Bees

Last week was busier than I like. I can tolerate going out about once a week, and I was busy every single day last week, due to a rare alignment of regularly-scheduled events (yoga class, cello rehearsal) and occasional, random cultural events (theater subscription, concert subscription 1, concert subscription 2, interesting concert 3).

On Monday, we (my wife and I) watched a performance of Anna Karenina at the Volkstheater in Vienna. Although I was familiar with the story, I found it very hard to understand the actors. It was a good production, the Volkstheater is generally a safe bet since Michael Schottenberg took over there as manager, we’ve been fans of his for decades. I slept very little, although I get up pretty early in the morning.

Tuesday I had yoga class. I slept very little.

Wednesday we went to the Beriosaal at the Konzerthaus for a live performance by the ensemble Phace of a new musical piece composed by American composer Gene Coleman to the 1926 Japanese silent film A Page of Madness, using both Western and Japanese instruments, if there can be said to be such categories. It was very good and I slept very little.

On Thursday we watched Bach’s St. Matthew Passion at the Grosser Saal of the Konzerthaus, performed by the Collegium Vocale Gent / Herreweghe. They were very good, the orchestra played period instruments (I noticed Baroque celli and a viola da gamba – which had a wonderful solo). It is interesting to observe how the crowd varies from event to event. It can be youngish/middle-aged and snooty but trying to appearcounter-culture, or old and cultured and somehow less snooty, and so on. The Bach crowd struck me as quite elderly and generally well-to-do or at least well-dressed (there was a lot of jewelry on display, though), quite slender in general, and very slow-moving until the concert was over, at which time they were t the coatcheck very quickly.

Friday’s event was the most interesting for me – there is a series in the town of Krems called Imago Dei, concerts in the Minoritenkirche there. We watched a performance by cellist/composer Frances-Marie Uitti, the ensemble Extracello, and Buddhist monks; the event consisted of a Buddhist Puja ceremony (ceremony to honor the creative spirit?) and composition(s) by Uitti. For this performance, Extracello tuned (according to the program) their cellos to unconventional tunings, and played primarily open strings and flageolets (which resonate longer than when you are fingering the strings), and Uitti is famous for playing with two bows in one hand. I expected her to do that to be able to play all 4 strings at once, but she somehow manages to coordinate the two bows in unexpected ways and it was quite fascinating.

For your viewing pleasure, I will include a few Uitti links here:

her website

Video 1 (Vimeo)

Video 2 (Vimeo)

Video 3 (Vimeo)

It was an interesting week, but it was too much for me and I will be digesting this for some time to come. A lot of images and ideas were poured into my head while I was in a trance state this week, as if the creative spirit unscrewed the top of my head and poured in a basket of bees, which now fly through my mouth and make honey in the empty spaces inside.

(PS: as you can see in the videos, Uitti has an ALUMINUM CELLO from the 1920s. With an awesome dent.)

Careers in Science: Ktenology

The ktenologist is driving down the highway with his daughter. They are driving instead of taking the train because the ktenologist is going to a  play with his wife after work and would probably miss the last train.

The ktenologist’s soul is heavy because he did something wrong the day before while trying to install an Ikea lamp in his other daughter’s apartment and now only her refrigerator and one electrical outlet work.

He had resisted installing the lamp for a long time, until his wife threatened to get an electrician to do it. Then he had driven over with his father-in-law, who has a better understanding of wiring and they had tried to install the lamp. His father-in-law is a wonderful man, but he has Alzheimer’s and was unable to find his glasses at the apartment, so the ktenologist had tried to do the wiring with the abovementioned results.

A day wasted, and now an electrician has to come anyway, and who knows what he’ll have to fix.

“You take what you get in this life,” says the ktenologist to his teenaged daughter.

“You get what you take in this life,” says his daughter.

The ktenologist pats her on the leg and just drives for a while, thinking, this kid is going to be okay.

A man walks into a pharmacy

Is this place never crowded, he wonders.

He waits patiently in line, wishing he had done something with his hair, he has a mad scientist vibe going on.

Thing is, it was sort of a surpise, mid-week day off, and he thought he’d be sitting around the house, getting things done so he didn’t waste too much time making himself presentable.

But then he had called the pharmacy to see if his prescriptions were finally ready, after two weeks of waiting, and they finally were. So here he was.

There were four pharmacists manning the counter, and four lines; or rather, this being Austria, a disorganized crowd of people elbowing each other, a situation in which people from Anglo-Saxon and other societies accustomed to queuing politely are at a distinct disadvantage. He finally made it to the counter and explained to one of the pharmacists what he was there for and she went back and got his order.

It was two things, with vague directions on the boxes.

It had been four weeks since he had spoken to his dermatologist, so he asked the pharmacist how each medicine was to be used, exactly because he didn’t want to get them mixed up; also, he couldn’t even remember what the second one – a cream – was for; he only remembered that one was for the basal cell carcinoma on his shoulder. He vaguely remembered the other one might be for rosacea.

“How are these medicines to be used, exactly?” he asked.

“This one is used in the genital area,” she said in a very clear voice. Not loud, but it carried.

“Wut?” said the man.

“Genital warts?” she said.

“Basal cell carcinoma?” said the man.

The pharmacist shrugged. “Ask your dermatologist.”

“I’ll give her a call right away,” said the man, willing himself invisible. “Because, oh forget it.”

He had learned when to stop digging.

Capture

Man: You know what I really hate? The way the concept of ‘capture’ has grown central to modern capitalism. Plutocratic capture of the courts. Regulatory capture. Brand capture, like the way Apple ‘forces’ you to buy only Apple products at inflated prices. Design capture, as in the way modern cars and appliances are impossible to fix yourself, down to changing a headlight… Hey, is that a box?

Girl:???

Man: It’s a box! Your cat like that box?

Girl: ADD much?

Captive Audience: Deedeedeedee! Deedee! Dee.Dee!

The trouble today

Man: [Driving. Scowls.] Take media, for example. It’s manipulative. It frames public discourse to give the advantage to the concentrated capital that owns it.

Captive audience: Deedeedee. Dee. Dee. Dee! Deedeedee.

Man: Like this morning. On the news. They said, “The president has to cut spending by $65 billion immediately,” or whatever. That is not a fact. They are not reporting a fact, they are selling public opinion a response to a fact that capital prefers. The fact is: you have revenue on this side, and you have projected spending on this other side, and there is a $65 billion difference between the two. That is the fact. The question is: how do we make up the shortfall? Cutting spending is one option. Buying lotto tickets and paying it off with a Powerball win is another. Oh, and there’s one more: you could raise taxes. Unfortunately, the poor and the middle class are already squeezed pretty tight, which leaves the upper class, and capital in the form of corporations etc.

Captive audience: Deedeedee! Dee! DEEDEEDEE!

Man: What you listening to there?

Captive audience: Skrillex.

Goodnight, wheels of commerce

This is the girl. Her name is Beta.

Actually she is a woman.

She is studying law and anthropology.

Can you say anthropology?

She specializes in state terror, torture, genocide and human rights.

Beta needs trail mix. She calls her dad.

This is Beta’s dad. His name is Mig.

“Sure, I will get you trail mix,” says Mig.

“Please get the special kind,” says Beta.

“Of course,” says Mig.

This is the special trail mix.

But when Mig goes to the store, they are all out of special trail mix.

What does Mig do?

Mig buys regular trail mix. He buys “Caribbean dried fruit.” He buys fair trade organic raisins covered in fair trade organic dark chocolate.

“These will be ingredients for a superior gourmet trail mix,” Mig says.

This is fair trade organic dark chocolate.

Mig can’t call Beta because someone stole her phone.

Mig sends Beta an email and messages her on facebook.

Mig tells Beta to meet him at the subway station after work.

Mig takes the ingredients for special gourmet trail mix to the subway station.

Beta is waiting for him.

A man is talking to Beta when Mig arrives. The man is a wino.

“Hurgahurga bzzt grar,” says the wino.

This is the wino.

Beta smiles nicely at him.

Beta looks relieved when she sees her dad, Mig.

“Hi,” says Mig.

“Hi,” says Beta.

“Here are ingredients for super delicious special gourmet trail mix,” says Mig.

Beta says, “thank you.”

The African man selling the homeless newspaper says, “hi!”

This is the African man selling the homeless newspaper.

He also says, “do you know how long she has been waiting? I have been watching over her for 15 minutes!”

He is smiling when he says it. This makes Mig somewhat relieved.

“Actually, more like five minutes,” says Beta. She is also smiling.

Everyone is smiling except for the wino. He is leaning back against the ticket machine watching a swarm of magic moths only he can see.

These are the magic moths.

“Well, thank you for looking out for her,” says Mig to the African man selling homeless newspapers.

Mig buys a newspaper from the man. He gives the man a big tip because their conversation must end soon.

Mig must continue on his way. He is on his way home. Beta must go make super delicious gourmet trail mix. She must study for a law exam. The man must sell more homeless newspapers.

The wheels of commerce turn relentlessly.

These are the wheels of commerce.

Good night, Mig.

Good night, Beta.

Good night African man selling homeless newspapers.

Good night wino watching moths.

Good night, wheels of commerce.

Inside, he is a squid, on the inside

Four things, he says to the eye doctor, and reads off his (mental) list as doctors fluster him.

Ok, she says.

Thing one: it turns out he does not need new glasses. He just hates trifocals.

Trifocal – sounds like a magazine for old Buddhists.

Thing two: she prescribes him a salve and recommends eye drops.

Thing three: actually, the eye drops were for thing three.

Thing four: she shines a bright light into his eyes while his chin is rested on a thing and his forehead pressed up against a related thing. She says, Look at my right ear. Then, she says, Look at my left ear. She said that last time, he recalls. She must have said it thousands of times.

He wonders if she has had plastic surgery.

He isn’t sure. Hard to say, without his glasses. Maybe she’s just in great shape and aging super, super well.

She shines a bright, vertical, white light into his eyes. Cool, I can see the blood vessels in my eyes, he says. Uh huh, she says.

He loves the blood vessels in his eyes.

He loves the pattern they make, which reminds him of the wall paper in an early 19th-century bordello. Although he doubts they actually had such patterns, eye blood vessel patterns, he thinks it would not look out of place on flocked red wall paper in the sort of bordello he used to have dreams about until, in the final dream, it went out of business.

The blood vessels look black and branch efficiently although not perfectly symmetrically against a sepia background.

He just loves them.