11Jan / 2013

I played the cello last night

I played the cello last night.

I had a cello lesson last night in the backroom of a music store near my house. It is a small shop crammed full of fascinating instruments. If I have time before my lesson I stand in front of the singing bowl rack, hitting the variously-sized singing bowls with the little hitter things, wishing I had spare money for a couple, and a few other things. I wonder if it drives the woman who runs the shop crazy, or if she is used to it.

The backroom is the most crammed-full room in the store, with lots of merchandise boxed on shelves and a carpet on the floor, and just enough room for my teacher to hold lessons. I couldn’t say if the acoustics are good there, or bad, although I supposed if they were terrible she wouldn’t be holding lessons there.

I have been learning a cello sonata by Benedetto Marcello. We sat there last night, playing it, and I’ll be damned if it didn’t sound beautiful.

Not just better than the previous lessons. It sounded really nice.

I always low-ball and so on but I had to smile while we played and think, this is what I have been taking lessons for ten years for.

Twelve years, whatever.

Although, it wasn’t actually why I took lessons. I took up the cello thinking I might learn something about the cello, and appreciate music better; get a peek through the window into the House of Music or something.

I thought I’d try it for a few years and give it up.

So it wasn’t exactly the attainment of a goal last night, it was more like a pure, unexpected bonus, that blessed little moment.

I would have hugged my teacher afterwards, but the room was small and I didn’t want to knock over a cello or freak out my teacher.

So, yes, despite jetlag and so on, I played the cello last night.

Thanks, Alena.

Thanks, Uncle Phil.

Thanks, Ruth.

Thanks, family.

Thanks, friends.

Thanks, life.

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13Dec / 2012

Careers in science: Helioseismology

She is quiet.

Silent.

They drive down the road at night, the helioseismologist is tired and his daughter isn’t talking.

She just got off work after a long school day and she is 15, and the helioseismologist understands there are a million reasons why she might not be speaking, and a million more he cannot imagine, never having been a 15 year old girl himself, only fearing them or admiring them from afar.

That’s all you can do with a 15 year old girl, fear or admire her. Or love her, as in this case.

The helioseismologist drives through drizzle and night and freeway traffic, someone always going somewhere and he is thankful like you wouldn’t believe for this girl, and for her sister, and for their mother. He is thankful for his brother and sister, and for his mom and dad, and his uncles and aunts. The helioseismologist is thankful for his grandma, and for his grandpa he never met. And maybe his other grandparents he never met, and all his cousins. And other friends and relatives, past and future.

The helioseismologist is thankful for his painting gear and his music gear, for his writing pads and his yoga mat and his big, big bed. He is thankful writing was invented, and clothing and agriculture, poetry and the Internet.

The helioseismologist is thankful for other people, and the idea of artisinal anything, although he prefers the idea of doing simple things well – making soups or fruit salad, or bread.

The helioseismologist is thankful for meditation and mass production, the scientific method, flowers, sunrises, sunsets, meteorological phenomena in general, and something else he forgot. He is thankful for symbioism, mitosis and meiosis, virii, bacteria and interesting parasites.

He is thankful for singing and crossword puzzles, weight-lifting, and cross-country skis. He is thankful for massage, kissing and cutley.

The helioseismologist is thankful for stars and kangaroos and hedgehogs, normal hogs and olives both black and green, his garden in the back yard and the houses he would build some day if he had the money, the houses that would approximate his beautiful heart.

He is thankful for these and many other things, but he would still like to talk to this girl, his daughter, the way they used to before they both got so tied and busy and whatever else.

The helioseismologist thinks about patting her on the leg; a love tap, his father called it.

The helioseismologist pats her on the leg.

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11Dec / 2012

Come out

to the woodpile. The air is sweet and the clay is cold. Let her sleep while you stare at the apple tree and decide which limbs to prune. Plum tree too.

The day is cold but over quick enough.

There’s enough to hear despite the ringing in your ears: a scratching pen, a passing car, the clicking of a working house, a sigh, coffee beans grinding.

The stretching of a cat.

The air is sweet so come outside for a little while and let the young one sleep.

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31Oct / 2012

Hiding from people

Nightmare this morning: Someone was after me. They wanted to kill me and the earth was soft and crumbly so I dug down and hid under the dirt. I made a hole in the bottom of a soda pop can and breathed through that, ninja-style. But they found me anyway and were digging me out when I woke up.

They were female, I think. Whoever the scary person was. They may have been my wife, or a cat, or something more monstrous, all I remember clearly is the dirt and the aluminum can.

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31Oct / 2012

Amidst the seeds

He goes into the cellar and the light is already on. Either someone left it on all night, or he left it on for 24 hours, or there was a burglar who turned on the light and thought, nothing worth stealing here, just a bunch of seeds and papers and a broken accordion, or the light turned itself on, as lights sometimes do, especially around the Day of the Dead.

The moon was full last night. He lights candles. He lights every candle he can find and sits amids the seeds and tries to position the candles so that they don’t set anything on fire. He sits amidst the seeds and writes something. First he finds some pens, he has to look all over the room because he can’t recall what box they were in or where he put the box.

For future reference: the box is under the desk.

Looking for pens, he finds his aunt’s obituary in a drawer full of knives.

Also the box his field recorder came in. Now all he has to find is the field recorder itself. Maybe it’s in the box, he didn’t look inside because he was 1) looking for pens and 2) thinks he looked in the box once already and no field recorder.

The moon was full last night so it should be fairly full tonight, when the spirits are out. He resolves to light extra candles.

It’s foggy, a little foggy. Cold and the world is still. Still and waiting.

He thinks about playing dice.

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16Oct / 2012

Metropolis

Alpha and I watched Metropolis at the Konzerthaus in Vienna last night, while a 66-piece orchestra played the music. It was neat. I didn’t fall asleep once. Metropolis was shortened rather drastically after release, and the original version was lost, I guess. The film was (IIRC) restored in 2001. Then a longer version was discovered in Argentina, so it was restored again. The Argentine version was, however, only 16mm so there are quality and cropping issues. The discovery of the longer version also made it possible to restore the score, pretty much, which had also been incomplete.

Or something.

I should be a journalist, shouldn’t I.

We will be seeing a few more silent films with live music at the Konzerthaus, we bought a subscription. I really like the idea of composing film music, so I am looking forward to seeing them.

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11Oct / 2012

Tuvan throat singing progress report

Surprised myself the day before yesterday by actually getting it right while driving home from work. It only lasted a few seconds, though, and I sort of scared myself. It’s an awesome sound. Haven’t been able to repeat it since, but am still trying. It was very encouraging. All the different tutorials on youtube have helped, but only to a somewhat limited degree. All they seem to have in common are they can sort of get you started, but you have to take the leap to actually figuring it out all by yourself. That, and they are filmed in absolutely filthy bedrooms.

This is definitely the most irritating thing I have tried to do yet, and that’s saying a lot. I can only try it while driving alone, and that’s sort of dangerous because besides giving me a sore throat, it also makes me dizzy because I forget to breathe, and requiring a lot of concentration my driving suffers. Also I thought I was going to give myself a heart attack yesterday so I stopped for a while.

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Metamorphosism

Category Archives: Familie

I played the cello last night

Careers in science: Helioseismology

Come out

Hiding from people

Amidst the seeds

Metropolis

Tuvan throat singing progress report