lyrical crumbs

with pitchers of liquors and milk 
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December 2, 2009

Shush and listen

via youtube.com

John Cage was a minimalist American composer who conceived of music as chance.

First, I just have to say that even if I felt like dishing a couple hundred bucks to sit in a concert hall and listen awkwardly to "silence," I wouldn't last a minute in the audience. Even while sitting at my computer watching the video on YouTube, I couldn't help but laugh obnoxiously for the first 30 seconds of the "performance."

But I laughed because it really is a phenomenal concept. Absurd, it seems, particularly in between the three movements when it feels like releasing the end of a balloon and all the air inside escapes as audiences collectively exhale, sneeze, cough, fidget, fumble, whisper, and chuckle.

The most notable noise during the movements, aside from the occasional cough, was a sneeze at about the 5:19 mark. Otherwise it seemed close to pure silence. Good job, orchestra. Geez... if I were sitting there I'd be deafened by my own heartbeat.

Filed under  //   John Cage   music   silence  

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November 27, 2009

I will never stuff myself at dinner again

 

Shoddy and disjointed leftovers from Thanksgiving:

My dad asked me if I wanted to see New Moon. I was so confused. But then again, we used to fight for first dibs on each upcoming Harry Potter book.

It still shocks me to think that all the famous Romantic poets' lifespans are like layers of a Russian doll. Lucky Wordsworth. Poor Keats. On that note, I hunkered down and wrote another essay. Sad thing is it took me the whole frickin day to write. It was one of the laziest yet ultimately productive days I've ever had. As a result, I found a new Keats quote to love: "I will not be dieted with praise." (And he said it with such ferocity too---it's great!). 

This morning I got up at seven to go to work. What an awful night of sleep. I dreamt I puked and out of my mouth flew the fattest pigeon I will ever see. Never will I overindulge my tummy past 10pm again.

I feel dirty every time I leave work. It's not easy to be immersed in ten hours of sordidness and come out with one's innocence unscathed. Today I wrote up my first felony... exciting, except it was against a 19-year-old. I also learned that there is such a thing as a felonious kiss. Besides that, I'm still shaking my head at the complicated and utterly boring vehicular case thrown upon me this afternoon. Really, I hate cars and people who steal them. The case took the whole afternoon to prepare, and I could barely understand the broken English of the guy I was interviewing. Frustrating. But at least it wasn't one of those "transit recidivist walks between subway cars" nonsense. Why bother arresting for that? Even judges hate those.

Hoboken. Finally went to Maxwell's for dinner after about a year of abstinence. Went to Grimaldi's, too. I don't think I can ever eat free Spec pizza after this break. It would be like weaning oneself off a macbook and switching back to a PC. Who does that?

I think I just killed a potentially savory moment with my flavorless technology comparison. 

Regarding the above appended photo: that is my backyard in autumn. Yet we still feel the need to go super Asian and drive up to Bear Mountain every year. I don't complain, though. Either it's the elevation or just the way I was raised, I really, really like mountains. Oh my god - believe me, that pun was wholly unintended.

Filed under  //   autumn   food   holidays   poetry   Thanksgiving   work   writing  

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November 17, 2009

study break: sound effects

  
(download)

Lately I've been listening to an awful lot of organums, the three B's of the western music canon, and... operas (ahem Aida). But just now I clicked on iTunes shuffle, and this lovely song came on! IT STILL CREEPS ME OUT. The ghosts of these children haunting their murderous, scumbag father. It's really the background sounds that are eerie. You can actually hear the creaking of a rusty bathtub faucet being turned on and him being WHOOPED---yeah, flayed by his dead children.

Filed under  //   music   study break  

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November 11, 2009

Meditation and ohm nom at dinner

Mirror Friends by Lucky Dragons  
(download)

"Mirror Friends" is so Buddhist. I don't care what the intention of the Lucky Dragons was, this song oozes Eastern. It's soothing, too. Makes you feel like you could meditate to it.

When I was three and living with my parents and grandparents in Montreal, we used to "da zuo" after dinner (打坐), which means sitting in the REAL (i.e. painful) lotus position and closing one's eyes for about ten minutes. That's what my dad told me to do, and I hated it.

To appease me they said that 爷爷奶奶 would also "da zuo" with me. Up until that point, I had been raised by my grandparents in the roosterland, and it was they who brought me into mom and dad's humble Montreal abode, and so I was closer to them than to my peripatetic parents. This argument---hey, the old folks meditate too---convinced me, grudgingly, to crawl onto the bed, cross my legs, and shut my eyes. All was darkness while I listened to the theme song of Wheel of Fortune coming on at 7:30.

I complied most sourly for a few evenings after dinner, until one evening while "meditating," I chanced to open one eye and peep around the room. 'Lo and behold 爷爷奶奶 were sitting comfortably on the sofa watching and listening to Wheel of Fortune host Pat Sajak make small talk with the contestants. Eyes narrowed, I screamed betrayal. I don't think I've ever meditated after that.

Then when we were living in our beautiful Mississauga house, seven years later, I decided to put on some music during dinner. It'll be a nice change, I thought. So I rummaged through some boxes in my dad's study and found a few CDs with Chinese characters. 爱国, that's the way to go at dinner, I decided and popped one into the stereo. I turned it up super loud and ran back downstairs to the dining room to join my parents at dinner.

My dad nearly choked on the wine. From upstairs, we heard ohm... ohm... ohm... ohmitofo. ohm...

Filed under  //   Buddhism   meditation   music  

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November 11, 2009

Unappetizing writing

This afternoon I flipped open The New Yorker and began reading "Annals of Gastronomy: The Scavenger." This week's piece is about the food escapades of Jonathan Gold, supposedly L.A.'s most courageous muncher. 

But I didn't even make it past the first paragraph before coming across what has got to be one of the worst food comparisons ever to appear in print: "You could now get D.F.-style carnitas in Highland Park, 'loose and juicy, spilling out of the huge $1.99 tacos like Beyoncé out of a tight jumpsuit.'" Is this even supposed to be funny? TASTELESS (pun intended haha). But seriously---pretty bad food journalism right there.

Filed under  //   food   The New Yorker   writing  

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November 5, 2009

merce cunningham & modern dance

Two weeks ago I went with my music hum class to see the Merce Cunningham memorial at the Park Avenue Armory. Apparently Daniel is passionate about "the visual" as well as "the sonic," and apparently there's this famous man in dance circles named Merce Cunningham, and apparently he died this past July, and apparently I am the biggest ignoramus when it comes to modern dance.

We took our pleasant time taking the bus there because Daniel envisioned taking the bus---not the subway---as part of the complete experience. Once we got there, we proceeded to wander between three un-elevated stages where different short performances were taking place simultaneously. I managed to see Changing Steps, Scramble and Un jour ou deux, Totem Ancestor, and Back Exercises before sitting down on (ouch!) badly-splintered hardwood floor for Second Hand and Event. 

One night of Merce Cunningham did not, in all honesty, cultivate my modern dance sensibilities. Even now I feel that I am butchering the art by not talking about it in the right way. But it was worth it. I don't regret sacrificing a Wednesday evening of watching the World Series opener while feeding on free junk food to watch men and women in spandex make intricately slow movements across a stage. Not a bit. In fact, I quite enjoyed watching the performances and making the important realization that I could hold my laughter in when some of the male dancers started sweating profusely about the crotch. My laughing at awkward moments---that uncontrollable immaturity---had always been my modern dance phobia. It's so terrible I could slap myself for it. But 'twas happily conquered that night! I did not laugh at all and managed to snap a hazy picture before a scowling security guard came over to shake his finger at me.

Furthermore, I felt that I actually understood some of it. Yes, I noticed some interesting stuff in the dancing. At one point when all the dancers were perfectly still, holding their poses, I noticed something move in the corner of my eye and turning, realized it was a shadow. I traced the shadow to its source: one of the dancers in the back was slowly lifting his arm. And THEN, it occurred to me that shadows play an important part in the performance. After all, it's called "Second Hand," suggesting imitation and shadowing. And the dancers' costumes, too, with the dark bluish-gray and light bluish-gray were like shadows + light! Tada!

So although I did not become a Merce Cunningham fanatic in one night, I might---just maybe---one day go see another modern dance performance.

Filed under  //   dance   merce cunningham   new york  

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October 26, 2009

A healthy dose of dorkiness

From my AP U.S. history textbook, The American Pageant:

“While the French hawk had been hovering in the North and West, the colonial chicks had been forced to cling close to the wings of their British mother hen” (120).

“God-fearing Federalist aristocrats nervously fingered their tender white necks and eyed the Jeffersonian masses apprehensively” (199).

On J.Q. Adams: “He was even accused of having procured a servant girl for the lust of the Russian tsar---in short, of having served as a pimp.”

On the American annexation of Texas: “What other power would have spurned the imperial domain of Texas? The bride was so near, so rich, so fair, so willing. Whatever the peculiar circumstances of the Texas revolution, the United States can hardly be accused of unseemly haste in achieving annexation. Nine long years were surely a decent wait between the beginning of the courtship and the consummation of the marriage.”

“Lincoln possessed in full measure tact, sweet reasonableness, and an uncommon amount of common sense” (474).

“To its lasting hurt, the nation lost the cream of its young manhood and potential leadership. In addition, tens of thousands of babies went unborn because potential fathers were at the front” (475).

On the purchase of Alaska: “Americans did not feel that they could offend their great and good friend, the tsar, by hurling his walrus-covered icebergs back into his face” (496).

On the 1930s: “Babies went unborn as pinched budgets and sagging self-esteem wrought a sexual depression in American bedrooms” (858). 

BEST. TEXTBOOK. EVER.

Filed under  //   funny   history   quotes  

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October 18, 2009

Home is an Epicurean delight!

It cured this sickness with a mixture of honey + lime, chestnuts, pear soup, seasoned "BIG" squid, savory noodles, and Charles Simic.

Okay, not exactly. I also finally saw a doctor who informed me that I was on the verge of getting bronchitis and an ear infection. And after a dismal morning of foraging CVS for prescriptions and kleenex, I was compelled by impending midterm to return to the---literally---TIMELESS jibjab of Plato, Aristole, and Epicurus---while sipping some hearty vegetable soup. mm mm.


For years we humans have delightedly gawked at dolphins jumping out of and diving into the water while seeming to follow our cruise boats. At dinner, Daddy came up with a superb theory on this age-old phenomenon. We think they're having a blast, but in fact, they have no choice but to keep jumping up into the air... because of the deafening noise of the boat's motor underwater! EPIPHANY.

                       
Click here to download:
Home_is_an_Epicurean_delight.zip (15018 KB)

Filed under  //   dolphins   food   home   philosophical babbling   theories  

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September 29, 2009

Tailbone pain: the long and short of it

(download)

One of the things I remember most about our trip to Guilin is sitting in the back of a van with 20 sweaty 农民 reeking of fried potatoes and cōng. Every bump in the road—and there were many—caused my damaged tailbone to ache so much that I began wondering whether I might have an extra long tailbone. Either that or my threshold of pain tolerance wasn't as high as I'd always believed. 

It must have been a two-hour ride from Longsheng to Guilin, and my friend and I amused ourselves with the silliest game of "fuck, marry, and kill" that boredom has ever lured me into playing. In brief, victims of our game involved—for him—the cleaning lady at the Faculty Club in Shanghai where we were staying and the egg burrito woman who sold us breakfast in the mornings before class. More was revealed during our game than I would have liked to know, but it helped me momentarily forget my throbbing tailbone, which was all I needed.

This tailbone mess began after our biking excursion in Yangshuo. 桂林山水甲天下, but to be honest, Yangshuo was my favorite part of the trip, despite its bodily costs.

I chose not to ride my own bike for a reason. Some drivers in Guangxi make Shanghainese drivers look like tame donkeys. So we rented a bike and a tandem, the latter triggering fond memories of high school Latin class.

Riding our bikes through the languid Yangshuo countryside just as the sun was dipping below the distant hills was exhilarating. I was aware we looked as if we had just stepped out of a sauna, soaked in sweat. But that didn't matter, and no one cared. There was just a warm stillness, the wide road, and the passing karst scenery. On the other side of the world and half a century later, I could finally relate to Jack Kerouac.

Considering this, the subsequent tailbone ache was sorely worth it.

Filed under  //   biking   Guilin   Jack Kerouac   pain   tailbone  

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September 24, 2009

FOUND: Collection of tear-inducing writing (circa 11th grade)

(download)

Where: folder labelled "old_shit"
Author: an ignorant and semi-emo Yours Truly
Features: rant against pigeons, watery prose poem inspired by Charles Simic, a letter of recommendation (omgahhh can't believe I wrote this), and satire à la Victorian Era
Themes: birds, bugs, mittens, olives, offensive smells, people you'd pray-to-God never to meet, et al.
Disclaimer: read at your own risk

Conclusion: hopefully my writing has since improved...?

Filed under  //   writing  

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