surfs up

i sat down to do this but found myself doing something else.

i've been in the city but am now watching a fire burn in the country.

so many new people.

every time you read it or say it, it makes another copy in your brain.

and everyone you meet--at work or in the street.

i met 20 people twice a day friday saturday sunday

riding bikes, telling stories, making jokes.

last minute stayed with laura in david's bed--

he's in india--

last minute went home with scott from work.

he lives in a borrowed condo in the south loop

the view from the balcony is here.

so many bikes, so many miles.

so many blank stares, so many smiles.

what would i become if i stopped flying around:

something more or something less?

100

I have achieved significance--if only to myself--for this is my 100th post.

I'm having a typical hobo-boho weekend in Chicago, staying at Darick's to watch his cat, Archie. I pulled in Friday afternoon after submitting my application for a new passport (you can't renew an expired passport when you can't find it; I blame moving for its loss) and, apparently, was too hasty in moving my things into the apartment. After realizing that I couldn't get in through the back door due to construction, I tried the front. Never having gone through the front door, I was dubious of the key. Turns out it doesn't work. Called Darick, got ahold of his neighbor, got another set of keys that works better but barely. I go back outside and find my car radio lying on the pavement by my driver's side door. Confusion on top of a steadily brewing flustering. Was someone trying to steal it? Did I drop it? Where's its case?

Found the case nearby. Must have dropped it. Then sat around for a couple hours waiting for Leslie, aka pirate girl, to come by to hang out before Mass. Hours go by, I take a nap. She shows up with just enough time to make it to Mass, saying it would be fun to ride through Wrigleyville because a Cubs game just let out--me saying the lakefront would be better, easier. We go down Clark anyway and start running into throngs of elated Cubs fans. She, of course, knows all the pedicab drivers, having done it for years, and so wants to stop and chat with all of them. It was a pretty typical way to spend time "with" Leslie. After she crashes into me trying to pass a bus, I tell her it's time to head to the lakefront and start to. She disagrees, apparently, and keeps going down Clark. Many minutes later--and several phone calls--we almost re-intersect but don't until Daley Plaza. The good news is that she knows people I could join if I wanted to go to Burning Man this year. Mass ensues; I have more pictures on FB.

There are a lot of similarities between Critical Mass and Resonate, but I feel like the lack of structure in Mass gets in the way of any meaningful experience beyond a fun bike ride with 1000 people. I probably would enjoy it drunk. But just as it's hard to be neutral on a moving train, it's hard to feel totally comfortable at a moving party on wheels.

Then, Nicole made dinner for me and some of her Persian friends, ending with chocolate and Scotch (Macallan 12) and then more Scotch (Bowmore Darkest Sherry cask, a new favorite) at the Duke of Perth--a Scottish bar on Clark, which I would have passed had I followed Leslie.

At some point, Nicole's Persian friend wanted to put makeup on me--I'm not sure why, and I can't come up with any clear, rational reason why I acquiesced. It didn't look so much bad as it made me look evil. I'm all set for when I become an post-emo-goth-rocker-slash-alt-classical-techno-rave-composer.

If you haven't checked out my ChicagoNOW blog this week, there are some interesting musings (I can hardly call them "thoughts") on the state of music today.

And now, the subject of the film "You Can't Be Neutral on a Moving Train", Howard Zinn:

...

red bike luv

I have my red bike at my disposal and have been riding with it back and forth to downtown along Chicago's incomparable lakefront bike path. This is the first bike I bought as an adult from Working Bikes back in 2002. I took it with me to grad school, riding it around Iowa City, and then riding it across Iowa state. When I rode it on RAGBRAI, it was still a 10-speed. At some point after getting back to Chicago, I got doored and bent the right crank. After replacing it, the bike was left a 5-speed. Really, in Chicago, you hardly need gears at all. So, at some point, I converted it to a fixed-gear by replacing the wheels, the crankset, and the chain.

In the history of bikes, fixed gears came right after pennyfarthings, the latter not really being a "geared" bike at all having no chain.

Wikipedia: "the 1870s saw the development of the "safety bicycle" which roughly resembles bicycles today, with two wheels of equal size, initially with solid rubber tyres. These were typically equipped with a front spoon brake and no rear brake mechanism, but like penny-farthings they used fixed gears, allowing rear wheel braking by resisting the motion of the pedals."

This is pretty much exactly like my bike. It's so über-retro. The 80s are totally in these days, but my bike goes back a hundred years earlier. So it's like way even cooler than that.

[Ok, so I don't ride my bike because it's cool. Or, at least I don't love it because it's cool.]

When I started riding fixed, I mostly wanted to see what the fuss was about. Now I'm here to tell you what the fuss is about. It's about symbiosis as opposed to domination, analog versus digital. When the bike is in motion, you are in motion. There is no coasting, so there is no lazing around while the bike does all the work. Starting is work, stopping is work. Maintaining speed is the path of least resistance, for you can let your legs go somewhat limp and just let them follow the flow of the pedals. It helps to have your feet clipped in to the pedals. It encourages you to try to maintain a constant speed, for that requires the least work. So instead of stopping at red lights, I slow down way before and try to time them. If I fail, I can always practice my trackstand, which makes me look so super-ridiculous-cooler-than-thou. When I'm riding fixed, I never really stop, I just slow way down, like approaching zero Kelvin.

Most of that is just surface details or ex post facto rationalizations of my irrational feelings of joy riding my bike. It's all about going super fast while staying in control. Riding in traffic, I don't go quite as fast because I really can't stop as easily as on a "modern" bike. (I do, however, have a brake on the front wheel for emergencies.) Riding on the path, I can go faster but still keep it under 20 because you never know what kind of idiots are out there. Yesterday, it was super crowded and I had to do some fancy maneuvering. It was pleasing to blow by the plump yuppies on multi-thousand-dollar carbon fiber road bikes with their girth restricted by spandex. Bikes are not symbols of status but symbols of freedom.

I would hate for my expensive 1000-dollar racing bike to get the wrong idea. I love her too. When it comes to bikes, I'm a dyed-in-the-wool polyamorist like this guy. [This is Oberon holding the scull of a unicorn he made by fusing the horns of a goat into one. Judging by what is left of the unicorn, he did so for sexual purposes. I saw him speak once at the Occult bookstore thanks to she-who-was-called "pirate girl".] The bikes are just different riding experiences: the road bike is about the goal, the destination; the fixie is about the journey. Any way you want it, that's the way you need it.

I'm staying in Chicago for the next few days to: teach a piano lesson, give a bike tour, review a concert at the symphony. Apparently, everyone who is anyone will be at the symphony on Thursday: synchronicity. And then Friday to Détroit pour les obsèques.

Merci d'avoir lu jusqu'au bout. Que des conneries que j'ai racontées au jourd'hui. Tant pis.

partial logistics

Sometimes I impress even myself, but I could just be getting better through practice.

I stayed in Michigan through Friday night working on my piece for the funeral. I was building momentum throughout the week, and just as the end was in sight, I heard a noise. I have long since had a sensitive ear to random noises at the house in Michigan. I think that, since most noises in Chicago are made by humans, I assume the same out there. But in Michigan, most noises are just random, caused by the way the wind or tree branches hit the house, caused by the furnace or hot water heater doing whatever it is they do, caused by pots of rice on the stove burning over. But this noise was different, and I was sure it was someone coming into the house. It was. I hastily extracted myself from whatever distant planet my mind visits to be musical and went out front, calling out hello. It was Carl, one of the people with whom my parents share ownership of the house. Apparently, he was headed up to Kalamazoo the next day (yes, home of Bell's) and stopped off at the cottage for the night. I felt guilty and awkward about the dishes left in the sink, but I was right in the middle of writing and had put it off. I finished up the music for the night, did some cleaning and went to bed.

But between going to bed and falling asleep, I fell into a French movie that I had actually seen before. On Netflix, they called it Happenstance, with Audrey Tattoo, who is one of the most pleasing people to watch on screen. But, the French title is "Le Battement d'ailes de Papillon"--the beating of butterfly wings. Same idea different words. Fortunately, it's one of those movies that I could probably watch several times since the plot is really a thick web of activity. A bit like Lost. A bit like my life. And it had been a long while since I'd seen it, and I probably saw it without subtitles, causing me to miss a few things. Either way, I love that ilk of movie, showing how our random actions today cause all sorts of unintended consequences.

Another good one is "Adieu plancher des vaches", but I don't know what it is in English.

Then sleep. For only a few hours. Woke up on Saturday morning at 6:30 (Michigan time)--Carl was up around then too to head to Michigan--cleaned up (in haste), packed, put my bike on the back of the car, and drove to Chicago. I got into the city about 8:20 local time and allowed my complicated logistical scheme unfold. I parked where I knew I could find free parking--just off Milwaukee, south of Chicago. (Milwaukee and Chicago are playing streets in this scenario, not cities.) Biked to Bobby's for a tour guide open house. Did stuff. Had to help out in the shop a bit because we were so busy. Went through some paralyzing indecision most likely caused by an extreme fatigue, lack of sleep, lack of food. Ended up biking to my car, threw my bike in the back, drove to Darick's in Andersonville to drop off my computers (so I wouldn't have to bike with them), and then biked to Nicole's where I would be staying later. Took a shower and then headed back to Darick's neighborhood to celebrate his birthday. Went to Hama Matzu, the restaurant with the bidet toilets again. The crowd of 12 people included Darick's parents, brother, sister-in-law, friend Tim and his boyfriend, and a couple other people. He claimed it was his best birthday ever, especially comparing it to the last one which was the exact day he and his then wife decided to split. Rather, when she decided. A lot can change in a year. Or a day.

As I'm writing this, I can't believe it's just one day.

After Hama Matzu, went to Konak's, which is next to the Hopleaf but worlds away. Darick prefers Konak's because you can usually find a seat and you don't have to push your way to the bar--much less crowded, less cool, more divey. I do love the Hopleaf, but I can appreciate his reasons for disliking it. One day, he should try eating there.

Konak's was just to kill time before one of my favorite theatrical performances in the city. I started going in high school when it was the cool thing to do: drive in from the burbs, head up LSD, get in line at 10:30 for the 11:30 show, and experience 30 plays in 60 minutes, getting home at 2 or so. Apparently, Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind has been around for 22 years. I realized I have been going for 13 of those years. I've seen so many different casts come through but, before last night, hadn't been for a couple years--maybe since I went with Laura (back when we were dating, on our second date). That time, she got called up on stage and they made her dance around. She seemed somewhat embarrassed by the whole thing. It was cute. Last night, we got involved again.

You get what you pay for.

To enter TML, you pay $9 plus whatever you roll on a die. I rolled a 6, which seemed less of a big deal now that I'm an adult than when I was a broke teenager. So I paid the $15 and went to get my name tag. They ask you what your name is, but they don't write down what you say, so I have always had a hard time answering the question honestly. So, being very (underscored) witty, I said "I don't have a name." Which is a lot like how I don't have a home. I don't really know if they listen to what you say, but, in this case, I think she might have, because she wrote down "Someone Else". Which is also the name of one of my songs from a couple years ago. I took it off the internet because I couldn't sing yet. Odd.

Then the play. Greg Allen, the founder, claimed in one of the plays that he keeps getting older and the audience stays the same age. Mostly true. He's almost 50, the audience is a diverse range from 16 to mid-30s. What do you expect when you have a show at 11:30 on a Saturday? I guess I can mark my age by comparing myself to the crowd at TML. When I started going, we were certainly among the youngest there and felt cool hanging out with the hip urbanites. Now, I'm supposedly playing the role of hip urbanite and wondering if the kids are thinking of me as such. Meh. Whatever.

I mentioned that it was Darick's birthday? One of the plays was called Surprise Birthday Party. One of the actors came up to Selena, Darick's girlfriend, sitting right next to Darick, and said "Did you know that it was your birthday?" And then proceeded to throw her a surprise party in her seat, ending with us singing her Happy Birthday. I thought it so almost coincidental that they almost picked Darick, which would have been perfect, but ended up picking Selena which was almost more perfect. That is, Darick already knew it was his birthday; it wouldn't have been a surprise.

To signal the end of one play (and to invite the audience to pick the next play) the actors yell "Curtain!" One of the plays was called something like "Curtains, the neo-futurist mascot". The play starts, one of the actors, the girl who had just been topless on stage throwing herself against a canvas in the name of art, brought me out of the audience and up on stage. It was a tryout to be the mascot. We had to: scream, dance, and shout cheers at the audience. I won, of course, because, I mean, well, there is no because. I just did. And they dressed me up in cardboard box hat and a cape. And a tail. I had to sit on stage during the plays and then play halftime mascot between plays. It's a lot like performing, but it's more like earning people's affections for being absolutely ridiculous. Which is something that I am very practiced in. Darick got some pictures and a movie. I'll post it once he sends it to me.

Absolutely ridiculous.

Then I rode my bike back to Lakeview and fell into a dreamless sleep.

good and evil

This weekend, my last moments in Chicago for the next week, has been about recuperation and Lost. I've watched all but 3 episodes of season 5 in the past few days--am hoping to finish tonight. Yesterday, I felt slightly ill all day from the night before, so it was just about all I could do. I'm not sure how I got so drunk; I guess that's what I get for hanging out with homebrewers--was out of my league.

And in the nearly 11 hours of Lost, I realized that this show is just as much about the post-9-11 age as 24. I never got into 24, but from what I know about it, they're similar shows. The major difference is that in 24 you always know who's good and who's evil--the Fox News version of the world. In Lost, you think you know, but then are turned around so many times, that it becomes clear that: there's more than just 2 sides, the sides are nested, creating internal conflicts, and none of the sides are wholly good or evil. 24 seems more about the outmoded worldview, while Lost is perhaps a prescient view of the future.

Somewhere around episode 5 yesterday, I finally at some food.

And somewhere in between episodes 9 and 10, I went to Sarah's going away party as she heads of to NYC with a 3-month layover in Cali to meditate and do yoga.

I'm hoping to finish tonight so I can get on with my life.

I had flashes of brilliance towards the end of the week, am hoping to continue tomorrow once re-ensconced in the simplicity of Michigan.

You say fail; I say win.

n'importe quoi

I never thought I would say this, but I even like living in Lakeview. I've always had a prejudice against it, but I think I also confused and conflated Lakeview with Lincoln Park with any other bougie, white neighborhoods. This stretch of Broadway that I'm off of right now has a lot going on and is actually pretty diverse--but noticeably gay.

Speaking of tight clothing, I picked up my uniform for XXX last night. Hawt. I rode my noticeably inferior bike to Get a Grip, all the way out on Irving by Pulaski. The shop specializes in racing bikes and has Cervelos adorning the walls like art. But unlike art, these bikes are formed by their function, achieving beauty through practicality and efficiency. I saw some guys I know--like the ones I rode with on the Apple Cider Century and one I competed with--but no long, drawn-out conversations. I really would like to do some road racing this year--if I'm anywhere near the city.

This bike, for instance, is $4000 and is not the most expensive on the site.

Good news about ChicagoNOW blog; I got 20-something visitors yesterday without even trying (tweeting). Bad news: I need an average of 333 1/3 daily views for 3 months before I start getting paid. I'm going to stop worrying about page views and just try to find creative ways to create community. It's interesting to see how the payment model can shape how you think about what and how to write: you see a lot of short, catchy drivel on the site instead of serious, recherché prose poems, paens to Apollo. If I got paid per second that people were on the site, things would be different.

There's a ChicagoNOW tweet-up next week; I'm planning on going and trying to infiltrate that community. It's at Rockit, which I've always prejudged as an LA-wanna-be, surface-over-substance, Prom King & Queen hangout. Actually more of a judgement than a prejudgement.

P.S. The photo of my jersey I took with an iPhone app that makes much more beautiful pictures than the standard camera. Called ShakeitPhoto, it's worth 99 cents.

a spoonful weighs a ton

I went to bed laughing. Sometimes it all comes together in such an unexpected and mystical way, I can't help but think my life is being written by the writers of Lost. Thankfully, without the constant stream of death.

Last night's plot twist had me believing in the Secret. It's not terribly difficult to get me to believe in things, but this would have caused the most materialist scientist running off to study the mysteries of quantum mechanics.

Unfortunately, I can't tell you about it (out here on the internet). Suffice it to say that the two seemingly disparate worlds came together.

What I can tell you is that Twitter is a powerful tool. Coïncidences are real, but don't mistake coïncidence for fate. Expectations set you up for disappointment (Sound of Silent Film). Every single girl I know is on okcupid. Maybe not every but enough. Espresso dehydrates me like nothing else; faut que j'ajoute de l'eau quand je le bois le matin pour faire un "americano". Morse code is really interesting sounding; I wish I had this when I was writing a piano piece in undergrad that used Morse code to make rhythms. I really like staying on the 14th floor. It's been a good week--one more to go.

I remember thinking this song was pretty lame. It still grates on me a little, but I've come to accept it like some distant family member who you have to get along with. I like the part that sounds like Led Zeppelin. The title and chorus refers to the density of space stuff--black holes and stars and such.

you are part of we

I continue to be above it all. It's strange living on the 14th floor. It's a lot like living alone in a cabin with different scenery. And I've been getting out more.

Yesterday was my sister's baby's birthday. For which I was hoping to finish the song I started last year. Close, really close; soon. So last night, I joined Corbett and Grace at Uncommon Ground for an open mic to play it there--as much as I could remember (the second half--verse, pre-chorus, chorus--is mostly the same as the first but with different words--words I can't remember right now).

There was a time when I would use a lot of ellipses. I think it said something about my personality, something about prioritizing fragments over complete thoughts. Now, I use dashes, which I find more "legit".

Random Coïncidences:

• I went to see Corey Dargel on Saturday and met a girl who knew of the salons in Hyde Park and whose best friend played violin at the most recent one. She also plays in my old friend Mark's theatrical post-glam-goth chamber rock band: The Dead Superheroes Orchestra.
• I crossed paths with Pierce, old friend from the co-op while riding through downtown on Monday.
• Laura walked past the Subway where I was eating after the 8bb concert. The concert was a prelude to a dinner at the Publican, but tickets were 250. I got invited to see the concert and then bought myself a 5-dollar footlong. [Is the song stuck in your head now?]
• I went to MusicNOW on Monday and am apparently quite the celebrity for booing last time. Here's my review.
• That last one isn't really a coïncidence.
• I met a guy who I follow on Twitter at the MusicNOW concert. We introduced ourselves, after which we both said: "Ah, YOU'RE that guy!" Then he learned that I was the one who booed.

I started the 4th season of Lost last night. I have been realizing that I don't have enough time in a day to blog (personal), blog (music), read (this verdammte required reading for the bike tours), write music, watch a movie or Lost, go to concerts. Say no to say yes! Pick a couple for every day. So I might not update this blog every day for a while. Don't worry.

mundane

In reverse chronological order, starting from Thursday morning at 10am:

-Cat's back to puking again

-It's raining, not looking forward to next time I have to walk the dog

-Realizing I can't decide what verb tense to use

-Ate breakfast (oatmeal, coffee) with cat on lap

-Saw cat (Mousie) eat her food

-Walked the dog, fed hm

-Got awoken at 7am by dog (Jack-Jack) wanting a walk

-Two more episodes to go before done with Season 3

-Went to bed at 1am after watching an episode of Lost

-Watched an episode of Lost after watching an episode of Lost

-Brushed teeth

-Walked dog, gave him a snack

-Watched an episode of Lost

-Riding back from Bobby's with Brian, who is fluent in German and has seen all the movies I watched last week. Coïncidence.

-Pizza and catching up with co-workers

-At Bobby's Bike Hike for meeting

-Riding fast down Lakefront Path

-Leaving for meeting, may be late

-Walked dog around 5pm; fed him too

-Rushing home in my car

-Deciding whether I need to get timing belt replaced

-Paying $530 for oil change and rear struts

-Hoping they finish my car so I can go walk the dog

-Watching Man U vs. AC Milan; Man U wins 4-0 with brilliant goals!

-Waiting for car at Tissili Cafe with all-male, all-Algerian crowd

-Eating a Omlette-Frite sandwich

-Walking down Pulaski toward Lawrence around noon

-Leaving Starbucks, feeling over-caffeinated

-Blogging on my iPhone

-Reading the Introduction to Adorno's writing on music

-Getting to Starbucks

-Walking from car place up Lawrence

-Arrived at car place at 9:45am

-Walked dog

-Ate breakfast (oatmeal, coffee)

-Walked dog, fed dog

And that's about it.

Jack-Jack

Mousie

ending / beginning

Most people can't wait for the weekend to come, but I always get to Friday an feel unready for the weekend to come again. I could do with 7 days on and 2 days off. Or maybe it could change every week. I like variety - sometimes too much.

And I'm almost at the end of another journey - the first season of Lost. Sometimes it seems so far greater than a tv show; sometimes it shows its roots as a prime-time drama. Either way, it proves, along with the Watchmen, that if you pay attention to the details, tying them together, connecting, you elevate an artisanal craft, mere entertainment, to something more profound, touching on the intellectual as well as emotional, hinting at the spiritual.

Once they start touching us physically, we'll know that we really do live in a hologram.

The ant problem has subsided to its usual level. I saw only one ant yesterday and disposed of it properly. I did, however, see a half-dozen dead ants in the skylight, eternally resting on the screen. Odd. Were they on their way in or out?

I found something useful yesterday, and it made sure it's point was taken. It started on the way back from South Bend. I thought it was a lot closer, but in fact it took 45 minutes of driving through the beautiful backwoods and farms of southwest michigan and northern Indiana. My favorite was a street that didn't show up on myPhone's map (at the level to which I was zoomed) called State Line road. Narrow, twists, turns, hills, and few other cars. Highly recommended. I finally got to South Bend and found the coffee shop I was looking for, looked around for 10 minutes for anything better, and ended up back where I started at the Chicory Cafe. Good stuff. Well, good beignets, weak coffee. The whole place has a sort of Cajun, Nawlins feel to it. I thought it a shame that I missed Mardi Gras - and Ash Wednesday for that matter - and that I had ignored the custom of giving something up. It's not really my thing, but I like the idea of it. And in my current religious drift, I have no period of fasting or giving up. There are worse fates.

On the way back from S.B., I listened to 3 classic TED talks that I had on myPhone. All three were about happiness and/or creativity, all three concluding that we are happiest when we are in the Flow, not when we are isolated (ahem) and thinking about our own happiness. I would posit that we have to think about our happiness in order to find the flow that suits us best. Which is what I'm trying to do. I may not be happy all the time up here, but hopefully, through regular practice and work, I can create the structures that let it flow. Whatever it is.

The most direct of the talks was the one I embedded below. After getting back to the house, my mom called from the car on her way from Springfield back to the burbs. She had listened to the same TED talk at some point recently and brought it up before I even could. Odd. The point that I'm taking away is that the secret to creativity is being in the Flow, which is hard to do. Like meditating, you get better over time. Like meditating, you can't reproach yourself for not being a rockstar right off the bat. So, for want of anything more specific, my goal these days, as it has been in many previous moments in my life, is to practice being in the Flow - come what may.


In a few hours, I'll head back to Chicago - via car - going to see this avant-garde opera USW by Opera Cabal. I should read about Rosa Luxemburg, because from the sounds of things, they don't give you a clear narrative of who she is. She's apparently important. I'm a little tired of Marxists - but not as much as libertarians or the people who think they know what our founding fathers thought.

Tomorrow is La Damnation de Faust by Berlioz at the Lyric. Had the usual date trouble but found a suitable one yesterday.

Then Sunday to the family's house in the burbs to see my sister and her baby. And then back. I had some great ideas yesterday and I'm excited to build on them. To be fair, the ideas that I had yesterday were built from fragments I had a couple weeks ago. That's how it works, you produce a load of crap from which mushrooms grow; then you eat the mushrooms and have hallucinations of the music at the end of the world; then you write it down.

unnecessary taxi rides and plusieurs fêtes

It's Monday morning again. After a whirlwind weekend, I'm back, ensconced, in the solitude of the other side of the lake. It's no secret that most Americans, and anyone else for whom the workweek starts on Monday, harbor resentment of the day. [Some Middle Eastern countries begin their workweek on Saturday or Sunday.]

What reason do you need to die? Tell me why.

[I've always hated that song, but now, I've heard it so many times that it just is what it is. It sounds so cheesy and banal, but it's about a girl who went on a shooting spree in 1979, stating afterwards, with no remorse: "I don't like Mondays. This livens up the day."]

But this Monday is not one of those Mondays. I feel unburdened, unhurried - coming off a good weekend in the city. The weekend started with me taking the train into the city. No car, no worries. I walked from the Millennium Station to the bike shop at River East and found Martin working on some bikes. Retrieved "my" bike (one that a roommate left many years ago and that has been passed around as needed) and headed up the lakefront path, fueled by a Chipotle burrito. Tragedy struck. I got a flat tire at around Addison, a full 18 blocks south of my destination in Andersonville. So I walked. And walked, pushing the bike. After quite a while, I started to notice the cold. My phone said it was 14, but it felt a little warmer than that. Finally made it to the "Valentines day means chocolate" party and warmed up.

Saturday morning, I took the bike on a bus - before coffee I should mention - to go teach Tina piano. Got off the bus, got coffee at Caribou - really good coffee - and as soon as I walked out of the door, realized that I had left the bike on the bus. Tragedy. Clear thinking ensued, aided by the coffee. I mulled a few options and decided to track the bike down. Found a taxi and said "There's a bus a mile ahead; I need to catch it." No questions from the taxi driver, and we were off. Finally, after what seemed like 10 minutes, we caught the bus, almost 2.5 miles south of Tina's. Got the bike, loaded in the back of the taxi, and got back to Tina's. A $15 dollar slip of the mind.

At some point I made it back to Darick's with enough time to watch the first two episodes of Lost. I'm ambivalent about getting sucked in, but I want to know more before I decide. Right now, I'm thinking of watching the first season, reading summaries of the second, and maybe watching bits and pieces of the 3rd and 4th.

Then to a drink with a new friend. Then riding my bike - flat fixed at Tina's - from Rogers Park to Skokie for a soirée des crêpes. Through couchsurfing.org, I was invited to this francophone party, organized by some français who teach at the lycée française. Good times. Good food. Good mixture of French and English.

Then, finally at 11, got to a party for Sarah's roomate's birthday. Busy day.


Sunday was more episodes of Lost before my friend Veerle's birthday party. She's Belgian, and when I arrived, just a dozen minutes after the official start time, there were only Europeans there - mostly Belgian. The party turned out to be mostly Euros but from all over, the common language being English. Good times. Good food. It inspired me on my quest to know German better. I think I'm going to be more proactive about it this week.

Speaking of this week, today is my day to set everything in motion. I am finding Mondays to be great for future-thinking and structuring. The rest of the week follows from Monday's thinking. I'm feeling fairly motivated again to work on music for the CD and performances. I think the orchestra project is too little too late. But I'll keep musing over those ideas and let them grow more naturally.

the new now

Strange days. I was in Chicago for Saturday night. Spent the day writing a song that I'm debating whether or not to post. It's a rough sketch but really only needs some polishing. That's how I like to do things: 1 concentrated fury of activity. Once I figure out what I'm trying to say, I just want to get it out.

I didn't have much in the way of plans for the weekend, but I really wanted to have a break from last week. But no one was using the house, so I stuck around Friday night (being alone in the woods is inherently less lonely than being alone in a city full of people) and most of the day Saturday (writing the song, which I've decided to post and is uploading), driving back Saturday night to go to a concert - that I caught wind of in an email I got that morning. Sometimes plans just materialize. It was my former cellist Michelle's boyfriend's band, which also featured a friend of my dad's family who I barely knew. Small world.

Sunday was a more action-packed day: brunch with Amos to listen to his orchestra piece, for which I had a lot of really good criticisms; then straight to lunch with the parents at a Greek place in Greek town; then to Darick's for scones. I helped him carry 8 feet of plywood for a life-size portrait he's making of a famous, nearly 8-foot, wrestler. But I'll keep it a secret. Well, here's a hint. Actually, that's a terrible hint. But in looking for a more obvious image, I reconnected a lot of what I had forgotten about Shepard Fairey. Apparently, the Giant has a posse. But now it's Obama's posse. [Darick, by the way, is friends with the guy who made the "I'm with COCO" image, which resulted in nearly a million fans on Facebook, a trip to the show, tens of thousands of dollars in t-shirt and poster sales, protests at the NBC headquarters and whatever may come in the future. Crazy how that shit happens overnight.]

So then to Trader Joe's, which was a mess of a mess of a nightmare, trapped in a cage with rats. But I was pretty chill, despite the lines of 15 to 20 people; they said it was even worse than the holidays and passed out chocolate to people in line. No one knew why it was so busy; week before the super bowl maybe? I wisely avoided the parking lot altogether, parking on the street and walking in. Afterward, I spent the same amount as I did on groceries on a bottle of Macallan's. I had had some a couple weekends ago with my friend Nicole and really liked it. I had some last night after my phone conversation with the medical intuitive who told me I need to sit up straighter - to sit on my sits bones.

Here's the song I wrote on Saturday. It's part of my own personal zeitgeist: saying goodbye to the past, killing it with my song.

I did yoga both this morning and yesterday. It's my thing this week to try to do it every day. I wanted to pick something easy that I could commit to doing, starting with small goals and working up.

It's snowing up here, not hard but enough to recover the ground - which was looking almost bare in some parts.

blue train

I have a specific childhood memory of being bored. Of all things to remember. Alas, childhood memories don't always stick because they are significant. But I've been thinking about boredom recently, and then today there was a Times article about it. Quelle coïncidence. And the article said some of the things that I've been thinking and even gives me a new word to think with: microboredom. Microboredom is the unease you feel when you have to wait for 30 seconds in line to buy coffee. These days, instead of riding out the wave of ennui, we reach for our Apple-approved sMart pHone and check something - ANYTHING. It used to be that we could use those small moments to process moments of our life - distant memories, recent events - and tie them together. These days, we don't have time for that because there's so much information streaming in all of the time.

I've noticed this because I have nothing but time to do with as I see fit. And I developed a habit (upon getting myPhone) of feeling instantly bored and distracting myself with technology. But the unease is really so momentary and goes away as quickly as it starts. The article says that in moments of inactivity, our brains have better access to autobiographical information. Maybe that information is painful, so we gorge on new information to keep the old pain from coming back. Maybe if we take the time (and energy / and space) to come to terms with that pain head on, we can move beyond it. Maybe giving ourselves long periods of quietude will teach us what we need to overcome. It was nice that the article reinforced what I was already thinking.

Over the weekend, though, I was hardly bored. I went to Chicago on the train Friday night, then took a bus to Lincoln Park for some homemade pizza, then to cocktails (margaritas with chiles and cilantro?!), then to see Diana and the Dishes in a benefit for Médecins Sans Frontières. Saturday was walking and coffee shops, Guitar Center (for a much-needed guitar humidifier), and then to Wicker Park.

Saturday night was a salon in Hyde Park that I'd been planning on going to for a while. Hosted by Majel, one of the people behind Opera Cabal, it promised an eclectic of music and poetry hosted in a Kenwood mansion. Yes, two blocks from Obama's place, but I'd seen it so many times that it's nothing exciting. It was BYOB but there was a ton of food (deep-dish pizza) that we noshed on before the performances. The first performance took place on the third floor in a space that was almost like an attic-ballroom. Like a finished attic with 14-foot ceilings following the slope of the roof. A big enough room for the 40 some odd people to sit (on chairs or on the floor) and watch a slide show presentation detailing the history of the University of Chicago vis-a-vis architecture, the World's Fair, and modernism. It was setting the stage for the next new building at the U of C, the Arts building - the picture of which is below. There was a narration read by two people involved in the project and a soundtrack coordinated by a third. I was dying to ask the guy running the sound if he knew that you could adjust the sound on a Mac without it making that sound. If you didn't know, you can either turn that off in Preferences > Sound or hold down Shift while changing the volume. I, for one, hate hearing that noise in public, like in a coffee shop, and think that it's really unprofessional. After the presentation, being a mostly U of C crowd, there was the obligatory Q&A, which is all the more fun with academics. And by fun I mean tedious. One woman thought it was the right forum to complain about Jazz and dance being underrepresented. My friend Raynovich and I rolled our eyes at each other several times. Then there was a performance of solo violin pieces by a Lyric violinist. It was great for me to get to watch and get a better sense of how to write bowings. Then there was a lecture and preview of Opera Cabal's next performance in February. Devoted to avant-garde opera, unlike Chicago Opera Vangaurd which is devoted to new operas whatever their aesthetic, Opera Cabal commissioned a new opera from an Oberlin composer who acquiesced in spite of hating opera. So he stripped opera down to its essentials: music, drama, singing. The question of the evening was then "You call this opera?" This was tut-tutted by the U of C crowd, one person heckling "That's not a question." To which I would have said "That's not a question?" Turns out, it's an opera (according to the Cabal) replete with recitative parts (non-verbal, acted out, but moving the "plot" along - if there were one) and an aria (that was the harmony from a Wolf song, an English melody, and a text from F Scott Fitzgerald).

Overall, a good time at the salon, which then served as a preamble to the rest of the evening: breaking stuff at a party in Logan Square before going to some mushroom bar on North avenue for some Scotch with Laura and Nick. (Mushroom bar: they just pop up overnight and you feel compelled to try them even though you're pretty sure they'll make you sick.) Sunday was MusicNOW to see Pierre Boulez and his music - and two world premieres by foreign composers my age. A really good concert. Then met a friend I met through Twitter for coffee (she was at the concert with her boyf), before training it back to Wicker Park. Went to the Gallery for the dinner (watched Alan, who lives in my old place, play a couple songs at the open mic) and met Anna for a drink. Ended up sleeping on her couch after a fierce game of Scrabble.

Monday, I tried to get to work, still in Chicago. I taught a piano lesson at 6, stayed for dinner, picked up a brush I forgot at Laura's, and rode my bike to the train. The bike I picked up at my old place; it's an old Trek, but it'll do for winter. I was going to leave the bike at Bobby's (bike shop) but all the doors were locked. I ended up locking it with a cable at the end of the docks and running over to the train. Literally running. I had 13 minutes to go from Illinois and McClurg to Millennium Station. Google maps says it should take 18. So I ran, then walked, then ran; my legs got so tired, must be out of shape. Some guy tried to ask me for money, but I was out of breath and could barely squeak out "Sorry man, I don't have time for you." Made it to the train with two minutes to spare, just as they were starting to pack up.

Finally, after three nights on three different couches, made it back to Michigan. I'm getting better at being a nomad. I even got a travel/hiking towel and a mini-brush that will leave more space in my bag for clothes.

I'm feeling pretty good, healthy. I meant to do some planning this morning but got up late and spent most of the morning settling in. Tomorrow, I'm going to plan, continue working on the orchestra piece, and play a little with the loops if Ableton doesn't crash. I'm really close to sending their support team a message.

Sorry for the novella. Lots happened.

año nuevo

All of a sudden it's tomorrow or the day after, a new year or something better. In my absence from you )and myself( I've gotten older and wiser, cleansed and absolved, sameoldsameold but brand new.

The New Year came once I got back from Michigan. First, a finger-food smorgasbord in Pilsen: wine, champagne, and a mix of n'importe qui: people I still have never met, along with friends old, new and even newer. Then midnight: we ran around in the snow with sparklers, falling up and down. Second, a quick drive to River North for a late-night dance party at a spartan 46th-floor condo. (I did not drive as I was in no condition to. When we walked in (at 2:05) a half-dozen people sat in near silence and darkness. Suddenly, there was music and a steady trickle of dancers looking to swing. By 4, it was time (for my friends) to go, so I hitched another ride and slept (à la Bohème) on a floor back in Pilsen.

For those of you who don't know, Pilsen is a neighborhood in Chicago that is now a mix of hipsters and Mexicans, fixed-gear bicycles and elotes, high art and street art (after once having been the locus of Bohemian immigration). The hosts of the party had a Pitchfork-approved playlist on iTunes with turntables at the ready. River North is a soulless spread of touristy restaurants (Hard Rock, Rainforest) with condos for the nouveau riche. Is that East Egg or West Egg? I can never remember. What a great way for me to start the new year: a contrast of art and money, hip and chic. And for me, I'm not even on the continuum, but definitely somewhere in between either above or below.

Somehow, when I got back to Pilsen at 4am, I got into the apartment as everyone slept. [The door was open.] After 4 hours of sleep, I was wide awake and the world was spinning with possibility. And just spinning. Brunch was chorizo and egg with some of the best coffee I'd had all year. Then, just like the night before, I got dragged to a second brunch (at noon) in Wilmette. Suddenly, the spread was more cream cheese and lox, crème brulée french toast, mimosas, bloody marys, and more coffffffeeeeeeeeeeee. The children hogged the video games, so we had to wait till the end to play Rock Band. The best lines of the afternoon were exchanges with an 8-year-old.

kid: “Aw come on, let me play guitar. Thanks, now get out of my chair.” And:

kid: “Let me play drums, let me play drums, let me play drums.”
Me: “Listen, do you live here?”
kid: “No.”
Me: “Well do you live somewhere?”
kid: “Yes.”
Me: “Well, I don't.”

Then, after that, there was a pot luck. I think this is a sign that I will not go hungry this year. Maybe I'll put on some weight. I should adopt the opposite of most people's resolutions: gain weight, start smoking, learn magic.

My real resolution is to be more mindful of how I spend time. I usually think I do a good job of living in the moment, in the flow. But really, I sometimes wonder if I'm not just living in the very near future. And I want to think more consciously about the future and the past, tying them together with the present into a continuity. I have this image of the present being a valley and the future and the past being hills looming in front and behind. I want to see things as more flattened, connecting each action of the moment with its roots and repercussions.

Many more thoughts will have to wait. May this year be full of fulfillment.

from ballou to you

I'm in the city, anxiously avoiding doing any real work. The work is not the fun kind but the kind that inspires the best procrastinations: moving and sorting the material remains of a former self.

I wanted to add another commitment to my list: finish a piano piece for a contest and an application. Hopefully by the middle of next week.

I had a great idea in the shower today involving another piano piece, Ableton Live and looping. You'll see what I mean when I realize it.

Now time to go home and sift for gold in a sea of crap.

every week's end is another's beginning

Today, Sunday, is the end of the weekend and thus approaching the next beginning. Just like I would tell my music appreciation students, it's these moments of punctuation, cadences, that define the form. This weekend has felt like a deceptive cadence, an anticlimax--not that I was expecting anything much. In fact, I had steeled myself for the reentry to the city, not unlike reentry from space, but was still somewhat jarred by the multitude of possibility that the city possesses.

Friday evening, I came back to the city from the cottage, which is in a part of Michigan that I have a little trouble describing. It's not quite rural, nor is it urban or suburban or even exurban. There are, indeed, farms not too far away, but there's also vacation homes, rentals, a casino, and the beach. I'm going to stick with rural, although there's always a bag of Intelligentsia coffee beans is only a short walk away.

As I got closer to the city, I started to notice myself feeling a subtle unease. It could have been the traffic or the very act of driving, but by the time I got back to the apartment, I had lost most of the peace-of-mind that I thought I had found. Turns out, it's ephemeral.

Not to worry, I steadily recuperated all day Saturday (aided by an accidental overcaffeination) and some biking around the cold, snow-drizzled city in pursuit of good conversation. I spent the caffeination time, at the cafe, sorting through the night before trying to figure out what caused me to crash. I started using the word "oppressive" to describe the energy of the city: too many distractions, too many possibilities, too many people. The wave hit me, knocked me down, and then it took me a night to surface. By Saturday afternoon, I felt like my old self--the Chicago self--but maybe a little more focused and wiser. Progress, not perfection.

Saturday evening, I saw people I knew: some friends, colleagues, and even some students from CSU. One was disappointed that I wouldn't be her theory teacher next semester: alas. But I noticed that, after a week of limited human exposure, I actually liked talking to people (and telling them about my new life). Before leaving, it had seemed such a chore to explain what I was doing; now it's kind of fun!

Still dumb things to do. The old apartment, itself, is oppressive in its disorder. There are still some piles destined for storage or things I just don't know what to do with yet. And I keep procrastinating thinking there's a better last minute than this one.

Today, Sunday, I've got to try to make a little more order, forage for provisions, and then I'm off to a Christmas Tea party that I thought was yesterday. Turns out, it's today. It made me wonder, in this day of facebook events and calendars in sync, how I can get the day of a party a whole day off. Then headed back to the wild this pm.