No More Mr Nice Guy

I am proud to share John McCain's glorious view of a future full of possibilities (at least for the few most deserving). I am so glad we have a republican candidate who has the guts to stand up to those cross eyed lilly-livered self-help analyst couch potatoes with their snotty "yes I can" pap.

Here, let Senator McCain tell it like it is in mostly his own words.

By the way, has anyone but me noticed the way conservatives cheer when their candidates mention terrorism? Holy Francisco Franco Batman, whose side are these guys on?

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Doctors, Ugh

Doctors, Ugh

I went to the doctor today, for the annual check up and to deal with a couple of small nuisances. I see the PA, because I have figured out ½ hour to 45 minutes with the PA is more useful than a doctor trying to complete a 15 minute visit in 5 minutes. We were able to take care of everything, however there is something disconcerting about dealing with what passes for health care in these United States.

Dealing with the office folks before the visit is always a drag. You get treated more like a number than a human being. Given the existing finance mechanisms, there’s no way to avoid that. At my doctor’s, each visit begins with weight and blood pressure measurement by the technician. Her first shot at the blood pressure gave 141/80. I had to say,

Hey, just minute there, my life time record high is 125/85.

She took a second reading of 122/81. It would have been lower if not for dealing with the pre-visit paperwork. Next, enter the PA.

The PA and the surgeon who took care of me when I had my surgery have both left, the PA to Guatemala and the surgeon to retirement. Therefore, I feel a need to tell my abbreviated medical background to the new PA. I am afraid I overwhelmed her, although she seemed to have gotten over it, since she ordered the correct tests. I need to take a weird hormone and blood sugar test to assure there isn’t any repeat action in tumortown. The observable symptoms tend to be subtle until things get past a breaking point and life becomes weird. Therefore, I have to do some tests to assure everything is OK.

In any event, I give fasting blood tomorrow morning, and we’ll meet again in early March to go over the test results. I have to do some concurrent monitoring in the interim. This is the price I pay for admitting I don't feel perfect and great when I work out with weights.

The Punch Line: While driving home, I realized that the symptoms I have been experiencing are most likely happening because I am drinking too much coffee in the morning. I will cut down starting tomorrow and see how that works. I wish I could have these kinds of revelations in a more convenient order (i. e., figure out about coffee before deciding I need to go to the doctor). Life is just like that.

Doctor, Take Up thy Stethoscope and Walk. Thus spake Pink Floyd

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I’m doing bicycle repair, Nyah, Nyah

The nyah nyah is targeted toward my Midwestern readers.

Although we can expect a week or two more of wet weather sometime between now and April, I am sitting here with the windows open. Today’s high temperature will be above 65 degrees F and the sun is shining. I can deal with this.

I spent a couple of hours earlier this afternoon getting our bicycles into riding shape. This unbelievably February weather that we seem to get every year always catches me off guard. I should have taken care of the bicycles last week, since I always try to give the tires a few days lose pressure and reveal any slow leaks. I figure that’s better than finding a slow leak 10 miles from home. I have done a trail-side inner tube patch, but that is a real pain. By the way, those little frame-mounted air pumps don’t give you much pressure, unless you’re a lot stronger than me. Aside from cleaning and lubrication, the only real work I did was readjusting the lower low gear adjustment screw on one of the rear derailleurs. Everything else looks to be in good shape.

Since it looks like the weather will hold out, I may take a shorter ride on the American River Bike Trail . I figure for the first outing of the year, I should limit myself to about 10 miles. The bike trail is my favorite thing about Sacramento. It is a jewel laying in the midst of some of the ugliest urban sprawl I have seen. I can take the trail downtown, have morning coffee break across from City hall with Kathleen, or I can ride east, from near our place to Fair Oaks. Both these are about a 12 mile round trip.

I always put the bike on a rack and drive to somewhere near the trail. Bike riding on the streets is not a good idea (that’s where the urban sprawl fits in).

It is amazing how a couple of balmy, sunny days can lift the spirits.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Is the Healthcare in California Influenced by A Modern Prometheus?

California, thanks to a thorough legislative audit bureau and a refreshingly practical minded legislative committee, has just avoided about the most ill conceived and underfunded harebrained healthcare reform scam yet to surface in these United States. After our narrow escape, you have to wonder who’s watching the store.

Some local pundits claim the reform efforts were ruined by the administration’s never ending obsequiousness expressed in its efforts to twist the reform to please the varied moneyed constituencies, including the mangled care industry, hospitals and doctors.

Well I did some further investigation, and I although I cannot divulge the most fertile sources of ignorance, stupidity and bumbling toadyism within the administration that produced this embarrassment (at least not without the risk of getting in trouble), I wonder if everybody’s favorite doctor, Dr Frankenstein, was involved.

Important disclosure: This article is not in any way a realistic reflection of Dr Frankenstein’s (Gawd, I love typing this guy’s name) contributions to the failed health care reform (if he was involved at all), nor his very impressive lifelong contribution to physician practice in Southern California. Rather, I am solely poking fun at the guy’s name.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Continuing Professional Education versus Dracula

Continuing Professional Education versus DraculaNo, this is not a newly re-released cult film from the 1950s.

I used most of today to catch up with professional reading. I can log up to 30 hours independent reading a year. I read the last four months’ periodicals form two actuarial organizations, for a grand total of three hours.

I read about recent proposals for principle based valuation standards, Bayesian credibility theory, changes to continuing education requirements, letters from the organizations to the IRS about recent decisions related to pensions, among many other equally engaging topics.

I read an inspirational short article about how ‘Standards of Practice are our Friends’. Although some people I know don’t share that attitude, they are not nearly as badass as the wimpiest of the undead..

It is with great regret that I must make the shocking disclosure that actuarial literature does not hold a candle to Dracula, although the technical knowledge available in each cannon may be of similar value. It is interesting that fans of both genres tend to express their enthusiasm by dressing in dorky genre-related costumes, however fans of Dracula seem to be more enthusiastic about piercing, and they probably have better music at their parties.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Just Look the Other Way

The rainy days continue.

I realize that over the last few months, I’ve been eating more in the evening and losing more and more sleep with stomach aches. I have been ignoring this and avoiding the inconvenient truth that I need to limit what I eat, and especially when I eat solid food. So, this week, I am trying liquid dinners. Not the kind of liquid dinner you get at the bar. I have had milk, yoghurt and frozen fruit smoothies so far, and I bought some protein powder to add to the mix. Yum, yum. Thank goodness I can eat normal breakfasts and lunches. Hopefully, after a week or two things will calm down and I can drop this routine.

Going to the health food store is always an experience. I don’t usually see much in the way of exemplars of good health there. The shoppers either look sickly or filled with steroids, and the staff looks the sickliest of all. My smoothie recipe so far is about 6 ounces of milk, a couple tablespoons of unflavored yoghurt, and a few chunks of frozen fruit into the blender. There’s really not much to this. I hope that adding the vanilla flavored protein powder in lieu of the sugar will make a more substantial meal and won’t taste awful.

I spent over half a year in my (sick as a) dog days getting about half of my nutrition from Ensure. No matter how bad this stuff turns out, it is better than Ensure. Ensure tastes like slimy tootsie rolls, had a disturbingly viscous texture and rots your teeth. Triple yum.

I haven’t gotten much done lately, since I haven’t been getting much sleep and have been accordingly moping around during the days. However, I did get out for a long walk in the woods yesterday, during a short period of sunny weather. That was a good thing to do. Next week project is to get out of this week’s rut.

I have been reading an annotated version of Dracula, which is proving to be a far better read than I had imagined. The novel is gripping, even though it uses the long winded Victorian era journal entries as the medium for telling the story. I am definitely enjoying this one.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Barley Soup – No Gruels Allowed

Years ago, I visited Ann Arbor, MI at least twice each year, since my first wife’s family lived there. Once of my fondest memories of those trips was eating at Zingerman’s Delicatessen on Detroit Street. They have great sandwiches and unbelievable barley soup.

Years later, the recipe surfaced on Epicurious.com.

This is a great soup for crummy weather. It has the same impact as putting your feet up in front of fireplace.

Rest assured this recipe has absolute no resemblance to revolting gruelish barley soups that are sometimes seen in health food restaurants. This is barley soup of the ages, not of the New Age.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Seasonal Blahs, Otherwise Known as the Crapuary Follies

We have entered into the usual January and February weather funk in Sacramento. Highs in the 40 ( that’s Fahrenheit for you cosmopolitan sophisticate types) and rain mixed with drizzle until late next week, even though it’s been this way for the last 5 days. The only consolation is that we can look forward to a summer without rain. I guess that’s a consolation only if you don’t need water in your life. The other consolation is that bicycle riding weather starts in March. Exercise is a lot more fun when you can see things.

Added to all that, it’s the usual unentertaining crazyness (aka meshugas) that this type of weather never fails to bring on. Not to mention putting down DMIL’s cat and my somewhat loose connection to the workforce. These moments are interesting because they teach me about myself.

For instance:

When I feel like useless poop, what do I do?. . .

I declare the following day a MAJOR KITCHEN PROJECT DAY!

As I write this, I have barley soup going on the stove, and bread dough rising in the oven. I’ll give the soup recipe in a separate blog entry.

What I find interesting in all this whining is that when I’m in the poops and feel a great need to be useful, I head to the kitchen. I know I can make people (including me) happy this way. Truly, we never escape our ethnic backgrounds. Somewhere in my background is a Russian-Jewish-grandmother-powered-forced-feeding-tube.

When the weather sucks, I tend to feel a little like a slob since I am not at money-grubbing work a lot of the time.

I am reading a pretty good recent novel, An Arsoninst’s Guide to Writers’ Houses in New England. Somewhere in the novel, the protagonist says that a job makes you normal. There’s some truth in that, as well as much truth that being normal isn’t usually the goal. However, passing as normal does tend to make day to day life easier. (by the way, the public library is where you go to find questionsly employed guys like me single women take warning Don’t Meet Men at the Library!)


That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Farewell to a Furry One

After several weeks of visits to the veterinarian’s office, my DMIL’s (dear mother-in-law’s) cat had to be put to sleep yesterday. We believe she was somewhere in the range of 11 to 15 years old. She had lived with DMIL for about 7 years, and had lived with us two years prior to that. She (Beulah the cat, not DMIL) forged a very close relationship with DMIL. Although often visitors didn’t see the cat, while alone at home the two were inseperable. Hiding from humans other than “her person” was her way. Beulah vocalized like no other cat I have heard. Her vocabulary included at least 15 distinct sounds.

DMIL seems to have taken this loss pretty well, but she does not plan to get another cat. I think my wife may be taking this worse.

Over the last month, the cat developed digestive problems. She wasn’t moving food through the system at a sufficient rate. This is similar to the problems I had severely a few years back, and will probably deal with at a more moderate level for the rest of my life. I really felt bad watching the kitty deal with this and all the troublesome medications. Last week, she came to the point where she was neither willing nor able to eat properly. Alas, she had to be put down.

I took DMIL to the eye surgeon today for a quick touch-up on her cornea and lens, some of which has been transplanted, although some is original equipment. The doctor let me in the room to watch him fire the lazar at the cloudy areas. The procedure took about a minute, but we spent a couple of hours between checking in, forms, and pupil dilation. Surprisingly, through all this dull time together, DMIL appears to be mostly over losing her pet.

That, and teaching some Math students, has pretty much filled up my week so far.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Recorder Society Party

I wrote the President's Letter in the the Recorder Society's next newsletter.

As a special bonus, hangininsac readers get to see it first, in the raw director's cut format. No need to overwhelm me with your profuse thanks.

Here's the news:

Our annual Twelfth Night Party took place January 12th at Parkside Church, redefining the concept of the Twelfth Night. We enjoyed great performances by several groups of SRS members and friends, in additional to our celebration of the SRS’s 25th anniversary.

The evening started with the traditional performance of Carols by the Parkside Church Bell Choir, followed by the Sacramento Recorder Society Orchestra. Lee Ross directed us in several holiday songs from the SRS holiday music collection.

We commemorated the SRS’s 25th anniversary with cake and a show of our appreciation for the former SRS presidents who were present; Billie Hamilton, Dorothy Orolin, Gerry Greer, Elsa Morrison and Robert Foster.

Sine Nomine played shape note hymns and two 16th century Spanish pieces, followed by Mab’s Merrie Minstrels’ unique interpretation of traditional Christmas carols. Three members in southern areas presented the inaugural performance of the San Joaquin Ars Nova Trio.

The River City Renaissance Band performed medieval and Renaissance songs on a variety of period instruments. We were warned that a seemingly innocent habit of playing recorder could lead an unwary musician into other period instruments such as viols, sackbuts, shawms. The Band put on a skit that gave me a completely new perspective of gifts in the 12 days of Christmas song.

John Pronko sang a Sephardic song that presented a somewhat surprising view of romance. The Absent Minded Women played wassail songs.

Mab’s Merrie Minstrels ended the evening leading us in community singing.

On behalf of the SRS board and membership, I thank all the performers and others who helped make the 12th night party a success. You are the Sacramento Recorder Society.

We Know What Good Fences Make, But Who Makes Good Fences?

I lost 40 feet of backyard fencing in last Friday’s storm. I am having a heck of a time getting the repair (really a replacement) set up. I have been having a tough time getting the work scheduled, since lots of other folk’s fences have blown down. It is difficult to reach anyone at a fencing company right now. We checked with people’s experiences, I have talked to the company once and agreed on price, and I have already gotten agreement from the neighbor. The tough part appears to be getting a date. I know it won’t get done tomorrow or next week, but I just want to have a date scheduled, so I can forget about this for a while. I suspect the fence builders are out trying to find more crews.

As I write this, I am looking out the window seeing our new view of the back neighbor’s house through our redwood trees. In a weird way this new view comforts me. I realize I miss the fenceless back yards of the Midwestern towns where I grew up and started adulthood. I like looking out and seeing distance beyond the end of my back yard. I find the more open look comfortable. Fortunately, the back neighbor does not have a dog.

That's my story and I'm sticking ot it.

Welcome Back My Friends to the Blog that Never Ends

Happy New Year

The holidays are finally behind us, with the exception of the Super Bowl, which certainly isn’t a holiday if your live in Northern California, and probably will resemble the 14th day of lent for those of us with roots in Wisconsin.

I survived the holidays, in-laws and all, and I lived to write about it! Actually, everyone behaved as well as can be expected, and there was a lot of good food. Mostly rich and meat-laden good food. I am still getting over the effects of that.

I am going into the New Year, as usual, not knowing what in the heck I am doing. One thing I am sure of is that immediate prospects for turning the dollar are pretty weak. Time to focus on saving some money. This is where I get in touch with my inner tightwad through a lot of stuff I have learned over the years from the Simple Living Network and the New Roadmap Foundation.


It has been said that if Benjamin Franklin were alive today, he would say that a buck saved is about as good as a buck seventy earned, thanks to the myriad of taxes that we live with. In other words, not spending one dollar is about $1.70 you won’t have to earn. I have started some efforts in that direction this week.

Tightwad the First: I will take over housecleaning from maids we have been using. We first hired maids when both of us were working full-time, and money was more available than time. Dropping the maids will save about $170 per month. I did a full cleaning on Wednesday as a test and found it takes me about 4 hours to do a similar cleaning. I found and cleaned a lot of places the maids have been missing for about a year. I’ll only need to do a full cleaning once every other week, and I can split the job over more than one day. I can also do the laundry while cleaning. The pay-off works out to about $17 per hour after taxes, about $29 per hour before taxes. Besides, it was getting to be a pain keeping out of the maids’ way, and that was costing me about 1/3 of the time it takes me to do the job myself.

Tightwad the Second: I found a slow leak under the kitchen sink last night. I think I fixed it today (of course, as with all DIY projects, only time will tell). For the gear heads out there, all I had to do was reseal some joints where the faucet parts attach to the sink. I used plumber’s putty, which is, btw, way easier to use than silicon. In any event, I have protected the area from water damage if it still leaks, so if it isn’t fixed now, I’ll get it right next time. When I was making the big bucks, I would have only had time to call the plumber. That saved about $100, which is the typical cost of a house call from a plumber in our high cost region. The entire ordeal took under two hours, including internet research and a trip to the hardware store.

Tightwad the Third: I called the two professional associations with which I need to belong should I ever wish to return to my profession. The combined annual dues are about $1,300. Both associations allowed me a waiver of dues. Apparently the bylaws specify partial dues waivers for members with anticipated earned income under stated limits that are larger than what I expect to earn. That saved about $1,000. Now my only remaining professional expense for the year should be continuing professional education, which I should be able to complete for under $1,500, and about 20 hours of independent study. I am not yet ready to drop the profession, so this is the cost.

Well, beyond this business, I haven’t got a clue as to the direction of my life, except I am certain that to my last breath, I will maintain . . .

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I am Proud of My Alma Mater.

University of Wisconsin has produced what will surely be considered among the most important scientific findings of the 21st century. The BBC reports Wisconsin researchers prove Guinness really is good for you! The secret of eternal life has been revealed. Ignore at your own risk.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Winding Down to the Year’s End

The remainder of the year for me includes a mini-vacation with Brother and Grown-up nephew this weekend, in-laws visiting over Christmas, and a wrap-up with New Years Eve fireworks with the neighbors.

We have decided to incorporate the Guatemalan tradition of burning the devil inot our New Years Celebration. Guatemalans burn their devil on December 7, at the festival mundanely called La Quema Del Diablo. I wonder if anyone in the imperial Japanese naval command had a side interest in Latin American culture. Coincidence or conspiracy, I leave that question to the readers. Our Guatemalan friends are sophisticated urbanites and think these Mayan influenced stunts are a hoot. Most importantly, I am sure Maximon will be pleased.

Yikes! Another New Year Coming

Holiday parties and food aside, I am being drawn into the vortex of the dreaded New Years appraisal of what the heck is going on in my life. Having left the chimera of security of State employment in November, and having no solid plans for the future beyond part-time math tutoring, several weekly workouts and yoga classes, music stuff, and hanging around. Hey, outside of the 8 to 4 timeframe, I may be busing my time better than a lot of sheeple out there. I am glad I left the State job, since that environment’s pervasive level of professional integrity took a lot out of me. I needed to get that gig behind me. While employed by the State, I felt like I was being useless but on a payroll and interacting with a bunch of other state employees all the time. I miss the payroll. Enough said.

Getting over that, I really haven’t glommed on to anything that’s big news. I plan to continue professional memberships and the required continuing education. This will all cost about $3,000 this year, plus about 50 hours of my time. I do not feel ready to completely jump off that ship. Yet.

It’s nearly 10:00, time to get go work out with weights before yoga class. My yoga class is mostly women who are enjoying early retirement from teaching and other public sector work. I haven’t completely connected with the women in the group. They seem bothered by the fact that I am not at work during the day. I have become occasional work-out buddies with a recently retired doctor, although neither his wife nor I can drag him into yoga class. He went to yoga a few times, and left mumbling something about stress positions and the Geneva Convention. He worked with the doctor who whippled me back in 2003. He chuckles when I do sit ups and curse my surgeon for saving my life. Yikes, what a life!

I’ll get back around noon, have lunch and a shower, play some music for about an hour, then read here or go to the library for a couple of hours. I will be busy tutoring from 4:30 to 8:30. That’s what my weekdays look like. In some measures, my weekdays might be more productive than when I worked for the State and my major focus was proactive resistance. Did you ever notice State is Satan spelled sideways, sort-of?

Sometimes I look to the fine arts to understand these dilemmas:

"When there's no future how can there be sin
we're the flowers in the dustbin
we're the poison in your human machine
we're the future your future

No future for you No future for me
No future no future for you"

- Sex Pistols

"Gone but not forgotten, this is the story of Johnny Rotten" - Niel Young

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

The Story of Stuff

The Story of Stuff is a simple but compelling video presentation of basic economic environmental principals. The 20 minute presentation presents the basic ecological / environmental story by following the movement, processing, marketing and ultimate disposal of materials (generically called Stuff) as they work their way through the global economy. I thought this video was well worth the 20 minute viewing time.

Although I think the video is excellent, it presents nothing new. The video’s value lies in its plain and easily comprehensible presentation. It is simple, clear and entertaining.

Creative Financing: It’s not Just for McMansionites Anymore

I am sick and tired of all the media hand-wringing about the evils that creative mortgage financing have wrought upon we unsuspecting good citizens.

We tend to overlook the beneficial economic impacts of the cash that our recent easier-than-Paris-Hilton credit market has bestowed upon We The People. You need look no further than Elk Grove, CA, a horrid overgrown suburb south of Sacramento. Thanks to easy finance for home mortgages, Elk Grove’s economy has benefited from an economic boom in the home grown (f’real, dude) marijuana industry. Honestly, I am not making this up. Elk Grove has seen several raids similar to this one reported by the Sacramento Bee.

At first, this seemed insane to me. I thought there must be a cheaper way to grow weed than buying a costly suburban house and filling it with dirt and grow lights. Then I remembered how mortgage financing worked in Sacramento. It all fits together.

For most for the last four years, mortgages for up to 110% of a house’s purchases price were available to Elk Grove homeowners. Further, homeowners could arrange for monthly payments less than the accrued interest on a loan. This led ingenious marijuana entrepreneurs to do something like this example.

1. Purchase a $400,000 house.
2. Take out a mortgage for $440,000 to fund the purchase and start-up costs. This would require monthly payments during the teaser period of around $2,500, including taxes. The grower walks away from the closing with the title and $40,000 cash-in-hand.
3. Set aside about $10,000 for the first four months of mortgage payments. Use the remaining $30,000 to fund start-up costs. I imagine that by 4 months there’d be product to sell.
4. It gets even better! Before the clichéd bubble burst, after 6 months the house’s value (as determined by the lenders) would have increased, allowing the entrepreneur to take a home equity loan for an additional $50,000 or so to buy a boat, or expand into meth.

So, next time you light up, don’t forget to thank your nearest bankrupt mortgage loan company, and thank God for capitalism!

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Umberto Eco and 17th Century Recorder Music

Those wacky Dutchmen from Utrecht are at it again. The Official Jacob van Eyck website reports a recent (okay, recent relative to 1652) significant Jacob Van Eyck sighting.

For the uninitiated (i. e., normal) among the readers, Jacob Van Eyck was a carillon and recorder player in Utrecht who around 1651 published a large book of hundreds of variations of religious and popular tunes of the time for solo recorder. The book , which I purchased from Courtly Music (I recommend you purchase from them, too), is very cool and fun to play over 350 years later. The title is Der Fluyten Lust Hopf. By the way, Courtly Music delivered the books about three days after I ordered them. That’s pretty quick after waiting several centuries.

The "Daphne" mentioned below is a song from this book which proved very popular in its time. Van Eyck's "Daphne" was featured in Black Robe, a 1991 movie about a French priest among the Indians in Quebec. In a flashback scene, the young man realises the futility of his Parisian bourgeous existance while listening to his sister play "Daphne" in his mother's parlor.

This article is reprinted from The official Jacob van Eyck Website

Jacob van Eyck in literature: The Island of the Day Before by Umberto Eco

The first novel featuring Jacob van Eyck has yet to be written, but there is one literary work in which the Utrecht Orpheus appears, even though he is not named specifically. It is the book L'isola del giorno prima or The Island of the Day Before (1994) by Umberto Eco, known primarily for his previous best-selling novels The Name of the Rose and Foucault's Pendulum. The author, Professor of Semiotics at the University of Bologna, is also a keen amateur recorder player. {YES, YES! Another member of the “unshaven recorder players’ fraternity}

The Island of the Day Before is an adventure story set in 1643. The main character, the young Italian nobleman Roberto, is shipwrecked aboard the Amarilli (in the English version translated as Amaryllis). He winds up on a Dutch vessel then known as a 'fluyt'in Dutch, the same word for 'recorder'. The ship is called the Daphne. And in his imagination there is another ship called the Tweede Daphne, "that is to say, Daphne the Second, a sign that somewhere there must be a Daphne the First, which showed how those Protestants lacked not only faith but also imagination." (transl. W. Weaver, p. 403)

It was early morning, and Roberto again was dreaming. He dreamed of Holland. It was while the Cardinal's men were conducting him to Amsterdam to put him on the Amaryllis. During the journey they stopped at a city, and he entered the cathedral. He was impressed by the cleanliness of the naves, so different from those of Italian and French churches. Bare of decorations, only a few standards hanging from the naked columns, the glass windows plain and without images: the sun created there a milky atmosphere dotted only by the few black forms of the worshippers below. In that peace a single sound was heard, a sad melody that seemed to wander through the ivory air, born from the capitals or the keystones. Then he noticed in one chapel, in the ambulatory of the choir, a man in black, alone in one corner playing a little recorder, his eyes staring into the void.

When the musician finished, Roberto went over to him, wondering if he should give him something; not looking into Roberto's face, the man thanked him for his praise, and Roberto realized he was blind. He was the master of the bells (der Musicyn en Directeur van de Klokwerken, le carillonneur, der Glockenspieler, he tried to explain), but it was also part of his job to delight with the sound of his flute the faithful who lingered at evening in the yard and the cemetery beside the church. He knew many melodies, and on each he developed two, three, sometimes even five variations of increasing complexity, nor was it necessary for him to read notes: born blind, he could move in that handsome luminous space (yes, he said luminous) of his church, seeing, as he said, the sun with his skin. He explained how his instrument was so much a living thing, that it reacted to the seasons, and to the temperature of morning and sunset, but in the church there was always a sort of diffuse warmth that guaranteed the wood a steady perfection-and Roberto reflected on the notion of diffuse warmth a man of the north might have, for he himself was growing cold in this clarity.

The musician played for him the first melody twice more, and said it was entitled "Doen Daphne d'over schoone Maeght." He refused any offering, touched Roberto's face and said, or at least Roberto understood him to say, that "Daphne" was something sweet, which would accompany Roberto all of his life.
Now, on the Daphne, Roberto opened his eyes and, without doubt, heard coming from below,through the fissures in the wood, the notes of "Daphne," as if it were being played by a more metallic instrument which, not hazarding variations, repeated at regular intervals the first phrase of the tune, like a stubborn ritornello.
He told himself at once that it was a most ingenious emblem: to be on a fluyt named Daphne and to hear music for flute entitled "Daphne." It was pointless to persist in the illusion that this was a dream. It was a new message from the Intruder.
Father Caspar had taught him how to set in motion: he heard always and only 'Daphne,' because he had not learned how to change the cylinder; but he was not sorry to listen hour after hour to the same tune."

Well well well, fellow early music freaks, with the Semiotics core group on our side, how can we lose?

That's my story and i'm sticking to it.

In Santa’s Face

The AP reports the following militant act of a Christmas Resistor in Montana.

MISSOULA, Mont. (AP) - A college student accused of shoving a pumpkin pie into the face of a shopping-mall Santa Claus has been charged with misdemeanor assault.
Clint Westwood, 22, said he "lightly smooshed" the pie into the man's face Friday and shouted, "What do you think of that, Santa?"
Westwood, a drama student at the University of Montana, said he videotaped the encounter and plans to include the clip in an upcoming film.
He said that after the pie ruckus on Wednesday, he expected to approach Santa for a signature on a film-release form, but police arrived first.
"It's a good thing he didn't wait around, because I think Santa would have laid him out," said Sgt. Travis Welsh of the Missoula Police Department.
Westwood said he and companions had waited for a girl about 15 years old to finish sitting on Santa's lap before the pie hit his face, "but then we just decided it would be funnier if she was still sitting there."

Although the college student appears to be an annoying person I probably wouldn’t want to know, I somehow get a chuckle from his blatant attack against Santa Claus. I imagine there’s a lump of coal in his future!

It is also interesting that he expected the Santa to sign a release form. I guess he thought the brilliance of his artistic statement would be obvious. Oh, the struggles thatt he true artists among us must deal with!

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Why I Blog

"Rat", a character in "Pearls Before Swine" must be reading my mind. Here’s the real dope.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

A Susato Thanksgiving

We had the traditional Thanksgiving at my uncle’s place in Santa Rosa . They had 25 people this year.

I brought the cranberry relish, one batch of the Stamberg variety (see the next blog entry), and one batch of plain old whole berry sauce. Otherwise we just ate and had a good time.

The highlight of the evening for me was that my cousin-the-professional-bass-player and I played a set of Tielman Susato songs from the 16th century. As the galliards and pavanes were flying, the electricity went out, so we finished our playing by candlelight! In my life, that’s about as cool as it gets.

We saw the usual suspects from Los Angeles and northern CA.

We took the mountain road route on Thursday morning, since the interstate was a mess. Lots of scenic and winding two-lane roads. We enjoyed the scenery, but DMIL forgot to mention that she gets carsick on mountain roads. So, most of us enjoyed the scenic drive.

We stayed over Thursday night at the Sandman Motel in Santa Rosa. We’ve stayed there every thanksgiving. The breakfast area is always full of protestant missionaries and their families. Strange.