Improvisation on April 21st, 2006

I've decided to add another improvisation to my blog tonight. I've been meaning to post more improvisations, but despite my initial enthusiasm for my Apple GarageBand software, I've subsequently decided that unless you use a lot of peddle the grand piano sound there is rather unfortunate. Anyway, although I'm most comfortable with a piano, I'm learning to appreciate the other sounds GarageBand has to offer. Actually, using other sounds both in the software, as well as just on my keyboard, is teaching me a lot about Bach's fugues. His fugues are so much easier to play with an organ sound. This shouldn't be surprising given that Bach was both one of the best organists of his day, and the composer of arguably the best organ music ever written, but I never adequately appreciated how much more freedom one has on an organ. It's much easier to change fingers in the middle of a chord, or to get out of a fingering puzzle (which can happen quite frequently with Bach), when you don't have to worry so much about getting the initial attack of your notes right.

Anyway, as usual, I don't claim this little improvisation at my keyboard is anything great, but I thought it sort of captured my mood tonight before going to sleep. I suppose a "mood" is not quite the right world. Occasionally, amid the tumult and insanity that happens every day, I sometimes get an intuition of some sort of constancy amid it all, and that intuition alone is somehow reassuring. This short improvisation sort of captured this feeling for me tonight, so well, in fact, that I've actually started transcribing a version of it into musical notation. Perhaps it will form the foundation for something interesting in the future. In the meantime, the link to the AAC file is here, the MP3 is here.

Of Dinner Parties and Dating

One of my favorite things to do is to host dinner parties. It's probably one of my favorite activities of all time - so much so that it is difficult for me to explain the extent of my enthusiasm for them. But to give you a clue, I often think that one of the best presents anyone could give me for a birthday or another gift-giving holiday would be the combination of an unlimited supply of groceries with forced manual labor in the kitchen. This is because I love to cook, and to spend a whole day in front of a stove preparing appetizers and entrées for people that I care about is complete bliss. Or another clue: when Babette Harsant wins a sizeable lottery in Babette's Feast (Babettes Gaestebud), and decides to spend all the money she won on a single extravagant meal, which she cooks almost entirely herself, I can't help but think, "Man, what a reasonable way to spend one's money!" Although I admit that if I won a $10,000,000.00 lottery, I wouldn't spend it all on food. But the only things that would stop me from dropping down the full check for groceries is my knowledge that (1) I don't find it enjoyable to cook for more than eight people without some assistance, and (2) a dinner party has to be the proper size, and although extravagance is permitted, it has to also be limited to the proper level for the occasion. I only do perfect dinner parties.

What is the proper level of extravagance? Well, it varies from party to party, but I'd guess that my average grocery bill would be about as much as it would cost to take the same amount of people out to eat at a nice restaurant instead, and some people can't understand why I go the hard route. "Why spend the whole day leaning over a stove when you could just go out to eat?" Well, the first response I have is that I love to cook, and until my fame enables me to walk into the kitchen of a restaurant and take over the operations of the place (I think Alain Ducasse has earned the right to do this), dinner parties have a distinct advantage for me. I suppose my love of cooking is rooted in my experience with my father, who was the chef at several restaurants, and so he spent most of his life cooking food. My mother did most of the cooking at the house, so I probably learned some inspiration from her as well. Further, I've worked on farms and handled fresh produce, I've been a dishwasher, a prep chef, a waiter, a caterer and even a sommelier at various restaurants, and so I've constantly had my love of cooking reinforced, especially as I learned new things at every job I worked at. I suppose my perfectionist tendencies also have had a role in my love of cooking. I am not a relentless perfectionist, but there is nothing I like more than tweaking a sauce to get just the right flavor to compliment the main dish, or to pick out the perfect wine to go with the appetizer, and so on. In short, I think of cooking as one of the fine arts, and don't consider it one step below painting, sculpture or music.

I also thrive on complexity when I cook, on the sorts of decisions that are usually left to the discretion of the kitchen in most restaurants. If I have a five person dinner party and someone can't digest gluten, another person is vegan, a third person doesn't eat pork, a forth person is allergic to peanuts, I think of it as so much more fun than a simple, "We'll eat anything you cook approach." Because under the former circumstances, I get to experiment and figure out things like the right proportion of corn meal, rice flour and baking powder to achieve the particular effect of wheat flour I require, or how to achieve the flavor of a rich beef stew with only mushrooms, seasoning, and wine. Anyway, for these reasons, it would be worth paying extra money to be able to cook the meal, so restaurants and dinner parties don't compare.

They also don't compare since the goals, and the teleology of both activities are so different. If you go to a restaurant, it may be that all the parties involved have the same goals in mind, but often they diverge. For instance, in a restaurant you might have the goal of lingering over the meal for the evening, but that isn't what your hosts are necessarily counting on. Their goal may well be to maximize the turnover of the tables, so the restaurant and the staff could make a decent profit that evening. Who wins this conflict? It's really up for grabs, and frequently your dinner will be down to two hours tops. But at my dinner parties, part of the goal is to keep people there having fun as long as possible. If the party starts at 7 PM, it should end around 1 or 2 in the morning. It is not unheard of for people to end up staying the night in my neighborhood in order to make it to the end of a dinner party. Of course, the goal isn't just to make the party last long, but to maximize it’s length in order to keep the conversation flowing, to keep everyone learning new things about food, music or their personalities, and to make the festival as memorable as possible.

Now, it takes a bit of skill to direct a dinner party to achieve these ends. You don't just have a pile of courses lined up in the other room and expect the party to work out. At each stage of the process the diners have different expectations, different goals, different ways to approach what they are doing. All these things have to be taken into account. Maybe it's worthwhile going through typical components one-by-one. Keep in mind that I don’t mean the following to be the way every dinner party should work out: it’s equally important to add variety and spice (as we shall see), but nonetheless, it is possible to discern a general framework that repeats itself often. This framework involves seven different components.

(1) Hors d'Oeuvres. When the party is beginning, it is inevitable that everyone arrives at a slightly different time. The quorum hasn't been assembled. Hence, I find my goal at the beginning of a meal is to provide sustenance for whoever is there, without depriving the people who aren't there of anything special. If there is wine, it shouldn't be the best of the selection. If there is food, it should not be filling enough to deprive people of their appetites, and it should also be of the nature to be consumed either over a long-period of time, or over a very short time, and there should be enough available so that late arrivals will still get a taste. Finally, since the chef is probably still cooking, the dishes should be self-sufficient requiring minimal specialty work to serve. It is convenient if it can all be prepared ahead of time.

(2) The appetizer. After everyone has sat down at the table, it’s time for me to make my first impression. And as the saying goes, you never have a second chance for a first impression. This is even more important for meals, since chances are that the first thing that is put down on the table will be the thing that people will remember most after the affair is over. Hence, it needs to be interesting, slightly surprising, and show a certain degree of cleverness that will make one’s guests feel curious about what will follow. I remember once having a dinner party in which one of my guests said that she absolutely did not like Brie, and wouldn't eat anything with it. Since she wasn't allergic to this particular cheese, I figured that it would be a worthwhile challenge to make her come to terms with Brie. Hence, I figured that her problems with the particular substance were its texture and tanginess. So I decided to produce Brie without these additions. I figured out that it was possible to whip up the Brie into a light mousse with some heavy cream, and thereby eliminate the features of the cheese she didn't like. Since whipped Brie needs a support, and preferably something with a slightly different texture, I served it on brittle crackers that I made from just sprinkling Parmesan cheese onto Silpat and baking it for ten minutes. The resulting dish had the lightness of mousse with the crustiness of hard crackers, and all without the tanginess and the strange texture Brie that is intermediate between cream and hard cheese. Of course she loved the dish and asked what it was. I was happy to announce that it was in fact Brie. For me, that was the perfect appetizer: it was light, challenging and interesting, and at the end of the evening it was one of the things that she, as well as other guests remembered most. All of this serves the purpose of the appetizer, to please the palate and to make everyone just want more.

(3) The pre-entree course. After the appetizer, it is customary to have some sort of pre-entrée course. Options include soup, salad, or a light entrée. The goal here is to take advantage of the increased expectation of what is to come next, and to provide something satisfying and slightly filling, while at the same time, not achieving the absolute creativity of the appetizer or the nearly absolute filling-ness of the main entree. Soup and salad are nice here, because they generally have reliable textures, and a certain straightforward appeal that contrasts nicely with the surprise and indirect manner of the appetizer. I have on occasion followed the Italian fashion and have served an entrée here, but one toned down slightly either in heartiness or size from the main course. Gnocchi is nice, as is a pasta dish, or a risotto. After the pre-entrée course, I like my audience to be slightly satisfied, and although not full, requiring a few moments to digest before the next meal comes. This gives me time to plate the main course. In short, the goal of the pre-entrée course is to keep people wanting more, while beginning to satisfy their long-term cravings.

(4) The main course. Unlike the earlier dishes, the main course should be filling and hearty. It should eliminate everyone's hunger, while still leaving just enough room for after courses and desert. Unlike the other dishes, it also should have several different components or textures so that diners can alternate between the pleasures of something crisp and something fluffy, or something difficult to cut and requiring minimal effort. At the end of the main course it is time to sit back and relax. It is here that group conversation flows the easiest. Conversations that began with small talk about the appetizers and food, that progressed to topics that were interesting during the pre-entree course, now should reach their fullness, before smaller groups at the table break off from the main conversation to talk amongst themselves. Wine should flow freely here (well, perhaps everywhere else too), and no one should feel rushed. Seconds should be available for those diners with more appetite, but there shouldn't be any felt obligation to eat more than you wish. In short, it’s important to give everyone what they want, and what is suitable for their particular bodies.

(5) The coaster. The little squares of pottery or cardboard that we put under our cups and glasses started out from far nobler stalk. The original coaster was a small silver dish that an object such as a wine decanter sat on. This item would "coast" around the edge of table like a coastal vessel might coast along the shore of a continent. The word "coast" also sounds relaxing, bringing to mind the thrill of coasting along a road on a bicycle and not having to peddle. I think that this is the right way to approach the immediate after-dinner item. This could be cheese and bread, or perhaps a salad, or some appetizer-like thing that guests can pick at. As the items make their rounds people have the chance to reflect on what they've eaten, and to begin to come together again as a group before the glory of the dessert. Perhaps a little more explanation is in order. During the main course people eat at their own rate, consuming the appropriate amount of food for their bodies and hunger. In the same way, conversations seem to break off into smaller groups as people pursue issues that have come up in the course of the night. You need to have some little something that can enable people to continue on their separate ways before the final pièce d'résistance lands on the table. Of course, it’s unnecessary to have food here: the last of the wine might be sufficient, as would a good bottle of sherry or brandy (the traditional coaster). Finally, at the end of the coaster, coffee and tea requests should be taken. In my house this is generally a rather elaborate affair since I serve everything from Turkish coffee and espresso, to over fifty different kinds of tea. Hence time has to be given in order that everyone can make the right decision. In short, the goal of the coaster is to keep things alive after the excitement of the meal has passed.

(6) Dessert. Now the group needs to come together before the pièce d'résistance: the dessert. The goal of a dessert is to be the icing on the cake, the one flavor that you want to be left lingering on everyone's pallets. Sweet and pleasing flavors are great, like chocolate, sweetened fruits, or creams and custards. This is the flavor that guests will have as they either go home or continue to talk and relax. I usually go for things that are impressive, overwhelming, and intoxicating. This could be everything from a five level Dacquoise to a simple box of chocolates. In short the goal of the dessert is to leave sweet flavors lingering in the mouth.

(7) Finally, there need to be provisions for everyone who wants to stay a couple more hours shooting the breeze. In one of my best dinner parties, this is the time everyone went out on the porch to drink sherry and enjoy the stars. Sometimes, a movie might come out here (or perhaps after the coaster), or some favorite pieces of music can be listened to with the sort of concentration that only comes from sitting with dark skies. Coffee and tea are convenient because when they run out, more can be made on demand. One of the great advantages of a successful dinner party is that you have a group of happy people to shoot the breeze with.

Of course, there are other things to keep in mind. I like to approach the whole evening with some sort of theme. For instance, one dinner party had a mushroom theme, and in almost every course there was just a little bit of mushroom prepared in a slightly different fashion. In the form of a tart for the appetizer, raw and dowsed with vinegar in the salad, and the gills of the portabellas were reduced in a liquid and strained to make the background pallet of the sauce for the homemade portabella and goat cheese ravioli. Although many of my guests may not have noticed it, the whole evening was an experiment in the various different ways a mushroom can be prepared. I think of these sorts of details as the things that really elevate a meal to an art form. Other nights I've used single spices to link the meal, such as curry or pepper, and on more than one occasion it has been garlic.

I suppose that one of the other neat features of a dinner is that it is ephemeral. It is enjoyed at the moment, but like the banners that Cristo flew in New York, they are only retained in people's memories.

Now, I should say that the inspiration for today's post came from two fronts: both from my interest in cooking, as well as my interest in dating. Here’s where the real fun starts. A few days ago I was spending some time trying to figure out what sort of restaurant to take my latest date. At first I did a few searches on the best restaurants in the area, but decided that it would have felt very awkward having a first date at some stuffy restaurant where you have to sit in a particular way and thereby increase the inherent awkwardness of the first meeting. So I needed to find a slightly more casual, relaxing sort of restaurant. I then began exploring restaurants in Chicago, and I admit I got carried away. Until this moment I suppose I never realized just how many terribly interesting restaurants I haven't been to in town. And the recipes and reviews of the restaurants were intoxicating. I finally narrowed it down to a few that I really wanted to try:

Le Lan - the new restaurant opened by Arun (One of my favorite chefs in Chicago whose Thai recipes are so good that not even Charlie Trotter messes with them when he uses them in his cookbooks) Anyway, this one of the restaurants I'm most curious about.

L'Etoile's emphasis on seasonal foods, prepared in a style that really brings out the inherent qualities of the ingredients.

Blackbird- one of the top 50 restaurants in the United States, but not quite as expensive or snooty as Trotter's or Everest.

North Pond - a really pretty little restaurant on the north side of Lincoln Park, which has the attraction of adding moonlit strolls to a satisfying meal. I have to say that if the reviews of the place are correct, the dinners there must be truly inspired, because the head chef combines things I would never consider combining! (e.g. venison can work well, but do you really need to add a chickory coffee reduction?)

At the end of the search I was ready to pick one of these places, and then I realized that in coming up with this list, I completely forgot about how important it is to pace a relationship, since just like dinners, it’s possible to take a relationship a little too fast or a little too slow. But it struck me that the analogy with a dinner went even further than this, and that I was about to make the mistake of replacing what should be an appetizer with a main course. Perhaps parallel to the seven stages of a dinner, there are the seven stages of a relationship? It seems to be a thought worth exploring. So let's give the analogy a try.

(1) The hors d'oeuvres. It occurs to me that the part analogous to the hors d'oeuvres are the initial moments of contact. These might be the telephone calls you need to have in order to set up the date, or perhaps a posted profile on an online dating site. It’s important to know that this is not dating in a proper sense, but rather the first few off moments that you and your date will share before meeting one another. Hence, these first conversations should be casual, and they have to fit comfortably into one another's schedules. You also don't want to reveal too much here, since you haven't even met the other person. She or he might be completely different than you imagine him or her to be, so it’s important not to be too invested in your ideal. But it's convenient if some aspects of the date can be prepared ahead of time.

(2) The appetizer. I think the analogue to the appetizer is the first few dates. Like the appetizer in a dinner this is your chance to make a first impression, and you (almost) never have a second chance to make a first impression. The whole goal is to make a lasting impression in the other person's mind, but to do it in the light-hearted, flirtatious manner. There also should be some surprise, but without too much commitment. Hence, unlike my initial inclination to go to one of the best restaurants in Chicago, I should have been aiming for something a little less: a particular restaurant that you like very much, and that you can depend upon for its food and atmosphere, and that maybe is a little quirky. I often go to first dates at the Fox & Obel in Chicago. The place consistently has very good food, but it’s presented in a rather causal light-hearted fashion. It's a café in a grocery store, after all: but the atmosphere is more like a restaurant. I suppose that in lieu of a first dinner, this might be the time to meet in a coffee or teashop. The goal is to play with those first few sentiments that each of you brings to the table. All of this serves the purpose of the appetizer stage of a relationship: to please the palate and to make everyone just want more.

(3) The pre-entrée course. Chances are that the first date or two was a little awkward. Ideally, you've gotten over that awkwardness and the two of you are off to wonderful things. Some physical contact would be nice here. I think that this is analogous to the substance component of a meal. Maybe I reveal my gender in saying this – I'm a man after all – but I hardly think that only one sex is interested in a little action here. The thing to keep in mind is that this isn’t all the substance of a relationship, or at least not all the substance of a good healthy relationship. Another aspect of the substance part of the atmosphere is meaningful interactions: you’ve got to go past the small talk. During the appetizer stage everything might have been confined to small talk about the restaurant, the location, how the two of you met, etc. But in order for a relationship to really work, the conversation has got to be more meaningful, and hopefully now that you're completely comfortable with the other person, this will be easy. Any question or issues that you think is significant or interesting in your own life can kick it up a notch. I suppose more important than what the questions are, are how they are approached. There’s got to be seriousness from time to time, the actual interchange of interesting and meaningful thought. All of this is substance. And what's more it’s at this stage, the substance stage, when the relationship seems to break free of the gimmicks that brought the couple together in the first place. No longer is it the fact that you're dating a lawyer, or a doctor, or that someone likes the Animaniacs, or that he’s just a gorgeous hunk. Now the relationship has to go beyond any particular features of you and yours. I once had a dinner party in which a guest was asked why he was dating the woman he happened to be dating, but who could not make the party. The expectation was that he'd rattle off her abilities, or features of her personality that he liked, or interests they share, all in some easy and digestible format. But he couldn't name any particular things, and was honestly tongue-tied. Many people thought that this was indicative of his lack of meaningful connection with this particular woman, but I took it to be a sign that they had reached a rather deep and meaningful stage in their relationship, and so it seemed to suggest to me the strength of their relationship rather than the weakness of it. For it was no longer the case that the meaningful parts of their relationship were determined by particular superficial features of their personalities, but it was something that transcended either of them in the strict sense of the term. This is substance. This is the first entrée. Part of the goal of the pre-entrée course is to keep people wanting more, while beginning to satisfy those long-term cravings.

(4) Main Course. So, there is already some substance, and with the main course this only grows. The couple has gone beyond the superficial he-can-do-this, she-can-do-that sort of mentality. Conversations have become deep, and perhaps the initial excitement of coming together has diffused into a background sense of contentment and belonging. But at this stage it occurs to me that the practical nature of the relationship begins to emerge even more forcibly. Chances are the couple is living together, or at least spending a lot of time at each other’s apartments. In addition to the romantic sides of their relationships, the practical nature of the relationship begins to come through. Love is now expressed in routine day-to-day activities ranging from the preparation of meals, to the cleaning of the toilet. Sure, there’s still interest and creativity, but these practical things have to be dealt with. Also, it's important for the couple to deliberately spend some time apart. Just like the conversation during the main course of a dinner begins to fragment but come back together, one's love relationship divides sometimes and comes together at others, but more on this in a moment. Things are more complicated during the main course, and the stakes are a little higher. A lot of people end up bailing at this point. Maybe they took things too fast and are satiated by the time the main course comes around. Or perhaps the flavors of the appetizer and first-entrée mix poorly? Perhaps there is another dinner party that looks like more fun? I suppose there are now restaurants that only serve appetizers, maybe some people think its better to stick with the small things. But even if the main course is a lot of work, it can keep two people afloat for years on end. In short, it is important to give everyone what they want at this stage, and what’s suitable for their particular bodies.

(5) Coaster. The first time I tried to write this post, I was thinking all big-picture, so I was looking for the coaster as an after-dinner sort of affair, and since dinner is the substance part of the relationship, the obvious place to look for the coaster were in those days after kids have left for college. That's a plausible way of pushing the metaphor. But, at the same time there are coaster moments even in the prime of one's life. That is, Bob Nozick notwithstanding, there has got to be some variety of intensity to a relationship. One can't be deeply obsessed with someone 24/7, and no matter how much two people are in love, they're going to eventually need some time apart. Often our society is structured in sort of a way that this is inevitable. Both members of the couple - or maybe in some circumstances only one - go off to a job during the day, and thereby spend some time with other people. Or, if two people are working at the same job, one has to go for a solo drive every now and then to unwind. Further, there are going to be times when other women and men begin to look interesting, or when one would rather spend a night out with the guys rather than an intimate evening with one's significant other. Successful relationships have to find ways of dealing with these moments. Perhaps it's being able to live a fantasy life through your significant other, or perhaps it's just letting the other person work things out. Don't get me wrong, when I say that a man will get interested in other women or vice versa, I'm not advocating infidelity or anything - although who knows maybe that is a real option for some couples. Personally, I find it difficult to even be attracted to someone who is seeing someone else, and I know enough about open relationships to know they aren't the ideal thing for me to be in. Anyway, blame my intuitions on my Catholic upbringing if you want. The point is that there will be times that a relationship will fragment, and each person will do his or her own thing, but it’s important to still preserve a sense of unity. In short, to adopt the metaphor, the goal of the coaster is to keep things alive even after the excitement of the meal has passed.

(6) Dessert. What is the dessert of a relationship? Well, to quote the English translation of Sex and Lucia (i.e. Lucía y el sexo), "It's full of advantages." Some of these are obvious - a decent sex life for instance - but some are not so obvious. I'll let you fill in what would be the dessert stages of a relationship. But I will add that there seem to be obvious corollaries to coasters. I mean, just as there are times that you drift apart, in a good relationship there will be times to come back together again. I remember fondly a moment when I saw someone I was dating across a lawn, and I thought to myself, "Damn, that gorgeous woman is dating me." Moments like this can keep a flame alive. In short the goal of the dessert is to leave sweet flavors lingering in the mouth.

(7) Shooting the breeze? And yes, there are moments of just shooting the breeze. I remember my parents having long conversations every night before they went to bed, which I could actually overhear through the thin bedroom wall. At the time I actually found it annoying, since despite the fact that they were whispering the conversation did keep me up. But in retrospect those conversations about a day's activities seemed an important part of their relationship, and I know that such pillow talk has always been an important part of just about any meaningful relationship I've been in. Maybe here the metaphor and the reality converge. One of the great advantages of a love relationship is that you do have someone to shoot the breeze with.

As I write this it also occurs to me that sex itself can take very different forms, and that for each of the courses of a dinner, or stages in a relationship, one might be able to find a correlative sort of sex. But, I've rattled on long enough now, so I'll leave it to you to figure out how to apply the analogy to your sex life, except to say that there definitely seems to be a difference between appetizer sex, and dinner sex, and if you can't make those sorts of distinctions then it occurs to me that you probably have a very unrealistic sex-life. But, hey, if it works, go with it.

Well, this has been an interesting little exercise in analogies. I suppose the last thing to say is that although I've described some analogies here, things almost never happen according to some exact plan, and it is far better that they don't. Sometimes I'll throw a dinner party that will be composed of a single course. Other times there may be far more than seven components to a meal. Sometimes dinners have to be rushed to make a movie, and so the sacue can't be made perfect. Similarly, some couples manage to start out in a deep and meaningful relationship from their first one-night stand, while other couples might not feel really comfortable with one another until late in life (Tevya's relationship in Fiddler on the Roof comes to mind here, "Do I love you . . .") Sometimes a couple's first role in the hay can be deep and meaningful, and sometimes the fact that it's not is the point. I suppose all of this is to justify my initial thought that when you choose a restaurant for a first date it should probably be an appetizer affair and not even a pre-entree affair. But what do I know, I'm still single. But I'm working on it. I have yet to find the catch of my days.

Reflections on The Seven Samurai

I recently watched one of my favorite movies of all time, Akira Kurasawa's The Seven Samurai (Shichinin no samurai). After several years of deciding that it was too expensive to purchase - it is a part of the Criterion Collection so it is $35-$40.00 for one DVD, which always struck me as a little excessive - I finally decided that it was time to own it.

I say it is one of my favorite movies of all time, but I wonder if anyone else has had the experience I have with my favorite movies? I go through spells when the movie seems absolutely perfect, and I'm just in awe of the masterpiece, and then I see the movie again at another time, and it strikes me as disturbing, or not entirely convincing, inauthentic. For instance, I often cite La Double Vie de Véronique as my favorite movie of all time. I just love the cinematography, the way the movie effectively builds up to climaxes, like the scene when Véronique and Veronika almost meet, the music and how well integrated it is into the plot, and the mystery that is created with all the details that pose an endless series of open questions: Why did he put that there?, What does that mean? The first time I saw the movie I left it with such an incredible amount of enthusiasm, that I ended up watching it again on the very same night, and a half dozen times afterwards with hardly any decrease in fascination. But then, a few years later I went back to it and found it discomforting, and even a little disturbing. Some of the sexual asymmetries struck me as troubling, and I even felt it was overdone at moments. But, I suppose the lesson to draw from this is that there are no pleasures in life that are completely fulfilling, everything wanes from time to time.

I actually had a little bit of this feeling when I was watching The Seven Samurai again last night. For instance, some of the crowd scenes seemed less convincing than I remembered. A small detail, yes, but one that I had never observed before. Yet, even so, I ended up being genuinely moved by the movie again. I tried to describe to a friend a few weeks ago what I found remarkable about this movie. The first thing that comes to mind is just what a well-told story it is. Kurasawa is the consummate storyteller. He knows precisely the pace that things should move so that his audience stays interested in the story, but at the same time he manages to prevent the feeling that everything is moving too fast. The fact that I still have this reaction after having watched it dozens of times seems a testimony to the precision of its forward momentum. Many movies I've watched seem to move at the right speed initially, and then on the second or third viewing they seem too fast. I suppose other movies have given me the opposite impression: they seem too fast and then after seeing them a few times they seem OK. An instance of the latter would be the first installment of Jackson's Lord of the Rings, and an instance of the former would be Nirgendwo in Afrika, which is still one of my favorite movies despite the fact that the pace feels uneven now.

Another feature of Kurasawa's storytelling ability is the fact that he also is an expert at appealing to the audience's curiosity. For instance, Kurasawa makes very effective use of curiosity in the long scene in the beginning when Kambei, who may well be considered the lead character in the drama first appears. Yes, we only meet the lead character after twenty minutes of the movie have passed, and when he appears, we have no idea who he is. And this impression is reinforced by the fact that Kurasawa presents us with a band of spectators who also have very little knowledge about what's going on. The constitution of the crowd in itself is quite remarkable. It includes the villagers in search for their samurai, and Kikuchiyo and Katsushiro, two characters who will also be significant in the movie. And we learn so much about the characters in this sequence. For one thing, we are introduced to most of their mannerisms: the impulsive and excited Katsushiro who leans forward with excitement at the action. The odd Kikuchiyo - masterly played by Mifune - who stands in contraposition to the samurai in the way he embraces his emotions, and his emotional conflict and lack of control are conveyed through the abruptness and unconventionality of his motions. And the careful and calm Kambei who says little, but nonetheless knows exactly what to do. I suppose this is another thing that Kurasawa manages to elevate to an art in itself: the mannerisms of the characters. Some of these: like Kambei rubbing his head, Gorobei rubbing his chin, or Manzo with his awkward poses are constructed like character motifs in an opera - they are epithets that quickly reveal the characters emotions, thoughts, and personalities. I wonder if Kurasawa's ability here is at all linked to aspects of traditional Japanese drama, since these dramas also use small hand gestures and motions to convey different character types? Just a thought.

And then there is the cinematography. I've always been in awe of Kurasawa's use of the camera. With very primitive technology at his disposal, he manages to create completely convincing effects - or rather effects that are perfectly placed between the twin poles of realism and stylized drama. The rain sequence in Rashomon comes to mind here, and we have similar rain scenes here. But the most distinctive thing about the camera work is how the camera seems to linger over the scenes. There are moments when almost nothing is going on in the scene, and yet the camera stays focused on the characters for what seems like a half a minute. But this is the perfect compliment to the approach that Kurasawa takes, since it allows us to absorb all the mannerisms of the characters, their facial expressions, the darkness of the scene, the sparseness of the set. One scene that really comes to mind in this regard is the scene when we first meet Kyuzo. This is the scene when Kurasawa wants to convey to us the incredible skill of this swordman who will have a major role it what follows. We first meet him in a rather grand occasion. He has agreed to fight another samurai in the central square of the town. A large audience develops around the two samurai, including Kambei and Katsuchiro. It is actually through Kambei that Kurasawa teaches us a little about how he wants us to view his characters. For initially, the differences between the two samurai are not particularly evident. They both fashion their practice swords in the same manner, they both enter the "ring" with equal confidence, and we might miss the difference between them. But by focusing on Kambei's eyes and the attention that he gives both swordsman we are taught to look at the smallest details of the two samurai. And to instill the point even further Katsushiro's attention is divided between the ensuing bout and Kambei's attention. And Kambei looks over the two swordsman equally, but then becomes fascinated by one of them in particular. So Katsushiro is also fascinated by this particular swordsman, and so we as an audience become fascinated. Then we note the differences. The fact that Kyuzo stands carefully and firmly in his position full of confidence, while his opponent is just slightly hasty, and holds a slightly more casual, less confident form. Then the first exchange occurs, and we might well draw the same conclusion as Kyuzo's opponent: it was a tie. But we don't, even if we missed the small difference in technique. And there is a difference, since as Michael Jeck (in his excellent commentary that comes with the DVD) points out, Kyuzo's opponent makes the same mistake Katsushiro does when he first attempts to hit the various samurai on the head with the stick in the trial scenes: he leads with his arms. You can make the same mistake in squash and tennis actually: it is very important in most racquet sports - or in fencing for that matter - that you use your body weight to your advantage rather than just using your arms. The fact that even these details are worked out with precision in the film is a testimony to Kurasawa's genius. But even if you missed this detail it is quite clear who we are supposed to be in awe of. We learn it from Kambei's attention, Katsushiro's attention on Kambei, and the slight difference in the samurai's stances. It's funny, in this entire sequence, hardly a single word is spoken. Almost the only complete line is when Kambei says before the final exchange: "It's so obvious." It is almost a self-referential line since not only does Kambei seem to be saying that the difference between the two is clear, but Kurasawa is almost asking us to reflect on his direction: haven't I made if obvious? But what a glorious scene, and the fact that it is presented in a rather taciturn manner is a good way of introducing the taciturn character of Kyuzo. The duel between two samurai, a sequence of more than five minutes with hardly a sentence being spoken, and yet in the course of it we instantly learn who Kyuzo is, and we learn to respect him, and what's more Kurasawa teaches us how to watch his movie.

I suppose another thing about this scene is it's realism. Unlike a Jackie Chan movie (And don't get me wrong, I do like Jackie Chan films), in which we see the most fantastic fighter in the whole movie do acrobats, and jumps, and motions that no human would possibly do in a real fight, here the violence is quick, and one gets the impression that although the samurai are willing to resort to violence, it's a last resort, because they recognize that there are real consequences to their action. How different this is from contemporary movies like The Last Samurai! Compared to Kurasawa that movie is a joke. Sorry, I suppose some people probably like Zwick's film very much. I suppose one could even argue that some of the bouts in that movie are more realistic in Zwick's film since they are not over in single strikes like most of the bouts in The Seven Samurai. But what realism Zwick's film gains from these details is lost in how distant Zwick's characters seem from real life. They just are so cliché and when there are emotional changes these changes just seem contrived. In contrast, Kurasawa says a lot of things about ordinary life in the course of his film, and his characters are far from cliché with rich and distinct personalities. If an emotional change occurs in Kurasawa's film, I can't help but see it as firmly rooted in the character's identities rather than in some contrivance of the plot.

And there are so many other things to talk about in this movie. The casting: just how perfect each of the characters is cast. The range of emotion: from the depth of despair in the beginning, to the laughter that Kikuchiyo provides, to the thrill of when Kyuzo comes back in the morning, to the shame Katsuchiro and Shino feel, to the anger that Kambei shows when several of his men desert, to the horror when we see that a prisoner of war is going to be brutally killed by an old lady in the village.

And finally, this movie seems deep with significance. It seems to raise questions about poverty, fairness, when violence is acceptable, when it is not, of the greed of some people, the cowardice of others, and the impulsiveness of yet others. A lot of issues about life can be seen as important elements in this movie. The movie also seems to capture some of the most admirable features of what I might call a "samurai approach" to the world we find in Miyamoto Musashi and others. I actually find some aspects of this approach quite appealing, and I often have recourse to samurai metaphors when I talk about what it is like to study academic philosophy. Yes, it sounds a little like a joke, but I'm actually serious. It seems like a lot of things that are valued in this samurai approach can also be applied to academic study. For instance, I have a lot of respect for people who honestly care about the craft of philosophy when they are engaging in it: people who argue more for the learning that is possible through argument than for any superficial victory one might have in winning one. Compare Kambei's description of Kyuzo: "A man interested only in perfecting his skill." And also I tend to value the importance of choosing your opponents wisely (contrast the samurai who challenges Kyuzo to a real duel when he is not up to it), and not using excessive force when it is unnecessary. If you are in an argument with a student about the limitations of first-order logic, you don't bring up Gödel's proof, but something that the student could actually understand, even if it isn't entirely satisfactory in its detail. But if you are going to argue the same question with a logician, you have to be more careful. In fact, now that I think about it, it is striking how important the student-teacher relationship is to the approach to life taken in Kurasawa's movies, and indeed how important it is for much of the early literature of China and Japan, so perhaps the analogy with teaching philosophy is even closer than it appears. But the analogical considerations I mention could be brought to bear in just about any occupation that offers some space for self-improvement. Even in squash a value is put on doing something quickly and efficiently with precisely the amount of effort it requires.

Well, so these are just some thoughts about one of my favorite movies. If you haven't seen it, you should. Although as with all things, it can be disappointing if it is built up with too much hype. So, let me close by saying it is just a samurai movie.

Christmas 2005

Well, when I started this blog, the primary purpose was to share pictures and stories of my adventures with my internationally distributed group of friends, and despite this fact, I've almost never posted any of these adventures. The simple reason is it just took so long for me to get the photos developed, and scan them into my computer that by the time I could reasonably complete the project the moment had passed. But now I have a handy little digital camera that is small enough to bring just about anywhere. So, I can finally let you all know what I'm up to from time to time.

My latest adventures were two weeks in New York, with a quick escape for Christmas in Vermont. It was great to be in New York again, since it has become my favorite city. I suppose this is only natural since I grew up five hours away, and I spent many weeks in college traveling down to the city for running races, symphony rehearsals, operas and shows. A lot of people describe New York as an "exciting" place, and I suppose it is. But the adjective I would use to describe it is "comfortable." People seem more direct and interesting, service is so much better than in Chicago, and you can have deli sandwiches delivered at 3 AM. That makes it my kind of town, and just hanging out in it can be cathartic. My sister's place is also in a great neighborhood, just a few dozen feet from Central Park

on the upper West Side. Hence, if I want to go to Central Park I can be there in less than a minute. It has turned out to be a great place to study, although it was a bit too cold for that this last trip.

Here are some highlights from my trip. One fun afternoon was spent at Anna's apartment in midtown. Anna is a classical singer specializing in the Spanish repertoire, and she has a fantastic apartment, just off of Time's Square. As the photos below show, it is very difficult to imagine better views in New York than those from her balcony.

If you look to the south you have an unobstructed view all the way past the Statue of Liberty (which looks very, very small from this vista).

If you look to the southeast you get a perfect view of the Empire State Building.

I can honestly say that these are some of the best views I've seen of the city. Yes, I've been to the top of the Empire State building among others, but those buildings are just a little too tall. You can see everything below you, but you lose a sense of proportion and relative size. But from Anna's building you're in the middle of things. But many of these views might not last forever since a new high-rise will be going up to the south. It's a real shame, but at least it won't obstruct the view of the Empire State Building. Anyway, we had a great time talking about Goya, Granados, and listening to Alicia de Larrocha, and spending time with her cats. I decided then and there I needed to learn Spanish in the next few years. I mean, it's funny, I've studied so many languages, but I've never studied what is probably the most useful language to be speaking in the United States other than English. And maybe this will be a prelude to a trip to Mexico. I've actually never been there, but the tales I've heard of the regional cuisine there really inspire me. Italo Calvino's Under the Jaguar Sun comes to mind. But, in general, I've always thought that Mexican cuisine is one of the great untapped cuisines of the United States. I say untapped, because Mexican cooking has an extraordinary range of flavors and techniques, but most restaurants in the U.S. can't even begin to express this range. The most expensive Mexican restaurants in the United States seem to actually err more than the cheaper ones, since they make the cooking just a little too French - I mean, don't get me wrong, I love cooking French food and think that no other culture has such rich tradition and such exacting techniques for manipulating the ingredients as the French, and so I cook it often - one quarter I even managed to cook the cuisine of a different region of France every week, paired with a wine from the same region. But I think it's true that when you apply too many French techniques to Mexican food it just seems to lose some of its vitality. As a consequence, I've had some of the best Mexican food I've ever had at complete dives. But, anyway, I digress.

Speaking about food, I also should mention that I had probably the best Korean dinner I've ever had at Do Hwa in Chelsea, and one of the best risottos I've ever had at Épices (although the second time we went back it wasn't quite as good). Two restaurants I'd highly recommend. Maybe I'll add a restaurant review section to this blog at some point. Funny, this post is largely revolving around food, but then so did my trip to New York.

On Christmas Eve I made a quick trip up to the mountains of Vermont. Not many photos to share from the adventure, since, well, I didn't have a camera with me until the ride home. But we did somehow get there despite the fact that our rental car broke down on the way. And we had a wonderful dinner at the Inn at Sawmill Farm. The Inn is perhaps an anamoly. It is a converted barn that was transformed into an inn and restaurant, and then it was stocked with one of the greatest wine cellars in the world, complete with many years of Petrus and Château Latour. When I was a teenager I used to enjoy telling people that my little 600 person town in Vermont had almost as many top wine cellars as New York City (The other inn in my town with a similar reputation, The Hermitage, has unfortunately now closed). Anyway, we didn't have a Petrus '66 on our table, but we did have some good food and absolutely fabulous bread and butter. Yes, we all ordered elaborate preparations of duck, venison, and what have you, and they were prepared well, but my most vivid gastronomical memory of that dinner was just the quality of the rolls and butter. I wonder if someday I'll start a list of the best places for rolls and butter. The white bread at Épices on the upper West Side certainly would make the list.

Back in the city we made preparations for New Year's in New York. The preparations were a little difficult to make since my sister and her beau were leaving the next morning at 6 AM for Deer Valley, Utah, and I myself was leaving at 10 AM for Chi-Town. Add to this the fact that my friend Zarya (a.k.a. the opera-singing neurologist) might or might not be coming from Montréal for the festivites, and some friends of my sister who might or might not make the trek from Brooklyn, and you have the beginnings of a logistical nightmare. Even so, we seemed to have a reasonably good time. Five of us (Ari Lauren and her friend Jenny joined us) had dinner at the Rosa Mexicano in Lincoln Center at a quarter to 10. We were actually amazed that we made it there at all since we only made the reservation an hour or so beforehand. The demand for a holiday table at Rosa Mexicano must have been down a bit this year. The place was all dressed up for the holidays, complete with a DJ on the first floor. The food was quite good, although not good enough to overcome my previous assessment of Mexican restaurants in the U.S - but the tableside guacamole was a real hit. We then rushed out to the meet Zarya - who in fact made it to town in time for the fireworks - and then after watching the running race in Central Park (which I definitely want to run in sometime in the next few years), we went back to Alexis' for grappa and Steely Dan.

Actually, Steely Dan is worth an aside. Alexis put it on the stereo since the band was a subject of much conversation at dinner, with Ari saying it was one of the main influences on her music. I admit that I've never really been into the band, despite the fact that it's a band from my alma mater. But I have to say, that when the lights are down low, and you have a decent stereo, Steely Dan can really set a nice mood. And hanging out with my sister's friend Ari at the same time has also inspired me to try to write some rock music of my own. It's sort of funny, I was actually seriously into music composition at one point in my life. As a high school student I was really thinking about becoming a composer for a while - this was in my conducting phase - and I even went to Carnegie Mellon as a high school student to study with Leonardo Balada among others. But when I was composing I was writing opera scenes, elaborate piano works, and modern classical works for woodwinds that were too complicated, I admit, for a high school student such as myself to complete - although I suppose I did manage to produce a couple of things that I liked. But writing rock music seems like it would be a breeze in comparison! I mean come on, I-IV-V with a reoccurring baseline can produce masterpieces! I think I might even be good at it if I can manage to get my jazz piano down, or pick up a guitar again. Anyway, I actually fooled around with itunes the other night and found myself creating all sorts of interesting beats. Maybe I'll put a few of them online in the near future. Although this last evening was a little goofy. I mean, I found myself writing all sorts of songs with a new age feel. I really don't like "new age" music, but I have to say it is a lot of fun to create with an electric keyboard.

The rest of the evening was spent trying to find a place to dance with Zarya and her friends, but the only success we ended up having was a strange little dive of a bar in Chelsea, with an audience that consisted entirely of transvestites and guys who had nothing better to do than stare in our general direction. But even in these circumstances I was beginning to dance a little, something perhaps partly induced by the tequilas. It's funny that I've hardly danced at all in the past few years. I mean, growing up, I was that seven year old who couldn't stop dancing at weddings, in high school most of my love relationships revolved around dancing, and in college not only did I study Scottish country dancing, and ballroom dancing, but also what might be described as intensive classical flamenco (I still have the boots). I suppose I just haven't found myself in particularly inspiring circumstances in the last few years. Zarya, who is quite attractive, was beginning to persuade me to begin again, but alas, a few minutes later and we were all back on the streets again. That is perhaps the story of the rest of the evening. And maybe the story of my dating life at the moment. But I do have better hopes for the upcoming year.

Mt. Katahdin Adventure

Well, one of the main reasons I started this blog was to keep my friends informed of my adventures and exploits. But it's odd that I've never actually done this. It's not that I don't have stuff to share, I've just not had all the time I would like to type it all up. But now since some of you have started asking about the pictures, I thought it was time to put some up. The following is an account of the trip to the top of Katahdin that I was a part of this past August.

This past August I got a phone call on Sunday from my sister. She asked, "So, what are you up to this week?," and when I said I had no idea, she said, "Well, how would you like to climb Mt. Katahdin tomorrow . . . well, probably on Tuesday?" So, within a couple of days I was whisked away from the heat and haze of Chicago and on a plane to the jetport in Portland, Maine. (It is a jetport, and not an airport. I suppose they want to make it clear that you can catch something other than a prop plane there). Then six hours later we were up in our campsite at the Big Moose Campground, just outside of Baxter State Park. Now, I've done a lot of camping. Camping for me usually involves taking a bus or a plane to the middle of nowhere, hiking at least six miles a day, setting up camp in a blizzard, fighting off mountain lions with my firm and confident voice (OK, I exaggerate slightly, I think it was actually a weasel, but man, at three in the morning, when a weasel scratches my canvas tent at precisely the place where my head is resting, it might as well be a mountain lion!). Camping is hence a lot of work, exhausting, occasionally life-threatening, but all in all quite a bit of fun. Camping with my sister and her beau however is a very different experience. There are stainless steel martini glasses, a plentiful supply of vodka (vodka martinis are the official drink of boo and pookie's camping excursions), enough citronella oil to permanently alter the ecosystem, and really comfortable portable reclining chairs. In a word, it's quite civilized. This is not to say that neither of them have attempted more adventurous camping expeditions (my sister for instance spent two weeks in an old growth forest in northern Ontario, accessible only by airplane), but it is just a different way of camping. And I have to say for the first time tailgate camping seemed like a rather nice way to spend a weekend.

Of course, even with tailgate camping, there are problems. Like the showers. Man, I mean the bathrooms were very clean: surprising for any campground, well lit, and in general in very good shape. But I remember my first night there in the shower building. I was in the men's room brushing my teeth using the clear water from the tap, when I heard a crash in the next room. Someone was kicking the coin operated shower machine. This was followed by lots of swearing, the sound of a fist against a wall, and an agonizing scream, followed by the slam of a door. I thought to myself, "Man, some guys sure have anger management issues," and walked back to my tent. Little did I know that the next morning I would end up doing the very same thing. It's almost impossible for me to describe how annoying these showers were the first morning. The way these showers are supposed to work, is that you put a few coins in, turn the dial, you get nice and toasty warm water, then when it begins to fade you put a few more coins in, and you can shower for as long as you want (or as long as there's water in the tank). Well, with the machines that morning, you put the required coins in, turn the dial, and nothing happens. So then you think, the coins are stuck in the machine. So you tap it on top. If nothing still happens, you think to yourself, maybe the water tank is some distance from the shower, and that if you wait a minute or so everything will be all right. When five minutes go by, you put more coins in the machine. And then miracle of miracle there is a clicking noise, the sound of water going through a pipe, and then . . . nothing. So after a few more coins and a few more minutes, you give up and walk out the door, letting it slam behind you, only to have the water suddenly go on. A miracle! So you quickly go back in, close the door, take your clothes off as quickly as possible, jump back in the shower, experience two minutes of ecstasy before the water suddenly turns off leaving you covered with soap in a cold shower stall. At this point is there anything to do but start to yell at the machine, hit it a couple of times, make agonizing screams until by shear force of will you manage to make it work? Suddenly the guy from the night before seemed perfectly reasonable. I think I spent an hour in the shower to get my precious six minutes of water. Fortunately, we got to move to a cabin for our last night!

Anyway, our first day was watercolor day. Part of the rationale behind this trip was to spend an entire day next to a lake in Maine painting watercolors. This is actually one of my favorite activities. I love being in one place long enough to really observe the change in shadows, the different effects the light produces on the water, to really take in a vista or two. And since the whole time you're painting, you're participating in an activity that really helps you see details in the world around you. Painting can also be a way to meet people. I remember meeting many fishermen, carpenters and children this way when I traveled through Greece as a teenager. One of the better locations for this was sitting by a harbor in a particular small town - I think it was on Aegina, but I'm not sure. I didn't even have a smattering of Greek back then, so there was nothing I could say, but all day people were constantly coming up to me attempting to communicate. Most of these conversations involved one of the fishermen pointing to something in the harbor, and then pointing to the corresponding image on my canvas, and smiling. A bit awkward at first, but after a while it seemed to become a bit of an amusing game. Oh, and children would come up and stand nearby and just be entranced by the gradually unfolding picture. Of course, this is all a side note, since there was no one else at the lower Togue Pond in Maine, there was nothing to do but just keep painting and make tuna fish sandwiches. We probably spent four or five hours doing this. My sister is actually getting rather good at watercolors, and her boyfriend made it quite evident why he was a professional painter. I personally, wasn't entirely happy with my creations, to be honest, I haven't really found a style yet - I've been inspired by the more abstract watercolors of Signac recently, and some of the watercolor and ink creations of Kandinsky that were on exhibit at the Guggenheim last year, but my creations looked like none of the above. But I'm getting better, and besides part of the virtue of painting on the side of the lake is the pleasure of the immediate experience of sitting next to a pleasant lake in Maine. After the day of painting, we had time for a swim in the Upper Togue Pond on the other side of the road. The water was the perfect temperature. It was a bit chilly over there, with a crisp wind coming down across the water, but as long as you stayed underwater, you were warm. Anyway, watercolor day was a unanimous success, and we also got our first view of Mt. Katahdin, as it loomed alone on the horizon. That afternoon we also inquired as to the best way to climb the mountain. If you've ever been to Katahdin, you know that the number of people allowed to climb it is strictly limited every day, and it is possible to arrive at nine in the morning and not be allowed in since the park is full. So you have to plan your trip a bit ahead of time to be sure you get to the gate early enough to get in. The woman at the park information center offered us some advice about the mountain. She told us that we probably couldn't get into any of the trails at the north side of the mountain, since they were mostly full, but we should come up by the south. There were a few trails there. One was steep, and "right of the side of the mountain," and we were told to avoid that unless we were experiencesd hikers (we had all hiked, but some members of our group had not done so for a while). Instead, she suggested that we take one of the trails further down the road that goes up the mountain more gradually. The easiest way up was probably the Hunt trail, so that's where we should head. It also had the added virtue of being the actual ending of the Appalachian Trail, which terminates at the summit of Katahdin. Anyway, I mention her advice, since there is still a bit of debate among the hikers that day about whether John chose the right trail to go up. All I can say in my defense is that the women at the gate told me it was the easiest way!

Katahdin is the tallest mountain in Maine. It is 5267 feet, and it stands at the edge of the Northern Appalachian range, so there is an unobstructed view that goes all the way to the ocean. It is also in the middle of nowhere, and it's almost always covered with fog or mist. A guide book I once looked at said that you almost never see anything from the top because of the mist, so the climb is often disappointing. The other thing that most people know about Katahdin is that it looks like a deceptively easy climb. I mean, there is hardly anything in New England that is truly difficult to climb, and Katahdin shares the same gently rolling hill line of other mountains. So it is a common mistake to assume that it's going to be a piece of cake. It isn't. I wouldn't say it was a hard climb, but it's just a lot harder than we imagined. So, needless to say, we arrived the next morning bright and early, drove to the trailhead, and began the ascent up Hunt trail. The first few miles of the trail are a nice walk through the woods. Then you begin to climb for a few miles up a gradually steepening trail until you finally break through the tree line. It was somewhere along these second couple of miles when you begin to realize Katahdin is not alone. Other mountains begin to rise around you as you ascend. I remember looking up at a mountain at one point during this climb and thinking, "I hope Katahdin isn't too much taller than that." It was then an odd experience an hour later to have to look down quite a distance to even see that "tall" mountain (The Owl, 3597 feet). Well, after all this gradual climbing, Katahdin throws its first surprises at you. First, you end up walking up to a stone wall at the edge of a cliff. Although it is perhaps not a terribly scary cliff, with the wind blowing along the side of the rock face, it initially seems quite out of place with the pleasant walk beforehand. I suppose that is the first point at which we realized that this was not as easy a mountain as we thought. Fortunately, the wall is very short, and really no problem. But then you get to the boulder field. And these are relatively big boulders. Some of them are so big, in fact that you have to use the iron ladders and poles that are mounted in the rock to get up them. At a few places the shorter person in our group had to use someone else's shoulders. And all of this with the wind blowing back and big drop-offs all around. I think we hesitated here. We began to think maybe this climb wasn't such a hot idea. But fortunately, we were almost to the summit (which we THOUGHT we could see), so it seemed worth taking some risks now that we were so close. Well, we weren't so close, because when we got to the top, there was another concealed part of the mountain behind it. And when we got to the top of that, suddenly the sides of the mountain disappeared, and we were on a thin ridge, cliffs on either side, leading up to a very steep peak in the distance. Again, we hesitated, but we thought we were so close and trudged on since that DEFINITELY was the peak. And of course, it wasn't the peak, because when we got to the top of that, we entered a tremendous alpine meadow, with what looked like a whole other mountain in the distance, and a sign informing us that we were still over a mile away! So we trudged across the plain, taking a break at the small water source known as "Thoreau's Spring," because Thoreau was said to stop there on his hike up to the top. And finally, we got to the summit.


And wow, that was one of the more amazing moments of the past year. When we got to the summit, the sky was absolutely crystal clear as far as the eye could see except for the few overhanging clouds far above. In fact, I do think that we could see the ocean, just barely shimmering on the horizon. And after a few minutes up there, everyone else who had climbed that day left, and we were absolutely alone. I took up a seat next to a very large cairn, and just enjoyed the silence. And there is something almost divine about being on the top of a mountain, being able to see for miles: the smoke in the distance, the lumber trucks barely visible as they turned up the dust along the logging roads, the people on the other peaks in the distance, everything going on around you, and yet not a sound anywhere. I mean, one could probably hear a pin drop, and when people spoke on the alternate peaks about a quarter mile away, you could hear every word. I could have easily spent a few hours up there, but alas, we knew that we had to climb down, and after five hours or so up, it would take us a long time to get back to the car, so we were only there for about half an hour.


One interesting sidenote to our tale was that we ran into a 60-year-old women who was climbing up to the top of the mountain by herself. She actually had climbed up the day before, but turned back at the boulder field, and was trying it again that day. Right when we were leaving the summit, there she was, having made a successful summit on her own. We invited her to have dinner with us that night since we thought she deserved something for having attempted the mountain twice and succeeded, but she didn't accept the offer. We hope she got back safely that night. The mountain is actually well-patrolled, and the number of hikers is kept track of quite closely, so it is actually a rather safe place to climb, but still.

What followed? Well, a dinner on a porch at the Big Moose lodge - with a talented, if quirky one-man band nearby, a cabin at the edge of a beautiful lake (more photos will follow as soon as I develop the last role of film), bright stars at night, and just the sort of complete relaxation that one needs after a climb to the top of Katahdin. Then we had to drive four or five hours to the South and I just made my plane. What a great break from Chicago.

First Improvisation

I've decided to do something unusual for today's posting. As some of you know, I love to play the piano. I can't say that I'm very good at it, but there are few things I enjoy more. In particular, one of my favorite activities is just to sit at the piano for a few hours and improvise. It's just something I've done for years now, and I find it a very useful way for me to relax after a long day. It's rare that anyone actually gets to hear these improvisations, and most people probably don't even know I have this habit, since I usually end up improvising when I happen to find myself alone in a room with a piano.

But, recently a couple of new developments have occurred. For one thing, thanks to my friend Patrick, I now have an electric piano in my apartment. I've always wanted a keyboard in my apartment, and a while back I was seriously investigating buying a clavichord, since I figured that it would be small enough to fit in my apartment, and perhaps quiet enough for me to play without disturbing the neighbors too much. But an electric piano is even better. Now I can play at 3 AM with headphones on, and my neighbors don't hear a thing. This is a particular boon since I really do like playing late at night, and it has been very rare that I've been able to do so, since the baby grand piano in the apartment I grew up in was far too loud to play even after 8 PM. Further, though, now with a midi connector I can actually hook the electric piano up to my computer and record things using the Garageband software. And then it is really easy to convert the file into something that could be played in itunes. This has been a very interesting development, because my improvisations are usually one-off things, and no two improvisations are even remotely the same, so I never get to hear what I've done afterwards, and if there are good moments, they disappear almost instantly. I'm hoping now that I can hear the compositions multiple times, I'll be able to improve their quality. Right now, they are just sort of experiments with harmony, dissonance and rhythm, but I'd like to eventually be able to produce things that sound really good. I mean, the things I play now have moments of clarity, but it is still rare that I'll sit down and play an entire piece that sounds like something worth recording. Nonetheless, I think that my improvisations do express the moods I'm in rather accurately, and hence they are a good way of recording the way that I feel.

So, in an effort to enhance my blog, I've decided to occasionally post improvisations here in AAC format. They are reasonably sizeable files (5 MB or so for a five minute file), but since I have a limited amount of space on typepad.com, I probably won't post more than a few at a time. So this is what I'm going to do. Anyway, just to reiterate, I don't claim that these are particularly good. I'm still quite an amateur, and I realize I need to diversify my harmonies, and produce more interesting rhythmic features, and the developments can be greatly improved. They are really experiments, and nothing more. But if you happen to be interested in listening to an experiment every now and then, you'll find some here. Perhaps you'll even find a few moments that you like. The other night I was in a C minor sort of mood, so here is an Improvisation in C minor. (If for some reason you can't play the preceding link, as some have mentioned, here is an MP3 Version of the Improvisation in C minor. (I may stick to MP3 in the future.)

P.S. The little photo in the corner is a stylized version of a photo I took at one of my favorite lakes in Vermont when I was in a particularly C minor sort of mood a couple of years ago.