Updike has a point:
TREES EAT SUNSHINE
It's the fact:
their broad laves lap it up like milk
and turn it into twigs.
Fish eat fish.
Lamps eat light
and when their feast has startved their filament
So do we,
and all sweet creatures—
cats eating horses, horses grass, grass earth, earth water—
except for the distant Man
who inhales the savor of souls—
let us all strive to resemble this giant!
* * *
or should I say:
V I V I V
I think that I started a trend.
MATT8895: saying goodnight should be the V chord, hanging up would be going to the I chord
MATT8895: and if you say i love you, the soprano descends or ascends by step to scale degree 1
MATT8895: is this like that time you talked with charlie and thought that you figured life out?
If only life could really be fragmented into a series of upward climbs that managed to represent a ceiling function…
Oh matt, you have no idea how to use the six-four chord-
MATT8895: haha well i haven't learned that yet
MATT8895: so i think it should be my way
Yes, that’s idiotic pragmatism. Charming.
Why some people have yet to cross the fence…
Bananie983: now if only i could probably identify chord progressions
I think Isa may have this pegged (oh my gosh, another musical pun)-
Subito2223: the first i love you is like a V/V and then when you say i love you too it's like a V
Subito2223: and then good night is like a I
At least we can all agree that goodnight is like a I chord.
Although… trouble always ensues.
Subito2223: when i say good night and good bye to people, i keep on thinking of cadences and chord progressions
Subito2223: this is insane
Subito2223: why did you create this monster
I IV V I
So on Saturday night I had the divine, deluxe, simply splendid pleasure of attending the Stamford Symphony in concert. I know. Live. And Obligatory.
So, first, my parents decided that it would be intelligent to give me a fair quantity of alcohol. Then, the three of us, a truly sprightly bunch, sloshed our way over to the Palace Theatre. Feeling refined, I changed my outfit in the car and decided not to brush my hair.
A little preamble-atory email sent by the simply stunning concertmaster, Ms. Zoubek:
… I want to remind you all to just RELAX and enjoy the moment. It is your time to shine and accept the well deserved recognition for a job very well done! It was a pleasure to meet all of you. You must keep me appraised of your accomplishments. I know we will be speaking again as the SSO Board meeting will be coming up, as will other community events and I very much look forward to that!
[With love and squalor]
Appraised? Are we talking about my old violin? Are we talking about going antiquing? Adolescent accomplishments? All of those areas are worthless, anyway.
In terms of the concert: there is a certain reason that certain pieces are obscure. And there is a certain reason why some musicians never quite make it to the city.
Leah’s boyfriend[?] was wearing a D.A.R.E t-shirt. Which was truly adorable.
Some odd gentleman had to take not one, nor two, but three head-shots of me, because apparently my face “simply doesn’t like the light.” Which begins to clarify my apparent lust for rain.
Sunshine, moonshine, what’s the difference anymore?
And I really felt as if I really ought to have a date, or at least a complete stranger willing to molest me in a bathroom or some other inappropriate public place. But such is life.
Annie and I both had to admit that Eckart Preu, SSO’s new conductor/musical director, is quite a looker, though unfortunately, I found the utter space that his ego occupied a bit overwhelming.
And we all know that I just love a confident man. Overkill, [ladies,] let me tell you. Overkill.
So the usher didn’t want to let the three competition winners (the winner and the two losers?) back-stage, but I unsubtley pointed out that our pictures were in the program. So he congratulated us and let us in.
Then Preu waved us gloriously on stage, where he discussed what a competition actually constitutes. As he explained, “We let girls (right) play, all were quite wonderful, then we go into a room and talk and have cookies and say which ones we liked and why. Then we must deliberate, so we conclude our results as a consequence of playing, but also on account of personality and that little special something.”
His English is almost as impressive as his ego.
My mother was left wondering if perhaps it had been in the bathing suit competition that I wasn’t quite up to par.
My dad thought that the little “special something” was probably along the lines of a blow-job.
Oh Preu, the things I would have done for 20 grand…
A passive-aggressive bitch like me? The possibilities are endless.
And after he had given a five minute Leno-appropriate introduction to each piece, I was left to wonder what exactly he could have said in the pre-concert chat. I’ve concluded that self-glorification must have limits.
They played a delightful encore in honor of Skitch Henderson (their previous director who compared me to Heifitz when I played Shostakovich 8 at a retirement home at the age of 13 (I also broke a string)). And, as Preu put it, “As Skitch’s anonymous 80-year-old-lady-friend puts it, ‘Skitchy would’a liked it.”
At which point my mother and I burst out in a most obnoxious laughter. Comparable to my little embarrassing mishap with Annie during the Kopelman Quartet concert. Totally worth of a sitting-ovation.
Then I came home and called Jeff who had attended the opera with his new Indian boyfriend Emile, getting all Cozy [Fantutte] (a pun that I think I accidentally sent Jeremiah in a text message) over Figaro (Fag-aro?)- I’m just kidding. I love Emile.
Emile is a fantastic graduate student from Cambridge studying abroad at Rice. Why he has taken a liking for my Jeffy and why I'm writing about him right now is beyond me. I guess that Jeff is likeable enough.
Then I talked to Emile on the phone, because Jeff was too busy being passive-aggressive (he obviously learned from the best). Emile told me that Jeff brings out his ‘brown’ side. And then I cleaned out my closet for two hours while watching Punch-Drunk love and went to bed happy.
And as Annie, who is still obsessing about Danbury competition (which was several months ago), says-
It’s only a competition!
Which pretty much only means that I’m a loser. But Beck is with me.
And as long as Scientology is on my side…