asteroid B612

AMS is meeting in Seattle this year for the national meeting. I need to go, since I'm student rep for my chapter, but I dreading airfare. The buzz what that it was super expensive, nothing less than $300, etc, etc. Well! I did my first foray into checking for fares this afternoon, and I found one for $184 ($234 with tax and fees). Wow! So I snatched it up.

I am officially going to Seattle in November. Yippeee! It's going to be like camp. All my friends are coming. A bunch of us are piling into a hotel room. Oh boy. This is one of the highlights of my school year.

It was, well, a lot simpler back then (say.... c. 900):

Interval
1. semitone—two tones separated by the smallest distance, so that the space between them is scarcely perceived.
2. whole tone—a more perceptible interval
3. semiditone (minor third)—a little larger
4. ditone (major third)—extends farther than this
5. diatessaron (perfect fourth)—even greater
6. tritone—still ampler
7. diapente (perfect fifth)—supasses these by due amount
8. semitone-plus-diapente (minor sixth)—
9. whole-tone-plus-diapente (major sixth)—extending over the widest space of all, has the last place among these intervals, for you will never find one larger than it or smaller than the first.

My computer has been out of commission for nearly a month, due to a broken power chord and the rather high price of its replacement. After exhausting all options, Chris finally ordered me a new one. It arrived yesterday. So this morning, I'm back at my very own computer for the first time in months, and it is so nice! My computer is my space, and I've set it up a certain way. I've felt upheaved for quite some time with nowhere to set up my space. As a result, I've lost track of things, forgotten things, postponed others. Now I'm back.

I'm studying all day today for another test tomorrow with same professor. Yikes.

Recently a complimentary first issue of a magazine devoted to classical music happenings in New Orleans made it into my mailbox. Curious, I perused it a little detachedly. Small features of different programs were peppered throughout the publication. My eyes alighted onto an article briefing describing the program of an early music group here in NOLA (they're not that great, but I was curious to see what they were performing).

I quote directly: "It includes songs of troubadours and touveres, the traveling French minstrels of the 12th and 13th centuries, focusing on the works of Guillame Dufay, who is regarded as the first of the troubadours." I'm not kidding!!

Two glaring mishaps are staring at me in unblinking ignorance. The first I can forgive somewhat if I choose to read "the traveling Fr minstrels of the 12th and 13th centuries" as a phrase in a series rather than apposition with troubadours and trouveres, who were not minstrels and may not have been itinerant. Minstrels were a completely different social group of people pretty much on the equivalent of slaves/servants.

The second mistake is simply inexcusable for any publication that considers itself to be taken seriously. That would be the phrase, "Guillaume Dufay, who is regarded as the first of the troubadours." Guillaume Du Fay (this is now the accepted spelling of his name) was not a troubadour. There is no plainer way to say such. Du Fay lived from 1397-1474, a far cry from the 12th century! The author of this article is confusing Guillaume Du Fay with Guillaume IX, duke of Auquitaine (a patriarchal figure in the line to the great Eleanor, wife and mother to kingS). The confusion is obvious, they have the same first name. That's like confusing my sister Mary with the Blessed Virgin!! In order to hammer home the absurdity of this statement I will make an analogy from the world of art. Saying that Du Fay was the first great troubadour is like saying that Picasso was the first to use perspective in his paintings, a natural confusion since his name and Donatello's both end in "-o".*

My other encounter with music and jounalism comes from The New Yorker. I've never been a fan of Alex Ross, and he hasn't done anything to ingratiate me yet. What really bothers me about him in addition to writing that is frankly undergraduate** he has no idea what historical scholarship is about. In an issue from a couple of weeks ago he brought up some of the biography problems that have been perpetuated about Shostakovich. Having written a Shostakovich paper within this past year, I was familiar with the works he was talking about. An enthusiastically Soviet-opposed fellow by the name of Volkov portrays to the Western world a probably more subversively minded Shostakovich than was actually the case, which is old news to the musicological world.

Ross quotes the findings of musicologist Fay:

There is no signature on the first page, it turns out; that claim was something other than the truth. Instead, there is a signature on the third page, which perfectly overlaps with a bland essay that Shostakovich published in 1966. Fay subjects the entire document to Sherlockian scrutiny, noting that a couple of the recycled pages had been doctored to remove datable references.

Sherlockian scrutiny? How about every day scholarly research. Oh, if he wants he can call it Sherlockian scrutiny, but it's really what one would expect for this kind of historical research.

Then Ross starts to shine through in the way that just irks me:

To dismiss Fay’s evidence is to disregard a great artist’s right to speak in his own voice. If Shostakovich had known what was going to be printed under his name, he might have hated Volkov with a passion that not even Joseph Stalin inspired in him.

I love how he posits emotions onto Shostakovich. It's such a warm, fuzzy thing to do. Frankly, the artist can speak with his own voice nowadays, because he's dead! Even what is unarguably his words will always be reinterpreted through our interaction with it. It's naive to think that a historical figure has an unadulterated voice in the present. Oh yes, they have presence, but it's a presence in our world, here and now, not then, and we can't help but bring our here and now to the page when we read what he said.

Ross draws up a bit some of the exchange between Fay and other scholars and notes: "Perhaps the so-called “Shostakovich Wars” are ready to end, and a more evenhanded assessment can begin." Umm? Wars? Scholarship is about argument and counter-argument. That's how we learn things.

When Ross talks about Shostakovich's Fourth Symphony, I frankly don't see him being much better than Volkov:

If the première of the Fourth had gone ahead as scheduled, in the fall of 1936, the composer might have met the same fate as Abram Lezhnev. At the last minute, however, he withdrew the symphony. In its place, he produced the angrily affirmative Fifth, and bought another forty years of life. Shostakovich’s urge to defy authority was always tempered by an instinct for survival.

S's "urge to defy authority"? his "instinct for survival"? the "angrily affirmative Fifth"? These are the words of Volkov. Sure, Shostakovich wasn't devoid of these emotions, but they are highly subjective, problematic, and qualified by the vast amount of conflicting literature out there. I find it odd that Ross spends half the article bashing Volokov and then committing the same crimes.

No, I still maintain my stand. I'm not a fan of Alex Ross. And I wonder if classical music will ever fare well in journalism.

*I'm not asserting that Donatello was the first to use a perspective. Just drawing the comparison of a relatively similar time gap between the two Guillaume's in question.
**I don't mean to insult undergraduates. But I would expect better from a staff writing at the New Yorker.

Every once in awhile, somebody throws a quote at you that is just hilarious, but you know that it must be taken out of context. Nevertheless, still worth a big chuckle.

"I think there is some methodolgy in my travels." George W. Bush

I usually don't go this long without some post, however banal. This week I've actually written a few posts that you do not see. The first I wrote, published, then deleted a few minutes later. It was too personal and wasn't actually communicating what I wanted to communicate. If you can use your personal thoughts and experiences in an appropriate way to achieve a particular purpose, that is an effective way of writing. Sure I talk about my personal life, daily things, and whatnot. But there are layers and aspects of home life that I don't think is appropriate to share on blog world (see discussion on RT's blog [I love links! You can even cite in blog posts!...I wonder if Turabian will come out with a format for blog citation..]). So anyway, I deleted that post. I was writing another post about blogging and the Dan Rather scandal, which intrigued me from an entirely "historiographical" point of view.* While I was writing it, mozilla crashed, and I really had to scoot to the library anyway. So I let bygones be bygones. I wasn't really getting to the point I was trying to get to anyway.

So what has been going on this week?

Well, part of my activities included absorbing large amounts of my brain for a test in my "Music History of the Most Recent Eras" class (it's actually a sort of 20th c survey but I call it the above). Tests with this prof are very challenging. They expose this disease that has been plaguing me for a long time: the Disease of Imprecision. With my handy-dandy liberal arts background I can understand big concepts, make interesting connections, and read and write critically. My weakness is coming down to the detail level. A lot of profs give tests with a lot of short answer and essay questions. These kind of tests allow wiggle room for me to manipulate the question to bring out my strengths. Tests with this prof assume that you know those things and zero in on the precise detail. In the end his way is probably better. Knowing those important details only strengthen the big picture. I'm not devoid of dates, etc., just not precise ones. I think in terms of decades and parts of centuries, not the exact date. But in the end, a more compelling historical argument can be made with the precision. It's not just dates he's precise about, other things are included which vary depending on what the test is covering.

I'm disappointed with myself over that test. There were some things I couldn't have predicted, but others I could've done better on if I had focused my mind more effectively. (I was actually having difficulty focusing all day in general, unable to harness the other thoughts that were coursing through my brain.) It's just one test, yes, but it exposed in me this continuing frustration I have which is essentially a lack of self-discipline on so many levels.

The class I'm teaching met for the third time last Thursday evening. It only meets once a week, and last week's meeting had been cancelled due to the hurricane. I again felt frustrated. I think the class went fine. But I saw how I wasn't being the teacher I wanted to be. I just don't have the background knowledge to deepen the things I was saying, or the ability to say the right things that bring to light the most important things, sifting it from the background knowledge I do have. I left feeling ungrounded and wondering if they understood anything I was trying to explain. I'm giving them a study guide for the test because I just don't feel like I've been as precise (again!) or as lucid as I would need to be for them to know how to organize their studying. But I am enjoying it. And I realize that we have to start somewhere and that experience is the best remedy, which is why I'm really thankful for this job.

Yesterday afternoon I was so tired on my way home. Thankfully, there were people to talk to on the phone, so the drive wasn't too onerous, but I was tired. I came home, watched some Simpson's, took a bath and shaved my legs and painted my toenails red. I felt a little refreshed. About 8.30/9 Chris took me to our favorite Lebanese restaurant. The evening are feeling a little cooler (as in, we can now sit outside without dripping in sweat but we still don't need a cardigan/longsleeved shirt yet) so we sat outside and dipped pita bread into our favorite dishes. I was feeling restless, wanting to go out on the town, not anywhere in particular, just the idea sounded appealing...something different and fun. We drove down Magazine a bit, but I was falling asleep in the car. (Yea, right, like this girl could ever have the energy to go out on the town.) We came home, and I went to bed.

Questions for the week: is it possible to finish my dissertation in four years? what shoudl I write it on? how does text setting matter in chant? how did Webern's study of early music affect his compositions? how do I give an oral presentation of an analysis of a text? do I have anything to submit to x conference? what if I don't get a job? what if I don't get dissertation funding? when should we have kids? when will our debt magically disappear? will my car make it another 100,000 miles? am I supposed to be reading something for next class's meeting? what's for dinner?

The cursor is blinking ominously at me.

*GRE question: why is "historiographical" in quotes? Answer: is it history? I think so. but it's blogging, wh. I suppose can count as an historiographical medium, but since it's not formally such, I put it in quotes.

So, after this moment of epiphany on Sunday afternoon, Sunday evening rolled around and I had to make a lunch to take to school on Monday. We didn't have much lunchable items in the fridge, but we had plenty of eggs. I love egg salad sandwiches, so no problem! However, then I thought, 'what's up with mayonnaise? what IS mayonnaise anyway??' It just seemed lardy and fatty and nothing else could replace this image of mayonnaise in my head. The thought of mayo repulsed me, but it's a key ingredient to making the egg stick together. So I started poking around for alternatives. Tahini! It was a start, and while I was at in I threw in a few chick peas, why not have hummus-y egg salad? I was inspired by potential flavor and added a little minced cilantro and paprika and salt and pepper. This was turning out well. I mixed it all together. But it wasn't sticking together enough, and there's nothing like egg salad with bits of egg falling out. I opened the fridge and stared again. The final solution shone forth: Yogurt!! It worked beautifully. On nine-grain bread, my egg-salad sandwich turned out perfectly. Except next time, I might not put in as much if any cilantro, maybe use minced celery instead, and probably a little less tahini and a little more yogurt. Maybe a touch of cayenne pepper? I don't know. It is pretty yummy though. And I will recount the chicken incident before long....

This afternoon Chris and I went over to another couple's house for lunch. It was fun, relaxed, easy. We had spaghetti. It's what I would've made. We had a great time. Later one of us admitted to not feeling that great..not sick..just sort indigestion-y. The other said "me too!" Then it dawned on me. It was the prepackaged spaghetti sauce. It corroborated with other times we've felt like this after not eating at home.

I never buy prepackaged foods. Not because I'm some sort of major activist or something. I just like to cook and know that half the prepackaged food out there is easy as a pie to make from scratch (like spaghetti sauce). I don't even buy cold cereal (making my own granola). I'm not a huge fan of chemicals and faux flavors that go into most prepackaged foods, but I never thought about more specifically than just some sort of an "i don't like lots of chemicals" abstraction. Today it just struck me! Wow, so buying organic stuff really does make a difference. The abstraction turned into a reality.*

*Remind me to tell you about the chicken sometime.

This time of year is so oppressing. I feel like we've braved the heat for long enough, can we have some relief already?! Autumn does come to New Orleans, but oh, so slowly and subtly. There are some changes, which are particularly noticeable at night and early morning. It's still hot during those times, mind you, but not as hot. The sun is the most oppressive. It glares at us full in the face, its seering rays seeking every chink and crack of our apartment, and there are many. The little window unit puts of a valient fight. I pat it lovingly encouraging it to stand firm for just a little while longer. When autumn comes, I love it, I greet the slight change, the decay, the aged atmosphere with open arms and the sounds of Miles Davis.

But for now, I sit on the bed beside the window unit, the only cool place in the house, sipping barely sweetened ice tea, immersing myself in another place and time. Fin-de-siecle Vienna anyone? The expression of a tortured soul in a superficially constructed society with new art forms crafted just for the recasting of meaningless self...Now there's an Autumn for you! The decadence of the garden. Leaves dissolving into the soil whence they came. One tone followed by another. "A poet could not but be gay in such a jocund company."

...watered the garden.

Well, after all the hype I expected to see the remains of a storm in New Orleans, but it was like nothing happened! No debris, not even a drop of rain. It was so surreal. The sky has been clear and blue all week. It's like the media had played a big joke on all of us. I don't mean to make light of those who really did get hit. It just was weird coming home to nothing. Oh well. I guess there was no way we could've predicted it. And I'm very thankful that everything here was fine. And the city can go on rockin' for another 200 years. See, I wasn't worried. Usually my gut feeling is right. We did the right thing by leaving with the knowledge we had, but I wasn't worried. And we enjoyed the company in Baton Rouge.

The evacuation traffic has been awful. I'm glad I saw alternate routes on the internet this morning. So we took US 61 home instead of I-10. They opened the lights and had police directing the traffic around intersections. It was still crowded, but we were moving, and I think we made it home faster.

And I'm getting some extra school work done, though not as much as I would've liked due to all the upheaval. I did get a conference submission in by yesterday's deadline, so I'm thankful for that. And I'm going to stay home tomorrow even though there's classes again, because I'm just not to going to deal with all the hideous traffic.

So there's our hurricane saga for the week. I found the picture on nola.com. It cracked me up...it's SO New Orleans.