Workout 8 Feb 2013

Sorry, no workout on 7 Feb 2013. Had high levels of morning pain chased away with morphine syrup and my sister’s et al.’s company.

This afternoon did 20 minutes physio on the antique rowing machine. Then had (was given) a nice bath with green tea soap and oil to follow like a civilized man. Then a dear friend’s helper paid my Internet bills and came to me for reimbursement, bringing dim sum, and a Marks and Spencer feedbag. The dim sum caused me to skip dinner completely and I want to give some of the box juices, crackers etc. to further visitors.

Be careful what you ask for. I am afraid to say I need thus and so on Facebook because I don’t want others to go through expense and botheration on my account. That theater participation over the last year or so (Glengarry Glen Ross, Forget Herostratus) has certainly “paid off” although one doesn’t tread the boards to win friends and influence others.

I mean, (tee hee), I am scared that if I plug the wonderful Lamma Grill, with its chicken sandwich like a message from the chicken herself saying please eat me, its classic American hamburger, and its coils of sausage, they’ll send me a free burger and I certainly don’t want that. No no no…

Oops. Oh well. I just did plug it. But I’m happy to spend money at this joint at their dishes although I might focus on healthier treats such as Mozarella wings, fish and chips. “It’s all good”, as they say, and located close to home so when I return I can struggle over: one does have to be careful on the hill and steps.

My butt hurts but here as in my own chair on Lamma I can sit up straight in the common room to ease this pain which has been my close confidante, like a rather unpleasant partner in an enclosed and overheated, old-fashioned, European, train compartment. Boy oh boy, that was a hackneyed simile if ever was one: and yeah, right, Max von Sydow plays the aging Lutheran doctor and the traveling companion is Death. Out the window, on the platform, sheltered from the rain, a choir sings Christ Lag and to conceal his emotions Max turns his face towards the window in the night. In the window we sees Death’s sardonic grin for Death does not know that even to the atheist, death, unlike pain and sickness which can seem never ending, dies when it triumphs.

The Incomprehensible Maestro

…conducted an Easter Festival with Christ Lag and Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis. We then took Max and Moritz the following week to hear their first Parzival but cleverly fed them chocs before the performance to still any complaints of boredom; filled with chocsthey both were sound asleep by the time the witch crash-lands into the Grail-laager. Wagner’s opera, like a double chocolate cake but not in Adorno’s “culinary” sense in the slightest (where the first duty of music is to “satisfy” the audience’s “taste”, where the very words are taken from the praxis of the kitchen) is rich food indeed and takes a lifetime, as does any great work of music.

Indeed, as the Incomprehensible Maestro complained to me over cigars, one should try despite the impossibility of completely replacing the culinary register (one that may relate to savage scenes of human sacrifice and even cannibalism accompanying the first dramatic or musical performances) to urge aesthetic language of barbarism. For example, a “piece” of music is like a piece of meat (carved out of the soloist and thrown to the ravening audience, as Glenn Gould might say) whereas a work of music puts the performer’s or composers labor in the center where it belongs.

We were privileged to smoke two of the finest Havanas, which caused Max undt Moritz to flee the room, green with nausea, but they failed to make it, and the IM fondly comforted them after cleaning up their voluminous and intermingled vomitus.


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