The Cat's Meow

While we all know it is pretty difficult to train cats (they have to be in the mood, they'll do it in their own time, on their own terms, they can't be observed doing it, they have to be about to do it anyway), scientists have recently confirmed what all cat owners have always known: they train us.

And boy howdy, it sure doesn't take long for us to learn that we are their scullery maids, doormen, butlers and cooks. Though, on occasion, they will dispatch a rodent or two in honor of our services.

Where it's at:

We steer our life through so many dichotomies, asked to choose between Dem or Rep, vegetarian or omnivore, plastic or paper, Beta or VHS, BlueRay or DVD. Our choices describe us: Democrat, vegetarian, BlueRay, maybe one who’s jumped the fences and brings a bag to the grocery store. Perhaps no other choice, though, defines the techie-generations than Mac or PC.

Usually, I let my pocketbook dictate my choice of computers: PC, PC, PC. But now, my decade-old machine, so lovingly assembled by my son, then in high school, and for the most part a stalwart beast, has gone beyond limping along; it is stumbling all over itself begging for the misery-ending bullet. I’m sure its innards are thick and crusty with parasitic viruses and leeching worms; it can barely boot up half the time and once going, it usually takes the first opportunity to freeze and quit. Without a doubt, it’s time for a new computer.

This time I’m going Mac.

So of course the curious bystander wants to know why. Aesthetically, of course, any Mac is heads and shoulders above the rest, no doubt about that. But my tipping point boiled down to engineering: I’m sick of all these viruses (pun absolutely intended; don’t you too get sick when your machine has been attacked?), tired of repairs, burned up on updating and installing the latest point-whatever of another version of Windows, which then rearranges all the lines of communication within my poor beast.

Like a million other end-users, I just want a machine that works, works well and never stops working. I want the Maytag, not the Sylvania. I’m not interested in re-coding, inserting new cards, coaxing it tho function using a screwdriver and voodoo rituals and holding interventions to make it speak politely to the printer. Printer, say you’re sorry for going offline; CPU, say you’re sorry for setting the parameters too wide. The fact that Macs just plain work, don’t take sick-days and look gorgeous while doing it put them miles above PC’s and most of my old boyfriends. Even my son, PC-maniac that he once was, encourages me towards a Mac machine, any Mac machine. Yes, they cost more. But it’s a well-deserved investment in my sanity and patience. Not to mention that, with all this talk of furloughs and layoffs on campus, I may not be buying another computer for a very very long time; this one has got to last.

So here I am: liberal, Dem, bring-my-own-bag, omnivore, Mac-ecstatic: Mac-tastic!

IOU's...oh joy.

Sooooo, IOU's. Next week. Don't you think the California legislators should be the first to receive them?

And Arnie: what's this crap about vetoing a budget bill because it doesn't meet your specs?... because, oh horrors, in order to keep the parks open and health services for children, there are some raised fees in it? If a budget bill passes, you should honor the work the Legislature has done and sign the damn thing; we have another round coming soon enough and it doesn't look any better than this one.

And maybe you should accept the very first IOU, you know, like the Head of State you are, setting an example, taking the lead. Show that as a Captain of the Ship, you'll do the honorable thing, that women and children should be taken care of first, and you'll get by. It's not like you have to pay for health care or don't already have enough money for any Hummer you might fancy. Maybe you need a deep swim in the Sea of Reality that you (and some recalcitrant Republicans) can't seem to imagine.

Sing like Handwriting

The Summer Solstice, Father's Day, rich blue sky with warm winds. We gathered: students from every decade, well back into the 60's, admirers from nearby and abroad, friends from every context and almost every continent, musicians of every stripe and creed, family, families, fellow teachers, all of us honored, blessed, downright lucky to have studied with or known such a magnificent musician, such a compassionate teacher.

We spoke of the power of his music, the way one note could break your heart, the way one note, pulled two steps this way, one step that and every shruti (micro-tone) in between, could be melody, the way he could make the hair rise on the back of your neck, the top of your head expand, spin, take off. We spoke of Khansahib's generosity with his music, his willingness to teach anyone, to water our world with the likes of Rag Chandranandan, Desh Malhar, Bhimpalashri. In the heat of a Marin afternoon, thuds and dribbles of red earth, pebbles, roses echoed from the butterscoth-blonde hills as we each marked our last tangible connection with this giant of a musician, this short Bengali with the knowing smirk, the generous smile and the all-encompassing desire for us to learn to "sing like handwriting--not typewriters", our Baba, our Swara Samrat, Emperor of Melody.

The Ali Akbar College of Music that he founded in San Rafael, California, is in the midst of preserving and archiving thousands of hours of his music and teachings. In lieu of flowers, or if you just want to help, the family asks for donations to continue the cause.

Preservation Project

And if you are unfamiliar with his music, this is a pretty decent YouTube video:
Khansahib: Shree

Ustad Ali Akbar Khan, 1922-2009

We lost a genius last week, an unparalleled musician with an extraordinary gift of melody and a passion for teaching. He gave to the world music so devastatingly pure and direct that it could ruin you for anything else, while at the same time opening your ears, allowing you to understand all music, to comprehend that music the world over is ... music. As long as it's in tune and in tal (time/rhythm), that is.

Khansahib to most, Baba to his family and close students, he was a generous teacher, dedicated to sharing his music with the world, with you, with whoever happened to be sitting crossleged in front of him, with eager ears and a receptive mind. He gave all he had and then some; more than this, no one can do. The world is a much better place for him being in it; music the world over is richer.

But, darn it, Baba, we miss you.


Marin IJ
NYTimes
SF Chronicle
Ali Akbar College of Music