surprises

ruins
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

So Friday afternoon I drove with Y to Philadelphia to visit C and go to the Kimmel Center, Philadelphia's acclaimed new concert hall, to hear Marc-André Hamelin give a recital. I don't often write about music on my blog (oddly) and I won't say much about the concert other than to comment that Hamelin possesses one of the most formidable techniques I have ever witnessed. I don't always go for his interpretations when he plays standard repertoire--this time my favorite Beethoven sonata, the Opus 109 in E Major, one that I love to play myself--and the rest of his program consisted of more obscure but highly interesting virtuosic works. The Kimmel Center is beautiful. Although it is a bit "corporate" looking, (the main hall, where the amazing Philadelphia Orchestra plays, is called "Verizon Hall"), the acoustics are nice and it has a relaxed, comfortable vibe.

I am amazed at these ruined buildings near C's house. They are so beautiful and scary and sad.

path

ruins
Originally uploaded by madabandon.
Walking on the path along the Schuylkill River in Philadelphia, behind my best old friend C's house, I came upon ruins of the old Water Works, from the time when this part of the city was heavily industrial along the river's edge.

ruins
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

choose

hall
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I had a very interesting appointment with my doc yesterday. I told her about the difficulties I have had since I saw her last month, and how the rapid cycling of my mood is puzzling to me. We discussed medication and whether or not it was worth going back on lamictal. My feeling is that it is not worth it. Since I have stopped taking it, my tremor is substantially better and I am not having the horrific memory lapses that were scaring me. And she told me that I might just have to choose to accept the fact that this bipolar-ness is the way that I am, and that since medication does not solve the problem--it just exchanges one set of problems for another--I can just continue to manage myself as I have done (mostly) successfully so far. It makes total sense. It is something I have been thinking of--and writing of here--for a long time. So that is what I will do. I'll just have to hold onto my hat.

hitting the wall

wall
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I have been disoriented this week. I am currently in an unusual mood pattern, what is called "rapid cycling." Deep depression lasts a day or two, giving way to hypomania, which lasts a day or two, and then back. I feel as though I am hitting the same wall over and over. And the hypomanic mood makes me very tired, physically. My intense energy, expended in all sorts of ways, gives over to complete exhaustion. I am seeing my doctor in an hour. I wonder if she will have any advice.

It's that time of year when old students, now in college, come back to visit, since they are still on winter break. It is nice. One of my favorites, of all time, came back a couple times. He has suffered some intense personal tragedy in the past year, and you can see it in his eyes. I feel like I want to help him in some way, and that I am not really doing anything effective. But maybe just him coming to talk is helping him more than I know. I hope so.

bad behavior

Pineapple Street
Originally uploaded by madabandon.I was sitting in my car around 5 pm, waiting until I could leave it safely without getting a ticket. A silver Subaru pulled into the space in front of me. Normally this young guy parks in motorcycle at the first space on this block (where the Subaru was) and he was in the process of moving the bike when the Subaru pulled in. It seems that the Subaru driver, lawyerly-looking thirty-something guy, was bothered by the fact that the young cute guy was putting the bike in front of his car, and he unleashed a string of profanity-laced invective at the young guy. And guess what? The young guy is black. I was shocked by the anger of the thirty-something guy; there was nothing wrong with the guy parking his bike there. I got out of my car--I had been sitting with the window open talking to a neighbor--to observe, and to be present to try and cool things in case a fight started. But the young guy said "I am not going to stoop to your level and yell at you like you did to me. But I am taking down your license plate in case you try to knock over my bike." I know the bike guy in passing; he loves Mabel and we say hi to each other on the street. He is really cute and a nice guy; he works as the super in a small coop building down the street from mine. If he had been white, the Subaru guy would not have at him that way.

Sometimes this neighborhood, filled more and more with wealthy snotty lawyers and bankers, disgusts me. It did not used to, in the early years that I lived here. I want NYC to go back in time, when there was more crime, when white lawyers fled with their pregnant wives to the suburbs, and people didn't expect NYC, even Brooklyn Heights, to be like lily-white Scarsdale. I hope the bike falls over and smashes the Subaru.

solitude

fences
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

In my neighborhood people have the wonderful habit of leaving unwanted books on a stoop. So occasionally as I walk along I find a selection of reading material for the taking. Late last week I picked up a dog-eared copy of May Sarton's JOURNAL OF A SOLITUDE. Sarton, a poet and writer of great accomplishment, kept this journal chronicling her days spent in solitude at her house in New Hampshire. She struggled with lifelong depression, and much of her writing is about how she copes, and how solitude both exacerbates her depression yet at the same time becomes of absolute importance to her and her work, mostly because she feels that she herself is so difficult, that her relationships with others are always troubled. She was a beautiful writer, and much of what she writes rings too true. I will post some quotes later.

* * * * *

Special bonus: I just went out to do the move-the-car-to-the-other-side-of-the-street (and sit in it for an hour until it is "legal" to park it) routine. To warm up the engine, and thus have some heat, I drove around the 'hood a bit. And lo and behold! I found a space in front of my building where I can leave the car until this evening, and thus I have gained an extra hour this morning. Lucky me.

rainy monday

mirror sky
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

This picture has little to do with this post, just so you know.

I return to my teaching duties today. The down side of these long breaks is the difficulty in returning after several weeks away. Waking up this morning felt so different even though I woke at the same time I usually do. It is just that for the last few weeks I have been able to wake and have no scheduled day ahead of me. Now, today, I feel oppressed by the various appointments of the day. And the cold rain does not lift my spirits. But in a few hours it will feel as though the break never happened.

Jones Beach

Jones Beach, January 6, 2007 (7)
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I went to Jones Beach on this absurdly warm day. It was fascinating: winter light with late spring air. The beach was actually crowded. This photo looks like a painting and it is certainly trite but even still I like the way it came out. I am enjoying my new little camera, as you can see.

home improvement, continued

corner
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

While on break from teaching I have been doing many minor home improvements. Here is the newly revamped corner of my living room; it is the northeast corner, to be exact. I like to sit here and read. The chair comes from Thailand. It is made of teak and is amazingly comfortable, contrary to its severe appearance. Next to it is a piece of a petrified tree trunk from China. The tree trunk is my single favorite thing in my apartment. I have an insane love for it. It has to be seen up close to be appreciated.

crowds

potato pile
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I went to the Y this morning, late morning actually, to swim. On the way I did some little errands: the bank, the hardware store. My swim was pleasant, and I did more errands on the way back. As I walked up Court Street I was reminded of how pleased I am that the holidays are over and that all the jollity and frenzy of the run up to Xmas and New Year's irritated me so this year. It's not that I didn't enjoy the holidays, because I did. But the frantic buying and consumer frenzy are ugly.

ho hum

tangerines
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Now that most people have returned to their normal routines, I feel a bit odd. School will remain closed until next Monday, and so I am in a kind of limbo. Since I am not away I don't really think of this as a vacation, but yet it is one, since I do not have to go teach.

Yesterday I went to Fairway. It was strangely busy. In the evening I went to see "Letters From Iwo Jima," Clint Eastwood's latest film. It was stunning, horrifying, riveting. Rarely have I sat through a film that is as long (two hours and twenty minutes) without feeling bored or wondering when the film would end. Ken Watanabe, as the commander of the Japanese forces, was incredible. I am no fan of war films and rarely see them. But this one is a "don't miss." I think that Clint Eastwood is really a fantastic filmmaker.

parked

Ashland Garage
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I had a busy few days: on Friday my digital camera, the Canon Elph, died. I have a large fancy one but wanted a small unit to carry with me for those spontaneous moments, so I went to J&R on Saturday, early evening. It was crowded and strangely sweltering, and I hastily bought a tiny little Casio Exilim. I like it. And it was on sale. New Year's Eve was quiet. First Y and I saw "Dreamgirls." Then we had dinner, champagne, and watched the ball drop. Odd how they have Dick Clark still hosting, post-stroke, with his labored speech. Wouldn't he want to retire? Or maybe he refuses to surrender and has some clause in his contract to insure that. New Year's day was drab, with a gloomy fog in the air, and I slept until noon. I still feel the residual effects of Friday evening, when I stayed up until all hours having fun. I am getting too old for such things.

Happy 2007

bluegreen
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

cleaning, with Patsy's help

patsy on the bed
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

A few years back I adopted the Japanese tradition of cleaning for New Year's. It is a good idea. You start the new year with things in place, or at least your home in place. Even if my head is not in place, my apartment will be. Patsy was delighted and confused by all the cleaning, but she happily chased after the mop.

122806

122706

not much to say

tendril bw
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I have not posted much since last week. I feel I don't have much to say. It's not that nothing has happened; maybe too much is going on in my head to articulate anything in particular. But I have been doing some home improvements. I bought wooden blinds with two-inch slats and installed them in the windows in the main room and bedroom. They look great. They also block out more light. This fools Patsy and Mabel just a bit so they both sleep a little longer. Thus I can sleep a little longer too. I have been socializing a lot. I seem to be in a fairly gregarious mood when out, which is contradicted by my darker mood when I am alone.

PEACE

Greenpoint Avenue
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Greenpoint Avenue Station, G Train, Christmas Eve 2006

one year ago today

winter sun
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

cave

cave
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I have just been reading my blog entries from this time last year. It does not surprise me--although it troubles me--that I was in a very similar state then. My manic-depression was torturing me as it is now. I want to disappear until this tide passes. And I am doing stupid, self-defeating things. Last night I played a gig and then, finished, went home. I called Y. He was somewhat short with me on the phone; he was about to go to a meeting, but he didn't tell me that. He said he would call back. An hour later, having still not heard from him, I called again. No answer. I fell into some kind of irrational panic, or something, and kept calling and calling. Each time the call went to voice mail, and I felt as if I were being slowly overtaken by a huge tide, pulling me further away from rationality. Finally he called back, but he was pissed and didn't talk, just told me that he was in a meeting. I called him this morning and his voice and manner was so cold that I nearly shivered. And then, an hour or so later, he sent me an equally cold email. My behavior was ridiculous. And I knew it, on one hand, but I was powerless to control myself. I hate this. I feel, right at this moment, that I can't bear living like this anymore. And I hope, fervently, that this feeling will pass.

shadow

night
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I have not posted since Tuesday. I remember when I used to write at least one post a day. The first part of the week was very busy. I had engagements every evening. I had dinner with B on Tuesday and with my brother on Wednesday. Monday I had a rehearsal. Last evening I had a gig. But now I am done teaching for a few weeks, and I have some time, although I have so much work to do--composing--that I won't have a true vacation. I just won't have to teach. My moods are erratic. I have a short fuse. But through constant activity I try to exhaust myself, although this may be exacerbating the problem rather than helping. But I had a nice time with B, who will soon be off on another adventure, and a nice evening with my brother, who has had a year worthy of the Book of Job. I hope this coming year will be a better one for him.

psyched out

head
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Back in my youth when I was a very serious swimmer, we used a term, "psyched out," to describe the situation in which, in the anticipation of an important race or competition, the competitor ends up swimming a bad race. Maybe this was due to the pressure, or some kind of side effect of too much mental focus, or something vague like that. But I had my share of such swims.

At the end of the summer and well into fall I was feeling so good, sleeping well, not depressed; I felt so good that I thought about stopping the trazodone at night (the sedative/antidepressant that enables me to sleep more than four hours a night). I thought maybe I could stop the medication altogether. Well, I think I psyched myself out.

pet peeve(s)

One thing about gay men that I find truly odd is how many guys call themselves "boys" even when they are well into the 30's. A thirty-year-old is not a boy. Not even close. Face reality. Grow up?

Another, not unrelated, pet peeve: Rufus Wainwright. Overrated? Pretentious? Overwrought?

blue

car wash
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I drove to PA on Saturday to celebrate Hanukah with my sister and her brood. In New Jersey I stopped to have the car washed. It was quite dirty; I last washed it in October. While waiting I noticed the number of hulking shiny SUVs that were waiting to be washed. Why do people wash cars when they are not dirty? Why do we waste energy so? I am getting more and more troubled by this obsession of mine. I wanted to ask the SUV-owners about it, but did not want a confrontation and so I kept my big mouth shut. When I got home to Brooklyn around 10 pm my neighbors were having their annual very loud holiday party, so I put on some crazy modernist music (Pierre Boulez's "Le Marteau Sans Maître) at high volume to drown out their revelry.

short-sighted

It is truly amazing to me that people can crow about how great the weather is. Just now on NPR one of the newscasters projected "another beautiful day today with a high of 59F! And it looks like a great weekend too, with highs near 60 both days."

Ok, it is almost Christmas. It is not supposed to be 60F in New York. I feel like I must be crazy because to me this is an ominous sign of how warped the weather has become. Not to mention that the strange weather is wreaking havoc on my head, so that my sinuses are all messed up.

impermanence

winter trees
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Yesterday in the early morning a woman was killed crossing Henry Street just below Montague. She was hit by a truck owned by a private garbage hauler. Those trucks go flying around the local streets here usually between 5 and 7 in the morning. It is frightening how fast they drive; they often run red lights as well, so in a way it is no surprise that someone was killed by one of them. The woman was someone I knew, both because she worked at Brooklyn Law School and also because she lived in the neighborhood and I saw her from time to time when I walk Mabel. She was a friendly, nice person, and she always smiled when she saw Mabel. Imagine: you wake up, get ready for the day, and go walking off to work and then suddenly you are dead.

wall

ledge
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I feel like I am hitting a wall. Not work-wise; my imagination is active and I am getting work done. But I feel disgruntled; my temper is short. I am impatient. Little things are bugging me. I am trying to relax my mind and settle down. Things will improve when school is closed for break, which will happen one week from today. On top of it, I am having the same annoying sinus condition that I had two weeks ago, and it makes me head hurt (my face, my teeth, my ears, my eyes) and makes me very sleepy. Or else maybe I have some giant brain tumor.

tomorrow:

You can't take a pass or miss out on an opportunity that's being offered. Your ability to see things in broad terms will help contribute to what someone else is trying to get off the ground. Money will come to you in an unusual way.

toothless

toothless
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

If my memory is correct then this is my first-grade picture. Note the tie. My mom sure had snappy taste, no?

I never really had any confidence about my appearance, nor do I still. I was not cool enough as a kid, although I dwelt at the edge by high school. In college I felt like some bumpkin, surrounded as I was by so many sophisticated private-school kids. No amount of positive reinforcement really convinced me that I was not a dork. I still suspect it of myself, although thankfully I have reached the age where "dorkiness" itself does not really apply any more.

When, in the past, I have been hit on I always am suspicious on a certain level. Why has my confidence, if it ever was, been so beaten down?

Even writing this, I feel like I might just be soliciting reassurance, rather than just stating a simple truth.

patsy on the shelf

patsy on the shelf
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I have not posted a picture of Patsy for a while now, so here she is. This was taken yesterday. She is quite a silly beauty.

It was Y's birthday on Thursday so we went to dinner at Patois on Smith Street. I gave him a Jasper Morrison lamp, a beautiful white globe, very simple. Then last night we ate at Natori, one favorite place, but it was not as good as it usually is so we made up for it by pigging out on pastries from the Japanese pastry shop on Saint Mark's. I find it so strange to walk that street; many years ago, in the bad old days of crime-ridden NYC, I was there a lot, post-collegiately cool. Now it just looks like a trashy playground for all the NYU students, since the East Village now seems like a giant housing complex for them. Ah, nostalgia. And the new Gwathmey monstrosity where the old Carl Fischer building was is an architectural tragedy.

barrier

75 Henry
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

One might wonder why I seem so concerned with money, with rich vs. poor, with the evils of capitalism as I see them. But the reason is fairly simple, and comes from my own history.

When I was young and my parents were still together, my father had graduated third in his class at U. Penn law school, one of the top law schools in the country. My mother was also an alumna of Barnard, another "elite" school. The town where they moved after my father's law school was small and provincial, and most people there were blue-collar workers, so my parents were at the top of the socio-economic hierarchy. My father became a partner at a very old prestigious law firm in Philadelphia, and I imagined he made a very good income. There were no money concerns that I could tell. My mother had her thoroughbred horses, our house was nice (although quite humble by the standards of people in more affluent towns). We were not denied opportunities because of lack of money.

Since I didn't know any wealthy people at that time, all I could figure was that my family was comfortable, that money was never an issue; my father was one of the first people I had known to buy the then-exotic Audi sedan from Germany.

But when my father and mother split, quite acrimoniously, it was as if the plug had been pulled. I don't know the specifics of the financial arrangements, but suddenly there was no money for piano lessons. There was no money for much of anything. Often my father would "forget" to send my mother her monthly check. Because she had been out of the work force for almost fifteen years--she had last worked as a teacher and editor--my mom could not find a job that paid a decent salary. This lack of money made my mother very tense, and she made no efforts to hide her distress from my brother and sister and me. So I developed this sense of how tenuous things can be; how in an instant you can seemingly have no worries, and suddenly you are sure the electricity will be turned off.

I should really get over it. I have come a long way. But when my mother died she had almost nothing. I still have a lot of anger toward my father for putting us all through that ordeal. But I have mellowed about it. I am an adult, responsible and self-reliant. And that is the past.

hibernate

underground
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Now that it is cold, and considering how overstretched I am, my instinct is to hibernate. In an attempt to do so I am sleeping much more than usual, and I like it. I have not had insomnia in a while. Quite the opposite. All I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep.

I have a theory about creativity and depression that is not at all scientific but rather more spiritual. Maybe some creative people become vessels for the feelings and pain that are in the air, free radicals that most people are able to avoid. The creative person becomes a sort of emotional psychic. Sounds implausible? I wonder.

When I hear that a friend, or anyone actually, is sad or lonely or having a bad time, I feel it deeply. And because I am a sponge in that way, it is no wonder that I get depressed. But the depression has an up side, because I try to balance it by creating things that defy it and its cohorts.

big day tomorrow:

You have the world by the tail and you are ready to put things to rest. You can make changes that will alter the course of your life. This is a great day to check out something you've always wanted to do.

blank stare

12306
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Today my mind is in such a muddle that the best thing I can do is just stare blankly at the wall. Like a kind of meditation.

more money, more money

In this Sunday's NEW YORK TIMES magazine there is a one-page interview with Tan Dun, the composer who wrote the score for "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon," among other things. He has been in the US for decades. He is very famous now. The interviewer asks him about money, since the movie score brought him great wealth. He replies that it really does not matter how much money one has. There is little difference between making 100K and one million dollars a year. He does note that there is a "difference for the poor." It kills me when rich artists claim that money makes no difference to them. In the same interview, when asked where he lives, he tells of his six-floor house in Chelsea. I am sure there is no difference to him between his six-floor house and a tiny studio. Yeah, right. At least my teacher, the first composer to ever win a MacArthur "Genius" award, acknowledged that it was a hell of a lot better to have money than to not have it. "At least you don't have to worry about how you are going to pay the rent or eat," he said. I am sure Tan Dun did not become a composer to get rich. Only a fool would. But be real. I don't believe for a minute that he is not happy to have his big house and his fancy clothes. Tell the truth!

stuck

I am listening to NPR, to Studio 360, and Kay Jamison is being interviewed about bipolar disorder, depression and creativity. She explains that in mild manic states a person is disinhibited, and creativity explodes. There is a wild urge to create. Creative people tend to be introspective to begin with, and the creative person who has episodes of hypomania which lead to the creation of new work. I know that this is true of me. Such is the dilemma that confronts people with bipolar disorder and/or depression. Does the medication I take reduce my imagination? I know that before I was on meds I wrote a lot more. But I was also utterly tormented so much of the time that I found it harder to get through the days. When I am depressed, I am not productive. What do I do? This is something I have been thinking about a lot lately.

Yesterday I had a great meeting with my collaborators on OEDIPUS AT COLONUS. It was nice being back at Vassar, although the weather sucked. I realize how lucky I am to have been a student there. It was life-changing. And now, to be working as a peer with two of my favorite professors, is a thrill. So it was a fruitful trip. And I am energized to get back to work.

money money money money money

This essay on the editorial page of today's NEW YORK TIMES made me very sad. More and more I am frightened by the way our society seems so money-driven, that every choice becomes an economic one, and that the short-term gain seems always to win out over more abstract, long-term considerations. Why do car makers continue to manufacture gas-guzzling SUVs? The other day, when moving the car, I asked a man in his Range Rover if he wouldn't mind turning the engine off, since he was sitting in the car, windows open, with clearly no need for heat or air-conditioning. His reply? "I can afford the gas."

not a choice after all

two doors
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Yesterday I found myself contemplating the comment I received after my "depression" post. Although I was quite busy, finishing the second segment of the OEDIPUS music, I was also preoccupied with the issue of how depression is viewed. The commentator's remarks troubled me. So to exorcise the issue from my mind, at least for now, I will address it here.

In ILLNESS AS METAPHOR the late Susan Sontag addressed how tuberculosis and cancer, both diseases that were inevitably fatal in the nineteenth century (and a good part of the twentieth as well). Both were regarded as diseases brought on by individual temperament. TB was a disease that affected the sensitive, the artistic; such heightened sensitivity made one susceptible, and thus TB was a romantic disease, almost desirable. Cancer, on the other hand, was linked to repression; the repression of anger, of sadness, of other "negative" emotions led the body to turn against itself, to destroy itself from within. Modern science and medicine disproved these notions, but traces of them persist still, in that even today some cancer victims blame themselves, and a cancer patient is described as "battling" the disease, "fighting" it, so that, if the disease wins, the victim might be regarded as weak-willed. It is not insignificant that Sontag herself lived with cancer for several decades until she eventually died from it. She was frank about her illness. She did not hide it as something shameful.

When someone with chronic, life-long depression is exhorted to "think positive," or to change his/her outlook on life, the advice is inevitably borne of an attitude that depression is a flaw of character, a weakness, much as cancer was a disease of character in the Victorian mind. Many people with depression lead active, productive lives. I have much to be happy with in my life, much to be thankful for, and I do not need others to remind me of this.

I have learned to accept my depression as a fact of my life. Ignoring it, or refusing to speak of it, makes it shameful, like Sontag's cancer victims. Like Sontag with her cancer I will address my depression head on. It is important for people to realize that depression is an illness, a medical illness, not a weakness of character. As I wrote yesterday, I don't write this blog to be yet another blithe "Hallmark" card-like series of statements meant to hide the craggy ugly bumps that are a part of life's landscape.

comment on a comment

I just received this comment on my latest post:

You should do something about your depression, it's hanging on way too much on your blog. If you read through its entirety, I'm sure you'll find it more depressing than Jane Didion's latest book. Perhaps you need daylight lighting in your home in winter to help offset the early dark nights that might trigger sadness?

As much as it may have been well-intentioned, the writer shows a clear misunderstanding of both depression itself and of my blog. I read Joan Didion's latest book. Yes, it was depressing, but it was her truth. I don't write my blog for unselfish reasons. I blog, in part, to articulate what it is like to live with depression. It is always interesting to me how people who do not have depression regard it as some sort of weakness of character, or equate it with sadness. My depression is not due to lack of light; I have lived with this all my life and it hits me regardless of season. And if depression is hanging on "way too much" in this blog, I can't apologize. It's my life. C'est tout.

There is one bonus that creative types like me get from depression. I think it compels me to create beautiful things. So maybe then there is a balance after all.

--------

alleyway
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Depression is cruel because it trivializes all that opposes it. For two weeks or so this one has been gathering and now it has landed. All the things that had me feeling good, energetic, all that seemed promising, recede, and now I am stuck in some dingy alley of the mind, like the one in the picture, and if I could curl up and disappear until it passes I would. I wish, when I am depressed, that I could just check out of my life the way one checks out of a hotel. I would return, of course, when I felt better.

exhaustion

bed
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I can barely see straight. I had a very long day of teaching yesterday. Some extra rehearsal extended my day full into evening. When I got home, at a little past eight o'clock, I was quite tired. Still, at eleven, when I went to bed, I found myself unable to sleep. I was up most of the night, sleeping fitfully. I finally found myself in a deep sleep by five a.m., but at six the alarm went off (not that I needed it) to remind me that I had to move the car. Now I feel like a zombie, truly. A zombie with tons of work to do before Friday.

holiday

Thanksgiving was fun. I drove down to PA with Y. We hit a lot of traffic because we did not leave Brooklyn until 11:30, which seemed to be the magic hour for everyone to hit the road. I had cooked most of the day on Wednesday: potato-leek soup, a gratin of spinach and kale, and cranberry sauce (but I make mine with other fruit also; this time fresh figs and apples, with lots of ginger and lime). My nephews were rambunctious, stuck inside because of the harsh cold rain. Y practiced driving in my car around the area where my sister lives. We ate a lot. Around 8 I decided we should head back; the rain had slowed. But after about thirty minutes it began to rain ferociously, and the rest of the drive was a white-knuckled adventure. People drive like freaks, passing on the right, going far too fast for the road conditions; and then there are those who plunk themselves in the left lane (which, apparently, is no longer understood as the passing lane, but rather the lane around which one passes) and go 50 mph. Then back in Brooklyn I joined the multitudes who were driving around Brooklyn Heights trying to find parking. Thank god my eagle eye worked and I spotted a man sitting in his Prius before he had even started it up and turned on the lights.

cooking

I just made a sublime dinner. I went to the fish place at Chelsea Market and bought a beautiful whole red snapper. I marinated it in lime juice, miso, soy, garlic, scallion, lemon grass and ginger, and then baked it for about thirty minutes in the oven. It was amazing.

engines of inequality

Students in one of my classes were asking me about my college experience, and how it was when I was a high school student applying to college. The situtation is so ridiculous now, so fraught with tension and anxiety. And the private school kids have it easy. Public school students face an increasingly difficult task, and in the end many cannot afford to go to college at all. Tuition and associated costs have risen far faster than the inflation rate, even though the elite school have no actual need to charge more. Their endowments have grown to astronomical proportions. So I told them how going to Vassar really did change my life, and that I was very lucky to have been pushed in that direction by my guidance counselor in my oh-so-mediocre high school. But I don't know if a student like me in a high school like that which I attended could even have the same chance today.

in memory of...

sleeping
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

This is not a post about Tuna, whom I still miss every single day.

Thanksgiving is a very strange holiday for me. It is the time of year when I miss my mom the most. I think it was her favorite holiday. She got into it, cooking a huge meal, inviting friends to join us, and there was always a festive air at home. My mother collected people the way she collected animals, people who had had troubles. So in later years, when I would come back from college there would always be strange people mixed with a strange dog or two.

I never made it back to PA for Thanksgiving during my years in Chicago, and now I regret it, because those were the last Thanksgivings for her. About six weeks before Thanksgiving in 1986 she had surgery for recently discovered lung cancer. She had not been well, had been complaining of feeling generally awful, but still it took her doctor months before he ordered a chest xray (how stupid of him; she was a lifelong smoker). The tumor was on the xray was large, and during the exploratory surgery the surgeon found that it was wrapped around her aorta, so there was no way to remove even a small part of it.

After the surgery she was having radiation, and was in good spirits. She told me how during the radiation she would close her eyes and visualize the cancer cells dying. But it was while preparing the usual Thanksgiving feast that she first realized that things were not right. She called me, on Thanksgiving, and I got extremely worried when she said that she kept dropping things, losing her balance (and my mom was extremely coordinated, like all of us, so losing her balance was not a good sign). I remember sitting on the chair in my workroom in that Chicago apartment; it was a gray day like this one, and I felt sick. I had to go with C to her cousins' in Evanston, and I didn't know how I would function. Luckily her cousins were warm, fun people, and they knew that my mom was ill, and I felt comfortable at least, but stunned. The next day her doctor ordered an immediate MRI, and they found a large tumor in her brain. It was the beginning of the end, we all knew it, and that is why Thanksgiving, now, is a sad and happy day. Happy because of memories, but sad because of associations.

Now I am cooking, enjoying a little smoke, and waiting for the piano tuner to arrive.

tangle

blue green
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I am in pretty deep with composing commitments. I am always glad to have projects underway, and I usually have at least two going on at a time, but right now I have more than twice that number, and as I am lazier than I used to be, I can't rationally picture how I will get it all done. But the thing is, I will get it done, because I always do. When I try and picture getting it done, though, the trouble starts.

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111806
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

idiocy

Ok, I am checking out the CNN website and I watch a video which reports that Americans are buying SUVs with reckless abandon now that gas prices have fallen. Idiots. I can't even believe that people are so selfish and short-sighted that they only think in terms of their own wallets. What about global warming? What about energy independence?

This makes me want to scream.

Saito May-chan

May-chan had been feeling poorly the last month or so. She was vomiting frequently, and didn't eat with her usual gusto. Tests showed that her liver was not functioning well. She stayed at the veterinary hospital for four days, and then she went home. For a while her liver function improved, but about two weeks ago it started declining. She would barely eat, and she vomited when she did eat. She began to receive IV nutrients. I remember, ten years ago, when I was ill with liver problems, and how sick I felt, and how even a small amount of food made me vomit violently. I didn't want May-chan to suffer. I had met her when I went to Japan in early 2003. She was a very sweet shiba inu. She always wore a scarf. She loved to ride in the car, and she especially loved going for walks. She ate with Y's family, sitting at the table like a person. When Y's mother died, May-chan just lay on her blanket for two weeks, barely eating; but she eventually became her old sweet playful self. On Saturday night, actually Sunday morning, 4 am, Y's phone rang (earlier his dad had called to say that May-chan was not able to walk, that she had gone out to pee and then lay down on the grass and could not pick herself up, and that her body temperature was dropping. I knew then that it was only a matter of hours) and it was his dad calling to say that May-chan had just died; she had waited until Y's sister came home from an errand, and then took her last breath. I love animals, and I love most dogs that I meet. But May-chan had an unusually sweet personality. I hope we will meet again.

good bye

May-chan

May 22, 1991 - November 12, 2006
Yamagata, Japan

music

play
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I rarely write about music here. Once in a while I indulge in a rave or a rant, like my entry regarding Sting. But lately I have been thinking a lot about listening to music, because the fact is I rarely do it. Of course, I am listening all day long, whether teaching, practicing, or writing. So to listen to recordings is usually not appealing, unless I have a specific piece I need to hear. Thus, when I do listen to recordings, I do so very specifically. I dislike "background music" and while I can handle it when I am not home--as it is everywhere--while home I generally prefer silence, the ambient sounds of my apartment (which is incredibly quiet, a rarity in this city), and NPR for the news. I was trying to explain this to someone yesterday, and got annoyed at his insistence that musicians just want to hear music all the time. Quite the opposite, I think.

political

I used to be apolitical. As a college student, I annoyed my politically-minded friends with my apathy. But ever since the days of Clinton's second term, when he was so vilified by the Republicans, I became more and more concerned with the state of affairs in the US, and I became deeply concerned about how political maneuvers affect society. After Bush became president, I found myself engaged almost daily in finding out what was happening in national and international affairs. And since 9-11 I found myself, not surprisingly, caught up in the outrage with Bush's bellicose war-mongering.

I am very pleased that the Democrats have taken control of congress. It is high time that Bush and his cronies were stopped. I am cautiously optimistic that things are going to get better. And most of all, I am glad that our system still does work; that people do have some power, because in the last few years it seemed like we were just plain hijacked, and liberal-minded people like me felt an awful kind of helplessness, compounded when Bush won a second term. So let us keep our political awareness alive, and never let such abasement of our nation's principles happen again. And, as I wrote yesterday, let us impeach President Bush. He deserves worse, but it is the best we can hope for.

Impeachment, Please

While I sincerely hope that the Democrats will not wallow in a mire of recrimination and revenge, I do also sincerely hope that they will do the one just thing: impeach George Bush for high crimes and misdemeanors. If the Republicans could impeach Bill Clinton over a blow job, then certainly Bush can go down too.

nervous

hole
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I am nervous, waiting for election results to come in. I felt a particular anxiety voting today. The outcome of this midterm election has a gravity that I don't ever remember in elections of the past. Gulp.

morning fog

morning fog
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I feel lost in a morning fog despite the deep sleep I enjoyed last night. The weekend flew by. I had a school function that occupied the greater part of Saturday and which thoroughly exhausted me. Yesterday I wandered around, going from Chelsea Market down to the west village and then across town to Union Square. Near 14th Street and the West Side Highway there was a huge film shoot. Dozens of cars were strewn about, all coated with a thick layer of grime; fake grass grew out of the cracks in the sidewalk; there was a quality of post-apocalyptic quiet. It looked to be a big budget film. What was funny was how the techies were trying so hard to keep people from walking through the set. Film shoots are annoying enough: they disrupt traffic and parking, inconveniencing locals without recompense. So when I was approached by a guy who exhorted me to walk another way uptown, I just looked at him, my eyebrows slightly raised, and continued on my way.

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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.