Things are spinning a little bit. Like spinning tea-pots, not spinning plates.
Let’s narrow down. Zoom in. Whittle a little?
Focus. Honest-Tea. Listening?
So I was thinking about the fact that Jeff and I frequently have two separate conversations while we’re on the phone with one another. For instance, Jeff will be talking about how important it is to practice with a metronome, and I’ll be talking about how I find it amusing that Kozyshack tapioca pudding is spelled with a K. Really, isn’t that hilarious?
But we’re listening. Most of the time, I think.
There are [always] two colors in my head.
[And I had the strangest urge to pour tapioca pudding all over my head when I opened the refrigerator an hour ago.]
…Speaking of polytonality. At least it’s a little bit more harmonious (contrapuntal) than Ives?
Either way, no matter what we’re talking about, we typically cadence. (Yes, yes, everyone knows I have a preoccupation with tonal resolutions)—
So occasionally there is this brief, awkward moment. We’re not sure if the conversation is ending or if we’re just at a junction. Intrigue!
Most of the time we’re just wondering if we’ve reached the point at which someone is expected to say “I love you.”
So I was teasing Jeff because it was fairly obvious that our discussion was wrapping up and yet he inserted a highly suspenseful pause before he said “I love you.”
At which point he gave a brilliant retort:
“I love you” is like a One Six-Four Chord.
And I think the whole ..have a goodnight, yes you too, goodbye.. can neatly be expressed as Twos or Fives. Hanging up is the Tonic, of course.
And to make the theory even more complete—for all those times you feel urges to tell a person that you love him in the middle of a conversation (just because he’s wonderful and spontaneous and etc.): The Passing Six-Four!
Reasons to say “I love you” (I’m being facetious since in reality, I’m horrible at using the one six-four chord): The plagal cadence is pretty much a copout. And of course the half cadence just leaves things feeling sort of unsettled—unless, of course, you’re comfortable with some last minute modulation.
And then there is the ever-cunning deceptive cadence.
Can I mention that I’m struggling like no other with counterpoint?
Mr. Valentine says that I ought to sleep with some Bach scores by my bed. Not that I’m knocking Bach—
Maybe it’d help if I actually slept.
* * *
This has been a week of spectral introspection. Color spectra, key spectra, truth spectra- Etcetera-spectra…
So Jeff called me in a tizzy of excitement last Monday because he discovered the Key-Spectrum in his lesson. Now, he concluded that C Major is Green (his favorite color). I might have to go with more of an orange-red (there are two colors in my head?)—
So the concept branches out through all the keys and all the colors. Pastels get into funky modal music and oddities like transparence and grays are reserved for atonal pieces. (Jeff, you can correct me—you know I completely zoned out for about fifteen minutes of your explanation…not that it wasn’t riveting.)
I think the theory (punny) is nonsense—but cute nonsense. And I think that tonality is a little bit more flexible.
I went to dinner with Jono and told him that his pants were very B-flat minor. He told me that they were “Merlot.”
I think I’m having a sort of flat f minor night. (Not to be confused with f-flat minor).
I’d say that I’m feeling sort of mauve. Mauvaise? Hardly.
All this leads me to think about the interval-relationship spectrum. (I’m pretty much on a role after constructing a truth-spectrum for Philosophy class. Spacio-temporal spectrum, anyone?)
Jeff and I are like a third. The closest possible consonant interval (since ironically, a unison counts as an octave and is effectually quite dangerous)-
Other relationships [some] in my life are a little bit like tritones. Interesting and necessary but demanding a resolution that gets frustrating if held off extensively. You give me a headache.
Can it suffice to say that I have issues with cross-relations?
I really don’t understand what’s so wrong with having a G# in the bass while there’s an A natural passing tone in the tenor.
Like Glass. Philip, not Fragile.
Things really get fun when we get into modal music. À la mode. Pi and e, what a disarmingly irrational couple.
I think I’d like to date a tonal person. No passive-aggressive existentialists for me, please. Not to say that postmodern sexuality doesn’t have its charm. Whatever that really is, Mr. Henri Cole.
* * *
Cheech and Chong, Chang and Tchaik.
Although you'd think that I must Felafel (I went to Mamouns) with the amount of sleep I didn't get last week, I felt good enough to go downtown and see Sarah Chang perform Tchaikovsky concerto with the Yale Philharmonic.
Annie thought that she looked like a Mermaid; I thought she looked like a large, very busty stick of Asian bubble-gum.
Tagging along with Annie, Isa, and Kathryn, I felt sort of odd to find myself in the company of so much estrogen. I think I feel more comfortable if I know that I have a good strong handle (man-handle) to hold onto.
I need to get a grip. Where have Keats and his throbbing star run off to?
What is this, pre-postmodern sexuality? Post-post-primordial sexuality?
Either way, there are certain things that girls understand:
My ideal relationship, for instance—
Bananie983: because from now on you can only be friends with me
notoriousTEM0: yea, i'm pretty amazing
kapkap88: or anonymous
Oh Annie… officially the new
notoriousTEM0: you are like... bordering on corruption
notoriousTEM0: cross the fence, annie!
Bananie983: i need to straddle it
Which somehow brings me to the exciting fact that I am starting my first Paganini. Which feels a little bit like riding a two-wheeler. Or according to Annie, like losing my virginity. (Straddle that fence, first, Annie.)
* * *
Why Jeff’s parents are amazing:
So first, his dad made up this joke about briefs (I am making Jeff’s conversion to boxers my winter project)—
They’re like a cheap hotel. No ballroom.
To which I would like to share a joke of my own:
What do you do with 365 used condoms?
Melt them down, make a tire, and call it a Goodyear.
And on a less crude note:
Jeff’s mom sent a package containing “Jeff’s thermal underwear and a surprise [me and Jeff] to share.”
I think that the thermal underwear is a good enough surprise.
And she signed- Love, Mom Tayblum (Taylor + Kornblum)
Jeff points out that our combined last name could be Watlor. Which is pretty fantastic.
* * *
Jeff told someone today that his girlfriend (am I his girlfriend?) is like “him-cubed.” In terms of her/my elitism. Thanks, sweetie. All I can say is that I’m glad I have a perfect cube root.
Oh relationships. Oh quantum mechanics. But can you quantize people?
It’s all pretty much asymptotic.
Like two atoms bonding together…everything and everybody can only get so close to each other and to the ideal. Before everything gets utterly repulsive, that is.
I know a little bit about relationships and next to nothing about math.
To |sum| it up—Absolute values absolument—
I think I’d like to eat a prepared piano for lunch. Obviously, I’m out to lunch already.