Tonight, I saw the legendary John Williams conduct the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. I can die happy now.
Let's take a moment to consider the span of Williams' career. As a conductor, he helmed the Boston Pops for 14 years, and still frequently conducts in Boston and at Tanglewood. And as a composer, he has been a prolific scorer for decades in Hollywood and written lots of orchestral pieces to boot. Jaws, Star Wars, Superman, Indiana Jones, Harry Potter, Schindler's List, Jurassic Park, actually every feature film by Spielberg except one, plus music for four Olympic games...little wonder he's received 45 Academy Award nominations, second only to Walt Disney. In 1977, when music for Star Wars beat out Close Encounters of the Third Kind, he lost to himself. The man is a titan.
There were two programs being presented, and I decided on the one with less popular fare. The other concert featured entirely movie music, which would've been fun too, but I was interested in hearing some of Williams' concert pieces. Also, I figured I had a better chance at getting good seats on a Tuesday night, and lo and behold, I ended up in row E on the main floor.
The first half of the concert featured a fanfare, a tribute piece for BSO's Seiji Ozawa, and a bassoon concerto. After intermission, the orchestra launched into music from Memoirs of a Geisha (with a great cello solo), Witches of Eastwick, and E.T. Stylistically, the concert pieces were quite similar to his cinematic works. I was trying to put my finger on what makes a piece sound like film music. Williams makes heavy use of repeated themes and leitmotifs, particularly in Star Wars, and these tend to be memorable sound bites that you can take away after the movie. He also makes sure the brass section stays busy, often using them, rather than strings, to introduce themes. Endings often employ stingers which adds to the theatrical flair.
Normally, I'm anti-standing ovations. I think they're used too widely, which waters down the significance. In fact, I can't remember the last concert I attended which did not have a standing-O. Sure, you should stand for extra emphasis if a concert was phenomenal, but not every time. What happened to the good ol' days when the audience threw tomatoes? Kidding...At any rate, the standing ovation was well-warranted tonight, and we stood and applauded non-stop when the concert was over. This served to encourage two encores, and I was all too happy to keep listening as the orchestra launched into music from Star Wars.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Sunday, November 25, 2007
On Dreams
Do you ever wake up with a song in your head, and you don't know where it's from, whether you've heard it before, or if you simply just made it up in your dreams? And you keep looping it in your mind because it's like playing hot potato--once the music stops, you lose it.
Yesterday, to further procrastinate working on Nanowrimo, I got onto the subject of Freudian dream analysis, which I learned about from good ol' Desire last spring. Now, I am inclined to think the Freudian methodology is entirely bunk (as Ellis said, "You could milk sex out of a stone."), but like sleight of hand chicanery, it is a lot of fun to demonstrate on other people.
For instance:
...I wanted to attack the witch but everyone was afraid.
The classic question: which which? The action takes place while traveling. If we take "witch" as an overdetermined word, perhaps it suggests an uncertainty over your options. Which path to take? Which programs to apply to? Which future to seek out, if that is even something you can control? "Attacking the which," I diagnose graduation anxiety. Meanwhile, everyone else around you is also afraid and anxious.
So what about myself? Well, the usual freakshow aside, I remember one bit distinctly from last night. I was coming in for a job interview to be the restaurant critic of the New York Times, and the interview required me to meet with my three predecessors: Mimi Sheraton, Bryan Miller, and Ruth Reichl. As part of the interview, I was required to do tastings and give my opinion on the spot. For Mimi, it was cognac, for Bryan, beer, and Ruth presented wine. At that point, I panicked and fled.
There really isn't much to analyze here. I recently finished reading Ruth Reichl's Garlic and Sapphires, her memoirs from being food critic at the NYT. Never before have I fallen in love so quickly with a book; I decided I had to buy it before the first chapter was up. Seriously, if you enjoy eating, you will enjoy this book. Naturally, I've been toying with the idea of what it'd be like to be a food critic, and how to get there in oh, 20 years. It seems like my odds at helming a food critic position at a major publication are even lower than being granted tenure at a prestigious university. Oy veh. And my dream pointed to my strongest weakness for this job: although I'm fairly literate about food ingredients, I know next to nothing about alcohol, particularly wine. Hold on while I kick myself for not taking wines last spring.
And I just lost the hot potato.
Yesterday, to further procrastinate working on Nanowrimo, I got onto the subject of Freudian dream analysis, which I learned about from good ol' Desire last spring. Now, I am inclined to think the Freudian methodology is entirely bunk (as Ellis said, "You could milk sex out of a stone."), but like sleight of hand chicanery, it is a lot of fun to demonstrate on other people.
For instance:
...I wanted to attack the witch but everyone was afraid.
The classic question: which which? The action takes place while traveling. If we take "witch" as an overdetermined word, perhaps it suggests an uncertainty over your options. Which path to take? Which programs to apply to? Which future to seek out, if that is even something you can control? "Attacking the which," I diagnose graduation anxiety. Meanwhile, everyone else around you is also afraid and anxious.
So what about myself? Well, the usual freakshow aside, I remember one bit distinctly from last night. I was coming in for a job interview to be the restaurant critic of the New York Times, and the interview required me to meet with my three predecessors: Mimi Sheraton, Bryan Miller, and Ruth Reichl. As part of the interview, I was required to do tastings and give my opinion on the spot. For Mimi, it was cognac, for Bryan, beer, and Ruth presented wine. At that point, I panicked and fled.
There really isn't much to analyze here. I recently finished reading Ruth Reichl's Garlic and Sapphires, her memoirs from being food critic at the NYT. Never before have I fallen in love so quickly with a book; I decided I had to buy it before the first chapter was up. Seriously, if you enjoy eating, you will enjoy this book. Naturally, I've been toying with the idea of what it'd be like to be a food critic, and how to get there in oh, 20 years. It seems like my odds at helming a food critic position at a major publication are even lower than being granted tenure at a prestigious university. Oy veh. And my dream pointed to my strongest weakness for this job: although I'm fairly literate about food ingredients, I know next to nothing about alcohol, particularly wine. Hold on while I kick myself for not taking wines last spring.
And I just lost the hot potato.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Second City improv
When I announced my decision to move to Chicago, people mentioned the city's comedy scene was top-notch. Then, I got here and started spending all my money on restaurants and bars, figuring that watching my friends was comedic enough. Last night though, we took a trip to Second City to see their latest revue, "Between Barack and a Hard Place."
Second City is an improvisational comedy troupe that has been based in Chicago since the '60s, and as it turns out, they are the training ground for many prominent comedians. Scanning the walls with photos from old performances, I caught lots of familiar names and faces: Steve Carrell, Nia Vardalos, Rachel Dratch, Tina Fey, Stephen Colbert, Chris Farley...basically, this is the feeder school for Saturday Night Live. It's neat to think that perhaps I saw the next big comedian before they made it big.
The show itself didn't disappoint, though I had expected more Obama references or political material. (He was mentioned in a few sketches, but wasn't the core of the show by any means.) There were a few opportunities for the audience to yell suggestions for improv bits. ("Love is like a...what, guys?" "Mistress!" "Oookay man, that's pretty screwed up. Love is like a mistress...hm, what rhymes with mistress??") I was blown away by the speed at which the performers think on their feet, coming up with songs on the spot and creating routines in a matter of seconds. Also, this was the second performance of the night (there's one at 8 and 11 pm), which makes for a pretty long night of performing. The icing on the cake was the music. I couldn't crane my head around the corner to verify, but I am positive the piano was live and improvised to match what happening on stage. Whistles*
Here's a snippet from an old show. I've heard their "Greatest Hits" show is also quite good, so if anyone else is game...
Second City is an improvisational comedy troupe that has been based in Chicago since the '60s, and as it turns out, they are the training ground for many prominent comedians. Scanning the walls with photos from old performances, I caught lots of familiar names and faces: Steve Carrell, Nia Vardalos, Rachel Dratch, Tina Fey, Stephen Colbert, Chris Farley...basically, this is the feeder school for Saturday Night Live. It's neat to think that perhaps I saw the next big comedian before they made it big.
The show itself didn't disappoint, though I had expected more Obama references or political material. (He was mentioned in a few sketches, but wasn't the core of the show by any means.) There were a few opportunities for the audience to yell suggestions for improv bits. ("Love is like a...what, guys?" "Mistress!" "Oookay man, that's pretty screwed up. Love is like a mistress...hm, what rhymes with mistress??") I was blown away by the speed at which the performers think on their feet, coming up with songs on the spot and creating routines in a matter of seconds. Also, this was the second performance of the night (there's one at 8 and 11 pm), which makes for a pretty long night of performing. The icing on the cake was the music. I couldn't crane my head around the corner to verify, but I am positive the piano was live and improvised to match what happening on stage. Whistles*
Here's a snippet from an old show. I've heard their "Greatest Hits" show is also quite good, so if anyone else is game...
(lack of) Progress
November's over halfway over and there's pretty much no way I'm going to hit 50,000 words by the end of the month. I got distracted by work, there were birthday parties to attend to, my mind has been focused on pursuits far from the solitude of writing.
Which is not to say the effort I've expended so far has been a complete waste. I actually think the germ of an idea I started with could (with a lot more TLC) blossom into something that would be enjoyable to read. But that path is dark and toilsome, and my resolve is faltering. Then, in an effort to see good writing, I start reading instead, and wonder how Bill Bryson manages so effortlessly to weave his sentences into a narrative, and be funny to boot.
Add to all this increasing anxiety about what I want to do with my life. Lately, I've been shying away from the idea of econ grad, but then I don't know what I'd pursue in lieu of academia. It's not so much the misery of being in grad school that scares me, I've just been giving more thought to the other opportunities I'd be passing up. Sure, I'd be happy in a research environment, but I think I'd also be highly effective as an entrepreneur. And then, I daydream about being a food critic. Or a university president. Those are my current ideal jobs at the moment, and both fields are naturally quite competitive.
Norman Mailer died last week, and though I've only read one of his works and wasn't a huge fan, he is certainly part of the canon of 20th century American literature. More importantly, in this age of celebrity, he had an outsize personality to match. From the NYT memorial article, we get this colorful description:
At different points in his life Mr. Mailer was a prodigious drinker and drug taker, a womanizer, a devoted family man, a would-be politician who ran for mayor of New York, a hipster existentialist, an antiwar protester, an opponent of women's liberation and an all-purpose feuder and short-fused brawler, who with the slightest provocation would happily engage in head-butting, arm-wrestling and random punch-throwing. Boxing obsessed him and inspired some of his best writing. Any time he met a critic or a reviewer, even a friendly one, he would put up his fists and drop into a crouch.
Well, whatever I decide to do, it looks like it's never too late to change your mind.
Which is not to say the effort I've expended so far has been a complete waste. I actually think the germ of an idea I started with could (with a lot more TLC) blossom into something that would be enjoyable to read. But that path is dark and toilsome, and my resolve is faltering. Then, in an effort to see good writing, I start reading instead, and wonder how Bill Bryson manages so effortlessly to weave his sentences into a narrative, and be funny to boot.
Add to all this increasing anxiety about what I want to do with my life. Lately, I've been shying away from the idea of econ grad, but then I don't know what I'd pursue in lieu of academia. It's not so much the misery of being in grad school that scares me, I've just been giving more thought to the other opportunities I'd be passing up. Sure, I'd be happy in a research environment, but I think I'd also be highly effective as an entrepreneur. And then, I daydream about being a food critic. Or a university president. Those are my current ideal jobs at the moment, and both fields are naturally quite competitive.
Norman Mailer died last week, and though I've only read one of his works and wasn't a huge fan, he is certainly part of the canon of 20th century American literature. More importantly, in this age of celebrity, he had an outsize personality to match. From the NYT memorial article, we get this colorful description:
At different points in his life Mr. Mailer was a prodigious drinker and drug taker, a womanizer, a devoted family man, a would-be politician who ran for mayor of New York, a hipster existentialist, an antiwar protester, an opponent of women's liberation and an all-purpose feuder and short-fused brawler, who with the slightest provocation would happily engage in head-butting, arm-wrestling and random punch-throwing. Boxing obsessed him and inspired some of his best writing. Any time he met a critic or a reviewer, even a friendly one, he would put up his fists and drop into a crouch.
Well, whatever I decide to do, it looks like it's never too late to change your mind.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Nanowrimo
In other news, it is November, so I am participating in Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) for the 2nd year in a row. The goal is to finish a novel or write 50,000 words by the end of the month, which comes out to about 1,667 words a day, or 2 1/2 singled spaced, 12 font pages. (Of course, my real goal is to simply beat Matt's word count...) For those naysayers who say that this results in an emphasis of quantity over quality, you're right, but I think it's better to get people to start writing, period. I don't think any literary masterpieces are going to spring from Nanowrimo, but it does provide impetus for people to sit down and write. And maybe I'll be motivated enough to add to my lexicon and help stop world hunger while I'm at it.
As for last year's try, let's just say that unless you counted my thesis proposal toward my word count, my attempt was rather a miserable failure. Also, I didn't really have a plot in mind when I started writing, and the stream of consciousness dried up fairly quickly. But this year, sans classes and with a large supply of cute, bohemian cafes at my disposal, I am feeling much more optimistic! See you all in December.
As for last year's try, let's just say that unless you counted my thesis proposal toward my word count, my attempt was rather a miserable failure. Also, I didn't really have a plot in mind when I started writing, and the stream of consciousness dried up fairly quickly. But this year, sans classes and with a large supply of cute, bohemian cafes at my disposal, I am feeling much more optimistic! See you all in December.
American Baseball and Mexican Food Bonanza
Well, the 2007 World Series has come to an end, and the Boston Red Sox once again emerge victorious. I am the first to admit my ignorance on sports, but after having baseball explained to me a few weeks ago during a Cubs game, I decided to exhibit some Masshole pride and follow the rest of the Series. After climbing out of a 3-1 hole against the Cleveland Indians in the American League series, the Red Sox went on to face the Colorado Rockies, which had come in with 21 wins in their last 22 games. Unfortunately for them, the Sox went on to massacre them in their next game 13-1, and the next 3 games didn't go much better. Let's hear it for a phenomenal sweep!
The foodie in me was much more interested in the "Steal a Base, Steal a Taco" promotion that Taco Bell was running. Basically, if a player stole a base during the World Series, Taco Bell would pass out a free crunchy beef taco (valued at 77 cents) to everyone in American (population 300+ million). The odds were looking pretty good, since there's been a stolen base in every series since 1990, and sure enough, in Game 2, Red Sox centerfielder Jacoby Ellsbury stole a base, earning America free tacos, and himself the nickname "Tacoby Bellsbury." Oh boy.
Since the promotion was held on Tuesday between 2 and 5 pm, I dragged a group of Feddies from work at 4:30 and we tracked down the nearest Taco Bell. Including ourselves, there were probably a dozen or so people mooching free tacos, and one or two who were actually buying something. Amusingly enough, as we got our free food, Taft got a text message (from an unknown number) that said "Happy free taco day!"
The next day was Halloween, and Haley tipped us off that Chipotle would be giving out free burritos. The catch was that you had to come dressed as a burrito, which basically meant wearing some sort of tin foil. Money and dignity are close substitutes for me at this point, so I readily agreed to burritofy myself for a free boo-rito. You'd be surprised at how much mobility is impaired after being wrapped in foil; we were having lots of difficulty navigating stairs. I think my robot dance got the added benefit of character realism though. And my veggie fajita burrito tasted (almost) as amazing as a Statler wrap.
As it turns out, Chipotle gives out free burritos fairly often for various holidays. I'll be keeping my eye out when leap year rolls around next year.
The foodie in me was much more interested in the "Steal a Base, Steal a Taco" promotion that Taco Bell was running. Basically, if a player stole a base during the World Series, Taco Bell would pass out a free crunchy beef taco (valued at 77 cents) to everyone in American (population 300+ million). The odds were looking pretty good, since there's been a stolen base in every series since 1990, and sure enough, in Game 2, Red Sox centerfielder Jacoby Ellsbury stole a base, earning America free tacos, and himself the nickname "Tacoby Bellsbury." Oh boy.
Since the promotion was held on Tuesday between 2 and 5 pm, I dragged a group of Feddies from work at 4:30 and we tracked down the nearest Taco Bell. Including ourselves, there were probably a dozen or so people mooching free tacos, and one or two who were actually buying something. Amusingly enough, as we got our free food, Taft got a text message (from an unknown number) that said "Happy free taco day!"
The next day was Halloween, and Haley tipped us off that Chipotle would be giving out free burritos. The catch was that you had to come dressed as a burrito, which basically meant wearing some sort of tin foil. Money and dignity are close substitutes for me at this point, so I readily agreed to burritofy myself for a free boo-rito. You'd be surprised at how much mobility is impaired after being wrapped in foil; we were having lots of difficulty navigating stairs. I think my robot dance got the added benefit of character realism though. And my veggie fajita burrito tasted (almost) as amazing as a Statler wrap.
As it turns out, Chipotle gives out free burritos fairly often for various holidays. I'll be keeping my eye out when leap year rolls around next year.
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