Thursday, February 28
On time once more, to accurately complete a quiz about René's 'three or four maxims' for a provisional code of ethics and actions, leading into an intriguing debate - is it possible to love/worship/have faith in something/someone while simultaneously questioning/doubting its existence? Led Schuldenfrei to wonder if our generation has lost understanding of the true meaning of devotion. Which is an interesting question - to what extent is ones philosophy generationally determined? Certainly it happens from time to time that one of his 'common sense assumptions' turn out to be at odds with how much of the class feels. "Does my shirt have a color?" he asked, exasperated. "Oh, well it doesn't, actually." It was a fairly quotable day. Kari starts cracking up as she writes up on the blackboard the Chomsky-sanctioned "Logical Form" proposition (which posits an additional level of syntax beyond s-structure, so that grammar requires additional movement and modification of some sentences that takes place after the form in which they're spoken/written, before they can be correctly interpreted), and Julie asks: "don't you think there's a problem if you're teaching something that you can't even explain with a straight face?" Oh my goodness, that class…
A quick lunch and gathering of shopping list and bags and then I headed back to campus for a talk on the acoustics of Lang concert hall from a very amusing acoustician who reminded me of a cross between Peter Schickele, Woody Allen, and some sort of absent-minded professor cartoon character. He complained about background noise, played a bit of fiddle, disparaged amplified music, answered Nori's question about a Viennese hall, and made me think that college, in a sort of way, is where you get a bunch of young people together in groups to look at old people and make fun of their idiosyncrasies. You might respect your professors or mock them mercilessly (or both), but you probably don't often think of them as people, as you might if you met them at say a cocktail party.
M. Arkangel to the illo picked me up at Parrish circle on his scooter, and we rode down College to his car. Thus began a three-hour shopping trip that was one of the more ridiculous things I've done recently. "Come With Us" propelling us nicely along the freeway, we took a preposterously circuitous route into center city in order to get to an address on Market Street - turns out, of course, that it was at 45th and Market, way way past and into the ghetto. And our destination, rather than being the ethnic experience and lesson in the superiority of the European way that we had expected, turned out (once we walked around a few blocks an found it) to be the epitome of ghetto. I suppose it was ethnic in a way then - and it was certainly cheap, following the European standards of charging for bags, deposits on carts, bulk purchasing of off brands. I spent little more than $30 on a half-trunk of groceries, including cereal for $1.50, OJ for little more than that, and canned peas for 29¢. Actually, I gave the money to a jovial fellow (claiming to be a parole officer) who chatted us into letting him buy our groceries with an obviously stolen food-stamp card. Well, whatever. We sat out in the parking lot and ate cheap-ass bagels and cheese and mustard pretzels, listening to Clinton, and then cruised back on down through Drexel's campus and found a faster way home. Mark treated me to some of his selections - DePhazz, Squarepusher, Tiesto - and, when we got home after a much needed supplementary trip to Genuardi's (four eggplants, three squashes, several pounds of spinach, and sushi for dinner), I grabbed Dig Your Own Hole and slid it in as he dropped me off to rehearse with Inflight - he had never heard it before, not even the ertswhile ubiquituous opener.
The rehearsal, which only got fully underway around 6:30, after I had run back here to grab my sticks and kissa lyssa and Fountains of Wayne, lasted until well after midnight. That is to say, I missed the dip, although when I got back, its brave participants for this month (Tuesday sunnious glor had turned mighty mighty chilly and windy by this time) were in the common room enjoying their deserved cocoa - surprisingly Olivia and Chris Keary, as well as Stallion Stehlik and a couple of the regulars (well, Nori at least). Well, we played for a few hours, then went to Tarble for dinner, where we were joined by Morgan and promised to swear at her Friday night. Alyssa stopped over for a bit, and then Cat, and Elena (succession of girlfriends, as well as Jessie, Milena, and Forrest); the high point being when Wessler, Berger and Lindsey burst in bearing cupcakes, party hats and noisemakers, and demanded a bit of rock. We gave them "Homos," as earlier we had tested out "Lullaby" and "Metamorphosis" on our sample audiences. Then a special request "Radical Honesty," which had tremendous energy despite sloppy unrehearsed ending. I think we sounded better on a few of them (especially "Lullaby") than we ever have before - definitely due in part to the long-needed addition of Aaron on bass. He even plays drums a bit, which came in handy Matt's new one ("Rhymes with Queer"?), which we all learned for the first time, me on accordion and organ with fuzzy end. I suggested a swingin' sixties groove for Metamorph which works fairly nicely. If we played this much every week, how good could we be?
baby please:
leave the biker
leave the biker
break his heart
A quick lunch and gathering of shopping list and bags and then I headed back to campus for a talk on the acoustics of Lang concert hall from a very amusing acoustician who reminded me of a cross between Peter Schickele, Woody Allen, and some sort of absent-minded professor cartoon character. He complained about background noise, played a bit of fiddle, disparaged amplified music, answered Nori's question about a Viennese hall, and made me think that college, in a sort of way, is where you get a bunch of young people together in groups to look at old people and make fun of their idiosyncrasies. You might respect your professors or mock them mercilessly (or both), but you probably don't often think of them as people, as you might if you met them at say a cocktail party.
M. Arkangel to the illo picked me up at Parrish circle on his scooter, and we rode down College to his car. Thus began a three-hour shopping trip that was one of the more ridiculous things I've done recently. "Come With Us" propelling us nicely along the freeway, we took a preposterously circuitous route into center city in order to get to an address on Market Street - turns out, of course, that it was at 45th and Market, way way past and into the ghetto. And our destination, rather than being the ethnic experience and lesson in the superiority of the European way that we had expected, turned out (once we walked around a few blocks an found it) to be the epitome of ghetto. I suppose it was ethnic in a way then - and it was certainly cheap, following the European standards of charging for bags, deposits on carts, bulk purchasing of off brands. I spent little more than $30 on a half-trunk of groceries, including cereal for $1.50, OJ for little more than that, and canned peas for 29¢. Actually, I gave the money to a jovial fellow (claiming to be a parole officer) who chatted us into letting him buy our groceries with an obviously stolen food-stamp card. Well, whatever. We sat out in the parking lot and ate cheap-ass bagels and cheese and mustard pretzels, listening to Clinton, and then cruised back on down through Drexel's campus and found a faster way home. Mark treated me to some of his selections - DePhazz, Squarepusher, Tiesto - and, when we got home after a much needed supplementary trip to Genuardi's (four eggplants, three squashes, several pounds of spinach, and sushi for dinner), I grabbed Dig Your Own Hole and slid it in as he dropped me off to rehearse with Inflight - he had never heard it before, not even the ertswhile ubiquituous opener.
The rehearsal, which only got fully underway around 6:30, after I had run back here to grab my sticks and kissa lyssa and Fountains of Wayne, lasted until well after midnight. That is to say, I missed the dip, although when I got back, its brave participants for this month (Tuesday sunnious glor had turned mighty mighty chilly and windy by this time) were in the common room enjoying their deserved cocoa - surprisingly Olivia and Chris Keary, as well as Stallion Stehlik and a couple of the regulars (well, Nori at least). Well, we played for a few hours, then went to Tarble for dinner, where we were joined by Morgan and promised to swear at her Friday night. Alyssa stopped over for a bit, and then Cat, and Elena (succession of girlfriends, as well as Jessie, Milena, and Forrest); the high point being when Wessler, Berger and Lindsey burst in bearing cupcakes, party hats and noisemakers, and demanded a bit of rock. We gave them "Homos," as earlier we had tested out "Lullaby" and "Metamorphosis" on our sample audiences. Then a special request "Radical Honesty," which had tremendous energy despite sloppy unrehearsed ending. I think we sounded better on a few of them (especially "Lullaby") than we ever have before - definitely due in part to the long-needed addition of Aaron on bass. He even plays drums a bit, which came in handy Matt's new one ("Rhymes with Queer"?), which we all learned for the first time, me on accordion and organ with fuzzy end. I suggested a swingin' sixties groove for Metamorph which works fairly nicely. If we played this much every week, how good could we be?
baby please:
leave the biker
leave the biker
break his heart
