Up 8. Spent about 9 to 11:30 at Starbucks and Caffé Bene; boiled down yesterday’s work, started next graf. Off pace. Home: Had my suitcase out all day, put things in it as it occurred to me. Called my dad; wrote condolence emails to two of my cousins (my aunt Rosina’s sons). Laundry. Filled in my travel CD wallet (again, for DJing, though also the car). Went back out to coffee later, finished Blue Bloods, read 2-3 stories in Crawford. Daybook. Lights out by 11:30. I’m sure there was a lot of dead time in there.
12.16.17
Up 7:30. Wrote at Caffe Bene 8:30-11:30; completed one paragraph about the relevance of harmony to form, went on to more bridge-specific points. About 500 words (my current quota), but 2nd ½ is v. rough. At home, read another chunk of Blue Bloods and made vague gestures in the direction of packing – mostly, searching for a couple of books I want to take (it’s finally time to hunker down and read Lawrence Levine), and a few LPs for DJing. Much of the afternoon is foggy. Eventually read some Poincare (he’s arguing against logicism, mostly non-technically, w/ some discussion of Russell’s paradoxes; Cantor, Peano, Zermelo all make appearances; in some ways he was proven right, but he surely underestimated the power of formalization; no mention of Frege, who was obscure at the time). Went w/ Bree to the early music concert at St. Mark’s (two blocks away, not Manhattan; wrote daybook entry before it started), then to my neighbor Jennie’s holiday party. Mostly talked to people from our building. I wasn’t completely in the holiday spirit; a lot of negative self-talk lately, to use the jargon. Came back after midnight; Bree stayed behind to help clean up.
12.15.17
Full day. Up 7. Left w/ Bree before 9:30; she was going to physical therapy.
Read Blue Bloods on the train (throughout day). Therapy. Met Bree at Walter Reade for Now, Voyager (Irving Rapper 1942), which I’d unaccountably never seen. Relatable (actually, I was close to tears for much of the running time). Had coffee together nearby, she went home, I went downtown to check out the holiday record sale at the Archive of Recorded Music. It had been going on for several days, and the pickings were fairly slim, which is fine given my dislike of collector/hoarder crowds. Came out with Gilberto Gil, Carlos Gardel, and Tim Lee CDs, LPs of Peter Maxwell Davies, Eight Songs for a Mad King (w/ Julius Eastman), the soundtrack to A Patch of Blue, and a copy of Berliner, Thinking About Jazz. Had a bite at a cabbie joint; got a coffee and a free cookie, got back into Poincaré. Walked around the corner to the “Speech Acts” event at Triple Canopy, a reading/panel associated with a show at ICA in Philly (which I won’t be seeing; might track down the Futurepoem catalog). Chatted with Dan Machlin and Serena Jost beforehand. Tiona Nekkia McClodden, Kameelah Janan Rasheed, Morgan Parker, and Simone White. Rasheed, about whom I knew nothing, extremely lucid, quality of discussion otherwise uneven – I thought Parker and White were saying almost diametrically opposed things about linearity and genealogy, w/o acknowledging it. Someone said that as a black woman, she was speaking a language (English) that she wasn’t intended to speak; tendentious way to use “intended” (by?), but it formulates something that might be said about music too. Stopped by E77 on the way home. Read up to ½ way point in Crawford (a book I’m not sure I like much), another 50 p. of Blue Bloods, and heard some bluegrass. Home at 11.
12.14.17
Up 7. At E77 for a while, read to about 67 of Poincaré (beginning of chapter on “Chance”; his determinism is showing) + a chunk of Blue Bloods (takes less that ¼ of the book to get past her first two marriages, which left her with enough money to fuck up her kids lives). Daybook. Got back before noon – really should have turned around and gone somewhere to write, but got involved online and wrote more EMP comments. Made it out to Lucid from 4-7, but only completed one graf and started a new one. Not the use of a day w/o appointments or events that I’d hoped. Read on in Poincaré and Lynne Crawford in the evening. Unusually tired; dropped off around 11 trying to listen to a GTD podcast (though I’ve basically broken the productivity-porn habit).
12.13.17
Up 7:30. At E77 an hr. or so later, finished Robins. The longer poem “Circus” (that I read last night) gives a possibly deceptive impression of larger, sustained organization through a reference-shifting placeholder, “Q.” Otherwise – verse. State names; imaginings from the warmth of the domestic bed. I’m being unfair, but a lot of it slid off me, and I’m not actually sure the couplet thing plays that well w/ his sense of syntax. Posted a bunch of these entries, caught up on daybook, Shazam’ed what turns out to be Postmodern Jukebox’s version of “This Must Be The Place,” and an A Camp song I liked quite a bit. (I may have that CD.) Wrote to the rest of the band w/ a link to the November rough mixes. Read a few pages each of Lynn Crawford, Fortification Resort and Henri Poincaré, Science and Method (just Bertrand Russell’s foreword and the author’s introduction.)
Took train to Lincoln Center to see 2 in their melodrama series w/ Bree, Only Yesterday (John M. Stahl 1933; loosely based on the same novel as Letter From an Unknown Woman) and Back Street (Robert Stevenson 1941), both w/ Margaret Sullavan (the first was her film debut). Could say a lot, and a good conversation about them w/ Bree but I’ll leave it at: If you sleep with someone who’s leaving town, make sure you don’t miss their boat the next morning. Also, Frank McHugh is one of my favorite actors. In between, we went over to the library so Bree could see the photos from 1950s productions of Balanchine’s Nutcracker, because she’s so devoted to Bob Baker’s puppet version in L.A. Had just enough time to check out Blue Blood, a biography of the arts patron/occasional composer/crazy rich lady Rebekah Harkness (explaining why would take too long; file under Subjects for Further Exploration).
Got a bite at Spicy Tibet on the way home. Nothing of note in the evening. Read to about p. 30 of Poincare before bed: “Who can tell that what we believe to be simple does not conceal the most alarming complexity?” (18). Lights out 11:30.