Piano pieces

     Tonight, I took myself to the Conservatory to hear Sarah Cahill (well-known local musician and radio presenter) and others perform works by Ruth Crawford, Henry Cowell, Lou Harrison, Frederic Rzewski (new to me) George Lewis (also new to me) and Terry Riley.
      The least interesting piece was Cowell's, pleasant, conventional, forgettable. The Crawford Preludes were short and bracing. Lou Harrison's piece ('Varied Trio') was very Lou Harrison: interesting, engaging; instruments included tuned rice bowls, baking pans, and a gong!

The three remaining works were for piano solo, demanding but not overbearing, involving, tuneful even. The Riley rag 'Be Kind to One Another' was delightful, and, according to Sarah, is a favorite of Riley's grandchildren! And the exhortation is pertinent, at this bizarre moment in American political life.
      Sarah played an encore, a minimalist piece by the Canadian Ann Southam. It surprised me that Southam would be known here. (15.XI.16)

Blue Hair

The young cashier at the supermarket this afternoon was adorned with very electric blue hair. "Love your hair, man!" I said; "beautiful!" He looked pleased and self-conscious at the same time. "You have anything exciting planned this afternoon?" he asked. "Shopping, work," I said; "I'm rather dull!" "C'mon," he replied; "you look like a fun guy!" Indeed. (13.XI.16)

70

Today, I'm 70, the Biblical age, as the Psalmist says, "The days of our years are three-score and ten..." I recall Miss Marple's remark in 'A Murder Is Announced': "We are allocated three-score years and ten, and I shall soon be overdrawn!" (7.XI.16)

Pumpkins

This afternoon at The Cove on Castro, I watched a slide show, on one of the screens, of carved pumpkins, sophisticated creations far beyond the simple versions common in my boyhood. And the costumes on display, inside the restaurant and out, added to the effect. Years ago, someone asked me to describe San Francisco in one word. "Hallowe'en!" I replied.(30.X.16)

Pre-Hallowe'en

This evening in The Castro I observed a young man, apparently anticipating Hallowe'en, dressed as a pope, complete in a white cassock and white cope, carrying a thurible and wearing a triple tiara. He liberally blessed and censed everyone who crossed his path. (22.X.16)

Joy

Recently, I took myself to the Legion of Honor, to look at an exhibition of paintings by the Brothers Le Nain. At the round pool, near the entrance, a dozen or so birds, which I took to be grackles or starlings, were skimming the water, glancing the surface for a second or two, stirring up the water with their wings and tail feathers, creating bursts of spray. The birds, which are non-aquatic as far as I know, made many such passes over the water. Whether these flights were play or hygiene, I could not tell, but they made a joy-filled beginning to my visit. (20.x.16).

Apple Pie

Outside a local bakery/café (appropriately named 'Butter Love Bakeshop'), a sign quotes Jane Austen: “Good apple pies are a considerable part of our domestic happiness.” (1.IX.16)

Addiction

A young beggar near Castro Station carried a sign which read, "Addicted to food. Experiencing withdrawal." (28.VIII.16)

Muffin

A notice outside a bakery reads, "You are what you eat --- might as well be a muffin!" (4.VIII.16)

Jargon

Just heard a new word on the radio: dejargonize! (19.VII.16)

Salvador Dali

Channel surfing tonight (7.VII.16), I came upon Dick Cavett's 1970 interview with Salvador Dali. SD spoke, not quite coherently, in a mix of English ("with a Catalan accent" he said), French, Catalan, and Spanish. He was dressed to match. SD pronounced himself to be a passionate royalist, looking forward to Prince Juan Carlos's ascent to the Spanish throne (which came to pass in 1975). He consistently referred to himself ("Dali") in the third person. SD presented, and talked about, half-a-dozen pieces, including one which he made on the spot, a broadsheet-size charcoal drawing for Dick Cavett, who had asked for an autograph.

Sit

A sign next to an old chair outside a second-hand shop reads, "Sit happens!" (17.VI.16). Years ago, I read a paper promoting the Orthodox practice of standing in church, titled 'Anathema Sit!'

Bookshop

A sign in a bookshop window reads, "Our $10 table: Forever changing. Eerily the same!" (1.VI.16)

Fire?

Tonight (Thursday, 5.V.16), as I was waiting for a 5 outbound at McAllister and Gough, numerous fire trucks, an ambulance and other equipment appeared from all directions, very noisily, with sirens and flashing lights. One vehicle pulled up beside me. A fireman leaned out his window and asked, "Did you call anything in?" No, I indicated, with a shake of my head. "You haven't smelled smoke or anything?" he asked plaintively. Again, no. Men from one truck raised a ladder to a window, while others hung about, axes at the ready. Alas, my bus arrived, threading its way among the trucks, before I could learn the outcome of the excitement, but it appeared that all would be well.

Mansfield Park

Tonight (Wednesday, 4.V.16)) I took myself to the Conservatory to see Jonathan Dove's opera 'Mansfield Park,' a charming, ingenious, and delightful presentation of the Jane Austen story. The players included a little terrier, who was as well-rehearsed as anyone in the cast.

Crowdsourcing

A homeless beggar outside Castro Station had a sign which read, "I'm not panhandling! I'm crowdsourcing!" (2.V.16)

Oscar de la Renta

This afternoon (29.IV.16), I took myself and a friend to the deYoung Museum, to look at some permanent galleries (especially paintings of the Hudson River School) and the Oscar de la Renta exhibition, a not uninteresting presentation of ball gowns and whatnot. Out of the very numerous crowd at the exhibition, an old lady whom I did not know emerged before me and said, very enthusiastically, "Aren't you just thrilled to bits by all this?" "Totally!" I replied.

Origami

On a 38 bus yesterday (18.IV.16), a young man made several small origami birds, peace cranes, from cigarette papers. He left them lined up along a window.

On the train

The other day (14.IV.16), on the train to Santa Barbara, a teen boy took the seat beside me. After introductory remarks, we discussed the ingredients in a can of soda a previous passenger had left behind. Said the boy, "My mom says, 'If you can't pronounce it, don't eat it!'"

The Fairy Queen

After lunch at Arlequin on Hayes (13.III.16), I took myself to the Conservatory to hear a concert version of Henry Purcell's 'The Fairy Queen'. The conductor announced that the work is "a lot of silliness" and urged us to behave accordingly. But we were a restrained, polite opera crowd, applauding some singers somewhat more than others, not too loudly cheering our favorites, but still managing to bring the conductor back for three curtain calls. A good time was had by all.