I’ve never really gotten hooked by the beading bug, but items like these really tempt me. The owl is particularly impressive.
29 April 2003
27 April 2003
Thoughts from a Church Music Forum
The night of the Choral Art Society’s Verdi concert, I went to a roundtable discussion of church music and mourning. It was an interesting panel. (I was half amused, half unsettled to see that the panelists were all male and the audience was almost completely female. Um, something’s off with this picture.)
I had a lot of random thoughts during the discussion, but they seemed too personal, or at least too non-general, to bring up in that forum. (So, naturally, I’m putting them up on the web for the world to see instead!)
One panelist, an organist, seemed genuinely puzzled that a secular group like CAS would perform a requiem. Maybe I should’ve mentioned during the discussion that the choir at my church, First Unitarian Universalist, performed Duruflé’s Requiem, to a sizeable audience and great acclaim, in spite of the fact that most of the folks in that church don’t remotely buy into that theology. Perhaps it’s just an artifact of Christian sacred music dominating the choral canon, or of Christianity’s dominance in our society, but most choirfolk seem to find nothing strange about singing a requiem in a secular setting. It’s just plain great music. (On the other hand, I’ve never heard a choir sing Islamic sacred music, and I can only think of one example that might be considered Jewish [Bernstein's Chichester Psalms] and one that’s vaguely Hindu [Holst's settings of various Indian poems whose precise title I'm blanking on right now]. Surely there’s great music in those traditions as well; why aren’t more choral composers drawing from there? Or are there people worldwide writing this music for choir, and it’s just not getting performed in the States?)
Duruflé. What a grand experience. And what a contrast. As I’ve mentioned in a previous entry, for the first months of rehearsal I was pregnant, and for the last couple months I spent large chunks of rehearsal sitting and nursing as I sang. Here’s this awesome, ethereal piece about death and the hope of resurrection, and here I am bulging with new life. Such a contrast, on the surface. So appropriate, when I think about it. The end of my childless days, the death of my old life. Dies irae, dies illa, dies magna et amara valde — perfect description of the first weeks of motherhood. Libera me, Domine, de lacte eterna. Dona eis somnum.
Which brings me to another point raised in the discussion — dealing with people who want inappropriate music for funerals (and weddings). Canned country music in funeral homes; mourners requesting that the organist play movie themes; weddings where the “Pie Jesu” from Lloyd Weber’s Requiem is sung. I’m basically on the side of the clergy and musicians — look, some music is just NOT appropriate for a solemn religious ceremony (the private wake/reception later is another story entirely). (I’ve ranted elsewhere on the web that I cringe every time someone uses “One Hand, One Heart” from West Side Story as a wedding song — have these people ever SEEN that musical? do they KNOW the context? If I should ever marry again, I’d like to use a song that doesn’t imply that my beloved will get murdered in the next twenty-four hours, thanks.)
On the other hand, that country music song playing in the funeral home may be the catalyst that finally triggers tears in a mourner. Different people bring different associations to music. I can see how people would listen to Mussorgsky’s “Night on Bald Mountain” and think of fear, storms, terror, doom, big scary Disney monster; but when I played it in band, and ever since, I just hear wild joy, the glorious side of huge thunderstorms, the awe of viewing lightning over Houston from a fourth story window.
Still, for my eventual funeral, I’d rather have more serious music, even though as a UU I could probably get away with “Look at the coffin, with golden handles; isn’t it grand, boys, to be bloody well dead?”. Let’s save that for the memorial party later. For the funeral, bring on “Lord of All Hopefulness” (LBW #469) and Mendelssohn’s “Consolation”, and if I get so famous that I rate a humongous televised ceremony with full choir and orchestra, Brahms’s German Requiem — and heck, Duruflé’s Requiem too. (Not that I’m actually going to care when the occasion rolls around, eh?)
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Socks!
I’ve finished the refootable socks at last. They fit reasonably well, and they weren’t especially hard to make; I think, however, I’m not going to bother with refootable socks much unless I move to Minnesota and actually start wearing wool socks more than two weeks out of the year.
So I’ve started another project, doily #22 out of Kristofferson’s 99 Little Doilies. I don’t remember exactly what it looks like — I made working copies of the instructions for two doilies before leaving on a trip a couple months ago [on the off chance that I'd start either, which of course didn't happen because I worked on the five other craft projects I brought], and there’s not a photo on that page. That’s okay; I’ll just get to guess what it looks like as I go along.
On other craft fronts, the cross-stitching on “With Pen in Hand” is 85% done. (The backstitching, alas, is another story.) I haven’t made as much progress on the needlepoint crane, as Pen has been my focus lately, but at least there’s a tad more done. And while I haven’t touched it, I finally have the missing needle back for the bunny suit bear, so at some point I can get back to work on that one — probably after I finish the doily.
(And of course, I’ve gone out and bought more materials — this time, some khaki twill for culottes or a skirt, and some black linen/rayon for a shirt and skirt. Ah, well; they’ll get made eventually.)
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Grave Marker
Well, it’s survived over twenty-four hours. One lantana, variety Dallas Red, on my cat Amber’s grave.
I have little confidence in my ability to grow plants. It’s not that I have a black thumb; it’s more a chartreuse thumb. I’ve put a couple plants in my yard that have done damn well; I’ve put in a lot more that died. Still, a lantana is a Texas native, and I know from neighbors that they grow pretty well around here. We’ll see how it does.
(If it keels over, though, then I’m going to tell my neighbor that the next time she’s thinning her lantanas, I’ll be happy to take one. I’m happy to have supported a small local nursery with this plant, but I can’t afford it too often.)
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25 April 2003
Friday Five: The Last X….
- What was the last TV show you watched? Umm…. It’s been over a year; I can’t remember. Whatever it was, it was probably on PBS.
- What was the last thing you complained about? The fact that my hormones are up but my dating prospects currently dubious.
- Who was the last person you complimented and what did you say? My son, saying “good job” because he put his diaper in the trash.
- What was the last thing you threw away? Printouts of late 2001 Free Will Astrology columns.
- What was the last website (besides this one) that you visited? Google, to remind myself of the optimal order for link/visited/hover/active in stylesheet definitions.
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Subrights and Harry Potter
On one of my email lists, someone wondered why amazon.co.uk wouldn’t send multiple copies of the new Harry Potter book to American addresses. I posted a response, and figured I might as well put it here too.
Disclaimer: I am relaying information absorbed by osmosis in my eight years working for a publisher, supplemented by a two-minute conversation with the Press’s rights & permissions manager; any errors are mine rather than hers or the Press’s. The below is not the official opinion of the University of Texas Press, The University of Texas at Austin, the University of Texas System, or the state of Texas.
Generally, when a publisher in one country licenses the rights to publish a book, this means that they can only sell the book in the territory that the licensing publisher grants them. For example, the British Museum Press has licensed Western Hemisphere subrights to their Legendary Past Series books to the University of Texas Press. This means that UTP can sell these books anywhere in the U.S., or Canada, or Latin America….but if you’re in Germany, you can’t buy the book from us; you have to buy it from BMP. (And vice versa; a bookstore in Brazil has to order it from Austin rather than from London.)
Now, in theory, that subrights agreement only applies to people/companies buying the book directly from the publisher. The German customer can’t order Aztec and Maya Myths from UTP…but they can order it from Book People, three miles from us. And vice versa; if I had the sudden urge to spend money unnecessarily, I could order the book from amazon.co.uk, instead of doing the intelligent thing and checking our damaged returns pile until a copy shows up. (As you might guess, subrights evolved before the Internet made it a whole lot easier to order books across national borders.)
So, what’s the deal with HP5?
Money. The BMP might prefer that the German customer buy from them (or at least from a store that bought from them), but overall, it’s not going to especially affect their sales. Harry Potter is another story. Scholastic paid Bloomsbury a tidy sum for the U.S. rights (hmm, I wonder how much of Bloomsbury’s HP revenue comes that vs. their direct UK sales?) and certainly won’t want to lose a large chunk of their market to Bloomsbury, even indirectly. So Bloomsbury has probably made specific arrangements with their major customers (and possibly their minor ones as well), that HP5 can be sold but with these restrictions. (It’s a little like bookstores having to sign agreements not to sell copies of a new Stephen King book before the official release date, to keep local bookstore A from releasing the book early and selling to all the local customers before bookstore B down the road has even received their shipment.) For all I know, that might even be in the contract that Scholastic made with Bloomsbury.
Whether subrights still make sense when you can order books from amazon.co.uk as easily as you can from amazon.com is a topic for some other time when I’ve actually formed an opinion on it.
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24 April 2003
Collections
Fazia asks what people collect.
The first thing people say when they walk into my dining room is, “My, you have a lot of mugs!” I’ve collected coffee mugs ever since my ninth birthday, when I got a lovely porcelain Peanuts mug. I now have seventy-ish. I built bookshelves that have shelves specifically for the mugs, which has worked well to cap my collection — if I get a new one, I’ll have to unload an old one.
And yes, I actually use them. They’re in a specific order, and I drink out of a different one every morning, so each one gets used five or six times a year. (Obsessive-compulsive tendencies? Me? Naah….)
Other collections? I used to collect glass tumblers with college logos on them, but a few years ago I gave that up. I suppose you could call my folders of cross-stitch patterns and craft magazines a collection — I may or may not ever actually make the patterns, but they’re so fun to look through every couple months.
The only other active collection I have, though, is the owls. (Active not so much because I consciously go out looking for them, as that people tend to give them to me. Which is fine with me; I like owls.) The owl canister, sugar bowl, and creamer that I bought at an estate sale. The lava owl that my ex-mother-in-law bought me at Mt. Etna. The white owl stuffed animal that predates Harry Potter by several years, that a college friend bought me because it resembled the familiar my D&D character had. The Crossed Wing barn owl cross-stitch piece in the hall. The lead crystal owl, a gift from my ex’s uncle, which was quite fun getting through airport security.
(Funny thing, though: I don’t have an owl mug. Now, that’s a blatant hole in the collection….)
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23 April 2003
And To Think I Could Be Paid $75 an Hour for This….
Is there such thing as a plumbing phobia?
My house was built in the late 1950′s, and some of the plumbing is starting to go iffy. It’s getting to the point where any sound vaguely like dripping water strikes fear into my heart — oh no! is this The Big One that will wipe out my budget, create the perfect breeding ground for black mold, and lead to my house being condemned and me sleeping in a drafty tent on the bare slab? (Should I ever be captured by Stooges of the Evil Empire who want me to spill my secrets, they’ll have no need for drugs or torture implements. All they’ll have to do is shut me in a room with slightly leaky plumbing, and within twenty-four hours I’ll tell them everything they want to know.)
The latest saga is the master bathroom shower. Last summer, the cold water faucet started leaking from the stem. So I saved up, and finally got a plumber in to fix the thing. Turned out to require an entire stem replacement; expensive, but compared to the Water Heater Debacle, quite manageable.
Three months later, the stem was leaking again.
So I called the plumber; he came back and looked at it, and fixed it, and said that he’d screwed it up the first time, so there wasn’t any charge. Cool.
Less than six months after that, and the shower head itself started dripping. (Hello, high water bill!)
This time, I decided that I needed to at least attempt repairs myself — it was probably just a washer, and since the stems had been replaced, I should be able to get the thing disassembled without power tools. So I took it apart and discovered that indeed, the washer was toast. Replaced that; replaced the o-ring further up the stem (though I still think it’s the wrong size, but so was the original that was on there); and put it back together.
First usage: it still dripped, but less.
Second usage: it didn’t drip at all.
A few days later: major dripping, even more than before.
I took it apart again this morning. Washer’s still fine (bit of a dent now from the stem seat, but I’d think that’s normal); no pieces of the old washer still lurking in the valve seat; o-ring is squished in one part, which makes me think it’s indeed too big and that’s keeping the seal from forming properly. I put in some teflon tape and put it back together; as of when I left this morning, if it’s still leaking, it’s not too fast, but it’s anyone’s guess how much water I’ll find in the bowl when I get home.
And this morning when I refilled the cat’s water dish, I found that the stem in the bathtub is now leaking. And there’s still the outside faucet I’ve been ignoring for months. Sigh. There are MANY other things I’d rather be doing when I get child-free time.
Plumbing. The necessary evil.
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22 April 2003
Life-changing Music
Back when the Choral Arts Society did Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony with the UT Symphony, the choir conductor told us that this piece had been a life-changing one for him, the first time he performed it. I’ve been thinking since about what music has been life-changing for me.
Sibelius’s second symphony and Stravinsky’s Rites of Spring. I’ve never actually played either, but when I heard them for the first time at music camp, they got me interested in classical music.
Many pieces we did when I was in high school band and orchestra left their echoes on me, but the ones that particularly stand out are Holsinger’s Liturgical Dances (band) and the first movement of Bruckner’s 4th Symphony (orchestra). Playing those pieces is like mainlining antidepressants; there’s no room for whatever’s bothering you in your daily life.
In university, I have no real memory of what I played in concert band, but in choir, Bernstein’s Chicester Psalms sticks with me, as does the “Te Deum” we sang for the opening of the music school’s new building. A few years later, in church choir, we did Durufle’s Requiem; I was pregnant through most of the rehearsals, and the first time I came back after the birth, my son got this really weird expression when we started singing — “I’ve heard this before, only more…muted!”
When it comes to music I’ve just listened to rather than performed, the number one title on that list has to be Silly Wizard’s “Queen of All Argyll”, and the rest of the “Kiss the Tears Away” album. That song got me into that album, and that album got me interested in Celtic and folk music (and also got me through one of the less pleasant summers of my life). Number two would definitely be Värttinä’s album Seleniko, which got me interested in Scandanavian folk adaptations in general and has put a fair amount of North Side stock on my shelves.
As for recent performances, Mahler wasn’t life-changing for me (grand and glorious, yes, but life-changing? nope), and neither was Brahms’s German Requiem (though come to think of it, I’d played a band arrangement of the first movement in middle school, and that was). Verdi…might be. (I had no idea that the “Tuba mirum” section sounded like THAT with the orchestra….)
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16 April 2003
Ask Not for Whom the OP Status Tolls….
UT Press’s edition of Garcilaso de la Vega’s Florida of the Inca just went out of print. A wistful moment, as that title’s been in print just about since the Press was formed in 1950. (Yes, we were definitely publishing in Latin American studies before it was popular!) Alas, an era has passed.
So, now the oldest title on our in-print list is Langford’s Big Bend: A Homesteader’s Story, published in 1952 and still going strong.
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