There's No Business Like Show Business

What can I say about Dutch violinist Janine Jansen. Well, looking at this cover photo from her 2005 Vivaldi Cd, a couple of things immediately come to mind. But, that aside, is there more to Janine Jansen than a killer body and a pretty face? That's not such an easy question to answer, but it's clear that she's not shy about calling attention to herself.

To her detractors she is considered a "crossover" artist, a label applied in its most pejorative sense, of a thoroughly conventional and limited mainstream artist meant to appeal to a nondiscriminating audience of casual or first-time classical music listeners. I feel the label is unjustified. She clearly has the talent to be considered a serious classical musician, however it is interesting to note reports which say that some 75% of her music sales come through the Itunes Music Store, a service with a large teenage demographic who don't usually purchase classical music. So perhaps there is some crossover appeal, but that shouldn't reflect poorly on the music.

Anyways, I like to come to my own judgements so I went out and purchased her latest CD of the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto and Bruch Concerto No. 1, the main question being do I really need another Mendolssohn/Bruch CD in my collection? Well, no I don't, but that just shows the kind of dedication and sacrifice I bring to this blog. My first impressions were (1) that she is quite a stunning woman to behold, and (2) that she is showing considerably less skin on this CD cover than on covers past, a good thing or bad thing depending on your point of view. I don't really spend that much time looking at covers so it didn't make much difference to me.

As for the music, that's something I do care a great deal about. When talking about violinists, people who know a great deal about such things mention qualities such as "phrasing" and "color" and "rubato". I know nothing about such things so instead I'll talk about communication.

I think violinists are like actors in many ways. An actor is given a script and is asked to communicate its words and ideas to the audience, and there are qualitative differences between how a Cate Blanchett might deliver the words and, say, a Jessica Simpson. Likewise, violinists are given a score and similarly asked to interpret and communicate through their instrument what is written on the page. So, with that in mind, where would I place Janine Jansen?

Well, if Jansen were an actor, I'd say she be less of a Meryl Streep and more of a Ethel Merman. Where a Meryl Streep might look at the score and try to inhabit the music (like a Julia Fischer), Ethel Merman's approach would be more like "Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead." In fact, as I understand it, the words "delicate" and "touch" do not even exist in the Dutch language. (Actually, that's not true. I just made that up. I'm sure that althought unpronounceable, Dutch equivalents do indeed exist)

Jansen's Mendelssohn is a pedal-to-the-metal, no-holds-barred, full-out musical assault, and, you know what, it's not that bad. I mean, this piece has been played and recorded so many times that my ears go numb just thinking about it, so why not have some fun with it. Why not just open your mouth and belt it out. It may not be the most elegant Mendelssohn ever recorded, but it'll certainly grab your attention.

Unfortunately, the piece that follows, the Bruch Romance in F major for viola and orchestra, could use a little more elegance and touch than Jansen can muster. Her hesitant and awkward exploration of this piece reminded me of a person who'd been thrown in the deep end and could manage nothing more than treading water. This is the kind of playing, I think, that fuels the criticism that Jansen in really a somewhat one-dimensional player.

The concluding piece and, according to her numerous fans, the real highlight of this CD is the Bruch Concerto No. 1. According to the CD notes, Jansen considers the middle section of this concerto to be the most important part, but you'd never know it from this relentless, pounding rendition of perhaps the most famous of all violin concerti. For all her good intentions, Jansen just doesn't do "subtlety" and "nuance". In fact, her Bruch is a little like being run over by a Mack Truck, and, let me tell you, to my ears it isn't a very pleasant experience.

But that's just me, and there are a lot of people in this world who like this style of playing. It's a style which I call "power violin", and, you know, that suits many people just fine. Maybe that's her appeal to the younger crowd. All that "power violin" fits in nicely with in with the "power chords" and "power guitars" that their so used to hearing. Either way, listening to this CD left me feeling like I'd just gone ten rounds with Rocky Balboa, and you know you've got to be in top condition for something like that, and a good cut man doesn't hurt either. If that's your taste then you'll love Janine Jansen. As for me, I don't think I want take another beating.

So I'll just put this one back on the shelf for a while. I doubt it'll be getting a lot of play, and I don't think I'll be buying any more of her CD's in the near future either. On the other hand, if she ever decides to do a swimsuit calender, well...

Now if you'll excuse me I think it's time for me to go take a cold shower.

Tags: Janine Jansen

The Hanging Tree

(the fans)

Each day there was always the same old place.
After school up to the bend of the road,
Past the houses, where with cold beers in hand
They'd pass the smoke around and then wonder
"Who among us will climb the hanging tree?"
Each unafraid, waiting for the other.

And as the afternoon dimmed they remained,
With none disposed to climb the branches
To where the noose had been fastened and hung,
But rather in shadowy drift escaped,
And in a dizzy fantasy embraced
The youthful conceit of endless future.

By some potion, some herb, some little pill
Would they be favored from life's misfortunes.
If they could just dull their minds to realness
And pretend their world was not their parents,
For them there'd never be a hanging tree,
While each day they grew a little deader.


(the lover)

Shut behind her walls, unseen by all but
The mirror, she imagined alone all
That people do. Her life not at all what
She thought it would be. So regular, small
And lonely was she. And when the artist spoke
She pretended him as a kindred soul,
Who with his practiced lies could gently coax
her trust, even as her beliefs he stole.
"Why not" she said, like a small and spoiled child,
And conceited and vain he used this for
his confirmation, that all he reviled
Would but for her sake respect him the more.
And believing herself now to be free
She began her climb up the hanging tree



(the artist)

He caught a wave once
Thrust upwards towards the sun like
Driftwood
And mistook himself for the wind
Or a Phoenix risen from the ashpile
Of common experience.

And men in suits selling tickets
Worshiped him
And men selling magazines
Acclaimed him
And he believed the money and the praise
To be manifestly true,
And himself among the chosen few.

Then he called himself an Artist.
"The people love me, I am special", he supposed
"I have been given a great gift."
When he yearned, they cheered.
When he cursed, they cheered.
As he fouled and poisoned the earth,
The people thought themselves heard
Through the noise and the chaos,
Compelled by the machine of commerce which they
Embraced and dreaded,
And for which they knew nothing else.

But as soon as it came
The Wave was broken,
And the people found new distractions, and
The Artist was plagued of them.
"They no longer understand my art", he swore
And feigning indifference, he persisted.
Convinced that the money and fame would come again
And all the things spoken still true.

But as no one came
He sought new direction,
And the people now found him pretentious,
And though he thought great things
The people knew better than he
The insult of being pandered to
And the conceit of selfishness and fame.

So now the Artist, wounded and dangerous,
Found comfort in himself and satisfaction in
The destruction of others.
For all his invective and self-loathing,
He could not hide from the knowledge
That despite all of his creativity and Art
He had become obvious and dull,

And caught, like a scared cat,
Way up high in the hanging tree.

Tags: poetry, blank verse, sonnet, free verse

Sonnet and First Meditation on Saariaho's Graal Theatre

xiv.

And who was I before the womb? By what
Formless spirit did I explore the dark
Boundaries and blue eternal depths, caught
Nameless, unnameable, silent, unmarked,
My first labored thoughts and cries unheard in
The pre-genesis of vacuum and space.
Could I have been, or had being, within
Such unformed dimension of time and place?
By what mechanism was I undreamed
Without first the imagination or
Presence by which intelligence could scheme
Or contrive such worlds as minds could explore.
Why this purposeless void of light and sound
And mysterious blackness all around.

Tags: poetry, sonnet

Sonnet to a Childhood Friend

xiii.

I'm glad we did this tonight. At first
I wasn't sure. To tell you the truth, I
don't mix much these days, being at my worst
most times, with little to say or reply.
But I'm glad to hear your mother's well. Yes
I'm sorry about your divorce. So nice you
Found someone new. And how lucky and blessed
To have such a lovely daughter. You two
look so pretty. Remember those Sundays
When we would bounce in the back of the car.
When we'd hit the bump and then fly way
Up and hit our heads. So long and so far
Ago. I don't think on that anymore.
I'd forgot when I was happy before.

Tags: poetry, sonnet

Franklin Hall

They're locking the doors to Franklin Hall.
The crowds
Done with chatting, have scattered and thinned
Save for the three or four, who
Having overstayed, and perhaps too loud in the hushed aftersilence,
Find new occasion in the lateness of the hour.
In the thin shadowy glare of house lights
Blue-jeaned workers gather up the remnants
Of the event once anticipated which has now run its course,
While somewhere a slamming door
Echoes through the muffled acoustic vacancy
Of the hall.

It was a wonderful affair...
Each empty row
Alive with applause and conversation.
So much hurry and excitement,
Nervousness and worry,
The glow of accomplishement and
The warm embrace,
So many kind words spoken.
It almost made me forget

Not to linger too long in Franklin Hall.
When the final patron has gone
And the workmen are through
And the last light turned out,
All I can take, all that remains,
Are its faint echoes and
Emptiness.

Tags: poetry, free verse

A Sonnet to Futility

xii.

I'm not born to greatness. That molecule
Of genius wasn't given to me. I
am neither as well-bred nor as well-schooled
As my serious nature would imply.
I cannot heal the world nor find the truth
in a grain of sand. Time is mystery,
Ever so bright and undarkened in youth,
That in me grows cold and black as the sea.
I don't know life's lessons. Mistakes are still
Made, frivolous imperfections still track
All endeavor, and each day tests my will
To continue though life's splendor they lack.
Yet of all my failings, the one most true?
Despite all else, I yet believe in you.

Tags: poetry, sonnet

The Other Man's Grass is Always Greener

What's suprising about Julia Fischer's 2005 release of "J.S. Bach's Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin" is not the musicianship or quality of her playing. As I posted last week, Fischer is a rising star in a very crowded field of talented violinsts. No, what is suprising is that here, in 2007, ten years after its release, the finest recording of Bach Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin still remains the 1997 release by a very young Hilary Hahn. You would think that in the intervening decade someone would come along and top it, but no one has.

Not that Julia Fischer doesn't try. She has all the qualities I like best in a violinist - a lack of flash and showiness, and a determination to let the music speak for itself rather than speak for it. Yet on this recording Fischer seems uncharacteristically heavy-handed and thick, with a tendency towards overdramatics, showing none of Hilary Hahn's understated grace, elegance or intelligence. When Hahn plays Back it's like the notes come off the page straight to my ears with no human in between, but at times Fischer's Bach seems to strain at the effort. I'm sure it was not Fischer's intent, but this CD just made me want to back to my collection and remember how good that early Hahn effort was.

In fact, hearing Hahn's Solo Bach made me want to go back and listen to all of her recordings again (I own all of them). Man, what an amazing run she had. Her Beethoven, Brahms, Shostakovich, Stravinsky, and Bach Concertos were all some of the best recordings of these works I've ever heard, and her Barber and Elgar have simply never been equalled.

Her Barber, in particular, made with Hugh Wolff, is really the only Barber Violin Concerto worth having. Believe me, I haven't listened to 'em all, but I've listened to quite a few, and no other violinist besides Hahn has ever gotten this piece right. It's a 20th century American piece, not a 19th century romantic piece, yet every other violinist seems to want to layer it in goopy sentimentality, particularly the first two movements. I'd suggest that before anyone plays it they listen to Hahn's clean, crisp reading of the piece, and then rethink their approach.

Of course I've written about her Elgar before, so I won't go into it again. I think this is sadly one of the most overlooked releases of the 21st century, and I don't really know why. It's a beautiful piece of incredible depth, one that bears repeated listenings, and yet even Hilary Hahn, when asked to recount the names of her past recordings, forgot to include it. I don't get it. It's probably my favorite CD and the one I asked her to sign when she came to the City last month (ooops, I don't think I was supposed to do that!), but no one else seems to pay it much attention. Maybe it's because the one thing that's never in short supply in the world of classical music is opinions on how something should or shouldn't be played, and sometimes Hahn's distinctive style just might work against her.

Oh well, that just makes it all the sadder to see her lose so much of her focus lately. I don't know, are we coming to the end of Hilary Hahn's classical music career? It sure seems that way. Take, for example, her work on the Trail of Dead CD "World's Apart", a project probably best left unmentioned. I was reading a posting done by one of the TOD bandmembers in which he explained how the band liked to perform their shows while high on ecstasy, a fitting exposition of just how seriously the bandmembers themselves take their own music (I understand that the Berlin Phil similarly likes to get totally trashed before their concert performances). So what's her audience supposed to make of a project like this? What would you say if Gil Shaham or Yo-Yo Ma announced they were going to do a CD with some of their stoner friends? You're gonna WHAT?

And now, as a follow-up to that ill-concieved project, comes Hahn's next CD with folkie Tom Brosseau. Evidently it must be an important undertaking for her because according to her concert schedule she is devoting a lot of time and effort towards promoting it. I don't know Brosseau's music, really, but I have listened to it on the internet. It's not TOD, that's for sure. More like a lot of homespun populism about dusty towns and prairie grass, and how the little people are the salt of the earth and all that. It ain't Dylan or Joni Mitchell, but it ain't bad either. His website says he reads a lot of Steinbeck and that's ok too. Guess he's probably one of those thoughtful, sensitive types who spends a lot of his time staring fix'edly into the middle distance. The Brosseau-Hahn CD hasn't come out yet so there's nothing I can say, but somehow I don't think it's going to be Paganini.

Which brings us back to the question at hand - namely, whither Hilary? Her Mozart CD was a bit of a stumble. The playing was excellent but it lacked the depth of other players like Anne-Sophie Mutter. The Paganini-Spohr CD had a brilliant, and I mean brilliant performance of the Paganini Violin Concerto No. 1, but was brought down a little by a less than inspiring Spohr Violin Concerto No. 8. I understand the personal reasons that Hahn included the Spohr on this CD, reasons she has explained many times, but frankly it's a piece that just doesn't go anywhere. It's a beautiful piece with some difficult passages, but you keep waiting for it to develop some depth or direction, and it just sort of lays there.

Now with her forays into popular music I have to wonder if Hilary Hahn's classical days are coming to an end. It seems impossible to even think of the possiblity, but she's been doing this for a long time, and in my minds eye I can see a person tired and spent and surrounded by promoters and publicists and favor-seekers and all assorted types of hangers-on, and maybe she just feels it's time for her to go on to other things.I don't know, but if I could ask one question of her, if I could sit down with beside her and speak, then...I guess she'd probably squirt me in the face with pepper spray and yell for the police. But before they wrestle me to the ground, I'd ask one favor.

"You know Hilary, I don't know how many CD's you have left on your DG contract, but if this next one is to be your last then why not make it your greatest CD yet. Not just for the sake of your audience who has supported you all these years, and not even for the sake of all the people who've helped you along the way, but for your own sake and for the sake of all the hard work you've put in over the years to get where you are. Make a CD that'll make everyone miss you when you're gone, go out with a bang, and then go pursue your popstar dreams or whatever it is you have in mind. Will you do that Hilary?"

And then they can throw me in jail, but at least I'll have said my piece.

Tags: Hilary, Hahn, Julia, Fischer

A Sonnet to the Wind

"Geez, not another sonnet. Give it up already, dude. "

"Hey, I like writing sonnets. Like someone once said, 'sonnets are cool balm to soothe troubled souls.' Ok, maybe nobody said that, but this blog is my sandbox, not yours, and I'll write as many sonnets as I damn well please. Besides, it helps take the load off my mind."



xi.

How far from me to you? It's everything
I think about you, everything you
Don't know about me, misunderstood,
Untrue, all the stranded moments I lose
to habit and occupation. If not
given then I take nothing unoffered,
But if offered and not taken, if hot
Passion dies, and hard I allow softer
Feelings to vanish, then what is gained?
Pretense? True emotion would be sweeter,
And warm affection given unrestrained
Better than all posture and theater.
I ask what is the path, where is the way,
What madness to live this day after day.

Tags: poetry, sonnet

Sonnet for a Stranger

x.

It's all a lie. All of it. Life is not
The blows we suffer, nor getting knocked down
And then standing. What choice have we? To squat
Down in the gutter? Do we sink and drown
Or die from despair? With brave lies we fill
Ourselves - that we are heroes for drawing
Another breath though we are treated ill,
And harbor vain conceits, like rats gnawing
At our egos, of warriors defeated
In battle, only to return ever
Stronger for the wound. Be you not decieved
My friend, for the hardest blows are never
Those we suffer ourselves, but those recieved
By ones we love. This is the pain life brings,
What becomes of you is the hardest of things.

Tags: poetry, sonnet

A Sonnet of Farewell

ix.

Where the hawk may go is no concern to
Me. Hanging lazily on the current
And hunting fresh prey. Would you have me do
no less, as if it were or it weren't
Within the poor power of failing aim
To strike at the heart and be so stricken.
There's no loss in this, nor to any gain
Can there be. Each day hardens and thickens
And all sense becomes idle and dull. We
Are a counterpoint, you and I. Each one
To follow its own course, in unity,
But separate, the fire of two hot suns.
Good hunting, I say, be your troubles few.
With regret I go, but to myself am true.

Tags: poetry, sonnet

Do Re Mi Fa So La Ti Do Ti La So Fa Mi Re Do

"So I was thinking about Paris Hilton."

"Tell me about it."

"Well, I don't usually think about her that much, you know. To tell the truth, I never think about her at all. I mean, she's not attractive to me. In fact, I think she kind of looks like Robert Vaughn. But I was thinking, you know, if all you are is famous for being famous, then what are you going to be famous for when you're not famous anymore?"

"I see. Tell me, what else has been going on in your life."

"What else? Not much really. I got one of those Casio keyboards. You know, those little ones you can buy at Target or someplace like that. It used to be my niece's but she never used it so my brother gave it to me. Anyways, I got the thing and I can't stop playing it."

"Have you ever experienced this kind of obsessive behavior before?"

"What? No, it's like I used to play the guitar about a hundred years ago, and, it was like, you know, all by ear. I'd be like 'Dude, that was awesome. Teach me how to play that' and the guy would show me the chords, but I never understood any of the musical reasons behind it. You know, you just play the chords and that's it. But with this keyboard, it's like you can see what's happening. It's like, wow, that's a C major chord and if I drop these two notes down a half-step then that's a C minor, and if I add this seventh then that's a C minor 7th. It's hard to see that on a guitar, but on a keyboard it's all right there. Man, it's great. Here I am a grown man and I can't stop playing with this toy keyboard. If I would've had one of these when I was a kid I'd probably still be up in my room playing with it. My dad would be like 'Son, you've been playing with that thing for the past 30 years now. Don't you think it's about time you went out and made a living?', and I'd be like 'but Dad, look, an A minor 9th'. "

"This troubles me a little. Have you been ..."

"So I figure this music thing isn't that hard, you know. Who needs Julliard? A couple more weeks of practice and I think I'll finally be able to write that opera of mine."

"Oh yes, the opera. How's that coming along?"

"It's coming along. Want to hear what I've got so far?"

"Yes, please go on."

"Well, first the characters. The tenor I'm gonna call Jared. He's gonna be the hero because, well, he's the tenor. Jared's like this web-savvy, Gen Y, wired-in, bleeding edge type who writes for a popular website. I figure Jared to be one of those types who's always putting down everything that's considered tasteful and praising everything that's considered distasteful because, you know, it's a sign of his blistering intelligence and sophistication. He's also got a lot of charisma, and fellow Gen-Y'rs flock to him because he's so counterculture and in your face."

"Ok."

"I don't have a name for the soprano yet. She's a singer though, and a good one. "

"Why don't you call her Tosca?"

"Ha, ha, very funny doc. She's not Tosca. Are you kidding? This is a modern opera. Tosca would never work in a modern opera. Anyways, she's had this cultured upbringing and is very successful in her field, but for some reason she feels terribly unfulfilled. She keeps wanting to escape her squeaky-clean, antispetic image, so whenever she can she likes to venture out to the seamier side of town. It's the only kind of rebellion she can safely act out within the narrow confines of her world."

"That's it?"

"No, I've also got my evil baritone. He's an old man. Not a bitter old man, just a displaced one, who has long since given up on ever finding any lasting happiness in the world and has withdrawn to a reclusive and bookish life, perfectly content to go on that way till the day he dies. Nothing more than a pathetic old man."

"Yes, that is pretty pathetic. Go on."

"Well, it's a love triangle, you see."

"Oh God, not another love triangle."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I don't really have the story worked out but it goes something like this. Act One opens with the old man coming into the big city to run some kind of errand. However, his errand takes him to a neighborhood that he hasn't been to in twenty years. Immediately he's confronted by people he doesn't run into in the safe, suburban neighborhood where he lives. Street people, hustlers, and dope addicts all hitting him up for cigarettes and spare change.

"He starts feeling a little nervous and upset and longs to be back in the comfort of his familiar surroundings. Then he sees something that he's never seen before. It's a couple standing on the street corner. The guy has spiked hair which he's died fire engine red and is wearing a ratty old leather coat. He doesn't look well. His girlfriend, though, frightens the old man. She is thin and gaunt, her face is ashen and pale, and her eyes are big, black empty hollows. She looks like she just got out of her deathbed to stand here on this corner. The old man can't believe his eyes. He sees her and realizes he's looking at the living dead.

"The young guy asks him for some change and he shrugs him off, and then the young guy asks him 'Hey, you looking for some fun? For twenty bucks my girlfriend will make you happy. I guarantee it.' The old man looks at the girl and can't believe what he's just heard. What kind of a person would sell his girlfriend for twenty bucks?

"The old man is disgusted and torn. On the one hand he is tempted to just give the girl the twenty bucks and go on his way, but for what? So she can put more poison in her arm? He can't be responsible for that. On the other hand, what will she do? Will she just die out here on the streets tonight if he doesn't help? Finally, all he can do is just shrug and continue on his way. He can't solve the world's problems.

"Further down the street he hears a voice singing in one of the clubs. It's the soprano, and he's immediately taken by the sound of her voice. He goes into the club and sees her up on stage and for the first time in twenty years he is overcome with feelings he thought he buried long ago. As she continues to sing he feels that he must get to know this girl and somehow make her his. That's what I've got so far."

"That's all?"

"Well, you see, that part of the story is true. I mean, it really happened. To me. Last month, I mean. Anyways, I changed some of the details, but for the most part it's true. The rest of it I have to make up."

"And?"

"And? Ok, I'm still working on it but generally the rest will go like this. The old man introduces himself to the soprano but she doesn't want to have anything to do with this pathetic old man. She's more interested in Jared, who's also in the club that night. Jared is the center of attention of all the digerati in the club, and they all celebrate the modern world and its decadence. The chorus joins in and they then sing about the joys of youthful freedom. Soon Jared notice's the soprano's interest in him and he walks up to her. She is immediately impressed by his coarseness and crude ways, and they sing a love duet before disappearing offstage for some passionate lovemaking. End of Scene I.

"Scene II opens with the old man bemoaning his fate and cursing Jared and the soprano who has stolen his heart. Soon the soprano appears singing a beautiful aria about her new love, after which she suddenly remembers she has left her coat behind in Jared's room. She returns for her coat, but instead finds Jared passionately engaged with another young woman. She is enraged, and can't believe that no sooner has she left than he has brought in someone else to take her place.

"Jared laughs at her foolishness, and reminds her that this is a new world, one full of pleasures, and she should laugh with him and enjoy all that worldliness has to offer. She angrily leaves and soon runs into the old man again. She is crying now and the old man consoles her and asks her to dry her tears and come away with him. She is furious with Jared, and reluctantly agrees. Act One ends as they depart.

"Act Two opens in living room of the old man's house. He and the soprano are married now, but it is not a happy marriage. She is restless in the quiet surroundings and longs for the hustle and bustle of the city. An old friend she knew from the music academy is visiting and she complains to her about this suffocating existence of hers. She never should have married the old man, and now she feels trapped. Her friend tries to console her and reminds her that the old man loves her and how wonderful it is to be loved. She then sings about her love back home and their quiet nights before the fire. It's only by finding true love that any of us can be happy she tells the soprano.

"The soprano will hear none of it. She is a famous singer, a star. The whole world loves her. How can she settle for the love of just one man. No, that kind of love is for fools. She wants freedom. She wants to travel. She wants to love any man she pleases. She will never be happy with just one man."

"Uh-oh, sounds like Sempre Libre to me."

"Yeah, I'll have to work on that. Anyways, the old man comes home. The friend greets him and tells him how wonderful it is that he has given the soprano all this happiness. 'Happiness?', the old man asks. The friend tells him that she is sure that deep down inside the soprano truly loves the old man. Then she leaves.

"Immediately, the old man settles into a chair and begins to read. This infuriates the soprano who asks him how he can be so dull. How can he sit in that chair night after night and read book after book and not get out and see the lights and revel in the sultry air of the bars and cabarets. She will not spend the night in this house, she tells him, and demands that he take her somplace where she can dance and flirt and drink champagne. The old man is stunned, but agrees to take her into town. End of Scene I.

"Scene II opens back at the club. The old man is feeling tired and out of place but the soprano is living it up. A little ballet here would work. Then after the ballet Jared walks into the club and immediately the old fire between Jared and the soprano is rekindled. The old man sees what is happening and confronts Jared. Jared angrily tells the old man to go home, telling him that it is time that he reclaimed what the old man had stole from him. A fight breaks out and Jared throws the old man to the floor. The crowd then leaves, and only the old man is left sitting in the dirt and filth of the barroom floor. End of Act Two.

"Act Three opens in Jared's apartment. The worldliness and debauchery that Jared so heartily embraced have begun to take their toll. In fact, Jared is now a drug addict. He is sitting on the sofa with the young street addict from Act One and they are both fixing up. The soprano walks into the apartment and sees them on the sofa. Angrily, she tells the young girl to leave, which she does. Jared scowls at the soprano, telling her to mind her own business. Saddened, she sings of her love for him and hopes that one day he will come back to her when they will laugh as they did before. Jared curses her, and she takes him in her arms.

"At that moment there is a knock at the door. It is the old man, and when the door is opened he confronts the lovers. He asks her 'what is this hell-hole that you are living in', and reminds her that she was once a famous singer. He also reminds her that she is still his wife and demands that she come home with him. Never, she replies and demands that he leave.

"Jared, however, tired of the soprano's constant interference in his life, tells her to go with the old man. Shocked, she asks him how can he ask that of her. She loves him, she pleads. Well, he replies, he doesn't love her. He never did and wishes she would just go away and leave him alone. She will never abandon him she says.

"Just then, the old man sees the drugs lying on the coffee table and feeling incensed that the soprano would rather stay with Jared than come with him, he grabs them in his hand. 'Is this your life?', he asks the soprano. 'Is this what has become of you? Well watch me, then, as I flush this vulgar life of yours down the toilet.' Jared, seeing his stash about to be flushed down the toilet rises to his feet and screams at the old man. 'Give me back my drugs', he yells at him, 'they don't belong to you'. The old man laughs, and taunts Jared. 'You want your drugs, junkie, well come and take them from me'.

"Panicked, Jared lunges at the old man but he is very stoned and can't grab the drugs. The old man continues to laugh and Jared continues to lunge. 'Look, look at your hero now' he tells the soprano. 'Jared, the great lover, now no more than a common junkie'. Flushed, Jared stares at the old man and then leaves for the bedroom. The soprano disgustedly spits at the old man, and tells him he will never have her love. She will never come back to him. Fine, says the old man, then die here in the gutter with Jared.

"At that moment Jared emerges from the bedroom with a gun. The soprano screams as Jared lifts the revolver and shoots the old man dead. He then drops the gun, picks up the drugs, and hurriedly makes his way back to the couch to prepare another fix. The soprano looks at Jared and sobs 'you were willing to let him have me, but you killed him rather than let him have your drugs'. Jared only stares as the heroin begins to take over, and silently he slips off into oblivion.

"The soprano picks up the needle and the drugs, and sits next to Jared in silence. Then she takes the spoon and cooks up a dose, sticks the needle in her vein, puts her arms around Jared and tells him now we are at peace. End of Opera."

"What? End of Opera? That's it?"

"Well, ok, I'm working on it."

"I certainly hope so. What kind of ending is that?"

"I said I'm working on it, ok? Sheesh. You know Wagner didn't write Parsifal on his first try."

"Yeah, well, I think we need to talk about this some more."

"You mean again?"

"Make the appointment on your way out."

"See you next month Doc."

Tags: libretto, opera

Jim Bridger, Mountain Man

Hope you had a happy holiday. My brother Dennis and his wife Marlene came down for a little visit and decided to go for a little hike with me. Marlene's in pretty good shape, but Dennis...well, let's just say he lives a very busy life.

Actually, he did great for a guy who doesn't get out on the trail too much. So Dennis, if you're reading this. Congratulations Bro - You made it to the top!

I can still remember their wedding day and can't believe that their daughter (my neice) just started college at the University of Washington last September. If you've been around for a while then I know you can relate to that. Yep, you've heard the old folk say it a million times, but, man, where does the time go?

Oh well. Happy New Year.

Tags: Dennis Myers, Marlene Lee, brother

And The Winner Is...

The buzz has been building and the day is finally here. The press can stop calling and pounding on my door because I'm ready to announce my 2006 DCM CD of the Year award. I know, my heart is racing too, so without further ado let's get on with it.

In a year crowded with new Mozart releases it's probably fitting that a Mozart CD would win the award this year. Of course, readers of this blog (?) know my obvious bias towards violinists and singers so it should be expected that my CDOTY recipient will be in one of those two categories. Not that weren't many fine pianists and cellists and orchestras putting out new releases in 2006, but, frankly, who cares?

With that in mind, they were really only a couple of CD's that really caught my attention. The first is Anne-Sophie Mutter's amazing 4 CD release of Mozart's violin sonata's. You know, at her worst Mutter can be a little smothering at times, but at her best, which is most often the case, Mutter just may be our best violinist of the current era. She certainly makes a claim to that title with this release which is full of spirit and depth and suprising warmth. Most years this would have been a shoo-in for CDOTY honors except for another Mozart CD that came out by a much younger but equally gifted violinist.

Julia Fischer has been well known among the hardcore classical audience for quite some time now, but it took a while for the news to reach the Luddite's like me who inhabit the musical world's outer fringes. I had heard of her before, but since she records for the relatively small and independent Pentatone label her music is rarely heard on the radio and cannot be found on Itunes or Rhapsody at all. Fortunately, the buzz did reach me and I finally bought one of her CD's, and these past few months not a week has gone past when I haven't listened to it at least once or twice.


"W.A. Mozart Violin Concertos Nos. 1, 2 and 5" is actually a companion to Fischer's earlier 2005 release of the Violin Concertos Nos. 3 and 4, and really the two CD's should be taken as a whole. The critics have described Fischer as "phenomenal" and "breathtaking", but I think I would describe the playing on this CD as spirited and insightful and full of character - perfectly suited to these youthful Mozart pieces.

What really grabs me as a listener, though, is the effortless ease with she plays. She has been quoted as saying that she thinks too many of today's violinists play nervous, and there is certainly none of that in her playing. It's almost like a gentle breeze has blown in and lifted the notes off her strings, and she can be dramatic or warm or lively or deeply introspective all with same untroubled fluency. Even if you've heard these pieces a thousand times before you'll be amazed by these performances. It's almost like hearing Mozart with new ears. More importantly, though, is her genuine affection for this music. You can hear in it in her playing and that's what makes this CD so infectious.

Fischer's credentials are eqally impressive. She started playing the violin at age 3, and by age 13 was playing with the legendary Yehudi Menuhin. She began teaching masterclasses at age 15, and at age 23 received a professorship at the Hochschule fur Musik und Darstellende Kunst Frankfurt am Maim in Frankfurt, Germany. She is also an accomplished pianist who wonders how a violinist can play a violin sonata without learning the piano accompaniment too. Which all leads me to wonder if this is going to be another phenom who burns herself out before she ever sees their thirtieth birthday.

Somehow I don't think so. First of all, she is no phenom. She is young, yes, but I rarely hear of anyone talk of her as being a "young" violinist. Despite her age she is already a polished and mature musician, not only in her playing but in her decision-making as well. All of her choices seem to be for challenging, quality projects, and maybe some of the credit should go to people like Christoph Eschenbach and Lorin Maazel who have reportedly taken her under their wing, or others like Yakov Kreizburg who challenged her to write her own cadenzas for the Mozart Concertos.

To me, staying challenged is the antidote to flaming out. Taking on unchallenging projects that are far below your abilities, or more likley, being content to reach a certain level and advance no farther is a sure sign of burnout in my book. It's too bad so many young talents never reach their full potential, but I hear the music business is a rough way to make a living.

Be that as it may, Julia Fischer shows no sign of following that path. In fact, she seems careful to go in the opposite direction and that is a very good sign. Along with her 2006 Mozart CD and her 2006 Tchaikovsky CD, she has also teamed up with Daniel Mueller-Schott and Jonathan Gilad, two very talented and promising newcomers, on a 2006 release of the Mendelssohn Piano Trios Nos. 1 and 2. Clearly, her interest is in working with only the best musicians who can take her to the next level.

So that's this year's CDOTY. You probably won't find it in your local Barnes and Noble, so unless you have a great record store like the Bay Area's "The Musical Offering", you'll have to get it online. And while you're placing your order why not pick up Fischer's 2005 Mozart Concerto release and Anne-Sophie Mutter's Mozart Sonata's as well. You'll have spent a few bucks but you'll have probably the best Mozart Violin recordings currently out there.

Tags: julia, fischer, mozart, concerto

A Sonnet for the Coming Storm

viii.

Someone hurt her, I think. It doesn't show,
But it shows, especially when it rains,
And sitting by the light of the window
She feels the drops run down her windowpane.
That was her second marriage she told me
Though I didn't ask. That was all she said.
And she smiles as though she means it, mostly,
I smile back, with no words spoken. Instead
I could be an old sweater, to her,
Anyone warm and obliging would do.
Flattered, I suppose, it's me she'd prefer
Never certain if it really is true.
What a pathetic, meager need is this
That for its own sake its reasons persist.

Tags: sonnet, poetry

A Sonnet of Remembrance

vii.

She came from Michigan, East Lansing.
Her father was a professor out there.
I was young and she was young and fancy-
free were we. She loved the wind in her hair,
Deep chestnut, and cut short all around,
Framing dark pools and delicate brown eyes,
Which like hot fires, ever gazing I found
So mysterious, sensous and wise.
'Twas like this, you see, when first came to me
The darkness which even now I'm stricken.
To her whom I'd never wish misery
Her sweet joy it did strangle and sicken.
And so from here to a big college town
she was gone, and in the darkness I drowned.

Tags: poetry, sonnet

A Sonnet a Day, ...

vi.

For not one waking moment did I see
The blowing wind gasp in desperation,
Nor the sun, bleak, long-shadowed and empty
Returning lifeless to its creation.
Parsimonious and dull was the light
On that day, which by its nature did slow
And reduce all joy to silver of night
Absorbing hope to the darkeness below.
How scant a scene, oh most souless of days!
Which but for a touch could scarce break a smile.
Which found in my heart dispirit, dismay
And no purpose but this mile after mile.
Then when living could no longer abide,
Stopped me here on the day that I died.

Another (Depressing) Sonnet for the New Year

v.

What beauty e'er could grow from such a weed
By such a mean and impoverished start
As would poison kindness, and with its seed
Draw vile succor from her peaceful heart.
What sprouts from this love, this meager garden?
Dandelion, crabgrass, brown slimy worm?
Sunbaked earth growing cracked as it hardens
Love barren, base as the lowest of germs.
I have tilled this ground and sowed in this field
And longingly gazed its infertile soil
And reaped from it such an unfruitful yield
As to grow lonely and spent of the toil.
Where she goes, now, is not mine to follow
My roots have grown deep and heart grown hollow.

More Bad Poetry for the Holidays

The View From Eagle Rock

From the top of the trail where the rocks piled high
I looked down from the peak at the valley and sky
Where hanging by strings and sadly my way
Clouds endless as oceans came wave after wave

By what living bond am I bound to this scene
Of weather and freeways and patches of green
Withdrawn to my perch, with such baleful persistence
Fated to a world ever off in the distance

Tags: eagle rock, poetry, verse

A New Sonnet for the Holidays

iv.

And you will marry someday, I suppose,
To a good rich soil. From the warming sun
Of pure fortune will your new garden grow
Unburdened, and not by hard want undone.
And on Christmas morning children will squeal
And sparkle like glitter and blinking lights.
The world will complete you, as warmly you feel
Arms that caress you through blackness of night.
In the inevitable balance of
Mother and child, will you become newly
Emerged, and in this most perfect of love
Grow restless, forever to love's duty.
And you will marry someday, unspoken,
To the thousands of hearts you have broken.

A Sonnet for the Holidays

iii.

I have bought my peace, my spirit the coin
To which dead purpose and blank effort spent
Have achieved no other than but to rejoin
Ageless meander and my days misspent.
I remember you, yet am forgotten
As a passing car or faceless stranger,
And through passion born but misbegotten
I cannot forget nor face the danger,
Nor by forgetfulness lose the vision
Of the beauty once seen and lost to desire
And cautionsness. Earning cold derision
That extinguishes all that hope had inspired,
Bleed me now and take from me that I am.
What's passion but the measure of the man.

Tags: poetry, sonnet

I Scare Myself

Some people may be wishing for a white Christmas, but I'm a California boy and I like my Christmas' bright and sunny. None of this gloomy weather for me, thanks. This is an El Nino year so the weather people were all predicting heavy rains and above average temperatures this winter, so, of course, it's December and we're freezing our butts off under clear skies. I'll take it, though. Just give me more of that California sun.

Other than that there's not much happening around here. Guess I'll just open up the ol' miscellaneous file.

The big news is that tomorrow night Tan Dun's opera "The First Emperor" makes its world premier at the Met, and we Sirius subscribers will be able to tune in to the live broadcast. That's pretty cool, and Placido Domingo will be singing the title role. I guess it just proves that tech isn't just for tech geeks anymore. The new digital world has something for everybody - tech geeks and opera geeks as well.

Speaking of opera, I just added "L'Amour de loin" by Kaija Saariaho to my DVD collection. Actually, to call it an opera is a little of a misnomer; it's more of a meditation. The score, however, is fantastic. I didn't really understand it the first time I watched it, but the second time through I became mesmerized by the primal, dreamlike mood of the piece. It might not be to everyone's taste, but Saariaho is really trying to do something different here and I admire her for that. I particularly like how she ladles great big gobs of sound on to the canvas to create a dense, rich, and yet almost monotone atmosphere. Interesting stuff.

Gerald Finley stars as the poet Jaufre Rudel, and his rich baritone is more than up to the task. I think he overdoes it a little as an actor, but his singing is superb. Dawn Upshaw plays Clemence, the soprano lead, and mezzo Monica Groop sings the role of the pilgrim. Again, both superb singers. The story itself concerns Rudel's love for a woman who lives far away ("L'amour de loin' or "Love from afar") and whom he can never have, but we won't go into that here. Great DVD for anyone in the mood for something downbeat and different, and I just ordered a CD from Amazon to hear some more of her music. The CD has Esa-Pekka Salonen, Gidon Kremer and Dawn Upshaw all performing some of her pieces. Pretty good bunch of players, and I hear she's working with Emanuel Ax on something new as well. Can't wait to hear it.

Let's see what else is happening. Oh yeah, there was a story on the news that said that doing mental exercises can help the elderly slow memory loss. The actual study was very limited in its focus so it's not exactly clear which exercises can be beneficial, but the general principle seems to make sense to me. You gotta keep those neurons firing if you want them to stay healthy, and that's why a little blogging every now and then should be an important part of your weekly routine. Even if you have nothing to say (ahem...) at least you're thinking.

And if blogging's not your thing, then why not write a sonnet.

(Note: I Scare Myself was a song from the early 70's by Dan Hicks and His Hot Licks, but when I googled it I found that Thomas Dolby is being listed as the author. That ain't right, and it just goes to show that you should never believe what you read on the internet)

Everybody Loves a Sonnet

ii.

How perfect the stain and by what strange means
False circumstance did I selfish conspire.
By all manner of ruse and happenings
As to defeat my most heartfelt desire.
Answer me thus and by action explain
What by words I'm unable to discern,
That for love my heart did mocking disdain
As to extinguish the flame that it burned.
We're a curious breed this rabble of men
That we are smitten yet still cannot see,
A time once come will not yet come again
And that all love comes but from constancy.
A stranger to love will know only this
That for a fool there awaits Tosca's kiss

Tags: poetry, sonnet

A Winter Sonnet

i.

That you are gone. And by what means am I
Diminished. A tongue by silence betrayed
And treason, by its own muteness did lie
That reason should not its heart obey.
Had I believed you perfect then perhaps
By earnestness of thought make excuses
But through false emotions let judgement lapse
To suffer indifferent abuses
Now a lingering sweetness of your air
Betrays in me unfathomable void
Black darkness consumes all hunger and care
And in consciousness is reason destroyed
Though dreams do not come and no light is shown
To dream of you is to dream all alone

Tags: poetry, sonnet

Persistence is the Mark of a Bad Poet

Myself Unknown To Melanie

I spoke and only sorrow heard
Words, like fresh wounds, broken
Bled

Melanie
Tended, managed
Each entrance and exit guarded
Displayed
Like a rare gem or precious art
Priceless and entombed

Was there an unplanned moment
An unscheduled smile?
From Melanie
Felt
Untouched
Precious

To what dark face do you give your pledge
Tonight, Melanie
What breast is it warms your cheek
What confidences do you speak
Unknown, even dreams can wound
Scarred and broken hearts

The Universe in balance
Each planet its orbit
Each moment its purpose
Why then sorrow?

Tags: poetry, free verse

'Cause Somethings Can Only Be Expressed With Bad Poetry

Alum Rock Park December 2006

I am not the swirling cold
rushing frightened, scraping leaves

I am not the worried tree
naked, anxious and despairing of warmth

Neither abandoned playground nor
friendless swing

Nor lonely bench nor
dormant cabin am I

I am the being, sentient
Lord of Nature

Time is indifferent to me
My light recedes and all my days are strangers

When winter falls, it falls on me

Tags: poetry, free verse

As you've no doubt heard, James Kim, the CNET editor and podcaster, was found today in a wilderness area west of Grant's Pass Oregon. I know it's been all over the news and the blogosphere, and I'm sure we'll here more than a few of his fellow podcasters offering their thoughts over the coming days and weeks, so I won't go into the details here.

It's a funny thing about the whole "grassroots" nature of podcasting, but, as corny as it sounds, podcasters really do feel like part of a family. I didn't know James Kim at all other than through his podcasts and the work he did for the old TechTV network, and yet news of his passing really came as a blow today - almost like a personal loss rather than the mere passing of a stranger.

I've listened to his MP3insider podcasts since they first start airing earlier this year, and I always found him to be thoroughly professional and passionate about technology. Just a real solid, hardworking guy. It will be up to his friends and colleagues and the people who really knew him to talk his personal side, but I'm sure there will be many testomonials and rememberances in the days to come.

For me, though, it's the podcasts that I'll remember. Like I said, the thing about podcasting is that it is so personal. It's not like some big corporate machine feeding sound into your head all day. Podcasters, for the most part, are people like you and me. That's why it hits home so hard. I feel like James Kim wasn't just someone I knew about, but someone I really knew and will greatly miss.

I don't know. I really didn't want this post to be a downer. The tech community just got some really tough news today.

My condolensces to the Kim family. His loss will be felt not only by his family and friends, but by the entire tech community. I'm sure there are prayers being said around the world tonight, and my heart especially goes out to his wife Kati and two young children.


What's in the Letter Bag

Believe it or not, I do receive emails from time to time from some poor lost soul who happens to wander into this little blog of mine. Most of it is spam, a lot of spam actually, but I have good filters and only a few trickle through. Other than the spam I get some comments, usually short and sometimes funny, but rarely thoughtful and informative. However I got this one a couple of months ago that I've wanted to print for sometime now but haven't gotten around to it. It concerns a particularly funny post I made last March (yuk, yuk, yuk) disparaging the parenting skills of a couple of podcasters I'd heard. Oh, it was hilarious, and if you want to read it you can find it here. I wouldn't bother, though. Just read this email I got last October from one of the parents mentioned.

---------------------------------

Hi Tony,

I just stumbled upon your blog entry about the Rosary Army Podcast from last March 9 (http://tmyers2002.blogspot.com/2006/03/old-dogs-and-new-tricks-thank-you.html ) and thought I would provide a quick note of explanation about the play therapist we took our boys to.

You may have missed earlier episodes where we discussed the fact that 2 of our 4 boys have been clinically diagnosed with different levels of high functioning autism. Our oldest son (almost 9) has what is called Asperger's Syndrome. It is a form of autism where he becomes very focused in an almost obsessive way on certain subjects for long periods of time. For example, he has gone through periods (months-long and sometimes years-long) of absolute preoccupation over trains, birds of prey, and creating 3D sculptures out of paper and tape. Because of this intense focus, he often has severe problems relating to other children and sometimes feels unreasonably threatened when pushed out of his comfort zone. He overreacts to things that kids not on the autistic spectrum wouldn't even notice.

Our four year old exhibits even more classic autistic tendencies. To him, if his two-year-old brother simply removes one of his toys from the room, the 4-year-old perceives that as an actual physical attack. Did you ever see Rain Main where Tom Cruise tried to get Dustin Hoffman to board an airplane and Dustin Hoffman completely lost it? That's what happens with our four-year-old.

Initially, my wife and I tried to homeschool our children. Unfortunately, we were unaware of their autistic natures and after two years or complete frustration, we sought out evaluations from Emory University's Autism Center. They confirmed what we were beginning to suspect, and Emory University encouraged us to place the children in regular school so that they could be exposed to the more socialization skills, which are what kids with autism severely lack. As a part of the making sure that school would be successful for our oldest son, the school recommended the play therapy course to better help our sons work with others. Additionally, because two of our boys have autism, the other two without autism are often given less attention. By working with a therapist, we were able to find a better way for our family to work together.

I hope this provides additional insight as to why we went this route, and what benefit we hoped to receive from such therapy. We do not always go into great detail on our podcast, but when I discovered decisions made by my family being discussed on a stranger's blog, I felt it best to clarify.

Pax Christi,
Greg Willits - Rosary Army
www.RosaryArmy.com
Make Them. Pray Them. Give Them Away.
Podcast Feed - http://feeds.feedburner.com/rosaryarmy

---------------------------------

Thanks Greg. Somehow I don't feel so funny anymore.

(Maybe for the next Letter Bag I'll just post some spam. Hey, want to know how to get your college degree in just 4 weeks!)

Playing the Electric Violin on Desolation Row

Hilary Hahn came to town today. Well, not my town, exactly, but pretty close. She made an appearance down in the Haight in San Francisco, about the last place you'd expect to hear classical music - especially classical music of the caliber that she was putting out.

I realize that some of you out-of-towners probably still think of the Haight-Ashbury District as hippie heaven, no doubt recalling those halcyon days 40 years ago when the people were groovy and there was LSD and free love and flowers in her hair and flowers everywhere, and it's true that they did have a "summer of love" there once, but it was short-lived and a long time ago. Now I'd say the Haight is known more for it's street people and drug addicts than anything else.

Not being a drug addict myself, the Haight isn't a part of S.F. I get to very often, and tonight was quite an eye-opener for me. San Jose may have it's drunks and it's street toughs, but we don't have junkies and speed freaks hanging out on street corners and hustling up passers-by for spare change. I met quite a few of those tonight, and I know you find desperate people in most big cities, but not so much in San Jose (or maybe I'm just not hanging out in the right places.)

Anyways, I'm not one to judge. Well, no, that's not true. I judge all the time; I think everybody does. Maybe I should say I'm not one to pass judgement, and I certainly don't have all the answers to the world's problems

So there I was down in the Haight at a place called Amoeba Records, and right around 7 o'clock or so Hilary Hahn showed up to play a little recital. She played some Bach and some Paganini and some Spohr (which she not only played but sang as well!) and some Schubert (I think) and some Ysaye to finish things off. Wonderful stuff, folks, and if you were in the City last night and didn't make it out to Amoeba Records then you missed hearing one of the world's truly gifted musicians. That's not hyperbole either - just read the reviews.

What's most amazing of all, though, is just how young she is. It seems like she's been making CD's forever and yet when she got out on that little stage she seemed so, well...young. Frankly, it's a little disheartening to see someone so accomplished at such a young age. Makes me feel like "what have I been doing with my life all these years?", and at the same time hoping that she'll never grow into a geezer like most of the folks in her audience tonight. Yeah, I know we all get older, but may she stay forever young. (I seem to be quoting a lot of Dylan tonight.) All in all it's been kind of a bittersweet night for me.

Oh well, one last little sidenote. After the mini-recital HH was off to play a gig with the rock band And You Will Know Us By The Trail of The Dead, and tomorrow she'll be playing Korngold with the SF Symphony (no word yet if she'll be singing at that show, although the "Marietta's Lied" from Die Tote und Stadt is quite lovely). She's kickin' it in the Haight one minute, then rockin' out the next, and then wowing the crowds at Davies Symphony Hall the next.

I tell you, that girl's got this town wired.

Tags: hilary, hahn, amoeba records, haight

Penuriousness Is Precious

How much are you going to spend on Christmas this year? Every year the news organizations send reporters out to ask us this same question, and whether we say more or less the net result is always the same. When the holidays are over the analysts tally the scores and announce that, once again, we spent more this year than the last. Dire predictions about dangerous amounts of debt and overextended consumers and bursting bubbles soon follow, and then, again, as always, we refinance our homes and raise our credit limits, and next year we're off to the races all over again.

And that's just the way it is. No, it's not like the old days when our mothers and fathers scrimped and saved and knew the value of a dollar. In fact, these days we don't save at all. According to the statistics, we now spend more than we earn and the savings rate has actually gone negative. To which I say "So what?". Of course our mothers and fathers scrimped and saved, but that's only because they didn't have all this cool stuff to buy. When they went shopping they went to Sears, for crying out loud. Believe me, if they had been alive today they'd be spending like a bunch of drunken sailors too.

Which brings me to my point. Namely, all these people who preach austerity and responsibility and living within your means don't know anything about real people or the way the real world works. The fact is that from the time an American child leaves the womb till the day he lies down in his grave, he is under constant study and scrutiny by marketing experts, media experts, retailing experts, doctors, psychologists and all manner of high-level advisory types whose sole aim is to analyze and poke and prod to find just what it is that will turn people into happy spenders. It's a pitched battle between an army of experts with million dollar budgets and one poor bastard with a credit card, and that poor, dumb bastard doesn't stand a chance.

That's why the news organizations cover the same story every year. It's like the war news, and everybody knows that the future of the country depends on the guys with the big guns coming out on top. As soon as Thanksgiving rolls around, editors across the country start to fidget.

"Why aren't they spending? What's wrong with them? Quick, Ed, send a crew down there and find out what's going on. What's that? What'd you say? Best Black Friday ever? God, it's great to be an American."

So with that in mind, let me just say don't be a cheapskate and have a festive holdiay season. I don't really have any great gift ideas for you. Clothes are always nice. Nothing makes a person feel interesting and new like a fashionable wardrobe, unless you're buying for a geek, that is. In that case forget the clothes and go for something like a portable GPS for the car. They're hideously expensive and not really useful unless you spend a lot of time driving in strange places, but they're very geeky.

In a somewhat related story, Louis Uchitelle of the New York Times wrote an interesting article about wealth in America. Everyone knows that over the last couple of decades the rich have been getting richer, but what does that mean? Well, apparently it means that nowadays there are the wealthy, and then there are the super-wealthy. According to Uchitelle, 1 in every 845 Americans now has an annual salary of $2 million or more per year (here in the Silicon Valley I believe that figure would be more like 1 in every 8.45. When people here buy "his and her "Lamborghini's that doesn't mean they're overspending - that just means they have to go upstairs and find their checkbooks).

So what does that mean for the other 844 who aren't earning $2 million per year? It means we've gotta get the limits raised on our credit cards, that's what. How else can keep up? Just because we aren't earning 7 figure incomes it doesn't mean we have to let other people know that, and as long as we spend like we have 7 figure incomes how is anyone going to find out?

That's my philosophy anyways. No, actually it's not. My philosophy is that if you're going to spend thousands of dollars on things you don't need, then you better be earning a 7 figure salary. In other words, if you can't downgrade your spending then you better upgrade your earnings. I think that's a more realistic approach than all this austerity and simple living being preached nowdays. What good is a National Don't Buy Anything Day, if you're only going to spend twice as much tomorrow?

Turning back to the article, you can see what this Dr. Glassman did. He was a medical doctor with a perfectly good practice, but he decided that he needed to upgrade his earnings if he was ever going to be super-wealthy, and that's just what he did. He said goodbye to curing cancer and easing suffering and healing the sick and comforting the afflicted and all that, and went to Wall Street. Now there are no sick people to bother him and the money comes in by the bucketful. I love the part in the article where he goes back to his 20th college reunion and sees these poor suckers he went to Med School with, who even he says they were 10 times smarter than him. There they are, still caring for the sick and doing good deeds, making a comfortable living while he's raking in the big bucks and getting filthy rich over at Merrill Lynch.

I say let that be a lesson to all you kids out there. Doing good works for your fellow man may be a noble pursuit, but it won't get you a fancy sports car or a mansion in the hills or a trophy wife, and if you want to spend money on things you don't need and you aren't a movie star or a musician or a professional athelete, then you better find your way to Wall Street.

And that's my Christmas message to you.

The Hunter

The hunter crouches in his blind
'Neath camouflage of every kind
And conjures up a quacking noise
To lend allure to his decoys
This grown-up man, with pluck and luck
Is hoping to outwit a duck
-Ogden Nash

Exactly how do you get a squirrel out of the house? In this blog I've pondered over many of the great questions and thought heavily on many of the great issues of the day, but have never considered this particular problem before. That is, not until I found a squirrel in my house. Not in the attic, mind you, but in my kitchen.

I know a squirrel in the house would not be a problem for some folks. They just love the little critters. "Oooh, just wook at their puffy wittle cheeks and their bushy wittle tails." They go to the park to feed them, and long to hold them and pet them and catch all of their plaguelike diseases. "Ah, awen't they cute. We just wove the wittle squirrels, don't we? Yes we do. We just wove 'em to death."

Different story when they decide to set up household in your living room, though. Suddenly, those "cute wittle squirrels" start to look a lot more like big, fuzzy rodents with serious adjustment problems. Believe me, when you enter a room to find everything that used to be high on the shelves now littered across the floor, and little bits and pieces of that apple you stupidly left out the night before now trailed among the generous droppings of your uninvited guest, then they stop being cute real fast.

So how do you get rid of one once he has gotten in your house? We called up the Animal Control people and asked them. They told us to open a window and he'll leave eventually and good luck and don't call us anymore, ok? Well thank you very much, but I'm not sure opening a window will work. It might, assuming the squirrel is stupid, which they're not. Why would a squirrel leave a place that is warm and sheltered, with plenty of food and water, for the harsh winter weather outside? The answer is he wouldn't, so scratch that plan Mr. Animal Control person. Thank you for being so helpful.

Instead of opening a window, I fired up the computer and did some googling, and lo and behold I found the answer. In case you're wondering, here's how you get a squirrel out of the house ( just click here to go straight to the source).

The first step is to be patient. After all, Rome wasn't built in a day, so vini, vidi, vici and vox populi and all that. The bottom line is you're going to need patience. Remember, even though that squirrel is smarter than you, he's still pretty dumb. What I'm trying to say is don't expect the squirrel to fall into your clever little trap right away. Let him get hungry first, which takes time and also takes me to step two.

Isolate the S.O.B. Try as best you can to restrict the squirrel to one or two areas of the house. You can do this by closing doors or moving some furniture or whatever. Just make sure that you block him in good, and then deny him food and water. We did this by blocking off the kitchen and the upstairs area and isolating the squirrel in the family room and living room areas. We then removed every last bit of food and water, and even though squirrels are notorious for caching their food, we knew that sooner or later he was going to start getting hungry. That all led to step three.

Buy a squirrel trap. Now wait a minute, wait a minute. Before you start getting yourself up in arms and calling your local PETA representative, the squirrel trap I got is from Havahart, and it is totally humane and non-lethal. It consists of a cage with a trap door on one end and a trigger plate at the other. You bait the cage near the trigger, the animal enters the cage, steps on the trigger plate, and the trap door closes trapping the animal inside. No blood is spilled and no injury of any kind is done to the animal.

So we baited the trap and set it up near one of his favorite activity zones (as shown by the presence of numerous pellets). Then we waited. One day, two days, three days, and on and on and on, until the other evening when I walked into the house and noticed that the trap had been sprung and...

No squirrel inside. The little b*%$!#d had taken the bait and set off the trap, but still managed to make his escape. Ok, apparently this squirrel has an IQ. The kind that spends his leisure time watching PBS and reading The Atlantic Monthly. He must be getting hungry, though, so I baited the trap again and waited. Then, this afternoon, we got us a squirrel. All my patience and planning paid off.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.... Who's the genius now, Mr. Squirrel? Yeah, that's right. I may look dumb but I can still outsmart your average bushy-tailed rodent.

Now I've got him sitting in a cage outside. After all the trouble he's given me I always thought that when I finally got a hold of him I'd ring his little neck, but when I saw him sitting in the cage looking so helpless and pathetic, I had a change of heart. The exterminator people say the best thing to do with a problem squirrel is to put him down, but I just can't bring myself to do it. I mean he's so cute.

So, tomorrow I'm going up into the hills and find a nice spot to open the cage and set him free. The exterminator people said this isn't a good idea because squirrels are very territorial and if I set him free he's probably going to starve anyways because no other squirrel will have him for a neighbor. I guess that's probably true, but what else am I going to do? I'm not going to release him back into the yard and take a chance that he'll find his way back into the house. At least up in the hills he'll have a fighting chance. Live free or die, right?

Geez, now I feel so guilty.

Things Ain't What They Used To Be

Greeting from L.A., where the air is warm and the sun is shining. You may be wondering what I'm doing down here, but I doubt it. Let's just say that after suffering with the flu for the last couple of weeks, I was ready for a change of scenery, albeit a brief one.

So here I am at the Hilton (where they've got some nice, fast Wifi, by the way) and glad to be out of my sickroom. When I got here I realized that this particular hotel is very close to the very hospital where I was born, or at least to where the hospital used to be before they closed it down. Kind of strange for me to have travelled so far just to get back to where I started. I have no intention of telling you where that is, by the way, so sorry all of you identity thieves out there; you are just going to have to find some other rube to appropriate personal information from (try Myspace.com).

But yeah, I was born just a few miles from here, and I was thinking that I'm probably the only person left alive that was there in the delivery room that day. I'm not positive but I'm willing to bet that the doctors and nurses have all passed on, and I know my mother and father are gone, so that just leaves me. There's a morbid thought for you. Kind of makes me feel like a little speck of dust or something.

Anyways, you don't want to hear about that. You're reading this blog because you want the hard news, the plain truth, the straight poop, the real...aw, forget it. To tell the truth I've been sick and haven't really been following the news much. I hear the Dems won an election and the President is over in Asia winning hearts and minds, but other than that I seem to be a little behind.

No wait, there was some big tech news last week. Something about a $600 video game machine and people waiting in line for days and getting into fistfights and shooting each other and rioting and stuff like that. Geez, and then the news that a lot of these people weren't even buying the thing for themselves but were putting them up for sale on Ebay and getting 2 or 3 times what they paid for it. Man, does anyone remember when video games were just toys? Well, not anymore. They're big business, and I feel pretty stupid for not standing in line and getting one of those machines myself. What a racket. Spend $600 and then turn right around and flip it for a $2,000 or $3,000 profit. Beats the hell out of stocks and bonds, that's for sure.

In a somewhat related story, here's an interesting article by Dan Walters of the Sacramento Bee. It's about the midterm elections and the demographics of who did and didn't vote in California. What Dan found, basically, was that the California elections were decided by a bunch of old white guys. 75% of the ballots, it turns out, were cast by non-Latino whites over 45 years of age. I say the story is somewhat related because you might be asking why it is that so few young people bothered to go to the polls and cast ballots, and the answer is obvious:

They were all camped out in front of Best Buy waiting to get their PS3's. War? Jobs? Government corruption? What are they compared with high-res graphics and a built-in hard drive.

The other big tech announcement from Sony that might have escaped your attention was their new PRS-500, which was finally released for sale earlier this month. This is that new portable ebook reader that I've blogged about in the past. They had them for sale at the local Fry's so I went down there a couple of weeks ago to have a look. Sorry it's taken so long to get the details out, but like I said, I was sick.

The PRS-500 is about the same height and width as a Gideon's Bible, though much thinner. I'd guesstimate it's around 1/2" thick, maybe a little less, and it weighs in at a svelte 9 ounces. At that size it's too big to fit in your pocket, but will fit nicely in a backpack or purse (and if I ever decide to start carrying a purse I'll be sure to buy one). Okay, a big purse, maybe. It might be a little tight trying to get it into a clutch, but it should slip quite nicely into a nice big leathery handbag. It runs on a rechargable battery, and Sony claims each charge is good for approx. 7500 page turns.

The display uses a technology called electronic ink, which works off of a principal very similar to the good ol' Etch-A-Sketch. The page is drawn on the screen and then remains there until you turn the page, at which time the screen is erased and a new screen is drawn. This differs from the LCD technology used in most portable displays which needs a constant of draw electricity to keep it's screen refreshed. The bottom line is a very crisp looking screen and excellent battery life.

In addition to displaying ebooks, the PRS-500 can also display text files, Microsoft Word documents, PDF files, and most common graphics file formats. It can also play MP3's, although I assume that would be to the detriment of long battery life.

In comparing it to other ebook readers such as the Microsoft Reader or Mobipocket, however, the PRS-500 has two notable deficiencies. The first is the lack of a built-in dictionary. For an experienced ebook user that is a deal killer right there. If there is an unfamiliar word in the text we want to highlight it and get an instant definition, and there is simply no way to do that with the PRS-500. The screen, though incredibly sharp and clear, is passive with no way to interact with the text.

The second deficiency is related to the first, and that is the PRS-500's lack of a highlighting and note-taking capabilities. Again, if you can't interact with the text then there is no way to highlight or add notes. That's not a feature I ever use, but I know there are people (e.g. students and academics) who do.

Actually, I should have said that there are three deficiencies, with the third being the price. At $349, this device is simply too expensive. If Sony were able to sell this thing for under $200 then it might stand a chance, but $350 is a lot to spend for book reader. I know because I wanted to buy one, but not unless the price comes down.

On the plus side, the Sony ebooks are quite affordable. I compared prices at Sony's online book store with prices at ebooks.com and mobipocket.com and The Connect Store's prices all seem to be cheaper than the competition's. I also found quite a few titles available at The Connect Store which were not available elsewhere, so Sony does seem to have a bit of an edge in terms of price and selection. However, that doesn't mean the selection is good, it's just better.

So there you have it. That's my little tech review. If you don't want to trade in your car on a new PS3 then you might want to consider a PRS-500 instead.

I guess.

Anyway, that's all I have for tonight. I was thinking of heading over the the Huntingdon Library tomorrow morning for a little cultural enrichment. That's where the original Blue Boy is, you know. Yeah, I know. You thought the original was hanging in your Aunt Martha's parlor, didn't you? Sorry, but I'm betting that one is just a copy. Anyways, my Aunt Sunny took me to see the Blue Boy when I was a little kid, and for some reason I just have a hankering to go see it again. Don't know why, but since I'm in the area I thought I might as well go. In case you didn't know, The Huntingdon Library was founded by Henry Huntingdon, nephew of railroad magnate and Southern Pacific Railroad founder Collis P. Huntingdon, who once famously said "Anything's that's not nailed down is mine. And anything I can pry loose is not nailed down."

And then they threw his sled in the fire and that was the end of that.

Poor Jud is Dyin'

You probably don't care how sick I've been. In fact, I know you don't care. You don't care about the pain or the drama or the angel of death hovering over my bed. I realize that. Sickness is something each of us goes through alone, and no one wants to hear about our suffering or share in our misery. It's just a cruel and heartless world we live in, full of hideous, uncaring people.

On the other hand, if I were in your place and you were about to unburden yourself on me for the next half hour with your tales of sickness and woe then I'm sure I'd feel the same, though unlike you I'd at least try to stifle my yawns and feign a little interest. Be that as it may, I promise I won't bore you with a blog about how I've been on my back for the last four days, my body wracked with pain and myself only inches away from death's doorstep. Nope, you're too busy with your own problems to think about me so I'll just skip on to the next subject.

Which is...?

Oh, that's right. I haven't got a subject. It's the fever, you know. Haven't been able to think straight. I've got an idea, why don't you watch some TV while I think of something. I'll be right back.

"Hello, and welcome to the show. Joining me today is Ted Turner. Mr Turner, thank you for being with us."

"It's my pleasure. And call me Ted."

"Ok, Ted. So tell us about these new Ted's Montana Grill restaurants of yours. I hear they're doing quite well."

"Yes, they are. I'm very excited about being in the restaurant business."

"Why?"

"Excuse me."

"Why are you excited about being in the restaurant business?"

"Well, everybody's got to eat."

"How true. (pause) You know Ted, I bumped Warren Buffett just so I could get you on the show today, so do you think you could be a little more responsive to the questions?"

"No, I think I'd rather be affably vague if it's all the same to you."

"Well Ted, that may work for you but I think our viewers might start reaching for their remotes if you keep giving these short, non-descript answers."

"That may be true."

"I mean I could have just put a couple of politicians on the show if all I wanted was a bunch of empty, platudinous gobbledegook."

"I understand."

"You're not a politician are you Ted?"

"No I'm not."

"Ok, how about this? Let's do a little word association game. Would you like to try that? I'll say something and you say the first word that comes into your head. Ok?"

"Uh, sure, ok."

"Ok, let's start. If I were to say 'Kim Jong Il', what would you reply?"

"Uh...puppy?"

"Puppy? I say 'Kim Jong Il' and you say puppy? Why would you say something idiotic like that? He's the leader of North Korea Ted. What has that got to do with puppies?"

"Well, it was the first thing that came into my mind. You told me to say the first thing that came into my mind."

"You're right, I did. How about if we try this again. You want to try it again? C'mon, play along this time."

"Fine."

"How about if I say 'Iraq'? What's the first thing that comes into your mind."

"Uh..dental floss."

"Dental floss? Why on earth would Iraq remind you of dental floss?"

"I got something stuck in my teeth."

"Hezbollah."

"Popsicle."

"Republican."

"Waterfall."

"Terrorism."

"Skateboard."

"Time Warner?"

"Dirty, rotten, scum-sucking bastards."

"Washington?"

"Lilacs."

"Al-Qai...Hold on. Let's back up to that previous answer. I think I might have found a chink in your professional dealing-with-the-media armor."

"That's impossible."

"No, no...let's try this again. Ready?"

"Sure."

"Time Warner."

"Blood sucking curs."

"There. You see. You said 'blood sucking curs'."

"I did? That can't be. The vague, non-commital Ted wouldn't have said that. That must have been..."

"The evil Ted?"

"I'm tired of this game. Let's try something else."

"No, let's do one more. Ok?"

"Well..."

"Richard Parsons."

"Parasite."

"Steve..."

"Two-faced, backstabbing, son of a..."

"...Case."

"Greedy, arrogant, punk."

"Whoa, now that was fun. I knew I could break you."

"What did I say?"

"I want to thank my guest Ted Turner for being on the show. Ted, it was great having you on."

"What just happened here?"

"Please be sure to tune in next week when we'll play the word association game with outgoing Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld and find out what's on his mind."

(And now back to our blog already in progress)

...and then I felt better on Monday, except for a throbbing headache. So I took a couple of Tylenol and came home and ate some dinner and I feel alright now.

But you don't want to hear about that so I should blog about something else.

La blog, la blog, toujours la blog.

Oh yeah, there's a new James Bond movie coming out Friday, like anyone cares. It's always strange for me to watch a James Bond movie because the parallels between his life and mine are so eerily alike. You know, the beautiful women, the constant danger, the exotic locales, the mystery and intrigue-I swear it's like seeing my own story being played out there on the screen.

Well, kinda...

Actually, Ian Fleming was going to model the original 007 character after me (that's a little known fact), but decided to make him a British superspy instead. Can't say I blame him. I mean who wants to see a movie about a bookish, misanthropic introvert with delusions of being an undiscovered Faulkner? British superspy just makes for better box office.

I'm not bitter, though. I've still got my blog, and as every blogger knows you can be anyone you want on the internet.

"Mr. Bond there's a semi-naked fashion model with a gun waiting for you in your bedroom. Her hair is perfect and I think she wants to kill you. Be careful."

"The world is full of semi-naked fashion models trying to kill me. Fix me a vodka martini, shaken, not stirred, while I go seduce her and get her to reveal vital information."

"Yes Mr. Bond. You know you are very brave for a bookish, misanthropic introvert with delusions of being an undiscovered Faulkner."

"Yes, I know. Isn't blogging fun?"