Latest Tweets:
That little boy would not be yoked. He squirmed and evaded the hand at collar of his jacket. He threw his arms up and shrugged off wet thumbs aiming for crumbs and cream cheese. He deliberately stopped and poked at a caterpillar on the sidewalk until it yielded itself all over his index finger. Block after block he intentionally waded in the blind spot directly behind his mother and yelled. He addressed cars and cyclists and picked the lower leaves off of the newly installed Ginko lining his path. He discovered a new range in his vocal ability, phasing and flanging syllables he had just discovered
Caterpilar-ar-ar-or-er-nr-r
Sho-o-o-p-p-p-p
An-n-n-a-a-a
AKG K81DJ Review
So I have had these for a while now … I know enough about them to give a nice review.
Rating: 8.5/10
Pros:
Cost effective
Great isolation
Excellent hz response
Quality construction
Cons:
Bulky
Not easy to stash away (over the ear design problem with all in my opinion)
Thoughts:
So these are fantastic headphones. I picked up a pair for $65 … you can expect to pay around $80 for them off sale. These headphones pack a punch in and out of the studio. I have had many moments listening to old favorites and thinking “Wow, never heard that before.” The driver on these things pumps everything from 16-24khz, so expect to hear some things you’ve never heard. I will say that this becomes a problem in the studio. I have mastered tracks to these headphones that sound flat and sparse when played on monitors … the hz response can trick you into a lot of bad EQ and composition choices. Not that you should be putting a final mastering on a song while under headphones anyway. Casual listeners and pros alike can get behind these. They perform in the club, on the sidewalk, and in the studio. Fantastic construction means no bleeding on the subway. Grab a pair already!
From out the side of her hood Niko could see into the restaurant. There was a young man sitting at the bar with his back facing her. She examined him. He had broad shoulders, thick arms, no doubt a worker at the local quarry. There was something about his appearance that didn’t quite fit. She stood outside and watched him eat for a moment.
It was his shirt. No worker she had ever seen was ever dressed as well as he was; his light blue oxford rippled in between his scapula as he raised his soup to his lips.
Niko couldn’t tear herself away from the window. She was enchanted by that young man. How had he managed to tear himself away from his work long enough to have a quiet dinner. Somehow between second and third shift he had also managed to change out of the scrubbed denim and white cotton shirts of the quarry and into tailored pants and a light dress shirt.
From across the valley the siren of the quarry warned those still off campus that they needed to return. His ears perked, Niko could see them flex back toward the door. Without spilling he finished his soup, paid his bill, and grabbed a dusty bag from under the seat next to him.
As he swung himself around he locked eyes with Niko.
The whole of the weather seemed to be emanating from one point in the harbor. Despite wake, despite creature, there was one point in between two moored boats where movement was generated. Pulse by pulse the sea would rise against itself, gently fold outward, and produce a glassy, expanding fontanelle. Another point appeared. It was if some great beast was hovering, breathing, just above the surface of the water.
Thomas picked up a stone from the gravel path and did hid best to shatter the placid figure eight. Nothing would disturb it. Thomas, perturbed, exhausted the immediate area of twigs, rocks, roots, pieces of garbage. Not a single object could break the calm between those two boats. Each article slipped seamlessly into the blue grey water without even a sound.
Grasping at dirt he moved closer and closer to the two pulsating pools. From the dock he could almost slip his toe into the water without skewing his balance and falling over. Toe after toe, ankle and knee, he let himself down into the waters of the harbor.
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
AHA! Gotcha Herman Cain! I got you in my web of music software
The music from the next room stopped, she could hear him prop himself in the doorway. She always got flushed waiting for Alex to approach, waiting for him to slip around her and interrupt whatever she was doing.
What is he waiting for?
“You never put soap in cast iron,”
“I know, but there was something stuck to it, I had to …”
“Well don’t, just scrub harder,”
She looked back down at the pan, braced it against the side of the second well in the sink and took out an atrophied clump of steel wool and started to scrub.
“No, not like that either,”
She still hadn’t faced him, there was no sensation greater than the anticipation. He was there right behind her, making her skin curdle. It was almost oppressive. She hated him when he did this; Alex knew, he always had, the effect his touch had on her. He could be calculating, withholding.
As he grabbed around her for the pan she felt a familiar flood. The roughest corrective gesture to the zaftig, confident (albiet slightly annoying) directive touch.
He finished washing the pan and, knowing she wanted more, left her without another word. Back to his work, back into the living room.
No one was there.
No one was there to see him as he stood liminiod and stared.
To hear his cough lurch him into tears.
To hear his hesitation chirp dow the hall.
No one was there in the elevator to see his hackles rise.
To watch his hand clench
To hear the last rotations and clicks
‘Dial Ex. 5013’
“Hello? Last name, please.”
