ike, Episode #104

Ugandit?!!Ha,ha,ha!

Went to the CE today.
The coffee of the day?
French Roast Uganda, my favorite. A bit on the dark side, as roasts go, but that's the way I like it. And so, feeling particularly mature, I asked Tiffany, "Uganda get some?" and then rejoiced in the fact that there's no such thing as a bad pun. Because, really, when you think about it, what makes one pun any more valid than another?
They're all equally low on the humor food chain, if you ask me. Puns are the ultimate solution to a lot of situations, though. For example, if you have a slip of the tongue, simply laugh, and then quickly follow it up with a pun phrase (i.e, "that was pun, let's do another one!). With any luck the person or people will think your mistake was simply a pun they didn't get, and not wanting to appear to be so dumb they couldn't even catch a pun, they will join you in riotous laughter, and all will be merry and bright.
Oh, and speaking of merry and bright, here's a special Christmas Story.
As we (Cheryl, Leanna, Tiffany and I) were walking back to our car after spending quality coffee time at the Emporium, a man walks up to me. Not just any man, though, for as I looked into his eyes I saw something special.
True, his clothes were all tarnished with all who knows what,
and his face had the idiotic grin of a nut,
but his hair looked like it had been touched by a comb,
and the red pointed hat he wore looked just at home.
His eyes how they sparkled, his smile so cheery,
his cheeks were so rosy, his breath a little beery.
His stick-on beard was as white as the snow,
and all and all he made quite the hobo.
The final point though was when he shouted and said:
"Put a smile on your face, now, don't look quite so sad!"
Then laying a finger along side his red nose,
he honked it, twice, for it was one of those.
Then up across the street like a comet he dashed,
prancing and dancing on his way past.
And though in my mind there's no question he's batty,
it just made me think, ah,
how I love Cincinnati.

Every time a bell rings...

...a student gets an A!

Ahem.

(Bursts forth into song, to the tune of Jingle Bells.)

College life, college life,
Grinds your health away.
Finals, tests, all without rest,
And reading that’s due today.
College life, college life,
Makes you quite a sight,
Oh, what fun it is to write
That term paper tonight!

Back to work.
Putting the "stud" in student,
I.

Of Conductors and Omelets

Okay, so I'm really thinking of only one conductor. Paavo Järvi. And technically, it's a "umlaut"(pronounced oom-lout, rhymes with boom-shout, whatever that is) not an omelet. The two dots above the a in his last name, that is. I think that anyone with an umlaut in their name is cool.

Paavo Järvi is definitely cool.
Paavo was born in Tallinn, Estonia, which makes him Estonian. And gives him a cool accent. Many composers and musicians came from Estonia, and many did not.
At any rate, he's now the director of the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra, or CSO. That's how I know of him. Last time I was at the CSO, I felt compelled to try and capture some of his dynamic energy on a page. You see, his style of conducting is quite unique. Instead of simply beating meter, he strays away from the metrical and towards the interpretive. In fact, I remember him giving an actual down beat only on the most rare occasion. Indeed, his gestures at times seem more reminiscent of a weaver than a conductor. Actually, that's not a bad simile.
As his hands stroke and pick, plucking the air with the most minute of movements, the warp and the weft of the music emerges, a delicate pattern of color in tone. Now with bold whirls and strokes the pattern begins to change as the master's hands blur into figures and lines I almost can't make out, but apparently the orchestra can as they intensify and strengthen and build with vigor broadening/deepening the tapestry...until, at the end the sounds fade and diminish and he is slowly lowering his baton, the only music now in the memory as we sit holding our breaths in the silence until he finally, almost grudgingly reliquenshes control and turns to face us.

And I think, you know, it would almost be worth being bald if I could do that...

Be Yourself

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I went to the CSO,
It really was quite a show,
They played Britten and Brahms,
We smote with our palms,
And cried, "Bravo, again, Paavo !"


Brahms spelled backwards is Smharb.

Shoulder Angels