tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70560036268094665402024-02-19T09:49:18.873-05:00Hoyotoho!SBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08580862205133713176noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7056003626809466540.post-80368414671220858282011-08-12T20:12:00.001-04:002011-08-12T20:12:35.607-04:00Testing, testing ...<p>Trying out some new software - I just want to see how it works. (Or whether it works, for that matter.)</p><br /><p style="color:#008;text-align:right;"><small><em>Powered by</em> <a href="http://www.qumana.com/">Qumana</a></small></p><br />SBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08580862205133713176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7056003626809466540.post-4723730584506933422010-01-27T14:33:00.004-05:002010-06-04T17:53:25.330-04:00*crawls under table to hide*<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">OK: news flash. I'm ditching the three-point format. It's too time-consuming to think of ways to fill in two slots when what I want to do is focus in on one thing ... maybe? Eh. Try this:</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I. See below.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">II. I meant the other below.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">III. This below.</span></span><br /> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">_____ is an amazing instructor. her enthusiasm just makes you want to go to every class and learn more. The course is really well structured, and the material is very stimulating. Musical History can be a really dull subject but _____'s video clippings are fantastic. She really tries to involve the class, and the homework assignments are creative as are the class activites. The amount i've learnt in this course is tremendous, and this is coming from someone who's had no training in an intrument. I've learnt a lot of technical terms and i can listen to a piece now and tell which era its from. One thing too- _____ assumes you know close to nothing, so its really good for people who do know absolutely nothing. Some of my other friends taking the class with other instructors struggle for they're too techinical. I really look forward to going to class and doing my homework. This class has been an amazing experience, and has only furthered my interest in music.</p><p class="MsoNormal">versus:</p><p class="MsoNormal">Ultimately, I think this class was too easy - not so much in terms the amount of work, but rather in terms of the level at which it was taught. The curriculum seemed to cater to a high school or even middle school class: given that this is an elite university, it seems that we should be asked to think at a sophisticated level and to challenge ourselves with difficult concepts and materials. Teaching Beethoven's Fifth Symphony using a YouTube video that compares the masterpiece to a baseball game doesn't just insult Beethoven - it also insults to us. I think we can handle a mature discussion of history and art. Other times, I feel that our instructor wanted us to find connections that, given the course's lack of focus on critical thinking, we weren't prepared to identify. As a result, class discussions were more like games of Guess What the Teacher Is Thinking. While the course has so far been an easy A, the disservice it does to the music and the students overshadows the relief of having a low-stress class.</p><p class="MsoNormal">************</p><p class="MsoNormal">People who know me well know that taking criticism in stride has been a real challenge throughout my teen and young adult years. There are many reasons for this; said reasons eventually clotted together into a big knot of anxiety surrounding *any* feedback I received, at all, at any time. That's why dealing with constructive criticism is a challenge.</p><p class="MsoNormal">This crit hits home on two levels: first, I wanted to be able to reach all students. The positive review states that this was the case for the beginners, but the critique points out that I set the pace to the absolute beginners and thereby "lost" some of the more advanced ones*. Second, the style of the critique makes me think that it is one of the individuals I knew to be smart, and capable, and (and here's the biggy) whose respect/liking I wanted to obtain. That's a stilted way of saying I wanted her to like me. L-I-I-IKE ME-E-E-E.<br /><br />And that's not why I'm here, really, yes? So I'll try to put the critique into context, and move on from it.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Keyword: "try." I suspect that large amounts of chocolate might be involved.<br /><span class="text_exposed_show"></span></p>SBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08580862205133713176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7056003626809466540.post-24799683303988401052010-01-11T19:37:00.002-05:002010-01-11T19:56:25.455-05:00Getting started again ...<span style="font-weight: bold;">Part I</span>: Meh<br /><br />It's odd - I always feel a bit out of sorts, before a new semester begins. This time around, even more so, because I've been sleeping too much. The cats woke me up this morning by nudging a nice ornamental teacup off the top of a cabinet. They are lucky it didn't break! >:(<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Part II</span>: Bleh<br /><br />So I'm trying to cook more, and one recipe called for cream of mushroom soup, to be poured over chicken with white wine in the slow cooker. Why didn't anyone inform me that the product would look like someone sneezed on it? Ugh. I'm doing my best to think of ways I could liven it up, but the texture is too, *too* horrid.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Part III</span>: Feh!<br /><br />Can't think of anything more to say. :) Perhaps more later!SBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08580862205133713176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7056003626809466540.post-43669195620450992622009-09-05T00:11:00.004-04:002009-09-05T10:22:27.701-04:00"I Don't Recall ..."So, it's been a while, hasn't it? I left off blogging because, well, I thought that it was mostly me nattering away into thin air. That's the case, sure - but why not pick it back up when I have something (hopefully) a mite interesting to say? Why not, indeed. So I'll jumpstart the Labor Day weekend with shout-outs and a review.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I. Mad Props -<br /><br /></span>To Diego the Dreadful, for finishing his MA thesis, and to Enrico, for pulling down a Fulbright! Hi to stalwart Pedro, and to the lovely Rev. Also, hi, Mutti und Vatti, if you're reading this.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">II. My Cats are Adorable<br /><br /></span>That is all. Except for this cartoon, which I find amusing:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/cat_proximity.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 450px; height: 439px;" src="http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/cat_proximity.png" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Finally, the meat of the matter.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">III. "The Gonzales Cantata"</span><br /><br />So many different things went through my mind as I listened to this work, composed by the talented Melissa Dunphy, and performed at the Rotunda (on Walnut & 40th) for the Philly Fringe Arts Festival.<br /><br />First and foremost, I had a fun time hearing bits & pieces of different composers in this work. An obvious influence is Handel - I had pegged the French overture at the beginning as almost a Matthew Passion reference, but with the much faster middle section, I changed the ID to the overture to the "Messiah." There was a moodily arpeggiating violin that almost cried out: "Albinoni's Adagio in g minor!" Really, though, the entire piece read as quite original; my penchant for identifying "references" is simply that: a penchant. I blame last year's spots exams.<br /><br />Secondly, there were some really talented musicians at work! One particular standout performer was Mary Thorne, the soprano, with a crystalline voice, who sang Alberto Gonzales. (More on the gender reversal later.) In a fabulous aria, "I Don't Recall," Gonzales' 72-fold iteration of that same phrase was given full coloratura treatment. It. Was. Awesome. Later in the cantata, Gonzales trills that "this" (i.e., the hearing) is "not about Alberto Gonzales," rather, it is about "performance." Ironically, the very virtuosity of "I Don't Recall" highlights the *lack* of virtuosity in Gonzales' own performance before the irate senators. A more capable, or, at least, more Machiavellian politician could have slithered around quite a bit more in attempting to get off the hook. (An excellent companion to "The Gonzales Cantata," in the 18th-century practice of linking short works - see Strohm, "Dramatic Dualities: Metastasio and the Tradition of the Opera Pair," 1998 - would surely be a musical setting of Clinton's impeachment trial. Perhaps with an aria di bravura on: "It Depends on What the Meaning of "Is" Is.")<br /><br />OK, one last point. Interestingly, Dunphy states that "In protest of male domination of American politics, the genders of the performers have been reversed in relation to the characters they play." (See one of the headline quotations on the cantata's <a href="http://www.gonzalescantata.com/">website</a>.) Now, anybody who knows me knows that I have no beef with pointing out gender disparities wherever they occur. However, I thought it ironic that this reversal should take place in a Baroque work. What it does is highlight one vast difference between 21st-century audiences and late 17th and 18th century ones: namely, that the latter would have *expected* treble and alto registers for the "heroic" roles. This was mostly because of the prominence of castrati in opera seria of the time. (Scholars and opera-goers alike have wrestled with understanding this phenomenon; for as interesting and sensible an explanation as any, see Freitas, "The Eroticism of Emasculation: Confronting the Baroque Body of the Castrato," 2003.)<br /><br />The audience's reaction to the three patriotic songs, arranged by Dunphy and sung before the cantata, was quite telling. The songs themselves were crafted quite ... craftily. :) The first was "America the Beautiful," sung over the first prelude (C major) from the WTC. That *or* the Gounod backing for "Ave Maria" (which is itself that same prelude, with one measure added or taken out, I forget which.) The third was "God Bless the U.S.A./I'm Proud to Be an American," set over the ritornello-form "Sheep May Safely Graze," from Bach's BWV 280 (the secular Hunting Cantata.)<br /><br />Now, one drawback of the artful wedding of the Baroque instrumentation with the patriotic texts and tunes was this: I had to bite down hard on my cheek to keep from snickering out loud. Particularly awesome was the third: various Baroque flourishes on "stand up" and the long fermata on "land." The movement to flat-VII in the verses posed no problem; in fact, some other harmonic variation in the chorus caught my attention even more! (I'm sad to say that I lost what it was as the audience guffawed. It's definitely not in the original song, though.)<br /><br />But the audience guffawing is the most intriguing part. I laughed to myself because it was ingenious - but how many people laughed because the singer was a countertenor? Again, during the Baroque, this range and tone color (albeit one with even more force, perhaps, though the singer, Dan Williams, projected well) would have been *accepted* as heroic - as supernatural, powerful, and erotic. I wasn't quite sure whether or not Dunphy intended it as a joke; the third song made me lean a bit more toward the "intentional" side. In it, the singer starts out in the "normal" male range on the second verse, then zooms up an octave to belt out the final chorus. Hoots of audience laughter and applause accompanied this; I was disconcerted.<br /><br />I'm pretty sure the audience appreciated Williams' voice, as well as the joke. I just thought it was interesting to reflect on how this shows changing musical conceptions of heroism over the centuries. If Farinelli had sung "God Bless the U.S.A."/"Sheep May Safely Graze," he would have inserted a long cadenza (or "division") on the final "land" - one that would have brought down the house, and led to the audience calling "One God, One Farinelli!!" (as an 18th-century lady is said to have shrieked at one of his performances.) One nation, under God, full of sheep? Perhaps - but full of excellent music, too.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></span></span>SBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08580862205133713176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7056003626809466540.post-71868078109793284022008-01-23T12:28:00.001-05:002008-01-23T12:34:40.195-05:00Who could ask for anything more?<span style="font-weight: bold;">I. I've got rhythm ...<br /><br /></span>We<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>ll, technically <span style="font-weight: bold;">I </span>don't have much rhythm - but last night I attended a rehearsal of the department's samba group. I got to play the tambour (a small drum), the bells, and the shakers. Pretty enjoyable! Some of the call-and-response rhythms were especially cool.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">II. I've got music ...<br /></span><br />And lots of it! The new semester is just revving up - I'll try and write more regularly about what's going on; in sum: techno, Weelkes, Berlioz, Landini, the Clark sisters, and much more!<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />III. I've got my cats - who could ask for anything more?<br /><br /></span>I know, I know. I go on about those fleabags quite a bit. Suffice to say: I'm very glad to have them nudging me awake every morning, giving me their best "Feed me ... I'm starving ..." looks. The more so since Athena died over Christmas break.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><br />So. Who could ask for anything more? Well, whoever's reading this probably could - so all I can do is say that I'll try to write more this semester ... :)SBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08580862205133713176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7056003626809466540.post-33717850680667935282007-12-25T18:27:00.001-05:002007-12-25T18:29:46.608-05:00Merry Christmas!<div style="text-align: center;">Here's to projects being completed, to family and friends, and to music!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirodDr5t1kEHikCLA2GxdK85k1DyrpRx39pGSkZT7WuoWmNMv4yHesGeRLg7nckFeXeUmwhLiOUoUrX1STqsGQqXdrQRV6yEsbYRY3Fp9njfqXqhfEYi8HljTPyTXiYugr-JXXTffy8Qk/s1600-h/teh+win%21.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirodDr5t1kEHikCLA2GxdK85k1DyrpRx39pGSkZT7WuoWmNMv4yHesGeRLg7nckFeXeUmwhLiOUoUrX1STqsGQqXdrQRV6yEsbYRY3Fp9njfqXqhfEYi8HljTPyTXiYugr-JXXTffy8Qk/s400/teh+win%21.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5148056671273720562" border="0" /></a><br />Merry Christmas!<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>SBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08580862205133713176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7056003626809466540.post-38561727670925371092007-10-25T12:37:00.001-04:002009-09-08T19:56:46.804-04:00An affectionate heart<span style="font-weight: bold;">I. Rain, rain ...<br /><br /></span>I'd say "go away," but I think the ground over here could use it. That and the S. River appears to be flushing itself out - when I walked over the bridge yesterday, I saw a whole slew of flotsam, jetsam, and junk bobbing along out to sea. Good times.<br /><br />Besides, with SoCal currently going up in flames, I will not knock rain. :/<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">II. I can't believe I'm getting paid to do this ...<br /><br /></span>Seriously - writing about operas? Going to operas? Looking at medieval chant and doing the sort of analysis that is old hat, thanks to Bible study? Gotta love it!<br /><br />Gotta love it all, except ...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">III. An affectionate heart<br /><br /></span>So I had the members of my class over for dinner yesterday. When we had finished up the salmon (mmm - the recipe worked, which is great, because I had neither teaspoon nor tablespoon measure and guesstimated all the spices), rice and asparagus, and were sitting around chatting, the kitten wandered by and hopped up into my lap. As is my tendency, I immediately started petting her. She snuggled up to one of her favorite places (her head on my shoulder, and then tucking itself beneath my chin), and went to sleep, purring.<br /><br />Now, at that point, would you have put the kitty down on the floor?<br /><br />Hm. I ask only because one of the guys there, from another country, remarked about how he didn't understand the American way of cooing over pets, and how he'd never seen anyone hold a cat that way. I good-naturedly asked if he could resist this adorable kitten; he agreed that she was cute, and we changed the subject - or I thought we did. Because then the kitten decided to roll over and loll backwards over my arm (she sometimes does that) and he said, again, how weird he thought it looked.<br /><br />And then everyone at the table looked at me.<br /><br />I immediately felt self-conscious, and put the kitten down, and threw a jingle ball for her to chase. Later on, when I was clearing the table, I asked my housemate whether she thought I fussed over the kitten too much. She smiled (she's nice) and said that I did tend to spoil her, and she could understand the guy's point of view, because "the PDA was a bit much."<br /><br />...<br /><br />Sigh.<br /><br />OK. I will not pick up the cat to pet at the dinner table, in front of company, unless they're all vets, or something ...<br /><br />... and I know sometimes I can be overly cuddly with pets ...<br /><br />... but it's like this: I miss my cats at home - one especially was my particular friend all through high school. I have a picture of her sprawled across my AP Chem homework. I always fussed over her, because she would just sit on my lap and purr, regardless of how crappy a mood I was in, or how much I would grump at her.<br /><br />There's this moment in Austen's "Persuasion," when the heroine, Anne, learns that a secondary character in the book, Captain Benwick, is going to marry another secondary character, Louisa. Some tsk over the relationship, since Benwick had been deeply in love with another woman who had died not a year ago. (Side note: throughout the book, I get the impression of Benwick as being a bit tone-deaf, socially; leaving aside his tendency to gush about poetry to complete strangers, he asks the brother of his dead fiancee to get his own (Benwick's) portrait in miniature (completed for the dead fiancee) "set" (i.e. framed) for the *new* fiancee. Not the best choice ...)<br /><br />Anyway, after Anne learns about this, she muses: "She [Anne] was persuaded that any tolerably pleasing young woman who had listened and seemed to feel for him [Benwick], would have received the same compliment [his romantic attention]. He had an affectionate heart. He must love somebody."<br /><br />So it goes.<br /><br />The last hug I've had was from my dear friends, who visited from NYC over a month ago, for my birthday. (Thanks, guys!) ... And I can't really go about getting a hug from random strangers. So, if I want to cuddle a kitten, I will, with no reference to anyone so wholly unconnected with me - and *whenever* I please.<br /><br />...<br /><br />well, maybe not at the dinner table. :)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></span>SBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08580862205133713176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7056003626809466540.post-87072004939826088192007-10-15T08:00:00.000-04:002007-10-15T08:10:06.918-04:00Truthiness is Beauty ...<span style="font-weight: bold;">I. Hzzzzbgh<br /><br /></span>That's the noise I make when I don't want to get out of bed. Yet here I am, ready to hop, skip and jump (by trolley and on foot) to the Urban Archives at Temple University. And then to the Historical Society of Pennsylvania. And then to the Folklore Archive. And then to the library. And then to rehearsal. And then home.<br /><br />Maybe I'll squeeze a sandwich and an apple in there somewhere. Who knows?<br /><br />... it's going to be a busy week ...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">II. Creeee-e-e-eak<br /><br /></span>That's the noise my bed makes, when I lay me down to sleep. I wish it wouldn't - it makes me feel like a walrus. But that's life, I guess, and as it is a perfectly comfy bed, I will grump at it no further.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>III. Truthiness is Beauty ...<br /><br />... </span>Beauty Truthiness - that is all / ye need know on heaven and earth, and all ye need to know.<br /><br />Except this, of course: "Dick Cheney’s fondest pipe dream is driving a bulldozer into The New York Times while drinking crude oil out of Keith Olbermann’s skull."<br /><br />Oh, and this: "Fred Thompson. In my opinion “Law & Order” never sufficiently explained why the Manhattan D.A. had an accent like an Appalachian catfish wrestler."<br /><br />And this: "I share Americans’ nostalgia for an era when you not only could tell a man by the cut of his jib, but the jib industry hadn’t yet fled to Guangdong."<br /><br />All this, and more, at the New York Times, where that prophet of Truthiness, Stephen Colbert, guest-wrote Maureen Dowd's column. Check it out <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/14/opinion/14dowd.html?em&ex=1192593600&en=72a525f07accb87e&ei=5087%0A">here</a>.SBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08580862205133713176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7056003626809466540.post-3403828509315566642007-09-30T23:27:00.001-04:002007-09-30T23:40:51.182-04:00Happy Days ...<span style="font-weight: bold;">Part I: Because I got high / because I got high / because I got high.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>No, not me, silly. One of my cats! I am attempting to train Elphaba in the path of the righteous - which leads to the scratching post, natch, not the sides of the chairs and couch. In order to do this, I liberally sprinkled said post with catnip.<br /><br />She is much more affectionate when she is stoned out of her little kitty mind. So when you add drug use to her constant mewling to go outside (we haven't gotten her spayed yet, and she's totally in heat) - I think you have what's wrong with America, embodied right here in that gosh-durned feline! [/moral majority] Elphaba, Dr. Dobson waiting on line 2 ...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Part II: I should have been doing my transcription assignment ...<br /><br />T</span>he thing is, Chopin's got some bad habits of crossing things out in his manuscripts. And writing without key signatures. Or time signatures. Or a sense of order ... well, I'm exaggerating a bit. The man was a genius, after all.<br /><br />Here's his genius mug:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0JJNvHcq4Hh_c7ymmMqak4hCTL0JxYUwo9YFL4iZHeQrHrYXuJ-G5QRChAMDb-IsKvUXesvxhre10qIly2OZlfYDmiJ4beLWaZ0roruqxtSnqmQPoYwXvW8sq465RF3UHQSFX_p1TMq0/s1600-h/Chopin.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0JJNvHcq4Hh_c7ymmMqak4hCTL0JxYUwo9YFL4iZHeQrHrYXuJ-G5QRChAMDb-IsKvUXesvxhre10qIly2OZlfYDmiJ4beLWaZ0roruqxtSnqmQPoYwXvW8sq465RF3UHQSFX_p1TMq0/s320/Chopin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116206042286129714" border="0" /></a><br />And here's what I drew, after an hour or two of wrangling with a sketch of one of his Nocturnes.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbz4BNpCtqQ7O2nj3Rl85py_YpBGbaBnTiZdWRpqOcSiUI-Cx2wbbOvlup6whJEfWNIhR2GrkssI8FdqN5AJ8Ug8qmZa2KDQsCh9UBTc9Ly4zys7TTuVdsLUhYZwa95oUpKKCfk9Aw7vo/s1600-h/scan0005.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbz4BNpCtqQ7O2nj3Rl85py_YpBGbaBnTiZdWRpqOcSiUI-Cx2wbbOvlup6whJEfWNIhR2GrkssI8FdqN5AJ8Ug8qmZa2KDQsCh9UBTc9Ly4zys7TTuVdsLUhYZwa95oUpKKCfk9Aw7vo/s400/scan0005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116206982883967570" border="0" /></a></div><br />Yeah, his clothes are probably a bit out of date. Sue me.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Part III: Happy Days ...<br /><br /></span>So this past Tuesday was ... my birthday! Woo hoo! I actually had a lovely time, because I got to attend two little birthday get-togethers - one with fellow grad students (a friendly bunch) and one with two friends from Grand Rapids and a cake that felt like ten pounds of chocolate-y goodness. Add that to the surprise visit from L. and M. (hat tip to comments!) and then add some nice gifts and cards, and phone calls from friends, and you get a ridiculously happy (and a bit overwhelmed) yours truly. Good times, and happy days!<br /><br />We now return you to your regularly scheduled transcription.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>SBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08580862205133713176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7056003626809466540.post-69326895213899149752007-09-24T10:06:00.000-04:002007-09-24T10:23:08.940-04:00Why Do Friends Suddenly Appear?<span style="font-weight: bold;">Part I: If I were a rich man ...<br /><br /></span>OK - if I were a man of any sort, something would be seriously wrong, since I am in fact a woman. But the sentiment is the same. I'd buy all sorts of chickens, goats, and a big house for Golde, who would then be able to have a "proper double chin" and scream at the servants day and night -<br /><br />- ack. You know you've held jobs as both an usher and a pit musician when you can sing random showtunes with verve, and aplomb, and for no other reason then that you feel like it. Oh, and your fellow library-goers give you dirty looks. Sorry!<br /><br />This is my roundabout way of saying that my impending stipend disbursement looks more and more pretty with each and every day, as Schuler gelt is rapidly circling the drain. To the day-old bread rack!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Part II: Giant Carnivorous Plants<br /><br /></span>I've been thinking about what best to do with the small backyard my housemate and I have. I wonder which sorts of flowers would grow best, 1) in its soil, and 2) before winter sets in. Also, I wonder just how long it will take to divest the wall of its spectacular, choking<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>growth of wild grape vine and ivy, all tangled together. Seriously - the bricks look like they have been colonized by some escapee from a '50s sci-fi allegory of the Cold War, in which ginormous man-eating plants zip down to Earth from outer space and take away the precious freedoms of America. Well, the freedoms, and the arms and legs of every man, woman, child, and adorable pet in America. Commie bastard plants!<br /><br />That is my roundabout way of saying that I'm a bit nervous about beginning to hack away at the vines. And I might just get electrocuted, knowing my luck - the plants have twined around the telephone wires that run over the back alley.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Part III: Why Do Friends Suddenly Appear?</span><br /><br />I'll tell you why: because they know how happy I am when they do! Saturday night, L. and M. came by train to attend a party (read: casual get-together) that my housemate and I organized. On Sunday morning, we had a nice breakfast, walked down to see the Liberty Bell and Franklin's grave, then went to Chinatown to have a nice lunch, and then went back to my place, where they took a rest and I really wanted to take a rest but read Beethoven instead.<br /><br />And that is my perfectly straightforward way of saying: It was great to see you! Come again soon!<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>SBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08580862205133713176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7056003626809466540.post-7553757652317681192007-09-16T13:23:00.000-04:002007-09-16T14:03:55.186-04:00Quel vecchio maledivami ...<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Part I: Il fait plus froid maintenant ...<br /><br /></span>Just yesterday morning, it was chilly and overcast. I was taken aback at walking outside - I almost needed a sweatshirt. When the sun came out, it became lovely ... but that moment seemed to have been a shot across the bow. Autumn is coming, and I can't do a thing about it!<br /><br />But I wouldn't want to, since it's more often than not my favorite season.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Part II: <span style="font-weight: bold;">Pretty pictures<br /></span></span><br />For class last Wednesday, we students all looked at the Rouen Book of Hours, on reserve in the rare book library. I still can't believe I'm doing that for *class* ! V. enjoyable. Although I was wincing at a classmates enthusiastically planting a thumb in the middle of a delicate illumination as he turned the page. Eh. The book's lasted six hundred years - a bit more handling isn't going to hurt it. And nobody enjoys a shrilly "Be <span style="font-style: italic;">careful</span>!" classmate.<br /><br />Seeing all the miniatures reminded me of the artwork I adored in middle and high school. Often religious work (or, at least, heavy on the symbolism,) vivid colors, and lots of miniscule detail. I also had a habit of making marginalia myself. See below:<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3kuyjVmZII0m5duN_oKYWmVM2qcrwhTvEOOItPLgOD7QRzCiQ3qngj1TW2FERFpoxEzyJNlkvEezerlgcKZKoSfdREVWAWXlK1Fgtm-6qT3me9iHuTQJ-gjiDr7Apl7AYlpA14EBdWKE/s1600-h/scan0002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 170px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3kuyjVmZII0m5duN_oKYWmVM2qcrwhTvEOOItPLgOD7QRzCiQ3qngj1TW2FERFpoxEzyJNlkvEezerlgcKZKoSfdREVWAWXlK1Fgtm-6qT3me9iHuTQJ-gjiDr7Apl7AYlpA14EBdWKE/s320/scan0002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110860020301553826" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd8NWcGgJn07t2idMCGG8m3IqT-ejEi5IluphW6Tqqli5BJH7qLCuRYM53iGt08KCVZX_Cglbh6WgzTCNUbAnR4SUJ3RzOKjekjIHlwWxtOkVVEvQemtN9iA_BQ0hZ3T8TPG6yCkefcTI/s1600-h/scan0003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 170px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd8NWcGgJn07t2idMCGG8m3IqT-ejEi5IluphW6Tqqli5BJH7qLCuRYM53iGt08KCVZX_Cglbh6WgzTCNUbAnR4SUJ3RzOKjekjIHlwWxtOkVVEvQemtN9iA_BQ0hZ3T8TPG6yCkefcTI/s320/scan0003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110860016006586514" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I think that I remember the pencil one from 8th grade, when I had a book on Michaelangelo *right there* on the desk. Sure, Ms. Ellis was talking about Athens - but why listen when doodling was possible?<br /><br />And I think the other is from some English class. Don't remember when.<br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm going through a lot of papers right now - I crammed some folders full of old notes in order to get them all to Philly post-haste. So I want to keep a digital record of the doodles, before they go the way of the dodo.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Part III: Quel vecchio maledivami ...<br /><br /></span>Verdi himself says that the above line is the "foundation" for <span style="font-style: italic;">Rigoletto<span style="font-style: italic;">. </span></span>It (the phrase) is the obsessive thought, sung aloud at different times during the opera, of the vengeful jester. ("That old man cursed me ...") And it wouldn't be a tragedy without said vengeance coming back to bite him in the ass, of course. I can't wait to go see the opera live! We are doing that for class. How awesome is school, really?<br /><br />Of course, now I have to go read Verdi's crabbed handwriting for the rest of the afternoon. Ah, quel vecchio maledivami ... ;)<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;">edited to add</span>: "denument" - I love it!<br /></div><br /></div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>SBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08580862205133713176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7056003626809466540.post-62286144353623530682007-09-09T12:51:00.000-04:002007-09-09T12:52:28.235-04:00A Spot of Tea<strong>Part I: Churchy, churchy, church!</strong><br /><br />So church was interesting this morning. First Presbyterian; one pastor (female) who spoke like Captain Kirk ("Blessed ... be ... God ... ourRockandourRedeemer -"), and one pastor (male), who spoke with a slight twang and preached on Philemon. Philemon! I don't remember hearing a sermon on that puppy ... well ... ever! Amazing.<br /><br />As for the church itself: it felt enclosed, even though it was quite large. The ushers handed out woven fans, vaguely heart-shaped; people fanned themselves vigorously. The organist played really well - the Dupre prelude was especially cool - and the sermon was well thought-out. More people than last week at Holy Trinity Rittenhouse, but less gold leaf.<br /><br />I didn't feel that "at home" there, so I'll wander someplace else next week.<br /><br /><strong>Part II: Weiner Dogs</strong><br /><br />There are so many dogs in this city - it's truly weird. You'd think that most would run along the lines of the brace of weiner dogs I saw scuttling over the sidewalk as I left church. And certainly there are many of the smaller sort: yappy terriers, plush pugs, cossetted spaniels and even the occasional Chihuahua. But I've also seen some immense beasts - a St. Bernard, a mastiff, huskies, and what looked (from a distance) to be an Irish wolfhound. (I didn't dare approach - the thing was the size of a horse.) How do people keep them exercised and/or entertained enough? How do they even feed them? It's hard enough for me to feed the stray cat and kittens in the backyard! ... *cough* ... more on that later.<br /><br /><strong>Part III: A Spot of Tea</strong><br /><br />I'm drinking a nice cup of tea in a cafe across from Rittenhouse Square right now. (Sunday special - get a drink and you get a free pastry.) And my white blouse is, so far, unspotted. Three loud cheers, people. Three loud cheers.<br /><br />I'll update on how classes go this week - tomorrow promises to be a busy day, with meetings, Source Studies, and choir!SBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08580862205133713176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7056003626809466540.post-34507393561410193632007-09-05T14:12:00.000-04:002007-09-05T14:42:59.232-04:00Omnia Bloggia in Partes Tres Divisi EstUm, yeah. So I figure that's a sufficiently pretentious trumpet blast upon which to cast off!! Wheee!!<span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><br /></span>Part I: Labor Day! Labor Day!<br /><br /></span>Dave - that one's for you. It refers to an absolutely hilarious "This American Life" that everyone needs to run and find, not walk and find, right now. I'll try to post a link to it ASAP. "Labor Day! Labor Day!" opens a verse of the patented Most Annoying Song in the World (tuba, opera singer, rap artist, and children's choir - mostly about holidays.) Other verses include: "Yom Kippur! Yom Kippur!"<br /><br />What did I do for Labor Day? I walked around outside quite a bit - the weather was lovely - and fed some moldy bread to the pigeons in Rittenhouse Square. Then I ran into two friends from Grand Rapids, completely at random! (which is, of course, one of the best kinds of meetings ...) We will meet up for dinner sometime soon; I saw them off to IKEA and gave them a coupon to that lovely store which has not left my person since it came in the mail.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Part II: This Moment in Greatness Brought to You by Ralph Vaughan Wiggum<br /><br /></span>So I'm in a tizzy on Tuesday, excited about the first day of classes. I found an especially fun-looking film studies one to audit (Myth and the Movies), and I gave myself a careful half hour to walk to the Anthropology Museum and find the room. I walked through Polynesian cannibal accessories, admired Maori canoe pieces and cloaks, and took a hard right through the Hopi exhibit - only to find the auditorium firmly locked. "Huh," I said to myself.<br /><br />After more wandering, I decided to forgo the first day of the audited class, and strolled over to Bennett Hall, in order to check out the location of my post-tonal theory class, pending that afternoon. (I sometimes like to scout out things ahead of time, so what happened Tues. morning doesn't happen in general.)<br /><br />I peeped in at the Cinema Studies department, and asked an expansive prof with a heavy Italian accent "where the Myth and Movies course is ..." He replied: Oh, ees een ze Myoosam, but you mus' know that classes start tomorrow?"<br /><br />*cough*<br /><br />Yep! The best part is, I got a week-long reprieve from the unforgivingly clinical Tone Row and its cronies. And I ran into someone I knew that afternoon at the Grad Student orientation - we walked to the gym and oohed and aahed at the climbing wall. Then I went and read a book about Britten.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Part III: All Dressed Up with Nowhere to Go; a.k.a. This is Getting Ridiculous<br /><br /></span>This morning, I got up nicely on time, had a healthy breakfast, cooed over the stray kitten in the back yard (and by "yard" I mean "assembly of bricks, ivy, and bits and pieces of junk crammed into a space the size of a postage stamp), went to pick up a care package from the post office (thanks, Mom and Dad) and then I went and bought a red impatien and a vine clipping, and planted them both in one of those faux-pillar capital concrete containers on the front sidewalk. (The previous owners left it there for anyone's use. The container, not the sidewalk. You get my drift.) It looks pretty nice, if I say so myself; I hope it takes root.<br /><br />So <span style="font-style: italic;">then </span>I looked at my watch, yelped, ran into the shower, ran out, and made my way to the Van Pelt Library, for my seminar on The Writing of Music - taking place on this, the <span style="font-style: italic;">first </span>day of classes ... right?<br /><br />RIGHT?<br /><br />Nope! Apparently, it was canceled. Bad luck - for once, I hadn't checked my email in the last hour. But I was perfectly comfortable with asking strangers for directions on the fourth floor (they were all nice) and, finally, calling up the department when 2:05 swung around and nobody had yet appeared. They told me it was canceled - and now I'm here, writing to you!<br /><br />Tonight, I will do a dark load of laundry, and then wear my favorite skirt again, for class tomorrow. Because - barring events straight out of Revelation - I <span style="font-style: italic;">will </span>be going to class on Thursday, my first day.<br /><br />Take care!<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><br /></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><br /><br /><br /></span>SBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08580862205133713176noreply@blogger.com2