Tiddlywinks

For the past three days, though I was otherwise inclined to be grumbly, the piano has gone well. It's not that I'm in an especially inspired mood, but rather in a very concentrated one, and so the elements like phrasing, tone, regular rhythm, etc., that I must watch out for do adjust themselves quite well to the Platonic ideal in my mind. The absorption also means that I tend to play for a very long time; today's repertoire included Schubert, Bach, Debussy, Mozart, Haydn, Prokofiev, Rachmaninoff, and Scott Joplin. Lately the balcony doors have often been open, which I like, because it's good training to overcome any self-consciousness that arises from having passersby hear the music, and because of the fresh air. Today I even rehearsed Schubert lieder while the doors were open, but my voice is so quiet that I doubt it could be heard at street level anyway. Altogether it seems that I'm becoming more serious and focused in general, which is quite good because it is a strengthening of character, but also a little sad because it includes a trace of cynicism and hardboiledness.

Uncle Pu came for a visit, and we tried out two Mozart violin sonatas. My sightreading was frantic, but I think that the notes were at least 80% (or so I think) accurate, and that the piano part was altogether, stylistically and otherwise, in good keeping with the violin part. I don't know the violin sonatas well, but have on past occasions found them delightfully pure and distinctive in their Mozartian quality (though the 1st movement of the 4th sonata is the quasi-Beethovenian exception that proves the rule).

It is much warmer now than it was a week ago. The stove hasn't been on for a while, the tulips are flowering, and the butter in the kitchen is a deeper yellow and smudgily soft and a trifle pathetic in appearance. Last year, if I remember correctly, a bout of spring cleaning seized me as it did Mole in The Wind in the Willows, but so far the effect of the emerging season seems mostly to have consisted of my wearing lighter clothing.

Otherwise I've been doing Spanish and Chinese quizzes, reading blogs, and whisking through the book catalog at Project Gutenberg at a dizzying pace. Due to a computer bug, I couldn't comment on Gawker for a while, which harrowed my feelings for a day or two until it magically resolved itself on April 3rd(?); since then I've only commented once or twice anyway, but the feeling of being able to do it is the important thing. Often I've followed these pursuits at reprehensibly late hours; it is still chilly then, so to conserve warmth I sit on one leg until it is nearly numb, and then switch to the other. (Fascinating detail, I've no doubt.)

One thing that has bothered me lately is that I've been immensely self-centered; for instance, instead of enthusiastically plunging into and writing about specific authors or films or political events, I'm writing about this kind of stuff. But it's probably the result of the fact that I don't find my life nearly as depressing or boring to write about any more. Hopefully it's relatable.

At any rate, one other important thing is that Ge. cooked rotini whilst Gi. concocted a rich sauce of whipping cream, milk, flour, and cheese (parmesan, gouda, and Danish blue cheese), for dinner. It was subtle and delicious and filling.

P.S.: The post title has no specific meaning in this context. I just like the way it sounds.

P.P.S.: Early this morning, whilst browsing Amazon.com, I found Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. I "looked inside" and thought it quite amusing, even though zombies are not my cup of tea. It is enjoyable even if, or perhaps especially if, one is of Mark Twain's opinion that no library is complete if Jane Austen is not banished from it. Here is the opening sentence:

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.