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self portrait in evening at piano

old tree
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Yesterday was one of those days in which I could not seem to catch up. In the morning, while I was getting dressed, I realized I could not find my favorite sweater. I had picked it up from the cleaners' on Monday and now it is nowhere to be found. I looked everywhere. It was old, a gray cashmere v-neck that even had a hole in it, but I loved it. So I was almost late for school. There, the students were very distracted and my patience wore thin, almost to the breaking point. I had errands to run in Manhattan after class, and completed those successfully. At home I started working; I had to teach another class at 3:30. At 2:51 the phone rang; it was my doctor calling to tell me that I was supposed to be having an appointment (it started at 2:30). Luckily she is nearby so I dropped everything and ran over. The remainder of the day continued in similar "running to catch the train" feeling, until I passed out at 10:45, aided by trazodone and clonazepam.

sleeping

sleeping boy
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I just woke up. It is 5 pm. I fell asleep at 2 pm, after I had finished teaching. I can barely keep my eyes open. I attribute my ridiculous sleepiness to the strangely warm weather and the time change last Sunday, which has me still disoriented.

tired

For the past few days I have been very tired, much more so than usual. Yesterday, after teaching, I had planned to go the gym. But when I got home, after walking Mabel, I had to go to sleep. I slept for 90 minutes, and then by 10 pm I was back in bed. Now, at ten to seven in the morning, I could easily sleep another three hours. So odd, especially since normally I have such a hard time sleeping.

don't count your chickens...

piano
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

In addition to working on OEDIPUS I have been writing a trio for flute, viola and piano for the Monadnock Festival in New Hampshire. I am quite pleased with it so far, which is not something I am used to; I usually feel like I am going nowhere fast. Of course, I am superstitious in a way, and so I won't write another word about it.

rain

in the rain
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Strange weather, like Chicago: pouring rain, then sun and wind, then scudding clouds, then more rain, then blue sky...

goodbye

My neighbor who suffered the aneurysm last week died late last night. I got the news as I was going out this morning to walk Mabel. Just yesterday I had been talking with some other friends of his, and we were thinking that maybe there was some hope; there had been a few promising signs yesterday. But maybe they were just his way of saying goodbye.

so tired

trolley (II)
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I feel like this trolley car looks, worn out, rusted. I just want to sleep. I think--no, I know--that I am fighting off an incipient depression. I can tell because I am short-tempered, irritable, exhausted, feeling antisocial. I would like to disappear temporarily, til this passes. If I could sleep all day I would.

what do I mean?

rock and flowers
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I wrote of John Dowland's songs that the melodies are "elaborate yet simple." Reading that now, I think, "what on earth does than mean?" Can something be elaborate and yet simple? I think not. Or perhaps it is possible. Sometimes language fails.

Last night I fell asleep before ten pm. I slept a long time, but Patsy woke me up every hour or so. She would cry in my ear, lie on top of me, knock something off of the desk in my bedroom. I was at the end of my rope. She is adorable and sweet, but sometimes I wish I could make her disappear.

old

I feel old today, mostly because I am very tired, and my knees hurt, and I have had an intermittent headache all day long. None of these things stopped me from doing what I had to do, though, and my day was busy. But now it is only 6:30 pm and I feel as though I could go to bed.

melancholy day

purple flowers (2)
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

This is one of those odd days during which I have very little interaction with other people. When I walked Mabel this morning it was still early and almost no one was out. No one I knew, anyway. Later, around noon, I went to the grocery store and there were throngs of people, families mostly, and I rushed through my errand because I felt acutely aware of how I was by myself, buying my meager bits of food for me only, going back to my apartment to spend the day by myself. I was quite tired for some reason--melancholy?--and so after I ate something I took a nap. I slept for almost 90 minutes, too long for a nap, and woke when my dream took a disturbing turn. I was looking at my mother's old white Rambler station wagon, but it was filled with dead leaves. When I woke I felt shitty and useless, but I cleaned up a bit and paid my bills. I talked to Y (he is in LA) and this made me feel more isolated still because he was tired and sort of wordless and so to compensate I talked too much and then felt like I was being neurotic and so I ended the conversation. As my melancholy grew the sky grew darker with clouds. I still have some work to do for tomorrow but I can't seem to get started. But I do not feel depressed. Just down. There is a huge difference.

sad

I called my neighbor around noon today to see how T, who had the aneurysm, was doing. There has been no change since the emergency brain surgery Wednesday night. He is unable to breathe on his own and there is virtually no neural response of any kind. The prognosis is very bad. After I got off the phone I started to cry ferociously, but only for a few moments. My crying was like the storm I encountered driving upstate on Friday: brutal, fierce, short-lived, exhausting.

sojourn

the red barn
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Yesterday I drove upstate. Early in my trip I encountered the most vicious rainstorm, with howling winds, so bad that I had to pull the car off of the road. It was scary. After it calmed down I resumed my drive. The road was nearly blocked in a few places by felled trees. Nature is powerful and mean sometimes.

The country was wonderful. I built a roaring fire, since it was quite cold. I read the entire time. I finished THE EMPEROR'S CHILDREN by Claire Messud. A former student of mine had reviewed it for the cover article of the NEW YORK TIMES BOOK REVIEW, giving it a rave. I knew I had to read it. I couldn't even wait until it was returned to the school library; I bought a copy and read it voraciously. I could hardly put it down. It speaks of the transitions one makes from post-adolescence to adulthood; it speaks of transformations, of how reality is so mutable. It was beautifully written. The sensibility was almost Victorian, like modern Brontë.

I drove back today, in the mid-afternoon golden sunlight. My new car is like a sports car; it handled the twists and turns of the Taconic Parkway magnificently.

I relished my solitude in the country, and the stillness, the absolute quiet, and the stars in the sky at night. And Mabel was thrilled to run in huge circles and play with her friends the horses.

hello again

wild-eyed
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I am going to see my friends, the horses, upstate. I will leave this afternoon. I can't stay long, and will probably return late tomorrow or early Sunday morning. The leaves will have turned colors. I am told they are magnificent. Maybe I will build a fire in the fireplace.

far

lake
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Today was a difficult day. I slept fitfully last night and felt tired when I woke up. When I went out to walk Mabel an ambulance sat out front, lights flailing, pointing against the traffic (which meant it had come racing up my street going the wrong way on a one-way street) and the EMTs were loading my neighbor into it. He had a severe stroke and had somehow been able to call other neighbors, who had gone to his apartment immediately after calling 911. This evening he had surgery. He is a wonderful guy, ten years younger than my dad, a generous and kind man who always smiled when you saw him. I will see his smile again.

So, shaken, I had to finish AIFF files to send to my collaborators, so I mustered up my energy to do so. Then, half in a daze, I went to teach. I did so with manic energy, further exhausting myself. I came home, walked Mabel, and then went into Manhattan, to my brother's office in the Woolworth Building, to return the keys to his house. His office is in Johnny Cochran's firm; it is very nice, distinguished, more spacious and more posh than his former office. Then I got home around three and passed out for a while before waking up and moving the car at five.

I have felt a little crazy and a little tremulous today. Just two days ago I was thinking that it had been a long time since I felt my mood get whacked, and I think I jinxed myself.

last one standing?

duck
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

It seems that my fellow bloggers have faded away. I persist, stubbornly, as is my habit.

Something is happening to me. I had an appointment with the doctor last evening, so of course I left early so that I could take a romp through Barney's first. But I didn't buy anything! I am glad I still have the capacity to surprise myself.

Apropos my post regarding Sting, yesterday while doing some work in my department office I mentioned hearing it. Several of my colleagues had also heard it, and were equally repulsed. We are not a bunch of classical music snobs. We just recognize when a musician has crossed the line of musical decency. Sting recording the songs of John Dowland is like me recording the complete piano sonatas of Beethoven. I could do it, but why would I, when so many absolutely brilliant people have already done it? And my piano technique is far ahead of Sting's vocal technique.

as bad as it gets

Sting has released a recording of songs by John Dowland, a Renaissance composer. These songs are gorgeous, elaborate yet simple melodies accompanied by the lute. The problem is that Sting sucks, and hearing him sing them on WNYC this morning was horrifying. It is amazing how some singers are so full of hubris that they think themselves viable proponents of this music; the long lines of Dowland's melodies are very difficult for singers, and Sting lacks the control of his voice that this music requires. His intonation is ghastly, and the thin quavery quality is painful to hear. If you are a Sting fan, please skip this post. I will not convince you that he is lame. But he should stick to his own music.

sleepy

Yesterday was a near-perfect fall day. So I walked. And walked. I was exhausted by the evening. I stayed up too late, and I am fighting off sleep now as I write this. I am still thinking about the top of Bear Mountain. It was so beautiful. But I am horribly afraid of heights, and watching people sit on those rocks, near the edge, freaked me out. I stayed back at least a few dozen feet. I always feel that if I get closer to the edge something will pull me over.

Bear Mountain

mabel wants it
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Yesterday I took Mabel and Y to the top of Bear Mountain. The weather was perfect. It was crowded. Mabel ate popcorn. Here she is, begging for some.

mismatched

I have two pairs of Blundstone boots, the ones from Australia. They are indestructible, waterproof, comfortable, and I like the way they look. One pair is dark brown, the other--which I recently bought--is black. This morning as I stumbled out of bed in half sleep to walk Mabel, I put my boots on and took her outside. When I got back in, freezing, I noticed that I had one brown boot and one black boot on.

zoom zoom

I picked up my car. It passed inspection with flying colors, and the mechanic checked it out completely and thoroughly and pronounced it in fine shape. He changed the spark plugs, and warned me before I drove away that it would be faster than it already was. He wasn't kidding. Zoom.

confusion

I scheduled an appointment to have my new car inspected. My mechanic approved of my choice of vehicle, which is a good sign. They set it up for inspection and said that they would look the car over thoroughly; they take a "holistic" approach, which works well, because they catch problems before they become big. So a few hours after I dropped the car off, the service manager called me and said that they were going to do the 30K mile scheduled maintenance. I told them to wait; he told me that they had to replace the spark plugs, which clearly had not been replaced at 30K miles (now the car has 34K). I called the dealer, because the dealer had told me earlier that the car HAD had the 30K service. The dealer said he would check with the service department there. Thirty minutes later the dealer called back. He said that they had done the service, but had FORGOTTEN to replace the spark plugs. This sounded sketchy to me. I called my mechanic and told them to go ahead. Better safe than sorry. The dealer just dropped a notch or two in my book. But car salesmen will tell you anything to get a sale, it appears.

river flows by...

middle
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Saturday and Sunday I was in PA. Y and I drove down Saturday morning while the sky was still overcast. Shortly after we reached Upper Black Eddy the sky cleared, the sun came out, and it was a beautiful day. It was cold, and colder in the house (the heat was out of commission). I loved sitting on the porch watching the Delaware River flow past. Mabel enjoyed being outside. Horribly, my cousin's dog attacked her when they stopped by, in the late afternoon. It was terrifying; the dog is huge, a pit-bull mix that was abandoned so that my cousin had to feed her from a bottle when she was a baby. Let's just say the dog has issues. Luckily Mabel was physically unscathed but definitely strung out. The next day, spaceman me drove a third of the way back to NYC before realizing I did not have my wallet, which had my car registration and driver's license, among other important things. I drove back to PA only to discover that the wallet had been in the car all along. I do stuff like that too often.

back to the country...

I am going to Upper Black Eddy, PA, not far from where I grew up. My brother's house is there and he is letting me use it for the weekend. I want to walk in the woods, along the canal, and next to the river's edge.

BAM

I went to BAM last evening. Y's friend from Tokyo was visiting, and two other friends, H (artist, from Hiroshima) and DC (art world luminary) came over to Ft. Greene early. It had been DC's birthday a week ago, so we had a little celebration. I was quite tired, and our celebration activities did little to wake me up. Y lives around the corner from BAM, and so we walked over and got our seats. It was a dance performance as part of "Steve Reich@70." Reich turned seventy this year, and there are countless concerts all over the world. I met Steve Reich when I was in college. He came to lecture and I distinctly remember that he was testy and intense. The late Robert Middleton, my harmony teacher and a distinguised composer himself, asked a question--I can't remember it exactly but it was somewhat naive--and Reich got nasty. Later I taught his child, for many years, and saw Steve Reich regularly. He is down to earth, short-tempered, and extremely energetic. I think his music is important. He is by far the most interesting of the so-called "minimalists." Some of his music is stunning. I have no admiration for Phillip Glass's music, which is turgid and dull; John Adams is one giant cliché, but Reich has a great sense of color and form, and his music shimmers and jolts. It is both incredibly subtle and powerful. And you can hear, in his work, that he has worked extremely hard.

Anne Teresa de Keersmaeker, the choreographer and dancer from Belgium, presented FASE, a four-movement piece to four seminal pieces by Reich, all from his early period. The dance was beautiful, austere, mesmerizing. I was so tired that the mesmerizing quality became hypnotic and at one point I caught myself as I fell asleep, one of those moments when you feel your head falling and you jolt awake. The second half (or rather, third, since FASE was about one hour long) was a piece by Amir Khan. He danced with two other dancers, one from South Africa and the other from South Korea. They were accompanied by the London Sinfonietta conducted by Alan Pierson. I loved the music, which was scored for four vibraphones, double strings, and two pianos. The dance, which was supposed to be about three worlds interacting (the three dancers being "internationale"), but it seemed thrown together; none of the dancers were particularly interesting, and the musicians surrounding the stage area were more riveting, to me at least. All the dancers danced in a style that seemed a merging of "voguing", break-dancing, and tired old modern-dance moves. The dancers were excellent, though, as were the musicians. Too bad the piece didn't really swing.

Afterward I went directly home. I think I surprised my companions, who were most likely going to have a drink, but I was far too tired and I still had to do my laundry. I love going to BAM, though, much more than I love going to Lincoln Center or even Carnegie Hall.

red glare

I had a horrible day yesterday. It started out fine. I moved my car (don't ask) and taught two classes. I had a two-hour break before my next student, so I went home and did some work, paid some bills, etc. Then I headed back to school to get some lunch (there is lunch for faculty, often quite good) and to see a piano student. When I walked into the faculty lounge a shrill voice screamed my name and proceeded to berate me. I won't go into the details but to say that there was a scheduling confusion, that I was supposed to be somewhere but had not been told, and that the person yelling is one of the most unpleasant people in the school. I have remarked before that I really like my colleagues generally. This person is an exception.

I was furious, although I betrayed nothing, and went off to attend to my responsibilities. Later on, after a very good meeting with an administrator who had actually witnessed the encounter, I felt better. And I know that the matter will be addressed with the screamer. I am utterly responsible in my work, and it is clear to everyone that I would not blithely ignore some assignment. But these things do not occur to the screamer. She treats us like we are children, bad children. It's a good thing I am a strong believer in karma.

But still that little episode just plunged me into a deep dark mood. Some people would let it roll of of them. But I already had little respect for the yeller, and to have her treat me as she did felt like an injury. I only wish the head of the school had been there to witness it. There would have been some real fallout.

the verdict is still out

100206
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I am still not sure about my facial hair. I have passed through the itching stage, though, so it seems silly to shave now. I will let it continue. It does make me look older. But one friend said to me that "it looks more like you." I contemplate what that means, but I don't have an answer yet.

beauty

The ocean was beautiful yesterday in the mid-aftenoon sun. The waves were crashing powerfully though it seemed to be low tide.

my new car

Yesterday I drove to Jones Beach in the early afternoon, after the morning's heavy rain had passed. At first the car felt so strange; I am still not accustomed to its handling and fast reflexes. Y said it felt so much closer to the ground. I agree. But once settled, I enjoyed driving very much. It is quite speedy, something I am not used to, and it has a very high-tuned suspension so it is less pillowy than the Volvo. It holds the road quite well. Jones Beach was beautiful. Crisp cool fall air, blue sky, amazing clouds, roiling water, seagulls, few people. I will go back as often as I can.

loaded

Every fall the residents of my building get together and have a sidewalk sale. It is a good opportunity to sell stuff you don't need, and when the weather is good (as it was yesterday) generally it is enjoyable. For some reason, though, we didn't get the usual big crowds we have gotten in the past, and my solid-maple coffee table (purchased at the old Conran's at Astor Place many years ago) had no takers. I did sell a bunch of other stuff, though, and came away with about $150 cash. I felt flush, because I rarely carry that much cash around with me. It is amazing how people will haggle over a few dollars. I ended up selling a black leather jacket that I no longer wear (although it is a very good one) for only thirty bucks because I didn't have the stomach to haggle with the guy. After all, the the purpose for me was not the bottom line. I left the stuff I did not sell on a neighbor's stoop, and within one hour it was gone. I did take the coffee table back inside, though, for next year.

If You Ever Doubted That Republicans Are Lying Hypocrites, Read This

birthday girl

birthday girl
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Mabel turned seven on Wednesday!

for Théo

bee and flower
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

happy birthday...thirty-seven years...

happy

Y is back from Japan!

I Did It

Well, it's a done deal. I have the car. It is delightful. It is sporty, fast, well appointed, has a good sound system, security, looks almost new with just a few very minor blemishes. And the presence of those little dings relieves me of the burden of waiting for that first one, a rite of passage for a new car owner. As my neighbor said, it's already been blessed. My drive back here from New Jersey, about sixty-five miles, was a breeze. I was sad as I watched the dealer drive the Volvo away, and they did not give me much money for it, but so it goes. I am not a hard-nosed bargainer and was not going to agonize over a few hundred dollars, since this was a car I really wanted. I do understand why the auto people are going so crazy for Mazda, though. It is much more fun to drive than the other inexpensive Japanese cars, Honda-Toyota-Nissan. The only one I can compare it to is the Subaru WRX which is much more expensive. I like it so much that after I got home I gathered up Mabel and took her for a ride (she was nervous at first, because she is only used to my Volvo and doesn't like going into strange cars) and then I did some errands in far-flung places in Brooklyn that are difficult to get to by train. Now I will be taking more frequent weekend jaunts as I used to in the old days when my Volvo was in better shape.

bittersweet

In a comment on my last post, Lodgerlow wrote:

Oh no. It's just not right: a metallic-sand modern car, instead of The Volvo. I'll miss pics of that car.

I too feel sad. I had to move my car to another block just a while ago (the old tired NYC parking drill) and I felt pangs of regret, because I have so many happy memories of the Volvo, and it was the first car that I bought that I really cared about. But I have agonized for months about this. I did the math, and I am paying so much in repair bills that I could easily have been paying for a newer car. If I were wealthy and could afford to indulge in the expense of operating an old car, I would. But the Volvo is no longer reliable; I am nervous to take long trips for fear of some malfunction. If I drove it like a typical non-city-dwelling American, around town and such, I would keep it. But I rarely make trips of less than 100 miles, and thus I rarely use the Volvo because I don't trust it on the road. So I am sad. I will miss my red car. It has such charm. But charm alone isn't cutting it...and one more thing. The Mazda is sporty and handles excellently; it is fun to drive, and that will be a nice change.

something (almost) new

Tomorrow I will drive to New Jersey and pick up my almost-new car. It is a 2003 Mazda Protege, like this one, only "metallic sand" color and without the sunroof. I am nervous and excited. It has all the modern conveniences, things my beloved Volvo lacks, like cupholders and a CD player. It is also one of the mostly highly-rated used cars in terms of reliability, which is the most important thing for me. I am sad to say goodbye to my Volvo, but she can no longer be depended on for trouble-free driving, and I have neither the nerves or the patience or the dollars to keep her in line.

Watch Bill Clinton Chew This Guy Up

Damn I love Bill Clinton. How I would love to see him debate George Monkeyface Bush. That would be something.

incongruity

incongruity
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

At the risk of sounding politically incorrect, I must mention a phenomenon that strikes me more and more lately: the culturally confused name. What is it? Take the name Cooper Lowenthal, for example (I did not make it up). The first name, Cooper, suggests generations of dusty WASP heritage, a large ramshackle house on Martha's Vineyard, attendance at St. Paul's, then perhaps Amherst or Yale. Lowenthal is clearly a Jewish name. So what gives? Is this the same as the older practice of immigrants in America, changing one's last name to something more "American," less ethnic? Ralph Lauren, for example, was born Ralph Lifschitz. Would he be the household name that he is today if he were Ralph Lifschitz still? Doubtful. With increasing frequency I encounter these odd hybrid names. Taylor Rabinowitz. Tucker Chang. Gardiner Cacciatore.

yikes

I had an oddly annoying experience this morning. I went to a car dealer, one whom I had contacted last week, to see about replacing my car. I had made it clear that I did not want a brand-new car, but a late-model used car. But from the moment I walked in the door they pulled out every trick they had to get me to buy a new one. I resisted quite effectively, but I was shocked by the aggressiveness of their approach. While I may be naive in this regard--I have heard of the unpleasant experience most people have at the dealers--I guess I was not really prepared for just how ridiculous their tactics were. I told them, finally, that it was not my intention to buy a car that day, that I had made that clear when I scheduled the appointment, and that if they were not going to give the information I needed to make an informed decision they would never have me as a customer. In a perverse way it was amusing to watch them get more and more desperate only to see me say "thanks" and walk out the door. I will never go back there again.

on the road

Y is now on his way to Tokyo (or he may have arrived by now). So by midweek he will be back in New York. I wish I could meet him in Tokyo, but I have neither the available time nor the plane ticket. I would love to go there in autumn, when the weather is beautiful. I was there in winter. It was not too cold, but it wasn't exactly warm. And it is such a good walking city--such confusing streets--and autumn weather would make it more so.

This morning I am going to a car dealer to try out some cars. I am now committed to selling mine. I want to have one that does not make me worry about that part is going to fall off next. My lovely Volvo, sadly, has reached that stage in its life.

confidence

One of the best things about not feeling depressed is the increase in my confidence. I used to feel very confident. During one long period in Chicago when I was not depressed I felt full of a kind of energy--not mania--but a kind of power that comes from not constantly second-guessing myself, from feeling in command of my thoughts, from realizing that I do have abilities and talents that are valuable and can be put to good use. I am not going to question why, now, I am feeling so good. I just want it to last. But whether it does last or doesn't, I am going to appreciate it in the present.

(faux)bohemia

I have always been fascinated by the affluent who adopt a bohemian lifestyle. Of course, it was not until I went away to college that I knew any such people. The blue-collar and lower-middle class town where I grew up rarely produced any. No one could afford it. But when your doctor-lawyer-CEO-mogul parents pay your rent, or buy you your apartment, pay your tuition, your plane ticket to Europe (or these days China or Africa) it is so simple to put on a cloak of "non-materialistic-throw away old values-money means nothing to me-ness." Tired of your job? Simple: drop out and go off to Amsterdam-Berlin-Paris-Shanghai and hang out, dabbling in the arts or writing your novel. Do I sound bitter? Probably. But with ample reason. I try to find my bitterness, its tough digging roots, and flush it out of me. I don't want to be angry or resentful or sad about the past. And I think that by doing this I am truly getting to the bottom of my depression and, as a result, defeating it.

When you know that the bottom can fall out at any time it is difficult to be so free. In graduate school I won a no-strings-attached fellowship given to alumnae/i of my college who were artists; one a year. It was a lot of money, especially at the time. A week earlier I had won a BMI Prize, which involved another sturdy chunk of cash. I was advised by one of my old college teachers to take time off from grad school, go to Africa-Asia-Europe and sit in a bohemian setting and be a composer. I was excited. I made plans. I bought my plane ticket on Icelandair to fly to Luxembourg. From there I would start my adventure. I would take a year off from school, or two, or maybe never go back. Then reality set in. First, after a month in France, I called my mom to check in; there had been a spate of bombings in Paris and I knew she was worried. She told me that she was ill. She didn't know, at the time, that soon she would be diagnosed with terminal, horribly advanced lung cancer. But I sensed something bad. Then I thought some more. If I left school, I would have to pay back the college loans that my father had taken out in my name without ever telling me (long story). I would have no health insurance. My fellowship money would not last very long. I could not bum around the bohemian outposts of the world; who would take care of my mother? If I left school, I would have no more fellowship stipend so generously given to me by U.Chicago, and since I had no savings, and no family money to prop me up, my dreams of the artist life burst like a pin-stuck balloon. I had to stay in school. And when I finished school, I would have to find a teaching job, or any job, right away. I have managed to be a composer, and a reasonably successful one, anyway. But I have not had the trappings of bohemia to comfort me. And I have had no cushion, no parents with the fat checkbook, to catch me if the bottom falls out.

So these are the roots of my bitterness, at least one branch of it. I look at this matter-of-factly. Do I wish things had happened differently? Sometimes. But it is pointless to think this way. The past is the past. Coming from where I did I consider myself extremely fortunate to have been able to make my way the way I have. And there have been benefits, too. Unlike so many fauxbohos, I have no sense of entitlement. I don't feel that the world owes me a living. These days I don't feel resentment that I had to work, two jobs at a time at the least, through my years of school, that my summers were never spent backpacking around Europe. There was a time when I did, when I felt sorry for myself, felt shame at my background, would have been embarassed to invite school friends back to my mother's humble, shabby house, with the junked cars in the yard next to ours...

But I will never forget, one summer at the MacDowell Colony, how a certain fellow composer told the story of his family's epic tragedy, being forced to leave their homeland with only $100,000. I didn't say a word, but inside I thought that this was a lot of money. Things could have been a lot worse. As I usually do, I kept my mouth shut, but I have not forgotten it almost twenty years later.

trashed

trash
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I am so tired. I can barely talk. I felt bad after B called because I was so out of it that I could hardly have a conversation. Sorry, B. Why am I so tired? When Patsy woke me at 630 I had only been asleep for about five hours. But then Mabel woke up. She peed on the dining room floor, which I did not discover until I took her out and noticed that she did not seem particularly eager to pee outside. So after I cleaned it up I figured I would do my laundry. I should have gone back to bed instead. But I did the laundry, and then it was too late to sleep again. After teaching I swam, probably too much, and then did some errands. By the time I got home it was 3 pm and I got busy practicing. So I never even had a nap. Now I can barely function. Tomorrow morning I have to go to the dentist. Boring. But today I was realizing that I have not been depressed in quite a while, and that thought made me feel really good.

Joy

I almost cried with joy when I read this article a little while ago. Actually, that is hyperbole (something I am prone to). But I am very happy about this development in the college admissions game. Now both Princeton and Harvard have stopped early admissions, a practice which had grossly favors affluent students from private schools and wealthy public school districts: Scarsdale, New Trier on Chicago's North Shore, etc. I teach at a school in which the student body is generally quite wealthy, although we do have generous financial aid. I have watched in growing disgust as the inequities in college admissions have grown outrageously over the past decade. Many people of my generation--my friends who went to "elite" colleges-- discuss how none of us would be admitted if we were students today. Wealthy students pay for hours of tutoring for their SAT, their Advanced Placement tests, and hire expensive college admissions "consultants" to help them write their essays and facilitate the application process (this on top of the already-connected college counselors at most top private schools, who have easier access to admissions officers based on ongoing personal/professional relationships). For those who can't afford such help, they have no choice but to apply under regular admissions guidelines, making it much harder for them to get into selective schools. I have wondered where it would all lead, this madness, as if the college one attends is a referendum on one's entire life, making impressionable students and their status-obsessed parents feel that they have all failed if they don't get accepted at Williams or Amherst or Vassar or Yale. Thankfully, administrators have finally taken the high road and decided to end this poisoned system. I applaud them and hope that all "selective" schools follow suit. And if my college, Vassar, does not go along and abolish early admissions, they will never get another cent from me.

One of my colleagues told me to shave. She said I look too old like this. "You don't like it?" I asked her. She said, "it's not that I don't like it, but it depends on how you want to look. You look so young when you shave." We are long-time colleagues and good friends and there is no concern, on either part, that we might offend one another. Then, walking Mabel, I saw a few of my students sitting on a stoop. "I like your face," one of them said, shyly. They were happily playing with Mabel while discussing the merits of my stubble. I told them that my colleague told me to shave. They laughed and said "don't do it." Personally, I hate shaving, and I like looking scary, so it suits me fine.

eyes

My eyes are red.

wrong way

one way
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Today, another day of solitude, got me thinking about just what it is that makes me feel bad with this kind of situation. And I realized that it is just another way to make me wish that I had a more functional family life. Not that I want to be married with kids. It is just that I wish that my family did more things together. I rarely see any of them. For example, last evening my sister and her husband had a well-known jazz musician, a friend of my brother-in-law's, over for dinner. It did not occur to them to invite me, even though my sister gleefully told me about it when I called her yesterday morning. I had dinner with my brother on Friday, but that was the first time I'd seen him in a long while, other than having lunch with him one afternoon in the summer. My cousins on my father's side, well, forget them. I only see them if someone dies, gets married, or has a baby. C, who together with M are my surrogate sisters, are never available since C has become a total workaholic who has no time for anything anymore. So without Y here I am simply lonesome on the weekends. I am like the guy on the bike, going the wrong way down the fire lane.

solitude, addendum

The odd thing about spending a weekend in solitude is that it is taking place in the city. When I was up in the country I cherished my time alone. Here, it feels very different. The self-conscious part of me feels like some sort of loser. I went into Manhattan to the Upper West Side to buy a pair of shoes (yes, Birkenstocks, my umpteenth pair). Everyone seemed to be part of a group, or at least a couple. And then me. I couldn't wait to get back here.

happy/sad

I just got an email from Y. He just arrived at his father's house and saw his dog May-chan. He has had her since he was a boy. She is very old now. He wrote that he cried when he saw her. I met her three years ago. She is a sweet sweet dog. When meals are served she sits and eats with the family. We went sledding on the mountain where Y grew up, and every time Y or his brother or sister went down the hill May-chan would get worried and try to rescue them.

solitude

I realize that one of the things I like most about teaching is that it is a social activity. Composing or painting is a solitary one. I need solitude to do my creative work, but I also crave interaction.

Since we got back together last spring, Y and I have spent almost every weekend together. We don't see eachother much during the week, as we are both busy and he works long hours sometimes. But our weekends are great. Now he is in Japan and I see the weekend as an expanse of time to fill. Last evening I took my brother to dinner for a belated birthday celebration. It was very nice, food was excellent and it was fun to talk to him. I have not seen much of him the past months because he goes away every weekend and during the week is busy working and socializing (he is a much more compulsive socializer than I am).

But this morning when Patsy woke me up and I started my routine I realized that I had this whole weekend with no real plans. So I did some work, cleaned, read the paper, and still it is only 10 am. I have an urge to go buy some shoes but I really don't want to spend any money. But I will not obsess; if I feel like it I will buy them anyway. I have not been spending much on things other than necessities anyway: food, bills, the car.

I think I will enjoy this weekend but I had better make plans for next weekend because the charm of it will wear thin. Worst of all is that I can't call Y as he doesn't have a cell phone in Japan. He called from Narita but it was in the middle of the night, and my phone was in a jacket pocket and the jacket was in the front closet so I would not have heard it while immersed in my foggy sleep.

Ozzie and Harriet in 2006

One thing I find disturbing in our culture today is the reverence for traditional conservative life: the kids, the family, the house, money. When I was a kid in the sixties and seventies things were in turmoil, culturally and socially. Feminism was a rising movement. Women were not content to pop out babies and make flower arrangements. This schism was underscored by Ann Richard's death; her life story is an illustration of how our culture was changing in positive ways. But now, when I walk around Brooklyn, I see the latter-day Ozzies and Harriets, only now they have lots of tattoos and drive Range Rovers and hang out at self-consciously un-Starbucks cafés. It makes me want to escape to the past.

happy

I am happy going to work. I look forward to it. Composing, so solitary, can be so frustrating. I wish I made more money sometimes--I am generally broke by the end of the month--but the trade-off is worth it to me. So many people I know go to work grudgingly.

crazy

Do you know Patsy Cline's song called "Crazy?" Poor Patsy (my Patsy) is lonely. She misses Tuna. She used to play with him, cuddle with him, and sleep on the bed with him. Now she drives me a little crazy. She wants to play all the time, and the keeps knocking things off of my desk when I am trying to work. I will have to get her a companion kitty soon, but I am holding out as long as possible.

I have been teaching. Yesterday was a whirlwind, my busiest day, and I woke up this morning with a headache.

story of my life...

Consider what you can do instead of dwelling on what you can't. If you don't strive to make your life better, you will slowly give in to a stalemate. Stop talking about what you want to do and start doing.

September 11, 2006

The freaky thing is that the sky and the air feel exactly the same as they did on this day five years ago. No clouds, cool crisp air suggesting fall is here...

summer is really over now

Well, tomorrow I start teaching, which means that summer is truly over. I am looking forward to teaching, though, which makes me feel better about life in general. Today I had a very good meeting with the director of OEDIPUS and I am now assured that I am on the right track. Getting to midtown to her apartment was a chore. The subways are always so messed up on weekends. I checked out the MTA website in advance to plot an efficient course, but nonetheless the information was not 100% accurate, and I was forced to detour. Finally I ended up in a taxi on the last leg of my journey. Later, in the evening, after I had given Mabel a bath (finally washing away the last traces of her country sojourn) some friends came over and they asked me to play for them. I have hardly practiced all summer, but I played Ravel's "Pavane" and they enjoyed it, although I was annoyed with how out of shape I am.

I have decided to sell my car. As much as I am fond of it, I simply can't afford to keep pumping money into it. If I am going to spend money on it, I might as well spend money on a car that does not give me such headaches. I am not sad at all about this. It is a relief, actually, to have made the decision. I will probably wait a bit to replace the car, but when I do I will be practical and get a Honda or Toyota or Subaru, something that won't cost a fortune to maintain. I am even toying with the idea of buying a new car, but I doubt that I can afford one really.

life, profound and mundane

Theo wrote that I don't write of my sentimental life. And I thought about it. For a long time, in the first year of this blog, I wrote so much about my sentimental life that reading it now makes me queasy. I was in such tumult. Writing about it was cathartic. So I supposed it was like therapy. But I have learned, for me, to keep my depression at bay it is best not to dwell on the little crises and big ones that send me off the edge. There is a belief among some psychiatrists and psychoanalysts that the constant revisiting of past traumas does nothing to heal the wounds that cause depression; in fact plumbing those depths makes the depression worse. I have found this to be true. And when I am happy in my sentimental life, or at least content, I feel little need to write of it. I write this blog, at least in part, to present something interesting. And my chest-beating, wailing and mourning are not interesting unless they can be turned into something more abstract, which is what fuels my music and art.

But speaking of chest-beating, yesterday I was tempted to pummel myself. It was the annual car inspection, and there were a few things with the car that needed fixing, the headlights being the most urgent. So I took my car in earlier in the week. I figured that the total bill would probably be about $300. But of course it was almost twice that. So I was pissed. Pissed not at the car--these are things that happen--but at the fact that the cost is, for me, so high. At my age most people make so much more money than I do. So my life, in the financial sense, can be difficult. But as I sat in my office yesterday getting prepared to start teaching next week, and then later while I was practicing, I reminded myself that the work I do is so precious to me, that I love it, and that it is worth the tradeoff.

But when I was driving the car to Fairway to buy groceries I found that the turn signals did not work. I was disgusted. I drove back to the mechanic. The guy who had taken care of me came running up. I told him about the problem and then I strode past him into the office and dumped the keys on the counter and said "I don't mind paying over five-hundred bucks to have my car fixed if it WERE ACTUALLY fixed." Actually, it was a lie, because I did mind paying that much. But I was aiming for dramatic effect. They jumped into action, quickly figured out the problem (something with the fuse box), and I felt like a fool.

memory, fear, and desire

There has been a lot of talk recently about September 11, 2001, since the five-year anniversary approaches. I am unsettled. I witnessed the events of that day in a very immediate way; my apartment looks out at lower Manhattan; I could see the towers from my bedroom window, and I watched the second plane crash and then, later, the towers fall from my roof, where neighbors had gathered, watching in horror. I will never ever forget what I saw, and I feel a suffocating fear when I think back to that day. To this day, when I hear a plane fly overhead, I cringe. And the thrum of helicopters overhead, which happens much more frequently since that day, brings on panic. I think anyone who was here that day was changed by the experience. It was, and remains, terrifying. People who were not here will never understand. I cannot go to "Ground Zero." I have no desire to see the site. I don't even like to see pictures of the towers. I don't dwell on September 11. But I know that on Monday, if it is a clear day with a brilliant blue sky, I will feel an awful dread and a kind of panic. And it will pass. But I doubt it will ever go away, and I will never be able to stand the sound of helicopters or low-flying jets again.

energetic

Yesterday was a whirlwind of activity. I went to meetings. I yakked, I schmoozed, I organized, I assembled equipment. I ate. I walked Mabel. I took a short nap. I taught a piano student. I saw an super-cool renovated carriage house; it had been gutted and the interior turned into a modernist gem. I bought Benjamin Moore Decorater White paint and painted three walls of my living room. I fell asleep exhausted at midnight.

busy

Today I went in to school to pick up my class lists and find the stuff I ordered over the summer. I cleaned my desk, went through some materials, saw a few colleagues, drank too much coffee, and admired our new bathroom (the men's room on our floor had seen better days). I went swimming and the pool was blissfully empty as it had not been all summer (day camp kids filled it continuously) and the water was clear and clean as it had rarely been all summer. I then got my hair cut. I went to a new place, much pricier than my usual, but much better and hipper atmosphere. The guy I normally use is always so down and moody that it can be painful for me. So I think I will just get my hair cut less often and go for the better experience.

It was nice to have things to do, a schedule; it makes me better organized. Long stretches of time don't work well for my productivity.

incongruity

Yesterday in the late afternoon I drove to Fairway with Y. We had two goals: to walk along the water and look at the light, and to buy food. Obviously we would do the former first. The clouds were rolling in and the sky was dramatic; the intriguing sort of Red Hook decay blends with the self-consciously urbane Fairway shoppers. The store has opened a very nice café where you can buy sandwiches and pastries and coffee and the like and go sit overlooking the harbor.

Walking away from Fairway and down a little narrow passage between two buildings we found this inlet and swimming in it a beautiful swan. Y walked toward him/her (?) to get a good picture but he/she hissed in anger. Swans are quite fierce, and quite amazing to look at.

teeth

Lodgerlow wrote the funniest comment about the picture of myself smiling that I posted on Flickr. She assumed I never smiled because I had bad teeth. I laughed so much. Actually I have very good teeth. I've never had a filling or a root canal or anything at all. I just get my teeth cleaned. My brother and sister are the same. My mom did not give us candy or soda when we were kids, only occasionally. We didn't have it in the house. I want to get my teeth bleached (vanity) but I can't afford to presently.

storm

All day yesterday the reporters on the radio talked about the wild weather which was to begin last night, with fierce winds and driving rain, risk of flooding, so promising. Before I went to bed I shut windows, which I don't like to do. I was convinced that it would be a crazy night. But I awoke once or twice. Nothing. And at six, when I took Mabel out, it was fairly calm. Oh, the wind blew a bit, but nothing special. A few raindrops fell. Why is it that journalists and media companies always blow things out of proportion? The JonBenet case is another example. Despite all the glaring holes in the case against this strange John Karr guy, one television show after another trumpeted that the case was solved, blah blah blah. And of course the guy is a twisted liar, but he certainly didn't kill that strange puppet-girl.

Nghiem, in a comment on one of my photos, wrote that I looked more content in the country, more serene. He is right. Now I have to figure out how to arrange my life so I can have more of the serenity that being in nature, out of the city, provides.

smiling

age

I decided to check my profile on Blogger and it stated my age as 250. I was born in 1756.

return

I'm back in NYC. I woke early yesterday after a night of fitful sleep. I can never sleep the night before I have to travel. I was back here in Brooklyn by 10:30 after an easy drive. Patsy was so happy when I came in. Mabel was tired but excited. I was tired but felt relaxed until I saw the note on my iMac. Y could not get it to work the other night. He didn't tell me while I was away--and for this I can't thank him enough--because he didn't want me to stress out. But the short of it is that I had to erase the hard drive and reinstall everything, system software etc. I lost a lot of financial information and mail, but not too much else. It was not the way I wished to spend my afternoon, but such things happen. I wish I knew what caused it.

I am going to slowly adjust to being back here. Luckily it is a quiet weekend. I wish I were still in the country. It was sad to leave.