This is now three years in a row where, around the first weekend in July when the weather is plenty hot, we have a power failure that takes some time to resolve. Two strong waves of storms rolled through our area in the afternoon on July 4, the second one finally bringing relief from the heat wave we’ve been having but also knocking down a tree limb that took out our power. There were scattered outages all over, but this year it “only” took 17 hours to get service back, instead of multiple days. And the more reasonable temperatures made it fairly bearable.
Fireworks are theoretically illegal in our suburb, with dozens of signs along the streets threatening $1000 fines. I don’t think that gave anyone pause. And of course, we are surrounded by dozens of other suburbs, some of which have their own official fireworks as well as tens of thousands of amateurs eager to blow stuff up. The noise was sporadic through the afternoon (between storms), and absolutely continuous from about 7 PM to the wee hours. At times we could pretend it was just distant rolling thunder, but at other times it was obviously nearby Roman candles or big booming explodey fireworks. Between the noise, lack of air circulation, slightly too warm bedroom, and the cat that also having a bad night, we barely slept. And after that, somehow there were still enough fireworks left for it to happen again last night, though it finally tapered off at about 10 PM.
I know the current administration in general, and Chump’s hijacking and bungling of the 250th anniversary celebrations in particular, have made me even less inclined than usual toward patriotic feelings this year. But… ugh. Fireworks are very different when you’re watching or participating, vs. when you’re just trying to get some rest.
I recently finished Graham Robb’s The Discovery of Britain: An Accidental History. This book took me a while to get through — I would typically read one chapter and then find I had to stop. It’s because he pulls no punches about the horribleness of various politicians and policies — the racism, sexism, classism, greed, cronyism, corruption, lack of any sense of duty, callous disregard for other peoples’ lives and happiness. The lies and myths we are told about history. And most telling: examples of the terrible backward things said and done by some politician, only to reveal this wasn’t some medieval baron or Victorian official but a democratically elected MP five years ago. Mr. Robb, I’m afraid you aren’t doing anything to dispel the stereotype of Scots being bleak and grim.
He did also tie in the history with his own personal life — whether his travels, or childhood or family stories. It gives one the sense of being surrounded by history, swimming in it. As an American, I feel like most of us don’t have this feeling about where we live. We can’t point to a home we pass by on the way to work every day and say that so-and-so slept here 900 years ago on the run from persecution, or this “Roman” road actually dates to the Bronze Age. Not far from where I live, there was the thriving major city of Cahokia, before Columbus or Cortez or the Mayflower… but it’s so easy to forget, I know very little about it, and still haven’t visited. There’s the old capital in St. Charles with a few 18th century buildings. But everyday life just doesn’t feel immersed in history that goes back more than a couple of generations.
When I finished with that book, I moved on to Autumnal Conductor. From the descriptions I’d seen I thought I’d enjoy it, but unfortunately it comes across as needing a lot more work. In the first few pages, there were a few words that are simply used incorrectly, quite a bit of thesaurus abuse, and a few phrases that just didn’t make sense even during an action scene when things should be very clear. The use of language didn’t embellish the story, it obscured it.
My current read is Free Play: Improvisation in Life and Art by Stephen Nachmanovitch. It’s preaching to the choir, but some of his thoughts about improvisation and the way he expresses them are inspiring and might lead to thinking a bit differently overall. It certainly applies to modular synthesis:
There is a German word, funktionslust, which means the pleasure of doing, of producing an effect, as distinct from the pleasure of attaining the effect or having something.
I’ve noticed before that sometimes there can be a clear, simple, almost childlike joy in turning a knob and hearing a new sound. It’s something about the feeling of control, of “producing an effect” as this says. I can’t explain why something so simple feels so good; there’s no particular mastery of a difficult or especially deft physical movement as there is in, say, violin or dance or a sport. But it’s very visceral. Of course it’s not just synths that are like this; some other experiences are also like this. I do think it explains part of the gap in feeling/inspiration between software and hardware synthesis though.
Nachmanovitch quite appropriately keeps referring to play, to the freedom of just doing things unscripted and spontaneously for the fun of it. He draws a distinction between play and performance, between play and games. It’s not about proving anything, or even saying anything even though it is expressive.
