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Me and Sylvia (April 4, 2002)

READIN

Jeremy's journal

Liberty is not a woman walking the streets, she is not sitting on a bench waiting for an invitation to dinner, to come sleep in our bed for the rest of her life.

José Saramago


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Thursday, January 20th, 2011

🦋 8 bars: Notation and Improvisation

This is the sketched-out notation of a melody I was working on the other night. (The focus is not right, I can't seem to take a picture of the page in focus; not sure why. The unreadable text is "slow walking tempo" and "(let ring)" -- the â…¤-shaped symbol above the staff I think means to stress the marked note; in any case this is my intent where I've marked that symbol.) An interesting aspect of writing this out was trying to justify writing it out, trying to explain to myself why it's not a waste of time, what's useful about it...

Writing the melody out ends up being useful to me as a way to let myself improvise -- my favorite thing to do when I'm practicing is to take a short melody and repeat it with variations. I had been trying recently to improvise the melodies "from scratch" but the problem I run into is not being able to keep them in mind long enough that the structure of the melody repeats among variations.

posted morning of January 20th, 2011: 6 responses
➳ More posts about Songs

Monday, January 17th, 2011

🦋 Chairs

Further progress in improving the look of our dining room: Ellen found a great deal on reupholstering the chairs, from the McGowen Fabric Outlet in Elizabeth. Very reasonable price and excellent work, though perhaps lacking in customer service relations -- at about 5 this afternoon Ellen answers the ringing phone, listens for a minute, says "Jeremy, we have a situation" -- the chairs are finished and the fabric outlet manager wants them picked up right away so he does not have to hold them overnight. So me and John quit practicing and took a road trip to Elizabeth.

I find the sheer extent of the urban area around here disconcerting. I often don't notice it because I will get on the highway to drive any significant distance; but the city, the neighborhoods, keep going beneath the highway in between the exits. There isn't much of any way to get to Elizabeth by highway -- it is just surface street after surface street, and you never lose the impression of being in the city.

The chairs are probably nearly as old as I am -- they and the table are Ellen's parents' old dining-room set. The old leather upholstery on them was looking really bad; the new fabric is utterly transformative.

posted evening of January 17th, 2011: Respond
➳ More posts about Painting the House

Sunday, January 16th, 2011

🦋 Textual claymation

The genius of Rivera Letelier's Art of Resurrection does not lie in the writing of the plot or the character development. There are events narrated that in aggregate form a plot, to be sure, and it's not (with sufficient suspension of disbelief) a bad plot, but not (by itself) a masterpiece either. The characters are pretty static (except for the two main characters -- and in their cases "development" consists largely of flashbacks sketching out their life stories, more to give context to the narrated events than as part of the main story) -- indeed one could say that in the narrated moment, the characters are almost wooden.

But somehow this does not work out to be a criticism of the book: it is precisely this almost-wooden quality where the æsthetic greatness of the work can be found. Rivera Letelier's calmly focused lens can zoom in onto his characters frozen in the moment of his story like bugs in amber* and communicate to the reader their rich complexities.

Update: It occurs to me that this quality of woodenness and of masterful exploitation of it, is something the book has in common with Buñuel's Simon of the desert, the movie from which its cover illustration is taken.)

*(If not indeed birds in perspex)

posted evening of January 16th, 2011: Respond
➳ More posts about The Art of Resurrection

Saturday, January 15th, 2011

🦋 Снегопад

So far this winter, we've had a big snow-storm at the end of December and a much smaller snow-storm this week. The snow is icy on the ground now, a cold white blanket for the yards and parks of South Orange.

cleek links to the Guramdolart gallery in Russia, with some lovely pencil drawings of Imereti, Georgia, under the fallen snow.

posted evening of January 15th, 2011: Respond
➳ More posts about Pretty Pictures

🦋 Walk Right In Again (without Finneganagainagain)

We got video!

videography: Sylvia

OK, this is bugging me: where is the "Finneganagainagain" thing from? Some kind of children's song about Jim Finnegan? Aha! No, "Michael" Finnegan.

posted evening of January 15th, 2011: Respond
➳ More posts about Walk Right In

🦋 Listening Notes

A long post below the fold, a bunch of disparate thoughts about music and links to music that seem like they should be in a post together:

posted afternoon of January 15th, 2011: Respond
➳ More posts about Crooked Still

Thursday, January 13th, 2011

🦋 Obama's reflections on the shootings

At the memorial service last night:

We should be civil because we want to live up to the example of public servants like John Roll and Gabby Giffords, who knew first and foremost that we are all Americans, and that we can question each other's ideas without questioning each other's love of country and that our task, working together, is to constantly widen the circle of our concern so that we bequeath the American Dream to future generations.

They believed - they believed, and I believe that we can be better. Those who died here, those who saved life here - they help me believe. We may not be able to stop all evil in the world, but I know that how we treat one another, that's entirely up to us.

And I believe that for all our imperfections, we are full of decency and goodness, and that the forces that divide us are not as strong as those that unite us.

That's what I believe, in part because that's what a child like Christina Taylor Green believed.

Imagine - imagine for a moment, here was a young girl who was just becoming aware of our democracy; just beginning to understand the obligations of citizenship; just starting to glimpse the fact that some day she, too, might play a part in shaping her nation's future. She had been elected to her student council. She saw public service as something exciting and hopeful. She was off to meet her congresswoman, someone she was sure was good and important and might be a role model. She saw all this through the eyes of a child, undimmed by the cynicism or vitriol that we adults all too often just take for granted.

I want to live up to her expectations. I want our democracy to be as good as Christina imagined it. I want America to be as good as she imagined it. All of us - we should do everything we can to make sure this country lives up to our children's expectations.

posted morning of January 13th, 2011: Respond
➳ More posts about Politics

Wednesday, January 12th, 2011

🦋 Flabbergasted

Thanks to Jen Mandel at The Great Whatsit for linking to this marvelous video of Morgan and Destiny's Eleventeenth Date:


And there, costumated as a monochromatic rarebear,
Stood the food-penguin, lemon-faced as ever.
The duo partook in a pair of pink fluff-puffs;
Destiny masticated her sugar-stick saxifragously,
Leaving Morgan haberdashed.
Sort of like "Happy the Golden Prince" maybe? Dramatically different from the every-day at any rate.

posted evening of January 12th, 2011: Respond
➳ More posts about Music

Saturday, January 8th, 2011

🦋 Socket Wrench

David Bonta (blogger at Via Negativa) has published a book of Odes to Tools with Phœnecia Publishing -- some beautiful thoughts about the things we use.

Ode to a Socket Wrench

Better than all power tools
Is the socket wrench:

Its accomodating nature
Its chrome-plated steel
Its handling of torque.
Kristin Berkey-Abbott reviews the collection today.

posted morning of January 8th, 2011: Respond
➳ More posts about Readings

Friday, January 7th, 2011

🦋 Un escuchador

A tantalizing bit of insight into Rivera Letelier's story-telling abilities is in this review of The Art of Resurrection, by Laura Cardona, book reviewer for La nación:

...As a young man, Rivera Letelier eaves-dropped on the conversations of the adults around him in Algorta, where his mother and his sisters (and likewise, later on, his wife Mari) balanced the family budget by serving meals. Every night, forty or more old miners would come by the house looking for a meal; young Hernán would pass whole evenings under the table, making note of every anecdote.
Cardona got this from Ariel Dorfman's Memories of the Desert, a 2004 account of traveling through the Atacama; she says Dorfman devotes more than a chapter to Rivera Letelier. This book is certainly going on my reading list...

(Found the Cardona review via Proyecto patrimonio's archive of writings about Rivera Letelier. Found the Dorfman book being remaindered by Amazon marketplace sellers.)

posted evening of January 7th, 2011: Respond
➳ More posts about Hernán Rivera Letelier

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