Humans need holidays. Otherwise our lives would get just too bleak.
And what could be more bleak than the winter solstice in the northern latitudes?
Consider the facts . . .
There's not nearly enough sunlight.
It's cold cold cold every day.
Snow everywhere.
Spring will never come.
How did those pre-Europeans cope with such adversity? They decided to kick back near a fire to overeat and overdrink. Maybe sing some cheery songs. After they'd done that for a couple years - or a couple of centuries - they had themselves a solstice holiday.
Of course, the nature of this particular holy day has changed over time. Pagan holiday became Christian holiday became Capitalist holiday. Whatever. It's a holiday no matter what your religion. And it comes just when you need it most, during the dark time. Go ahead. Turn on all the lights. Drink too much. Give useless gifts.
This year - given our recent presidential election - a lot of people (including myself) really need a good holiday. Current events have stopped making sense for us. And there's no expectation that the news will be getting better in the future. It's going to be an awfully long time before America's political winter is over.
I've dubbed this the "post-rational" period of history - everything seems beyond reason.
And when life makes no sense, you need holiday music that makes no sense.
You may be surprised to learn that one or two other musicians, besides myself, have dealt with the Jingle Bells Question. Here's a version narrated by the composer Juan Garcia Esquivel directly from his Space Age Bachelor Pad. I particularly like the line "There is a lovely view of Venus tonight."
Here's a Mongolian folk ensemble playing the tune. It looks genuinely cold where they are. Watch for a guy with a rifle.
Finally, to hammer home the post-rational aspect, here is a Walmart commercial.
Much to my embarrassment, back in May Mixed Meters correctly predicted the winner of this presidential election. What could I have been thinking? (It was actually a sort of magic realism: I could avoid the worst possible outcome by predicting it would happen because I've always made incorrect predictions before.)
Like so many Americans, I was caught up in The Bubble before the vote. Admit it, so were you. We took shelter in a comfortable cocoon of news and opinion, endlessly reinforcing what we already believed. We thrilled at stories about how Arizona might go Democratic and shivered at predictions of how racist the Republican would be if he got elected.
Yes, we all believed those damn polls. Both sides did. Obfuscatory statistical sports-minded double talk became source material for countless predictive think pieces. After reading those we turned to Facebook for our news. That's where they pick new things to show us based on the items we've previously liked. Click like on one item and get another one almost the same. Facebook shows you stories that your "friends" have liked; maybe you will as well.
I doubt there is a more perfect way to stay in The Bubble than by reading a news feed controlled by computer algorithms designed to discard uncomfortable contrary opinions while simultaneously showing you enticing advertising. Capitalism wants you to be happy while you spend money. Capitalism didn't care how this election turned out. Capitalism wants profits. Either candidate would have been good for business.
Hillary Clinton, after running for President for like a quarter century and being the unbeatable presumptive next President of the United States not once but twice, the candidate who got more votes than her opponent (over 2 million more at this point), still lost the election. Thinking that Hillary would be the inevitable winner is a sure sign that you were in The Bubble. Yes, this is a real book.
Clinton simply couldn't communicate with many American voters as well as the guy who talks at a fifth-grade level. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights every time they asked her to explain those emails. The other guy blamed her for just about every problem in the U.S. today and it all stuck to her like glue.
I think Clinton needs to confess. She needs to contritely tell the country that she is completely at fault for this huge election loss. She could post a YouTube video saying how sorry she is, taking complete repsonsibility and announcing her complete retirement from politics - hanging up her pantsuit as it were.
Her first sentence could be "I want to tell the American people that I screwed up." She should not mention James Comey or emails even once. No excuses, Hillary. You were at the top of the ticket. You called the shots. You get the blame now in the same way you would have gotten the glory if you had won.
At the end of the video you could add a few heartfelt warnings about how little boys and girls should not be too obsessed with gaining power at all costs. That would be good too.
The sooner she does this the better. Bowing out this way, formally, would be very helpful as the Democrats prepare to fight future political battles. A full-throated mea maxima culpa from Hillary Clinton could help the Democrats get off to a new start. If she doesn't do this the Dems are again going to imitate that old joke by lining up in a circle and fighting their battles with one another instead of with the enemy.
I'm hoping that a new start for the Democratic party means a lot less status quo. At this point anyone with the name Clinton is synonymous with status quo. (Chelsea, I'm talking to you.) Please, no more Clintons.
Meanwhile it's now three weeks after the election and we're aghast at how the guy who won the election is shaping his new administration. It looks really bad. Civil liberties are going to take huge hits. Income inequality is going to get worse and worse. Access to healthcare is going to get more difficult. America is going to continue intervening in foreign countries where we don't belong without knowing what the fuck we're doing.
And guess what! We — the losers, the liberals, the left-wingers, the democratic hacks, the unions, the minorities, the identity groups, everyone who supported Clinton willingly or reluctantly, all of us together — we're mostly all back in The Bubble. We actually never left. We're thrilling at stories about how a recount might change the election and shivering at predictions of how racist the Republican will be once he's in power.
And Facebook is still showing us news items that we agree with because it wants us to click on ads. Clicking on ads, buying stuff is what Capitalism wants us to do. Capitalism was always going to be the big big winner in this election no matter who happened to become the 45th President. This would have been obvious to anyone who managed to escape from The Bubble.
The above is not a really great rant as rants go. Rants are supposed to be wild and profane and accusatory and out of control. I've had too long to think about what I wanted to say. Nothing I've said is all that original. I needed a blog post this month.
There have been many people furious at the outcome of the presidential election - far far more furious than I - who have managed to work up great, eloquent rants. They rant with the best of them. I've enjoyed these rants and want to share them with you here. Also, by posting them to Mixed Meters I might discover them again after a few years. By then we'll have much more to be angry about.
"Blame the party, and blame the Clintons, and blame nearly everyone in the upper echelon of Hillary Clinton’s campaign, ..... for not understanding that she was uniquely vulnerable to an opposition campaign based on the clearly true premise that the system is rigged in favor of the powerful and connected."
"Blame Russia, and Julian Assange, and James Comey, but don’t forget the actual army of authoritarian whites that constitute some or most of our national security services, police, and armed forces. Remember that there is surprisingly little demographic or ideological difference between the average American police force and the apocalyptic white militia movement, besides that one has the imprimatur of the state."
"Finally, feel free to blame yourself. I have no clue what the fuck else to do."
"You voted for Trump - I am tired to trying to see things your way while you sit in your holier-than-thou churches slash white power meet-ups refusing to see things mine. Did I just lump you in with white supremacists? No. You did that to yourselves. You voted for the same candidate as the KKK. You voted for a candidate endorsed by the KKK. For the rest of your life you have to know that you voted the same way as the KKK. Does that feel good to you? Here's a hint - it really shouldn't, especially if you call yourself a Christian.
I'm tired of pussy footing around what offends your morals while couching what offends mine. Because racism and homophobia and misogyny and xenophobia offend mine. Let me say it right here that if you voted for Trump I do think you're a racist, I do think you're homophobic, I do think you're a mysogynist. Racism and homophobia and misogyny are all a spectrum - and you're on it."
The next one is by Johnathan Pie, an English stand-up comedian commentator. This rant is called President Trump: How & Why... Here's a couple quotes:
"She'll do. That was the feeling. What did they think was going to happen? People keep saying to me how did this happen. They're dumb founded. But it's so simple. The left did this. This is my fault, people like me. When are we going to learn? The left have given up putting any argument across at all to the point where Clinton is considered left - liberal."
And my favorite bit of sarcasm ever:
"It's almost as if the political acumen of Beyonce and Jay-Z count for nothing."
I made a video of hummingbirds buzzing about our backyard. I'm fascinated by hummingbirds, tiny bundles of iridescent fluff with high-speed aerobatic talent.
Weve installed a number of feeders - I call them "hummingbird traps" - to encourage these mini-birdies to choose our backyard as the place to hang out. And this year has been a banner year for quantity of hummers in the backyard.
Don't imagine that we've had hummingbird swarms (like you might see on YouTube). I'm grateful just to see five or six of the little fighter-pilot critters all dive bombing at once. That represents a big population increase over previous years.
In a moment of weakness I resolved to get a stop-action picture of a hummer in mid-flight.
Frankly this turned out to be quite a challenge given that I was using a camera which literally fits in my jeans.
My criteria were pretty simple: I wanted a picture of a hummingbird in flight showing its wings in focus without any blurring. This was a difficult task given my limited patience, expertise and equipment.
It became immediately apparent that there was no way I could get an in-focus shot while the bird was flying. They're just too fast. I would have to wait with my camera trained on one of the feeders, poised for instant action when a bird decided to drop by for a wee drink.
My point'n'shoot's fastest shutter speed is 1/2000th of a second, barely up to the challenge. And there needs to be full sunlight to get a decent picture at that speed.
Did I mention there is going to be a video? If you make it through all these still pictures and silly comments you can watch the video. Or you can just scroll down.
Also don't forget that you can click on any picture to see an enlargement.
Our hummers are mean little critters who try to chase the other thirsty hummingbirds away from the sugar juice in the feeders. It's just simple sugar water. I mix the magic potion myself (Secret formula: 1 part granulated sugar and 4 parts tap water.)
In fact, this is the first year I can remember having multiple birds on a feeder at the same time. They're fighting over sugar water! It must be high energy stuff. I suppose they get their protein and fiber from eating insects.
Watching these bird brains' high velocity antics as they pursue one another over who gets the soft drink made me turn to video.
Yeah, my pocket point and shoot does video too. No, not great video. What did you expect? Did I mention that the camera fits in my pocket?
Anyway, I edited together short clips of birdies feeding on sugar drink as they anxiously keep a lookout for enemy hummers who might swoop down on them at any moment and chase them away faster than a human eye can blink. It's a tough life being a hummingbird.
I think this next shot is my best picture of stopped hummingbird wings. Too bad the head is obscured by the metal post of the feeder.
The final still is my luckiest shot. You can see the bird and the feeder and you can see the shadows in the lower left. Got that? Now look closely at the light fixture in the upper left corner and you'll see both the bird and feeder reflected upside down in the glass. Three in one. Cool.
I remember mentioning something about a video. It will give you some idea of what the hummingbirds in our backyard are up to these days. They're really into sugar water.
(A word of warning - in order not to scare the hummers off most of the video was taken with high zoom magnification. That means there's a lot of camera shake. Sorry about that. Someday maybe I'll find a tripod that I can carry around in my pocket.)
September 15 was the eleventh anniversary of Mixed Meters. I must have started this blog for some good reason. Right?
In my very first post I admonished myself to keep things short. I've failed at that quest many times. In one early post an anonymous commenter said that I "went on and on and on about it..." ('It' was a hip hop song which quoted the Dies Irae.) Dude was right. "Going on and on" has become a motto around here. Thanks, Dude.
I really appreciate everyone who reads my blather, either here or via email. Getting comments is a pleasant bonus.
What's really amazing is not that I'm still posting. I'm amazed that I haven't found an excuse good enough to get me to quit.
It's been remarked that Facebook has killed blogging. True enough. Many things which I used to post here I now post there - and they disappear completely in a few days. If I link Mixed Meters posts to my Facebook page they might get a few extra comments on Facebook. FB, however, doesn't increase the traffic here much.
Incomprehensibly Google tells me that Mixed Meters keeps getting hits anyway. Google, as you know, owns Blogger and competes with Facebook. They provide me with this fine web forum for free. Thanks, Goog.
What's more, they've been keeping track of my hit totals since 2010. Last month MM registered the highest monthly hit total in that entire time, double the amount from the previous August. Why? I have absolutely no clue. Certainly not because of all the great articles I've been posting.
In 2008 I joined something called Google Adsense, where the Goog posts ads on my blog which they think will interest you, my dear readers. Every time you click their ad a small sum of money is paid to an account in my name. Over 6 or more years I had gotten over $25 in credits. Hey, don't laugh. It's the biggest revenue stream in Mixed Meters entire history.
The trick - and there's always a trick - is that in order to get paid in actual currency, my earnings would have to reach $100. And that would take, give or take a long time, another 24 years or so.
Recently I learned that this is not the incredibly sweet deal I thought it was. Google Adsense, for all its largesse, does have a few rules. And one of those rules is 'family friendly'.
Last February (the February in 2016) an email arrived calling my attention to one particular page http://mixedmeters.com/2007_09_01_archive.html - an archive of all seven posts I made in September of 2007. Their complaint was pretty non-specific considering the variety of subjects I addressed that month.
Google ads may not be placed on pages with adult or any kinds of non family-safe content. This includes, but is not limited to, pages with images or videos containing:
Or this musically relevant photo of nude people doing couples yoga on a Paul Horn concert poster which I had found in Leslie's papers:
I'll never know exactly which post that month triggered the warning, only that it took 8 and a half years for me to get the news. I opted to ignore the notice.
Google ads may not be placed on adult or mature content. This includes fetish content as well as sites that promote, sell or discuss sexual aids. Examples include, but are not limited to:
sexual fixations or practices that may be considered unconventional
sexual aids or enhancement tools such as vibrators, dildos, lubes, sex games, inflatable toys
penis and breast enlargement tools
So Google objected to my discussion of the legality of saying the word dildo in Texas. I was inspired by this video clip from a film called The Dildo Diaries. Watch for a good laugh at the Texas legislature's expense. It features Molly Ivins, a political reporter who had a knack for finding humor in narrow-minded politics.
These days, 10 years later, I have no clue whether it's still illegal to say the word "dildo" in a Texas sex shop, though, apparently, at least parts of this particular law have been declared unconstitutional. I do know that Molly Ivins, then the reigning champion at exposing Texas hypocrisy, has since died. I hope someone is carrying on her work because it's a sure bet that Texas politics are still jaw-droppingly crazy.
Anyway, after the second notice I decided to make Google happy and remove the ad from Mixed Meters. It represented my blog's only source of income. Now it's gone.
Had I kept the ad, sometime around the year 2040 — when I'll be nearly ninety years old — if Mixed Meters still exists then — if the Internet still exists then — if I'm even capable of writing blather then — I might have earned $100 from Google as payment for my 35 or so years of blog writing. That would have been a sweet moment of validation. And I'm giving it up to preserve my right to write about dildos if I want to.
Hey, that's the Mixed Meters blog news for another year. Thanks for reading.
Music students who are fans of opera - or who, like me, were friends of fans of opera - inevitably get exposed to the singing of Florence Foster Jenkins. Imagine a late night, a group gathered in someone's dorm room, everyone's well stoned listening to all kinds of music. Eventually, without explaining, someone plays Florence's album. Hilarity ensues. It's better when you don't know what to expect.
If you aren't familiar with Florence's work, here's a recording. Enjoy:
It's natural to wonder whether Florence Foster Jenkins was having a little joke on her audiences. No, apparently not. All evidence suggests that Florence was completely serious. I mean, she was no Darlene Edwards. Florence was, at least in her own mind, a serious artist.
And that's just the beginning of her tale. The whole story would make a good movie.
Oh right. That movie is out now. It's entitled Florence Foster Jenkins and stars Meryl Streep as the eponymous prima donna. Since Florence seems like a perfect patron saint of Illusory Superiority (which is the pop psychology trope I have recently adopted as a feeble excuse for not fulfilling my own lofty career expectations), I was tremendously anxious to see it. I dragged Leslie off to a local theater last week. Here's the trailer.
I think the essential point is that Florence Foster Jenkins is a love story. Bad singing is just the hook. Florence and her husband, St. Clair Bayfield (played by Hugh Grant) had a non-traditional marriage. Theirs was clearly a loving supportive relationship. Co-dependent even. I ended up rooting for Bayfield to help Florence succeed.
It's a good movie because of the acting. Streep makes you feel that this might have been what the real Florence was like. And she mimics Florence's singing exceptionally well. Grant is perfectly cast. Simon Helberg, who plays the accompanist Cosme McMoon, escapes his Big Bang Theory persona and holds his own against these two formidable talents, although I found his high voice annoying. On the other hand it was a pleasure to watch an actor actually playing a piano instead of faking.
I even liked the sound track by Alexandre Desplat - especially the Rota/Fellini-esque cue as the crowd streamed into Carnegie Hall. The best musical moment, in my opinion, happened just after the scene where Florence and Cosme play a Chopin prelude together. The scene cuts outside while the music transforms perfectly into the John Kirby arrangement of that same music; sad, mournful and very 40's.
Another oft-mentioned moment shows Florence singing while we hear her presumably as she heard herself. It's excellent singing, also sung by Meryl Streep. Here's where I suspect the common perception of Florence Foster Jenkins goes slightly awry.
It's been suggested that Florence's hearing was affected by the mercury treatments given for her syphilis. The movie shows her enjoying Lily Pons' excellent singing. It's possible that what Florence actually heard when she herself was singing was the same thing she heard when she listened to Lily, both performances would have been scrambled by a maladjusted auditory system.
In my twisted version, we would have heard Lily Pons in concert through Florence's ears rather than hearing Florence through Florence's ears. And in Florence's ears, Lily Pons would have seemed (to us) just as distorted and out of whack as Florence actually sounds. Maybe everything sounded different to Florence - her own audio universe. Florence set her own standard for excellence. Music sounded like that to her and she loved it.
It would be fascinating to learn the results of whatever audiometric tests Florence might have taken. (I've not heard of any.) You can anonymously test your own hearing right online - pitch acuity or tone deafness. Give it a whirl.
Like most movies Florence Foster Jenkins has a villain - a critic from the New York Post named Earl Wilson, portrayed by actor Christian McKay. His big line is "Music will not be mocked." On the other hand, maybe the real villain is any classical music fan, professional critic or not, who is just too serious about this stuff. (And, I've never understood how newspapers in the 1940's could run reviews of concerts the next morning - while newspapers of today can't.)
If you're interested in the real story behind the movie, here are two good sources I've found. The first is at a site called History Versus Hollywood. Also watch this documentary "Florence Foster Jenkins: A World Of Her Own" by Donald Collup. It's excellent. I enjoyed all the first person reminiscences about Florence and the real life confirmations of some of the stranger scenes in the movie.
Also don't miss the picture of Cosme McMoon with Arnold Schwarzenegger.
In this documentary, starting at about 1'14", several actual reviews of Florence's Carnegie Hall recital are read. I've transcribed them here:
NEW YORK POST by Earl Wilson Hey you music lovers, I heard Madame Jenkins. Mrs. Florence Foster Jenkins, 76, a widow lady of our town, has a great voice. In fact she can sing anything but notes. Lady Florence, or Madame Jenkins, as she likes to be called, if you are thinking of her as an artiste, indulged last night in one of the weirdest mass jokes New York has ever seen. I witnessed it. She gave a quavering recital at Carnegie Hall on a stage filled with flowers to resemble an expensive mortuary. She hired the hall. She filled it with three thousand people with an acute sense of humor who paid about $6000 for the privilege of snickering squealing and guffawing at her singing, which she took very seriously.
I sat in row T and around me I heard people saying "Shh. Don't laugh so loud." "Stick something in your mouth." "We were jackasses for coming." "She didn't hit three notes in that one." "Now that one wasn't bad at all." But Mrs. Jenkins today can brag that she probably packed in more than Lily Pons could. "Bravo!" roared the playful listeners. She heard some of them laughing. It came, she said, from those hoodlums. Which hoodlums? The hoodlums planted in the audience by her enemies of course. When she walked onto the stage in white and with a large white ostrich fan, she looked like a plump apparition. The mirth exploded when she took her place beside some flowers as big as a small tree. From all over the house came the laughs - at the wrong time. "I'm no music expert," Irving Hoffman (who isn't, either) remarked, "She hit only a few notes." The rest were promissory.
It was a great show she gave. Her accompanist, Cosme McMoon, leaped up and kissed her hand in courtly fashion after several numbers. She got herself mixed up flinging some rose petals and singing Clavelitos. The first one she undertook to throw stuck to the end of her finger. She kept trying to pitch it off and it was like some one frantically trying to divest oneself of some flypaper. Even the rose petals were playing. And, incidentally, she walked away with about four G's last night. Maybe the joke's on us. None of us walked away with anything except dizziness, a headache and a ringing in the ears.
=-=-=-=
NEW YORK SUN by Chester Thompson - It was largely a recital without voice. For the tones Madame Jenkins produced were tiny to the point of disappearing. Most of her singing was hopelessly lacking in a semblance of pitch. But the further a note was from its proper elevation, the more the audience laughed and applauded. And the upper notes, when they could be heard, had an infantile quality. But the audience always backed up its laughter with thunderous applause and everybody had a pleasant evening.
=-=-=-=
WORLD TELEGRAM by Robert Bagar The quarter tone touch. Of all the singers appearing before the public today, only Madame Jenkins has perfected the art of giving added zest to a written phrase by improvising it in quarter tones, either above or below the original notes. Think of the difficulties involved in making this possible. She was exceedingly happy in her work. It is a pity that so few artists are, and the happiness was communicated, as if by magic, to her hearers, who were stimulated to the point of audible cheeriness, even joyous laughter and ecstasy by the inimitable singing. A night of nights in the musical annals of this fair city.
So, what's the moral of the story?
It would appear that Florence Foster Jenkins was, as so many of us are, a devotee of the magical power of music - there's a strong positive psychic payback for listening, creating or performing music. She had ample determination and resources to overcome any obstacles to participating in music making. It was her right to pursue something that made her feel good.
As long as she followed her bliss in private, for her friends, things were okay. Florence's problems really began when she opened herself to public criticism. It can be difficult to accept the negative judgements of others. The public simply does not hear things the same way you do. Discovering this could kill you.
And yet, decades later, Florence is still fondly remembered. Her recordings still give us pleasure - much in the same way the audience got pleasure, as reported by these music critics, at Carnegie Hall. Besides this movie there are books and plays about her. Despite her naive cluelessness, her alternative musical interpretative style represents a very real, very unique talent. And that talent has been clearly validated by her audience over the years. Hers was the power to transmit happiness. The danger, either for music critic or coloratura soprano, comes when you take yourself just too seriously.
It's not impossible that Florence's fame will continue to grow. That has happened to other great musicians. J.S. Bach comes to mind. The question is not so much what they accomplished during their lifetime but how we, the listeners, regard those accomplishments right now.
the happiness was communicated, as if by magic, to her hearers, who were stimulated to the point of audible cheeriness, even joyous laughter and ecstasy by the inimitable singing.
Here's a photo of the crowd at Florence's Carnegie Hall recital:
As far as I can tell, this movie actually looks like the 1940s in New York City - in full color yet. Yeah, a few bloopers are listed on IMDB, the biggest being (I think) that parts of the story were compressed into a much shorter time span. The bustling New York street outside Florence's hotel is actually in Liverpool and who knows how much digital cleanup was required to send the exterior of Carnegie Hall back in time. Period costumes and technology and set design - all good. I laughed at Florence's battle with a roll of old-fashioned cello-tape.
In this video Meryl Streep mentions that the she recreated Florence's entire Carnegie Hall recital for a live audience and that it can be found in the extras section of the DVD. I'm looking forward to that. Also, in the same video Donald Collup talks about Florence's hearing problems, including tinnitus (a ringing in the ears.).
The actors Nina Arianda and Stanley Townsend who played the comic characters Agnes and Phineas Stark, real "New Yawkers", deserve a mention. The least musically "authentic" scene in the movie - in my opinion - was Florence's singing lesson with vocal coach Carlo Edwards played only for laughs (by actor David Haig). One wonders if, in real life, anyone ever suggested to Florence that she might want to practice matching pitches.
In this program of Florence's recital, note the name Pascarella Chamber Music Society. When I was studying at CalArts (in the 70s) there was a gentleman on the faculty named Cesare Pascarella. He and his brothers apparently performed quartets while Florence changed costumes. I guess those of us who knew Cesare were only one handshake away from Florence herself.
Years ago Leslie optimistically planted some strawberries in our back yard. The plants did not thrive in our hot dry summers, although one of them has survived against all odds. We thought it too would soon be a goner.
Recently that remaining plant was moved a few feet so it sits under an avacado tree. This new spot seems to have given it a new lease on life. It still doesn't produce much fruit, but the plant is flowering and is showing potential.
Here is the entire strawberry crop from the last two weeks.
The plant is in a big cloth pot. The bricks and the dog have nothing to do with this story.
I noticed a praying mantis on one of the leaves.
I shot some video of Mr. or Ms. Mantis. Watch in hi-def for less than a minute. Keep your eyes on the scurrying ants.
Here's a plant that didn't make that post. It's called a Rainbow Plant, very small and delicate and gorgeous. But still a carnivore.
I also shot lots of video. I was fascinated by the plants swaying in the wind. I spliced the least unsteady video segments into a sequence, rather at random, and began adding music.
Before long I had to put the project aside, only one third complete, in favor of real work.
I returned to the project several weeks ago and, to be honest, I didn't like what I heard. The music was way too busy for aimlessly bobbing plants. So I started decomposing - moving things around, adding silence, cutting things out, thinning the herd. (Or should I say 'thinning the heard'?)
Then, using the time-honored musical technique called Cut and Paste, I expanded what remained to the necessary length. After some tucks and tweaks, adjustments and embellishments, fiddling and fixing, and finally a lot of random transpositions both vertical and horizontal, I made the music fit the video.
"Good enough," I exclaimed to no one in particular. "Not your best work," I told myself in the mirror the next morning.
I could have spent hours more doing tucking and tweaking on Breezes in the Danger Garden and it would have remained, in my opinion, only good enough.
The issue here is my opinion.
I've been thinking a lot lately about the opinions I form of my own work. That's because self-evaluation is the only evaluation I get. No one else tries to understand or explain what I do. Fair enough.
The final product, my actual music, however it sounds, might be great art -- although it probably isn't. And how would I know one way or the other?
You'd think by now I'd have an instinct or a set of tools for evaluating the quality of music, developed over decades of writing, hearing and thinking about music. This is different than knowing what I like and what I don't like; I know that subjectively. My likes change over time. Knowing what's good or bad ought to be more objective, right? Permanent. Something others agree on.
So here's the problem: I no longer trust my ability to distinguish good from bad, even in my own music. Especially in my own music. That's why, when I read about the notion of illusory superiorityit made sense to me. The idea grabbed me and wouldn't let go.
Simply stated, it made me realize that I believe I'm a better composer than I actually am. A kind of self-protective mechanism. I guess it prevents me from getting depressed. In other words, a useful delusion. And, based on what the Internet tells me, many people in our society display this tendency in all sorts of ways.
Now it's not my job, as the writer of an ego blog like Mixed Meters, to explain issues of pop psychology to you. You could just do a Google search for "illusory superiority". Then you can read what other people have written and I won't need to try to explain it. And you won't need to try to understand it.
Meanwhile I've concluded that the notion that I think I'm better at my endeavors than I actually am probably applies to all my creative pursuits. And if you've read this post to the very end, it probably applies to you too.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed Breezes in the Danger Garden.
Lacking the time to create a blog post at the high standards you expect, I've created one at the low standards you also expect. Yes, it's an exhaustive compendium of pictures I've taken of myself.
Warning - if you don't like the F-word permanently incorporated into the presumed Republican candidate's name you might want to start your own blog.
Mixed Meters has a short history of predicting the political silly season. I'm always wrong. That won't stop me from trying again.
With their combined negative polling near 100%, the general election between Hillary and Donald Fucking Trump will be the most negative ever. As Election Day approaches all advertising will be negative and none of it will be accurate. On CNN Reince Preibus will claim that lying is perfectly acceptable in Presidential elections. No one will contradict him.
Both vice-president candidates will be white, male, Protestant politicians almost unknown outside their home state. In fact both will be from the same state or maybe adjacent states. Both will make Dan Quayle look over-qualified.
There will be campaign violence - lots of it - much more than 1968. Baton-wielding cops will fire tear gas at Occupy Wall Street and at Black Lives Matter. Someone who appears to be transgender (but isn't) will be beaten up while trying to take a shit.
Expect at least one fatality during this election cycle - some innocent person will die during a protest.
At the conventions both parties will have ugly platform fights: Republicans will obsess over gay wedding cakes and Democrats will argue about Israeli fascists.
At one point, everyone in the media - nutcases and reasonable pundits alike (although I admit it's sometimes hard to tell them apart) - will start to agree on some one thing. No, I don't know what it will be. This common wisdom will emerge the same way everyone said that Donald Fucking Trump would never get nominated. Once again everyone will be proven wrong.
Something Ted Nugent says will lead the news cycle for several days. Also Jorge Ramos.
Donald Fucking Trump will turn his campaign into a reality television show with behind the scenes cameras following his every move and showing off-the-cuff exchanges with his supporters. A nightly broadcast hosted by Sarah Palin and Ben Carson. Donald Fucking Trump will claim he is winning because the show gets high ratings.
Donald Fucking Trump, trying not to sound like a bigot, will simply allow the Democratic campaign advertising to remind his vile racist followers that he too is a vile racist. In spite of this he will accidentally keep insulting women and minorities almost every time he speaks. His supporters will love him all the more for it.
Hillary will deny ever changing her political positions but then abandon her recent pivot to the political right when she eventually realizes that she needs Bernie Sanders' help. Therefore, late in the campaign, she will desperately re-pivot to the left, talking incessantly about free college tuition. (It is too much to hope that "re-pivot" will become a generally known term.) Conflicts in Syria, Libya and Iraq will drop out of the news because ISIS leaders will be afraid of affecting the U.S. elections. Kim Jong-un, however, will keep launching satellites and missiles and saying provocative things leading Donald Fucking Trump to display a large prop red button which he will symbolically press to show his willingness to launch missiles at North Korea. He will offer to travel to Russia during the campaign. When Putin politely declines, he will offer to travel to Israel. Sheldon Adelson will politely decline.
The October Surprise: Someone will discover sex tapes for both Donald Fucking Trump and Hillary Clinton. Except Hillary's will be a fake edited by James O'Keefe. The size of Donald Fucking Trump's penis will not be revealed in the video. Donald Fucking Trump's hairdresser, however, will tell all in a TMZ interview.
Donald Fucking Trump will talk incessantly about Bill Clinton's sex life, comparing him repeatedly to Anthony Weiner. In the final Presidential debate Donald Fucking Trump will tell Hillary that no woman could ever be qualified to be President and her too-polite response will cause a drop in her poll numbers.
Donald Fucking Trump will finally release one year of tax returns less than a week before election day. His true net worth will be pegged at two billion, his income about $100 million, his tax rate at less that 5% and he gives virtually nothing to any charity except Planned Parenthood.
So, who will win . . .
The final result will be very close - there will be no big sweeps or political mandates in 2016. It's going to be a nail-biter. If Donald Fucking Trump finds his A game by:
figuring out how to act Presidential while constantly demeaning the Clintons,
using social media creatively and
managing to not say anything really really stupid
and Hillary turns in a lackluster performance by:
not getting her supporters excited,
getting indicted for email,
raising obscene amounts of money from big banks and criminal felons and
acting like a restrained, thoughtful, conventional boring politician
then Donald Fucking Trump will be our next president.
Electing Donald Fucking Trump as president would be very bad. He is a spoiled rich kid for whom the word affluenza fits perfectly. I passionately want Donald Fucking Trump to lose. He is the most worst candidate, so bad that even Hillary is a far better choice.
You can take very little solace in the fact that I'm always wrong about these things. Maybe the fear that he actually can win will motivate all of us to go out there and make sure he loses.
