New Love
Well, that's it. I pressed the Submit Order button and the deed is done. The old PC just wasn't hacking it anymore, and I had to get something new. Sorry about that, ol Bess, you've been good to me, faithful and true, and we've had some good times alright. But, you see, a man needs more. He needs something young and pretty, something to make his heart race and get his blood pumping again, and let's face it ol' girl, after four and half years together maybe the magic just isn't there anymore.
But please, I don't want to hurt you. You know I'd rather do anything than cause you pain. It's just that...well the truth is...I've met someone new. Her name's Ginger, you see, and she's a 3000+ Athlon 64 with 512 mb of ram and nice fat 200 GB hard drive down below. I tell you, that girl's built for speed. No, sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Please don't hate me. You know we'll always be friends. It's just that people change and machines get old, and I'm tired of pretending.
Velocity Micro
I've bought 'em and built 'em, but I'm a little nervous about this purchase. I researched these guys as best I can and they seem alright, but you never know. I just hope I haven't started a journey into customer service hell by placing this order. Oh well, there was no way I could make do with my old 1.2 Ghz P4 anymore, so I had to do something. Nope, no buyers remorse from me. Nope. Uh-uh. No, no, no, no, no...
They're going to build me an Athlon 64 machine with 512 Mb of Ram, 430W Antec power supply, a 200 Gb hard drive, 8x DVD +- RRW burner and a so-so graphics card (I figure I'll go with their cheapest graphics card for now because I get the feeling that some high end cards are going to be coming down in price over the summer). The case is one of those windowy thingies, but it's not too garish and seems to have all the features I like. Anyways, $1300 shipped, which is about what it would cost me to build it myself. The only reservation I have is the Abit mobo. I don't think it's a terrible choice, but it's not the one I would have chosen if I built it myself. Well, it'll take them about a month to build it and ship it, so I'll just have to wait and see.
Meanwhile, no buyers remorse. None. Nothing. No, no, no, no,.....
Monday, May 31, 2004
Thursday, May 27, 2004
Jeopardy
Oh, the things you can learn by watching TV. Take Jeopardy, for example. Did you know that in 1902 a nurse named Clara something or other died after infecting herself with Malaria? Now isn't that interesting, and so unexpected. I assume, of course, she was studying infectious diseases at the time, and not human intelligence. Either way it would be safe to call the experiment a failure. Well, all in the name of science, as they say.
Taco Bell
I had Taco Bell tonight, and I only mention it because fast food is something I never do. But I was running late and didn't have time to cook anything and...well, you know the story. But gosh, isn't it wonderful that in this modern day and age a person can log onto the internet and tell the entire world what he ate for dinner. And some people think blogs are a waste of time! Har, I say. Now all I need to do is get one of those moblog's so that I can post pictures of my face turning green as I start digest this stuff.
Led Zeppelin
So there I was listening to Led Zeppelin on my little portable MP3 player and suddenly my thoughts turned back to days of yore. I was a teenager once, you see, and used to do teenager things like hanging out, and copping an attitude, and, of course, going to rock concerts. I don't want to brag but I saw most of the big names of my day, the Stones, Lynard Skynard, Fleetwood Mac, Robin Trower, etc... You know, the biggies. One of my last concerts was a Led Zeppelin Day on the Green at the Oakland Coliseum and I'd say it was one of the worst, no make that the worst, concert I ever saw. As it turns out it was also a major turning point in my life because, you know, after witnessing a dud like that I knew I had to do something better with my time than stand around and worship rock stars.
Anyways, I'm afraid mere words can't really capture the horror. I think what amazed me most was not that Led Zeppelin sounded so monumentally awful (which they did), but rather that, as stoned as they were, they could still manage to stand up there on that stage for ninety minutes without once falling off. It was truly astonishing, and the only time outside of the movies I ever saw living, breathing corpses, with Jimmy the corpse off doing his thing, and Robert the corpse doing his thing, and John Paul the corpse doing his little thing, and none of them paying attention to corpse John or any of the other zombies up there on the stage. For me it was like waking up with a hangover, and suddenly all my dreamy-eyed romanticism was gone and only the cold, hard reality that these guys are running on fumes remained.
So Tony, I here you asking, what, oh great one, was the best concert you ever saw? That's easy, Poco at Winterland Arena. Yeah, I hear you laughing but I gotta tell you, you shoulda been there. They had a pedal steel player named Rusty Young who was absolutely on fire that night. Clapton you say? Hendrix? Van Halen? Ha! He smoked all of 'em.
Oh, the things you can learn by watching TV. Take Jeopardy, for example. Did you know that in 1902 a nurse named Clara something or other died after infecting herself with Malaria? Now isn't that interesting, and so unexpected. I assume, of course, she was studying infectious diseases at the time, and not human intelligence. Either way it would be safe to call the experiment a failure. Well, all in the name of science, as they say.
Taco Bell
I had Taco Bell tonight, and I only mention it because fast food is something I never do. But I was running late and didn't have time to cook anything and...well, you know the story. But gosh, isn't it wonderful that in this modern day and age a person can log onto the internet and tell the entire world what he ate for dinner. And some people think blogs are a waste of time! Har, I say. Now all I need to do is get one of those moblog's so that I can post pictures of my face turning green as I start digest this stuff.
Led Zeppelin
So there I was listening to Led Zeppelin on my little portable MP3 player and suddenly my thoughts turned back to days of yore. I was a teenager once, you see, and used to do teenager things like hanging out, and copping an attitude, and, of course, going to rock concerts. I don't want to brag but I saw most of the big names of my day, the Stones, Lynard Skynard, Fleetwood Mac, Robin Trower, etc... You know, the biggies. One of my last concerts was a Led Zeppelin Day on the Green at the Oakland Coliseum and I'd say it was one of the worst, no make that the worst, concert I ever saw. As it turns out it was also a major turning point in my life because, you know, after witnessing a dud like that I knew I had to do something better with my time than stand around and worship rock stars.
Anyways, I'm afraid mere words can't really capture the horror. I think what amazed me most was not that Led Zeppelin sounded so monumentally awful (which they did), but rather that, as stoned as they were, they could still manage to stand up there on that stage for ninety minutes without once falling off. It was truly astonishing, and the only time outside of the movies I ever saw living, breathing corpses, with Jimmy the corpse off doing his thing, and Robert the corpse doing his thing, and John Paul the corpse doing his little thing, and none of them paying attention to corpse John or any of the other zombies up there on the stage. For me it was like waking up with a hangover, and suddenly all my dreamy-eyed romanticism was gone and only the cold, hard reality that these guys are running on fumes remained.
So Tony, I here you asking, what, oh great one, was the best concert you ever saw? That's easy, Poco at Winterland Arena. Yeah, I hear you laughing but I gotta tell you, you shoulda been there. They had a pedal steel player named Rusty Young who was absolutely on fire that night. Clapton you say? Hendrix? Van Halen? Ha! He smoked all of 'em.
Monday, May 24, 2004
Donizetti, May He Rest in Peace
Finished the book, and it wasn't a happy ending. He died of Syphillis, you see, and it was a pretty awful way to die. Leeches to the head, hot mustard packs on the neck, and catheters up the (ahem) to help with the digestion. A couple of years of that and I guess you'd be ready to meet the hereafter.
It's interesting that his decline so closely matched the ascendancy of Verdi. In fact, he was quite impressed with the Verdi's work and staged a couple of his operas before he becamed mentally incapacitated. I think they were Nabucco and Jerusalem, but I can't remember. Anyways, Verdi seemed grateful to Donizetti for his support and came to visit him in his dying days, though nothing of consequence seems to have come from the visit.
If I ever get a chance to go to Italy I'll have to make it point to stop in Bergamo and pay my respects to the great master. It's funny how so many people tried to knock him down (Berlioz and Bellini to name two) and how gracious he was to others. Especially Berlioz who wrote scathing reviews of his Paris operas and yet received letters of recommendation from Donizetti when he was trying to get his own works performed. Seems Donizetti just never took the criticism personally.
Well, I've had this Donna Tartt book sitting on my desk for a while now and I guess I'll crack that one next. Addio Donezetti...
Bureaucrats!
I called to get a payoff figure for a loan I took out on my 401k. The customer service rep told me that she couldn't give out that information on the phone and I would have to call our Company Rep and have her request the information. I called our Company Rep and she called the Plan and they told her to tell me to call this other rep who would give me the information. I called the rep and she told me she couldn't give me the information and I would have to call customer service. I told her that I called customer service already and they told me the Company Rep would have to call the Plan and the Company Rep called the Plan and they told her to have me call you. She said, well, she was sorry but she couldn't help me. I would have to have the Company Rep call the Plan and the Company Rep would have to get the information for me. So I called the Company Rep back and told her that the rep she told me to call told me that she couldn't give me that information and I would have to call the Company Rep. So, the Company Rep called the Plan again and they wanted to know who was this person that kept calling them about payoff information. She explained that I was an employee trying to payoff my loan and they said "Oh, tell him he needs to call this number."
So, I called the number and got my payoff information. Sheesh. Which brings me to the point that in any given organization there are 10 people who know how to transfer calls for every 1 person that knows what they're doing. It's a mathematical fact.
Finished the book, and it wasn't a happy ending. He died of Syphillis, you see, and it was a pretty awful way to die. Leeches to the head, hot mustard packs on the neck, and catheters up the (ahem) to help with the digestion. A couple of years of that and I guess you'd be ready to meet the hereafter.
It's interesting that his decline so closely matched the ascendancy of Verdi. In fact, he was quite impressed with the Verdi's work and staged a couple of his operas before he becamed mentally incapacitated. I think they were Nabucco and Jerusalem, but I can't remember. Anyways, Verdi seemed grateful to Donizetti for his support and came to visit him in his dying days, though nothing of consequence seems to have come from the visit.
If I ever get a chance to go to Italy I'll have to make it point to stop in Bergamo and pay my respects to the great master. It's funny how so many people tried to knock him down (Berlioz and Bellini to name two) and how gracious he was to others. Especially Berlioz who wrote scathing reviews of his Paris operas and yet received letters of recommendation from Donizetti when he was trying to get his own works performed. Seems Donizetti just never took the criticism personally.
Well, I've had this Donna Tartt book sitting on my desk for a while now and I guess I'll crack that one next. Addio Donezetti...
Bureaucrats!
I called to get a payoff figure for a loan I took out on my 401k. The customer service rep told me that she couldn't give out that information on the phone and I would have to call our Company Rep and have her request the information. I called our Company Rep and she called the Plan and they told her to tell me to call this other rep who would give me the information. I called the rep and she told me she couldn't give me the information and I would have to call customer service. I told her that I called customer service already and they told me the Company Rep would have to call the Plan and the Company Rep called the Plan and they told her to have me call you. She said, well, she was sorry but she couldn't help me. I would have to have the Company Rep call the Plan and the Company Rep would have to get the information for me. So I called the Company Rep back and told her that the rep she told me to call told me that she couldn't give me that information and I would have to call the Company Rep. So, the Company Rep called the Plan again and they wanted to know who was this person that kept calling them about payoff information. She explained that I was an employee trying to payoff my loan and they said "Oh, tell him he needs to call this number."
So, I called the number and got my payoff information. Sheesh. Which brings me to the point that in any given organization there are 10 people who know how to transfer calls for every 1 person that knows what they're doing. It's a mathematical fact.
Sunday, May 23, 2004
Reggie
Well, the A's retired Reggie Jackson's number 9 yesterday, and waves of nostalgia are sweeping over me. He was my favorite player when I was a boy and I still remember my Dad taking me to the Coliseum all those years ago to see him play. At some ballparks the fans used to bring binoculars with them so they could see better, but at the Coliseum you always needed to bring a telescope if you wanted to catch any of the action. Lucky for us, though, my Dad managed to get tickets right behind the dugout and I got to see ol' Reg up close and personal, as they say. It was quite a thrill.
And then he left. Like a lot of A's players he had Charlie Finley problems, and when free agency arrived and his oppurtunity arose he couldn't get out of Oakland fast enough. Oh, the tears I cried when I heard the news. Well, not really. I was a lot older by then, but I don't think I ever forgave him. Especially since he left Oakland to go to Baltimore. I mean of all teams, those stinkin' Orioles. Ahhh, it still sticks in my craw.
I grew out of it, of course, and now he's come back and they've retired his number. Well, welcome back number 9, and forgive me if I stifle a yawn. You turned your back on me many years ago, and I'm afraid I have no hurrahs left for you.
Baseball
I think it was my Uncle Gary who took me to my first baseball game. It always fascinated me how Billy Crystal, when he was talking about his first ballgame, could remember the players, the situations, the counts, etc... in such exacting detail. I tell you, all I can remember about my first game was that it was a minor league game and one of the teams wore Red. That's it.
I do remember more about the first major league game I saw, though. It was the Dodgers and the Cubs at Chavez Ravine and the Dodgers had a lefty named Koufax pitching. And he threw really hard. Of course, sports wasn't nearly as big back in those days as it is now. There were no 24 hour cable networks or 24 hour sportstalk radio stations, and, in fact, the way a kid got to know the players was mostly through their baseball cards. I had a modest collection of baseball cards myself, and like most young boys at the time I used thumb through them and imagine that was me with a bat on my shoulder or my pitching arm cocked and ready to deliver a high, hard one. I wonder if anyone in this televised, 24 hour sports cycle world of today still remembers how those baseball cards used to fire the imagination. They made the players seem like gods.
Anyways, I got to see my gods in person for the first time that day, and I'll never forget it. I mean, there was Tommy Davis! I had his baseball card! And Maury Wills, and Billy Williams, and Ron Santo, and, oh my God, Ernie Banks! What a thrill that was, and I tell ya', other than the Dodger dogs that's the only memory I have. Billy Crystal may remember it was 2-2 fastball that Mantle hit to center field that brought in the winning run, but not me. I don't have a clue what the score was, or even who won, I just remember the hot dogs and the heroes, and I don't think I've seen a game since where the hot dogs tasted as good or the players seemed so magnificent.
Sigh... Yeah, I'm feeling a little nostalgic today.
Well, the A's retired Reggie Jackson's number 9 yesterday, and waves of nostalgia are sweeping over me. He was my favorite player when I was a boy and I still remember my Dad taking me to the Coliseum all those years ago to see him play. At some ballparks the fans used to bring binoculars with them so they could see better, but at the Coliseum you always needed to bring a telescope if you wanted to catch any of the action. Lucky for us, though, my Dad managed to get tickets right behind the dugout and I got to see ol' Reg up close and personal, as they say. It was quite a thrill.
And then he left. Like a lot of A's players he had Charlie Finley problems, and when free agency arrived and his oppurtunity arose he couldn't get out of Oakland fast enough. Oh, the tears I cried when I heard the news. Well, not really. I was a lot older by then, but I don't think I ever forgave him. Especially since he left Oakland to go to Baltimore. I mean of all teams, those stinkin' Orioles. Ahhh, it still sticks in my craw.
I grew out of it, of course, and now he's come back and they've retired his number. Well, welcome back number 9, and forgive me if I stifle a yawn. You turned your back on me many years ago, and I'm afraid I have no hurrahs left for you.
Baseball
I think it was my Uncle Gary who took me to my first baseball game. It always fascinated me how Billy Crystal, when he was talking about his first ballgame, could remember the players, the situations, the counts, etc... in such exacting detail. I tell you, all I can remember about my first game was that it was a minor league game and one of the teams wore Red. That's it.
I do remember more about the first major league game I saw, though. It was the Dodgers and the Cubs at Chavez Ravine and the Dodgers had a lefty named Koufax pitching. And he threw really hard. Of course, sports wasn't nearly as big back in those days as it is now. There were no 24 hour cable networks or 24 hour sportstalk radio stations, and, in fact, the way a kid got to know the players was mostly through their baseball cards. I had a modest collection of baseball cards myself, and like most young boys at the time I used thumb through them and imagine that was me with a bat on my shoulder or my pitching arm cocked and ready to deliver a high, hard one. I wonder if anyone in this televised, 24 hour sports cycle world of today still remembers how those baseball cards used to fire the imagination. They made the players seem like gods.
Anyways, I got to see my gods in person for the first time that day, and I'll never forget it. I mean, there was Tommy Davis! I had his baseball card! And Maury Wills, and Billy Williams, and Ron Santo, and, oh my God, Ernie Banks! What a thrill that was, and I tell ya', other than the Dodger dogs that's the only memory I have. Billy Crystal may remember it was 2-2 fastball that Mantle hit to center field that brought in the winning run, but not me. I don't have a clue what the score was, or even who won, I just remember the hot dogs and the heroes, and I don't think I've seen a game since where the hot dogs tasted as good or the players seemed so magnificent.
Sigh... Yeah, I'm feeling a little nostalgic today.
Friday, May 21, 2004
Donizetti
Donizetti had his share of tragedy, that's for sure. His wife and third child both died just before he wrote Roberto Devereaux, and it's definitely one of his darkest operas. The letters he wrote at the time are really painful, and as I was watching the DVD again I could just feel the drama of his situation and the burden he was carrying. Isn't it great when you can read about an artist and then go back and re-examine his works with new insight and understanding. Almost makes me want to become a scholar.
And speaking of the DVD, what an outstanding performance by Beverly Sills. Even though she was past her prime when it was recorded and her voice sounds a little shrill at times, her acting and her interpretation of Elisabetta certainly sets the standard. Great stuff, although the story goes that singing this role probably shortened her career. That's a shame because she was immensely talented, and had he lived to see it, I think Donizetti would have been pleased.
Between the book and the operas I feel like I'm just lost in this guy's world right now, and it's compelling. Not healthy, mind you, but compelling. A common criticism, of course, is that he wrote too many operas and, consequently, his scores lack originality and depth. Bellini certainly thought so, and there is some merit to that line of thinking. But he was a great composer for voice and a great composer of opera, both drama and comedy, and there must be some reason that so many singers champion his works and still perform them 150 years later. There's no question that Verdi was the genius of Italian Opera, but Donizetti wasn't far behind.
Requiem
For some strange reason, reading about Donizetti made me think about the Verdi Requiem. I've never liked it as much as Mozart's, but I've never thought of it as "defiant" the way some musicolgists seem to. To me it's more a personal plea than a statement of defiance. You know, sort of Verdi's way of saying "Look, lord, I've never been a great friend of the church, but let's talk about this one-on-one, shall we"?
Which gets me to wondering if someone will write me a Requiem when I die. I know how conceited that sounds and, since I have no religious beliefs myself, a little hypocritical as well. But it would be nice to have a requiem, a secular requiem that is. I think everyone would like to think their life was meaningful enough to warrant one. And then I wonder if no one will write one for me, maybe I could write my own (isn't that what Mozart did? Sort of?). Mine would not be majestic or profound, mind you, or vain, I hope, but a simple, secular remembrance. And then I wonder "just what sort of meaning could I could get out of my life?"
Part 1. (Birth) Why is everybody looking at me?
Part 2. (Belief) He hates Sunday School and does not go
Part 3. (Dies Irae) He tries to be a good person, but people keep messing with him
Part 4. (Death) Even the undertaker has to make a living.
Well, make that one great opera and one great Requiem I've got to compose before I die. Better take some music lessons.
Deadwood
Oh yeah, my opera. Where was I? I wanted to make the lawman my evil baritone, but, unfortunately, Scarpia's already been done. That's the problem with the modern world, isn't it? Seems like everything new is just a repeat of what's come before. So that means I'll probably have to make the saloon owner the evil baritone and the lawman will have to be the foreboding bass (a comprimario role at best). The preacher will be the tenor and the alchoholic Calamity Jane will be the mezzo. That just leaves the prima donna...still working on that. Honestly, though, I think I'll just put this on the backburner for a while and work on my other opera.
I got this idea when I was reading the paper. It just struck me, serendipity you might say. But I was reading the political news and there it was, my next opera. Not the libretto or the score or anything like that, just one of those great opera titles - Candolezza Rice, or perhaps Candolezza di California. I'm picturing a tragic opera about the doomed love affair between Candolezza and Donald Rumsfeld set against the backdrop of war and poltical unrest. Rumsfeld will be the tenor and Rice will have to be a mezzo because I just can't picture her as a soprano. Cheney would seem right for the evil baritone but I don't want this to be too political. I'll probably find some unknown white house staffer for that. Someone secret and behind the scenes. Bush will be second tenor.
Oh, and it will be in Italian. I don't speak Italian, of course, but then I can't read music either.
Donizetti had his share of tragedy, that's for sure. His wife and third child both died just before he wrote Roberto Devereaux, and it's definitely one of his darkest operas. The letters he wrote at the time are really painful, and as I was watching the DVD again I could just feel the drama of his situation and the burden he was carrying. Isn't it great when you can read about an artist and then go back and re-examine his works with new insight and understanding. Almost makes me want to become a scholar.
And speaking of the DVD, what an outstanding performance by Beverly Sills. Even though she was past her prime when it was recorded and her voice sounds a little shrill at times, her acting and her interpretation of Elisabetta certainly sets the standard. Great stuff, although the story goes that singing this role probably shortened her career. That's a shame because she was immensely talented, and had he lived to see it, I think Donizetti would have been pleased.
Between the book and the operas I feel like I'm just lost in this guy's world right now, and it's compelling. Not healthy, mind you, but compelling. A common criticism, of course, is that he wrote too many operas and, consequently, his scores lack originality and depth. Bellini certainly thought so, and there is some merit to that line of thinking. But he was a great composer for voice and a great composer of opera, both drama and comedy, and there must be some reason that so many singers champion his works and still perform them 150 years later. There's no question that Verdi was the genius of Italian Opera, but Donizetti wasn't far behind.
Requiem
For some strange reason, reading about Donizetti made me think about the Verdi Requiem. I've never liked it as much as Mozart's, but I've never thought of it as "defiant" the way some musicolgists seem to. To me it's more a personal plea than a statement of defiance. You know, sort of Verdi's way of saying "Look, lord, I've never been a great friend of the church, but let's talk about this one-on-one, shall we"?
Which gets me to wondering if someone will write me a Requiem when I die. I know how conceited that sounds and, since I have no religious beliefs myself, a little hypocritical as well. But it would be nice to have a requiem, a secular requiem that is. I think everyone would like to think their life was meaningful enough to warrant one. And then I wonder if no one will write one for me, maybe I could write my own (isn't that what Mozart did? Sort of?). Mine would not be majestic or profound, mind you, or vain, I hope, but a simple, secular remembrance. And then I wonder "just what sort of meaning could I could get out of my life?"
Part 1. (Birth) Why is everybody looking at me?
Part 2. (Belief) He hates Sunday School and does not go
Part 3. (Dies Irae) He tries to be a good person, but people keep messing with him
Part 4. (Death) Even the undertaker has to make a living.
Well, make that one great opera and one great Requiem I've got to compose before I die. Better take some music lessons.
Deadwood
Oh yeah, my opera. Where was I? I wanted to make the lawman my evil baritone, but, unfortunately, Scarpia's already been done. That's the problem with the modern world, isn't it? Seems like everything new is just a repeat of what's come before. So that means I'll probably have to make the saloon owner the evil baritone and the lawman will have to be the foreboding bass (a comprimario role at best). The preacher will be the tenor and the alchoholic Calamity Jane will be the mezzo. That just leaves the prima donna...still working on that. Honestly, though, I think I'll just put this on the backburner for a while and work on my other opera.
I got this idea when I was reading the paper. It just struck me, serendipity you might say. But I was reading the political news and there it was, my next opera. Not the libretto or the score or anything like that, just one of those great opera titles - Candolezza Rice, or perhaps Candolezza di California. I'm picturing a tragic opera about the doomed love affair between Candolezza and Donald Rumsfeld set against the backdrop of war and poltical unrest. Rumsfeld will be the tenor and Rice will have to be a mezzo because I just can't picture her as a soprano. Cheney would seem right for the evil baritone but I don't want this to be too political. I'll probably find some unknown white house staffer for that. Someone secret and behind the scenes. Bush will be second tenor.
Oh, and it will be in Italian. I don't speak Italian, of course, but then I can't read music either.
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
What a Day
Well it was my turn to have one of those days today. I don't know what it was but I just couldn't do anything right, and everybody seemed to be looking at me like I had a booger hanging out my nose. Whatever it was, wrong side of the bed, two left feet, booger hanging out my nose...I'm just glad it's over.
Looking over my first blog entry didn't help things either. I just can't believe how bad a writer I've become. Not that I was ever that good, of course, but I was never so mannered and self-conscious before. Maybe it's because all the writing I've done lately has been that stultifyinly dull office kind of writing. I think I'd better resolve right here and now to write at least four entries a week and try to shake some of the stuffiness out of my style. Just let it go and unclutter myself, you know.
Deadwood
Okay, the saint who finds redemption through sin. The alchoholic who delivers absolution to the priest. Something like that. It's at times like these that I wish I hadn't spent my two semesters of college shooting pool at the Student Union and had actually gone to class and learned something. I get the feeling this has all been explored many times before, but it's new to me so I'll just ruminate on it a while.
Actually, I've got the opening for my "Deadwood" opera. It's simple enough and trite as hell, but, then, it's a work in progress. The curtain rises and the we find ourselves in front of the new saloon in town - the Belle Union. The chorus is on stage and breaks out in lively anticipation of the nights festivities. The sopranos and mezzos sing a slightly risque song about all the lonely miners with their pockets full of gold and nowhere to spend it, and the tenors, baritones and basses sing a lusty bit about the hardhips of working all day and coming home to an empty bed. Hmmm... this is sounding a little too much like "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers" isn't it. Well, like I said it's a work in progress and I'll just have to ruminate on it for a while.
Problem is where do I go with this whole idea. I've got the preacher and the saloon girl, but I don't want to turn this into "Of Human Bondage". After all, this is opera and there has to be some tragedy and someone damn well better die before the final curtain. I just can't figure out the character who precipitates the disaster, and how the preacher comes to embrace sin as his salvation. Ruminate, ruminate, ruminate...
Of course, it could be an Opera buffa with sort of a lighthearted descent into sin. Time to ruminate some more.
Donizetti
Mozart and Mendelssohn were both child prodigies, Beethoven lived under the savage yoke of his father, but poor old Donizetti seems to have had a rather ordinary childhood. He grew up poor and attended a school for young singers. Though his voice was somewhat limited he showed an aptitude for harpsichord and composition, and despite numerous attempts to have him expelled he continued on and received his musical education. Geez, I was hoping he'd be a more interesting genius than that.
He did have a brother who was a musician in Napoleon's army, though, and it seems that while stationed in Turkey the Pasha was so taken with his musical ability that he allowed him access to his harem. Well, talk about your perks! Nowadays they give you a corner office or a company car, but I'd say access to the harem has both of those beat. The book says that the brother came home for a visit, but then left again for Turkey and never came back. Duh!!!
Well it was my turn to have one of those days today. I don't know what it was but I just couldn't do anything right, and everybody seemed to be looking at me like I had a booger hanging out my nose. Whatever it was, wrong side of the bed, two left feet, booger hanging out my nose...I'm just glad it's over.
Looking over my first blog entry didn't help things either. I just can't believe how bad a writer I've become. Not that I was ever that good, of course, but I was never so mannered and self-conscious before. Maybe it's because all the writing I've done lately has been that stultifyinly dull office kind of writing. I think I'd better resolve right here and now to write at least four entries a week and try to shake some of the stuffiness out of my style. Just let it go and unclutter myself, you know.
Deadwood
Okay, the saint who finds redemption through sin. The alchoholic who delivers absolution to the priest. Something like that. It's at times like these that I wish I hadn't spent my two semesters of college shooting pool at the Student Union and had actually gone to class and learned something. I get the feeling this has all been explored many times before, but it's new to me so I'll just ruminate on it a while.
Actually, I've got the opening for my "Deadwood" opera. It's simple enough and trite as hell, but, then, it's a work in progress. The curtain rises and the we find ourselves in front of the new saloon in town - the Belle Union. The chorus is on stage and breaks out in lively anticipation of the nights festivities. The sopranos and mezzos sing a slightly risque song about all the lonely miners with their pockets full of gold and nowhere to spend it, and the tenors, baritones and basses sing a lusty bit about the hardhips of working all day and coming home to an empty bed. Hmmm... this is sounding a little too much like "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers" isn't it. Well, like I said it's a work in progress and I'll just have to ruminate on it for a while.
Problem is where do I go with this whole idea. I've got the preacher and the saloon girl, but I don't want to turn this into "Of Human Bondage". After all, this is opera and there has to be some tragedy and someone damn well better die before the final curtain. I just can't figure out the character who precipitates the disaster, and how the preacher comes to embrace sin as his salvation. Ruminate, ruminate, ruminate...
Of course, it could be an Opera buffa with sort of a lighthearted descent into sin. Time to ruminate some more.
Donizetti
Mozart and Mendelssohn were both child prodigies, Beethoven lived under the savage yoke of his father, but poor old Donizetti seems to have had a rather ordinary childhood. He grew up poor and attended a school for young singers. Though his voice was somewhat limited he showed an aptitude for harpsichord and composition, and despite numerous attempts to have him expelled he continued on and received his musical education. Geez, I was hoping he'd be a more interesting genius than that.
He did have a brother who was a musician in Napoleon's army, though, and it seems that while stationed in Turkey the Pasha was so taken with his musical ability that he allowed him access to his harem. Well, talk about your perks! Nowadays they give you a corner office or a company car, but I'd say access to the harem has both of those beat. The book says that the brother came home for a visit, but then left again for Turkey and never came back. Duh!!!
Monday, May 17, 2004
May 17, 2004
My Blog
I can't think of a good reason for this blog. I used to keep a private journal many years ago and the idea of a public blog seems a little strange to me, although not nearly as strange as the idea that anyone would read it. The title "Dead Cat On A Mountain" refers, of course, to Hemingway's "Snows of Kilimjaro", and this sense I get as I grow older of being lost and out of place and very far from the world where I belong. It promises to be a rambling mess of a thing, but also theraputic, and maybe just a little insightful.
Deadwood
I've been watching this show on HBO for no particular reason I can think of. It's not very good, really, and a pointless waste of time. However, on tonights show there was an interesting little moment between an epileptic preacher and an alchoholic Calamity Jane that keeps rattling around in my head.
On the show, the preacher worries that he is losing his calling and can no longer feel Jesus' words. When he tells Jane what is happening, she scowls at him and tells him something like "Well, welcome to the human race". The scene ends and we the audience are left with this feeling that now, at last, the preacher has lost his pretensions and must finally find acceptance in the common brotherhood of man.
As I watched it I thought "what a remarkable idea". That the saint should find redemption from the sinner! I say remarkable, and yet, very common really. In fact, the more I think about it the more ordinary an idea it seems. If cynicism is just anger at not wanting to be disappointed (or the despair of belief), then this type of redemption is the very heart of cynicism, isn't it? What could be more natural to the cynic than that the preacher should lose his kingdom of heaven and land in a mudhole like Deadwood. And how readily we, the audience, accept it as truth.
Since my secret dream is to write a great libretto one day, I'm thinking maybe I could write one about Deadwood. Let's face it, opera has already explored most of the great themes, but "the saint who finds rememption throught the sinner" is certainly ripe for investigation. I wonder if it's been done. Hmmmm.....
My Libretto
Speaking of opera, I just checked out a biography of Gaetano Donizetti from the library. I know I should be more modern but, God, how I love his operas. Seems like I just can't get enough bel canto. The book is 900+ pages and I'm eager to dig in, so I think I'll get started now. It's been kind of a rough start for my Blog, but hopefully I'll find my rhythm.
I can't think of a good reason for this blog. I used to keep a private journal many years ago and the idea of a public blog seems a little strange to me, although not nearly as strange as the idea that anyone would read it. The title "Dead Cat On A Mountain" refers, of course, to Hemingway's "Snows of Kilimjaro", and this sense I get as I grow older of being lost and out of place and very far from the world where I belong. It promises to be a rambling mess of a thing, but also theraputic, and maybe just a little insightful.
Deadwood
I've been watching this show on HBO for no particular reason I can think of. It's not very good, really, and a pointless waste of time. However, on tonights show there was an interesting little moment between an epileptic preacher and an alchoholic Calamity Jane that keeps rattling around in my head.
On the show, the preacher worries that he is losing his calling and can no longer feel Jesus' words. When he tells Jane what is happening, she scowls at him and tells him something like "Well, welcome to the human race". The scene ends and we the audience are left with this feeling that now, at last, the preacher has lost his pretensions and must finally find acceptance in the common brotherhood of man.
As I watched it I thought "what a remarkable idea". That the saint should find redemption from the sinner! I say remarkable, and yet, very common really. In fact, the more I think about it the more ordinary an idea it seems. If cynicism is just anger at not wanting to be disappointed (or the despair of belief), then this type of redemption is the very heart of cynicism, isn't it? What could be more natural to the cynic than that the preacher should lose his kingdom of heaven and land in a mudhole like Deadwood. And how readily we, the audience, accept it as truth.
Since my secret dream is to write a great libretto one day, I'm thinking maybe I could write one about Deadwood. Let's face it, opera has already explored most of the great themes, but "the saint who finds rememption throught the sinner" is certainly ripe for investigation. I wonder if it's been done. Hmmmm.....
My Libretto
Speaking of opera, I just checked out a biography of Gaetano Donizetti from the library. I know I should be more modern but, God, how I love his operas. Seems like I just can't get enough bel canto. The book is 900+ pages and I'm eager to dig in, so I think I'll get started now. It's been kind of a rough start for my Blog, but hopefully I'll find my rhythm.
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