
Death throws a shadow on the old Poet, Robert Bly-who lived his dream of poetry, unevenly, per near a century. He's a rock turning sand, like all old men: now with hollow legs, and arms like bacon.
When he is gone, the trees and the leaves and the grass and the wind that rustles through his old farmlands, will recite his poetry: and all of him that will be left will be those old warn out paths, he once walked. That will be his legacy-like a chimney with no smoke.
#3852 (4-18-2013)
Note a: here we have figurative language: meaning, words used for something you don't really mean "... hollow legs, and arms like bacon" and of course other forms of language are used here as in trees and leaves and grass reciting his poetry, which we know can not. Here the poetic prose is centered on a poet, as the mind spontaneously expresses for effect, layers of his meaning-in essence, an elegy before its time; let's call it a tribute.. People get obsessed with structure and in doing so, lose the soul of the poem, or the effect which is the main event. Here the poem says what the poet wants it to say. We see 21-words with o's, and the poem is only 87-words long. Not it, its or it is, which makes often times for a jagged read. The er, ar's, re's, ra's make for a strong read also (ten words; six of the seven sentences)-connecting from one line to the next. Note 2: the poet here uses personification, and reverses it: thus, giving natural objects attributes represented of person, where normally it is the reverse: "the trees... leaves. Grass... will recite... " Also the author, poet uses a figure of speech, that represents death "... a chimney with no smoke," perhaps we can call it the making of a simile. Both poets have met on one occasion, in 2005.
4) Life is a Psalm
We can make our life's goals, this I know, for I've done so.
And in departing, leave behind, something that will endure time.
Make life honest, make life brave, from the cradle to the grave-
From dust: to dust we return, yet the soul, death does not recover.
Thus, let us be doing, doing, with heart-fullness, faith and love-
Let us be pursuing, pursuing-and let the dead bury the dead... !
#3861 (4-21-2013)
Note: Poems for me, or part of a poem, that will come back to me as a reader, come back in a flash, here or there, when needed is what I call true poetry: it is in the "effect".
5) The Lieutenant
The lieutenant told me long ago-told me so, that I couldn't do it!
How he looked, so grand and noble, so long ago-lean and oval!
Oh, how funny, I think now-: I'm sure he'd be quite alarming...
should he know, I became a General!
#3862 (4-21-2013)
Note: in this poem "The Lieutenant" more philosophical than not, the author is expressing an experience that took place in the past, he tries to say what he needs to say with impeccable poetic dignity, that sometimes the one you most least expect to achieve-or out of inflexible arrogance-as with the Lieutenant-one surpasses all expectations, achieves the highest rank or grade possible, passes even the Lieutenant. It is a positive quality, and written to inspire.
6) Knee-Deep in August
((Huancayo, Peru) (Poetic Prose))
I'll tell you what I'd like to do-best! In the month of August, - Some afternoon, in Huancayo, Peru I'd like to just mosey about the Plaza de Arms, like I used to do. Sit on a bench and rest. Feel the breeze coming through the mountains, and do anything else! I like to watch the pigeons on the old Cathedral roof dive for corn the kids throw about; observe the ice cream venders moseying about, it all catches my interest. I like scrutinizing the sparrows as they climb up some tree... maybe find a nest tucked away in some branches. Read a good book of poetry, fall to sleep knee-deep in the breeze of August.
#3864 (4-21-2013)
Note: Poetic Prose, or metered poetry, or rhyme, it all doesn't matter, however the writer wants his work written out, there is no reason why he cannot do so. In some cases I use Poetic Prose Rhyme. Poetry is no more limited than literature is in general. Poetry of course is more selective, short, and it may produce more images than prose. It is all a matter of getting out truth one way or another. Here the poet tries to avoid sentimentally and produce everyday objects, recreate the world of experience: which can be done in poetic prose, or even an essay; trying to avoid the drabness and the inadequacy of metered poetry: hence, we see: mountains, pigeons, a tree branches, etc.
7) Out to Old Aunt Betty's
((A Minnesota Poem) (Poetic Prose))
Wasn't it something, brother of mine, in those far-off days of lost
time-
Our youth, when the weekends came, out to old Aunt Betty's we
went visiting-playing cards, or Monopoly?
It all comes back to me today, -as I am old, and you are gray.
Yet we patter from day to day, awry...
Why, I can see us now, in the kitchen, cardboard table, a deck of
cards
And her face, and your face and my face too, and there is mother
drinking coffee, Betty also...
#3866 (4-21-2013)
Note: here the poet tries to convey in the simplest language the richness of the world around us, in this case one that is part of the past.
8) A Family Problem
I don't know how it all started, really I don't know!
Perhaps we were all impersonators-(by chance)
Possibly they were always irritated, with me.
Plainly, nothing was clear between us, -evidently!
-why did the silent cold war start? (and when?)
"What are you thinking?" no one asked that question.
I said to Rosa: "You'll have to ask my Children, if
Indeed they still can remember." She replied, dry eyed:
"I tried, I really tried... I don't want to be on their side."
#3840 (4-14-2013)
Note: a Minnesota Poem; American Version of the Ghazal form/Confessional style poetry/ Poetic Prose (for: Cody, Shawn and Zaneta)
9) Bees Climbing over Bees
How busy the bee
Just watching them
Inspires solitude, and
Striving... in me!
As if they have no eyes.
Bee eggs lying on the floor
Of the hive
Swift little wings folded
On their backs-
Climbing over one another...
How did God find the time (?)
#3837 (4-14 2013)
Note: a nature poem: while in the central jungle of Peru, called: Satipo the author had quite the experience with a wasp hive (2009), undressing to go under one of the waterfalls, noticing the hive above him to his side, that it was busy with life, and here he was ready to move it out of his way, until he heard the buzzing... the author is inspired by the diversity of the Taoist nature poem.
10) Afternoon Poem
(For Martha and Armando)
After eating and talking all afternoon with family and friends ((kind of celebrating Martha and Armando's wedding, after dating eighteen years) (I had asked if they were rushing it-a little?... the joke didn't go over well)). I have grown long and tired, like the old turtles of the Galapagos-who has lived a hundred years, and who has done nothing, nothing at all! Hence, with sandal-footed-feet, I excuse myself, and make it to my bed, fall deep into wondrous dreams, a thousand years old... !
#3837 (4-14-2013)/ For Mary-Sofa
Note: The author was in the Galapagos in 2005.
11 ) God's Little Pests
(An April Minnesota Poem)
Winter has cleared up in Minnesota, the box-elder bugs are coming they know when the snow stops falling on the rooftops of houses: the house bends and stretches-the chimney necks stop smoking and seemingly reach toward the sun. God's little pests are man's Minnesota almanac.
#3841 (4-14-2013)
Note: as I write out each poem, let's say this poem "God's Little Pests" words run often times together, like images, it is a system forming in my head, it may not be well in order at first, but I seem to ironed them out in time, and remember not all poems have to rhyme.
11) In the Fields of Florence
(An Elegy, WWII Poem)
In the Fields of Florence
Row on row
Marks the places of American
Heroes, from WWII!
Scarcely heard, amid the youth of today
Yet they cry out: "We are the Dead,
Shortly lived...
And here now we lie,
In the Fields of Florence!...
Take up the torch of freedom
Break no faith," they exclaim.
"For we have died that you may live;
In the Fields of Florence!... "
#3865 (4-21-2013)/ Dedicated to PFC Frank T. Siluk, 1st Tk BN; 1st Arm Div; died April 19, 1945, in action; buried in Florence, Italy.
12) The Dead Penguin
(Magdalene Island, Punta Arenas, Chile, 2010)
On Magdalena Island walking up a narrow path I come on a dead penguin, he blends into the earth like a log. I stand and look at him, there's a hesitation in my live flesh: my God, a penguin is crying side to side-he's mourning his mate! What is this I think: grief to God for the dead-a funeral song? Heavy breath comes out of me; my stomach feels as if the sky is going to fall.
His head is arched back, its small eyes half closed, and he's dying little by little, also.
Wind blows cold ice through the air, here at the end of the world. His little flippers look like dwarf arms. There's a 140,000-penguins here, all in tuxedos, moving about. I want to reach out, touch the mourning penguin, but that's forbidden; I simply move on.
#3854 (4-18-2013) Poetic Prose
Note: Figerative language means words used to something that you don't really mean, such as "Tuxedos," which describes the penguin's black and white frames: skin or hides. And "flippers like dwarf arms" for the penguin they are nearly useless and are not arms but flippers; Darwin called them wings, how silly could he be.
13) From Just One Girl
(Washington High School, 1965)
All the breath and the entire world in one bag for just one girl! When I was young in my prime, when I was in High School because of one look, daily look from the hallway to the lunchroom, how far above that look was truth? Brighter than a gem, that she'd remember me after thirty-years. But what was not meant to be, was not meant to be; eyes whiter than pearls... in one look from just one girl.
#3863 (4-21-2013)
For Gail Johnson
14) The Buoyant Ocean
(Off the Shores of Lima, Peru)
By the jagged rocks in the sea, and over the City of Lima, where the
sky is high-
Each year the ocean draws closer, nearer to the shore-
By and by, unobserved the vulture and the condors fly...
As if, out to the horizon!
The waves smash against those jagged rocks, and the restaurant
"Rosa Nautica"
The seagulls, estranged, move about restless-never any indication
of self-pity...
The vultures extend their necks, looking down upon houses and
parks, watching for signs of life to end:
As the sparrows and the doves walk a narrow ledge-
As those cadaverous creatures fly high to low, to and fro, from the
buoyant ocean...
#3867 (4-22-2013)
Note: In this poem, "The Buoyant Ocean," unwillingly and to a little disappointment, I find myself immersing a negative, perhaps it is not possible not to, but the vulture must eat: and I have seen this time after time, it is real: like the sparrow, or the dove or the condor, all must eat. This of course complicates my soul, for I am for the sparrow more than the vulture, and you can see that of course. Why is this? I have no desire to claim the vulture, but I must write him in nonetheless; figuratively speaking, can one except a hollow tree? I hunger for a filled one, one that is appealing to me, with leafage, but I have learned to accept what appears towards the end, as the end, and in this case the poem must have the vulture and sparrow in it.
15) Days with Sun and Rain
(Haiti-1986)
The sun goes down in the dusty July nights, cools the earth
quite nice, in the high and low lands of Haiti.
The sun when it's provoking goes round and round:
compelling, intoxicating with its massive heat and fire.
It moves swiftly through the forest foliage, up the mountain
pathways driven into villages...
The sun is likened to a bronze devil walking the edge of this
part of the world- doubled up with suffocating sulphur-
Then it rains (not often but it rains)!
And when it does, you can see the whole moon drenched:
the earth is like a shadowy pond; in parts, a muddy dried
up riverbed.
No: 3034 ((Written out in poetic form 8-28-2011; revised 4-22-2013) (from 1986-notes when the author was in Haiti on a Missions trip for two weeks)) Photo above, Past. Naason Mulatre, the author's dear friend for 26-years.
16) The Cataratas of Iguazú
(The Great Falls of Brazil)
I tell you God's footprint-called Iguaçu is beautiful, -
It's as if the waters of the falls were blessed...
As if God, Himself ten-thousand years ago made a
Promise-and kept it, -that it would never be less!...
They cast the most jubilant light to the eye-to the
Sky! Each drop of water, every drop of water:
Some wild, some calm, all longing to reach somewhere
Someone: to outdo the other, as they sing and hum,
Beat like drums, slap your face, and drench your body,
Blind your eyes at times... (Don't stand too close!)
So many colors at Iguaçu, so many rainbows too:
They never, never, -Ever, really end!...
#3734 (3-11-2013) /For; Dra. Gladas Margot Miguel Villar
17) Time's Running Out
Friend, it's not time to give up hope of the Rapture.
We may have to live life without it though.
Carl Sagan thinks flying saucers will carry us away.
The old man at the old folks farm, puts the King of Hearts
Down, spits in the spittoon, nicotine stains his fingers
Babies are being born; he knows he's run his course... !
The yellow eyes of wolves in the forest reminds us a lot
About the deficiency of mercy; after each funeral we feel
A little less safe, why? We'll soon meet our maker.
Friend, Christ has done away with original sin-it's called:
'Through Baptism': yet we are still stuck here between
Heaven and Hell, we got to do our work and live like Christians!
#3778 (2-27-2013)
18) Losing Sight (The Little Bird)
This week I felt like weeping when a big bird snatched up a Baby bird, for whatever purpose, out of my garden.
It's natural I suppose, like the cry of an infant. There was no
Call from other birds, of danger-hidden in the Garden.
In life I can praise so many things. The loss of the baby bird
Didn't feel right to me-I could have saved him, or perhaps she.
Why didn't I? I was too busy taking a movie: in my delight, I lost sight, of a predator nearby.
Note: Inspired by the writings of Rumi, with a little influence on stanza structure. The author would like to express, one can easily lose in his or her daily life, sight of their relationship with Christ, just as easily as taking your eyes off the bird. #3993 (3-29-2013)
19) Cloud-muffled Moon
((A Short Poetic Prose War Tale) (a true account while in Vietnam, 1971))
The heavily armed Vietnamese village was somewhat dug in, not far
from our base camp and the South China Sea-
It was a cloud-muffled moon evening that slightly lit the night sky;
I had snuck in-a hundred rifles, a few machineguns waiting,
should I show my Caucasian Irish face-; I'd leave in the Morning: I had just snuck in for the fun of it, to see if I could, and
have a night of it, to perk up my adrenaline. I could have been
Court Marshaled, I suppose, it was against all the rules.
Not a wise decision-yet silently I jumped the high barbwire fence
It all mattered on timing.
The Vietcong ruled the village by night, the South Vietnamese Army
by day... it was always that way.
This evening the Vietcong were everywhere-
However, this was not the real danger, so I felt, it was the guard
towers in the morning I'd have to overcome-
Manned by our friendly Vietnamese, not the enemy, but they could
and most likely would, mistake me as an enemy, an infiltrator
armed to kill-or shoot me just for a thrill-it was not
uncommon; actually they'd simply be lost to think otherwise.
I wanted to party, in the off-limit village, find a girl, and have a
whirl.
And I did, I did just that, drank, and ate some dog-meat soup and
drank until I passed out...
The ground was soft in the morning dew, pressing up against the
high barbwire fence-at the cue of the moon disappearing: the
grey morning lifting; hence, I reached to the edge of the top:
"Don't move," my mind whispered, and I froze in one spot, half bent
over the prickly fence-
I must have blended into the moment, the guard's eye, in the tower
nearby, not irritated with my slow moving sequences, did not
catch my planning-thus, I rolled over the prickly top of the
fence, and once I landed on the soft ground, I left no shadow as
daylight broke...
I must have been in those far-off days, a cat with nine lives, or else
God was saving me for something else... !
#3804 (April 2 & 3, 2013)


Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/7720147

Thursday, May 16, 2013

Newbie Tips On How To Beat Mix: 7 Tips To Improve Your DJ Skills


When starting out as a newbie DJ, learning the skills needed to DJ successfully may be hard to learn on your own, especially if you have no idea on what you are doing. The first lesson you really need to learn to become a professional DJ is how to beat mix.
Beat mixing is one of the hardest tricks to master when learning how to DJ. This is the one lesson you can ill afford to skip on. Your job is to maintain a smooth flow of music and energy for your audience to listen to. Good mixing keeps your audience excited and wanting more. Without beat mixing, your set will sound rushed and uneven.
Fortunately for us, dance music has evolved into something that allows us to mix from one tune to another seamlessly. This is because of the long intros and outros which give you more time to get your mixes perfected.
The basic concept of beat mixing is playing one song out while bringing the next one in at the same speed while the beats are perfectly lined up. Sounds simple doesn't it. Sadly, it's not.
Here are 7 great tips to start you off
1. Get used to your DJ equipment. Spend some time just figuring out what everything does. This will make things easier for you when learning to mix.
2. Time. Don't expect to become proficient over night. Beat mixing takes time to get it right first time, every time.
3. Music style. Personally, I love hardcore. That's about 180-200 BPM (beats per minute). Ideally, you might want to start with something a little slower, like House music. Weather its hard, electro or progressive. Something in the region of 120 BPM is a good place to start.
4. 2 tunes which are the same. Sounds strange, but trust me, this makes it easier to learn to mix.
5. A good ear. When starting out, it can be confusing listening to 2 songs and then trying to find the beat of one to try mach it with the other.
6. Timing. This is something which will develop over time. If you keep at it every day.
7. Enjoy the music. After all, that's what DJ'ing is all about. Don't get stressed if your mixing is a little sloppy at first.
DJing is all about having fun, being creative and just playing fantastic music. There's no right or wrong way to do it. By mastering this one trick, you will be able to keep the music flowing while keeping your audience engaged and begging for more.
Learning to how to DJ is a skill that takes time and lots of practice. If you would like to learn some useful tips on how to mix club music, Then please join us at www.learntobeatmix.com


Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/7686646

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Events That Require Banquet Halls


When it is time to host that special event, there is one question that everyone asks. What is the best location for it? Where is going to offer me more pros than cons? When it comes to choosing a venue, there are so many things that need to be considered, and, nowadays, there are so many locations to choose from. All of it can be rather confusing when looking at the big picture. However, banquet halls offer many benefits for certain gatherings that other venues cannot. Some occasions were just made to be held in these locations.
Weddings are an extremely happy time in a person's life. Many couples go the traditional route and hold the ceremony in a church. However, many choose to have a different location for the reception. When this occurs, a couple needs to find a suitable location that will hold all of the guests in attendance. Besides the size, banquet halls are a great location to host these events for many reasons. One of them is the wait staff. Many of these formal reception halls have their own staff that is available to serve guests. They are courteous, friendly, and very ready to attend to the needs of those at the party.
Proms are another occasion that is perfect for these locations. Due to the large size of the area, the overwhelming number of students in attendance is usually not a problem. The beautiful reception area provides a more positive experience for students. Sometimes, the school gym just isn't able to cut it. While it is more expensive to rent and decorate formal reception areas than it is to decorate the school gym, the added expense will provide students with a memory that will last a lifetime. What a wonderful place for young love to blossom. Besides, expenses can always be saved if a school utilizes chaperones and volunteers instead of the staff that can be provided by the host building.
In the South, cotillion is a wonderful rite of passage for many young women. Their newly learned manners and social graces are usually shown off during a ceremony in front of friends and families. Banquet halls are generally the best places for this event to be held. They are able to accommodate the seating area where proper table etiquette can be displayed, and a dance floor is always present. This is where the presentation of the couples, and, of course, the dancing will happen. These locations are able to help convey the honor and esteem the young women have been striving to achieve.
There are so many types of special events that need to be held. When it comes time to decide the location for these events, there are always several features that need to be addressed. In most circumstances, banquet halls can provide what a person is looking for whenever it comes to these features. They are extremely versatile locations and can be satisfy the needs of almost any event.
If you're looking for a great place to hold your event, check out some banquet halls in NJ. Start your search here: http://www.Bridgewatermanor.com.


Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/7717853



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