the connection was reset

My mother was only in the new facility one night when a new emergency brought her back to the ER at SSH. They did what they needed to do, something unrelated to any of the previous problems, and on Tuesday sent her back to the new facility again. Everyone wants her to be back home, herself most of all.

We had Mark over for dinner tonight. We ate well and drank well and talked about elections, women, work, serial killers and sick fucks, the unpleasantness of jury duty, age and decay, Jandek, and Keith Richard's new book.

Auditions tomorrow, which I'm doing differently than I have in the past.

Going to the mountains this weekend with L, to a place we rented in Helen.

NASM

Every school of music is accredited - or not - by an organization called the National Association of Schools of Music (NASM). Once every 10 years NASM sends reviewers to visit us for a few days, observing what we do and how well we do it.

They were on campus Monday and Tuesday, meeting with faculty, students, the dean, and the provost. They also met with me for several extended sessions, with many questions about the academic side of our music programs.

I was asked things like, You cleared this student to graduate in Spring of 2007, yet she never took vocal pedagogy, a course required for her major. How do you justify this?

They were pretty intense, but it was still fun to talk with people I'd only just met, yet who understand my job better than almost anyone I know.

With impressively bad timing, while the reviewers were milling about, I received a visit from the student who sometimes cries and throws fits in my office. He's not enrolled in any classes this semester, so I was surprised to see him.

He said he'd just been to another office on campus, and they'd called the police on him. (He was vague as to why they did this.) The police escorted him off campus, but he returned and came to see me in my office.

He was very upset, crying and shouting things like "What the fuck is wrong with this school? This school sucks!" Not unusual behavior for him, and luckily the reviewers didn't witness it.

Unstable people have an entropic effect on their surroundings. What they touch becomes less organized.

They also have a form of radar. They seem to know the worst possible moment to make an entrance. It's almost a gift, like an extrasensory perception that draws them toward intense situations. They apparently have no control over their strong sense of timing. It uses them, they don't use it. And it uses them for evil, not good.

~~~~~~~

My mother's coronary catheterization came back negative, which is good news, and surprising. There's now talk of her being discharged/transferred to another facility closer to her home.

My mother's health, part two

As I understand it, there are three main issues with her health:

1. The diagnosis has undergone several revisions, but it's now confirmed she has Goodpasture's Syndrome. This is manageable, though she'll need dialysis from now on.

2. There is a mass in her kidneys, apparently unrelated to the renal failure, and no one knows what it is. There are ways of investigating it, but not without risk.

3. There now seems to be a problem with her heart. She's undergoing a heart catheterization tomorrow morning at 8:00.

My mother's health

My mother's kidneys still aren't working. She has other health problems too, some of which appear to be unrelated to the renal failure. She was moved from SSH to a hospital in Boston.

The current main diagnosis is something called hemolytic-uremic syndrome (HUS), though in the last few days her doctors have hinted that they're still looking for something which would explain all of her symptoms.

I'm back in Bedlam now. My father and sister are with her every day, supporting her, monitoring her various numbers, gathering information from nurses and doctors.

Thanks to everyone for the support and kindness you've shown since this began. I'll keep you updated.

In morbid defense of the good times

At the beginning of life there's a period of rapid growth, which is followed by a long plateau, which is followed by decay and disintegration.

1. growth
2. the long plateau
3. decay

These three phases aren't distinct and orderly, but overlap.

A few weeks ago Mark, formerly of markandwanda, was talking about the third phase and how, during certain periods of time, it accelerates.

The movie Synecdoche, NY is about this (and much else besides). It takes place in a world where decay is real and not something we blithely pay lip service to.

I'm not at the end of my long plateau, but I'm near or past the midpoint. The decline is less theoretical now.

Some days we wake up feeling great, other days we wake up feeling... off. We have a cold, our body aches, or there's some strange new unexplained unpleasantness we have to deal with. But whatever happens, our experience tells us we'll feel better tomorrow, or soon enough. And usually without help from a doctor.

But one morning we'll wake up not feeling our best, and things won't improve. We'll never again feel as good as we felt yesterday. The plateau begins its decline. And this sort of thing is happening all the time.

The only thing that seems to help is this: More good times. Make the most of what you have and live until you don't.

A phonecall late last night: my mother's kidneys have shut down. She's in the critical care unit of SSH, on dialysis. I'm flying there tomorrow morning.

decay

Summer covers, had me a blast
Summer covers, happened so fast


I'm glad the summer covers mini-project is over. I still believe it was a good idea at the time, but I lost interest halfway through and never warmed to any of the results.

You go through the process and sometimes it clicks and sometimes it doesn't. I don't know how to make it click more often. But it's important for me personally to complete projects, and the more projects I complete, the more failures I accrue, and with more failures come more successes.

And so, with recent silly projects freshly off my plate, I had time over the last two days to record the following, somewhat less silly piece, a memento mori in the key of melancholia, and evocative, for me at least, of the aging process.

~~~~~~~

Sabitathica: decay

Somebody should use this piece to accompany an autumnal-themed auto commercial, so I can make a million dollars, quit my job, and complete more projects. I'll even promise to do fewer covers.

Bad science

Let us take a moment and avert our eyes in collective cultural embarrassment as Science once again acts like the drunk guy at the party talking too loud (and excitedly!) about things he doesn't understand. This morning's Washington Post has this to say about life off-Earth:

For the first time, astronomers have detected a rocky planet in another solar system that has the most basic and essential conditions needed to support extraterrestrial life.

Sigh. Okay Science, for the love of God, please, repeat after me:

We. Don't. Know. The conditions. Essential. For. Extraterrestrial. Life. Also. There. Is. No. Reason. To assume. Life. Must. Everywhere. Be. Similar. To what. We. Find. On. Earth.


That is all.

percussion

After ice skating we went to Bedlam Pro Percussion, where I bought a snare drum, a 20" ride cymbal, their stands, a pair of sticks and a pair of brushes. Apart from a few shakers and tambourines acquired over the years, I've never owned real percussion equipment before.

The cat hates them. She shares my low tolerance for loud noises, but unlike me, she's unwilling to put her preferences aside for the sake of art.

Apocalyptic dream last night, complete with extraterrestrials and ex-girlfriends (that line becomes thin in places).

I'll post the other two 80s covers soon, as most feedback was positive.

Listening now to Laisse tomber les filles, the Serge Gainsbourg song, sung by France Gall.

ice skating

Autumn has arrived, and not just because the calendar says so. The temperature has dropped a dozen degrees over the last two days and it's no longer unpleasant to be out of doors.

L and I went ice skating Saturday.


It was public-skating time, which means there was a DJ.

You: did the DJ play Party all the time?
Me: no, he did not. L requested it, but he didn't have it in his library.
You: what other songs did he not have in his library?
Me: faith, we got the beat, cruel summer, and pretty much anything else that was played ad nauseum in the 80s.

On the other hand, I did get to hear the song Macarena for the first time. I thought it would be catchier.

This is everyone doing their best to pretend like they enjoy skating to music not made between 1982 and 1988:


And here is L, decked out in her spiffy new scarf and mittens which she has demanded I tell you she knitted herself.


Everybody enjoyed ice skating. Nobody fell and hurt herself. Good times, good times.

Ash

Ash's wedding was this weekend.


The good times:




He asked me to conduct two pieces of music. Here's a picture L took during rehearsal:


As fate would have it, Party All the Time by Eddie Murphy was played at the reception, which is a coincidence because this song keeps coming up these days.

speakers, etc.

My new Audioengine A2 speakers were delivered last night. I got them because the laws of physics (also, my carelessness) broke my old computer speakers. I'm listening to Casals play the cello suites on them right now.

After listening to too much Bach:
Mozart never seems to have anything to say
Beethoven exaggerates how much he feels

Currently reading Jeanne de Salzmann's newly published book.

We saw a matinée of The American this weekend, which I loved.

I'm working with qigong in the mornings before work.

Night Song by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and Michael Brook reminds me of the flower farm in Maine.

the yarn store

Now that L is a knitter, she occasionally forces me to accompany her to the yarn store, which looks like this: