From the Annals of Poster Hermeneutics

The irony is that I saw this sign on the way to my seminar on theories of textual interpretation (aka, hermeneutics).



I would have stopped by, but I'm pretty sure it would have been too late by the time I saw the poster (and besides, I'm not very good in dangerous situations).

God Hates San Francisco

Fosco does like the occasional author talk, although unfortunately any future talks at Bookshop Santa Cruz are now totally out of the question, thanks to the store's nasty opposition to raising the Santa Cruz minimum wage. (If you're a Santa Cruzian, join the boycott!) But it was Fosco's personal assistant Geoffrey this time who dragged a worn-out Fosco to the Capitola Book Cafe last night to see geological (and more) essayist Simon Winchester.

Anyone who has read Fosco's recent journey across the country on I-80 (see Achives "2006-07-09" and "2006-07-16" below and to the right) knows that Fosco is fascinated by geology--especially the violent kind (sedimentation is, let's face it, a little snoozy). However, Fosco is a bit of geology snob: he prefers Princetonian and Pulitzer-Prize-winning John McPhee to "bestseller" authors like Simon Winchester. Of course, the problem is that Fosco has never actually read Simon Winchester... But Geoffrey has, and so there we were last night at Capitola Book Cafe, where Winchester was promoting his book about the 1906 San Francisco earthquake.

It turns out that Simon Winchester is really smart and entertaining. If I had known he was British (and an Oxonian), I wouldn't have resisted reading his books for the last few years. I'm not going to summarize his whole talk, which, interestingly, was a talk and not a reading (talks being preferable to readings, in my book); however, I will note three points he made:

• He characterized the governmental response to the 1906 earthquake as something of which Americans should be "proud," in contrast to the governmental response to Hurricane Katrina in 2005 (of which Americans should "ashamed.") He also noted that the governmental response to the next San Francisco earthquake (and the clock is ticking) is likely to be bad, unless we start preparing now.
  
• He traced the historical accidents by which the 1906 San Francisco Earthquake could be blamed for the rise of American Christian Fundamentalism. Apparently, one of the most influential Pentecostal ministers in LA made a prediction three days before the Earthquake that God was going to send a sign. The next week, his church was overflowing and the Pentecostal movement was born.
  
• Sometime in the next 2500 years, the volcano under Yellowstone Park is going to explode, completely burying the entire Pacific Northwest under tons of ash. Of course, as Winchester notes, the human race will be extinct by then (even Americans!).

The thing that made me saddest about the 1906 Earthquake (I mean, other than all that death...) was that it destroyed the 1000 room Hotel Nymphomania. It seems that SF was Fosco's kind of city even then.

Here's a pic of Winchester preparing to sign a book for an aging hippie (ah, Santa Cruz...).


Oh, and here's a startling tidbit: according to Winchester, there is a 67% chance of a 6.5 magnitude (on the Richter Scale) earthquake occuring on either the San Andreas or Hayward fault by 2025. The San Adreas quake would flatten San Francisco; the Hayward quake would destroy Berkeley and Oakland. Assuming that Fosco remains in Santa Cruz for the next six years, basic probability theory explains that there is a 33% chance that the devastating quake will occur while he is here. Of course, either quake would be much less damaging in Santa Cruz, but still... Yikes.

The hantologie of Diamanda Galas, OR Cabaret in the Underworld

Fosco is a secret Goth. Sure, he doesn't participate sartorially in the movement, preferring khakis and button-down oxford shirts. However, he does frequently wear eyeliner. And, whenever he takes of those "which high school clique would you belong to" quizzes, he ends up as Goth (with Emo Kid a close second). (Strangely enough, Fosco was not a member of either clique when he actually was in high school, but these cliques were merely incipient back then.)

Perhaps Fosco's advisor Jody can sense his hidden gothness, as she suggested yesterday that he cut out of his evening class early in order to see Goth chanteuse Diamanda Galas in Santa Cruz last night. Although Fosco knew almost nothing about Diamanda Galas, he was willing to go for several reasons:

• the title of the show was "Guilty Guilty Guilty," which is really an irresistible title. How can that be bad?
  
• it was described as a "program of tragic and homicidal love songs and death songs." How can that be bad?
  
• he had actual faculty permission to leave class early to attend a concert. How can that be bad?

Before you think that I'm setting you up for some ironic reversal, let me make it clear: the concert was PHENOMENAL. Now let me tell you about it.

Diamanda entered the auditorium from the back and walked spotlit down the aisle to the stage where she took her seat at a piano enveloped in fog. She certainly makes an entrance. She was dressed in black, of course, looking a bit like a less-purposefully sexy Elvira. For her first song, the curtain behind the piano was lit deep funeral-home blue, with a red spot on the piano. The opening chords were funereal (and there was some electronic distortion added to the sound). This was all great fun, of course, as Fosco likes a good spectacle. But then she opened her mouth...

And THE VOICE came out.

That's actually a direct quote from Fosco's notes (he was taking notes for you, my pretties). Right in the middle of the page, after his descriptions of the show so far, Fosco suddenly writes: "THE VOICE."

Her voice is not like anything you have heard (at least on this side of the grave). She opened with "My World Is Empty Without You," a track that is available live in iTunes (should you desire to hear it). You can get a sense of THE VOICE from it, but you have to imagine hearing it in person. This is not a pleasant voice, rather, it COMMANDS. It seems it can do almost anything, actually. Over the course of the program, she yowled, she whispered, she howled, she screeched, and she did some kind of thing where, like the throat singers of Tuva she produced two notes at once. According to one of the press clippings available on her website:

Galás plays the piano like driving rain slapping on concrete, and she sings like a demon going to war, a Valkyrie scatting, a lizard queen seeking revenge for the dead… Galás is profound, rigorous, vocally unlimited, terrifying and utterly compelling.

That sounds about right.

The program was almost entirely covers (as far as I can tell), but I would be surprised if the ordinary listener could recognize most of them. She did a version of "Autumn Leaves" (at least I think it was "Autumn Leaves") that can only be described as Evil. There were several songs in French (one of them supposedly an Edith Piaf cover--imagine that, if you can) and one in Spanish (I think, although it could have been Italian). The final encore was the bone-chilling "Let My People Go," which haunted me for the rest of the night.

It is no accident that I used the verb "haunt" here. I would like to suggest, in a Derridean moment, that there is a "hauntology" (or hantologie in French) at work in Diamanda Galas. She reminds us of what is not there in these songs (and in music in general). This is music that acknowledges the power of ghosts, of the dead--and, perhaps, channels those spectres into actual appearance.

As I struggled throughout the concert to figure out how to describe her, I finally settled on this metaphor: Diamanda Galas is what Cabaret is like in the Underworld. By the "Underworld," I mean the Greek Underworld (specifically, probably the Asphodel Meadows) where normal souls are not rewarded with Heaven or punished with torment, but rather mill about in a less-pleasant version of life on earth, haunted by memories of their life on earth and desirous of news of the living. This is what Diamanda Galas evokes for me. And I hope she is in The Underworld when I get there.

The other question that I kept thinking was this: does David Lynch know about her? And, if so, why hasn't she appeared in one of his movies yet?

Two Truths and a Lie (Part II)

Let's talk about a new series of posts. Every so often, I will collect three tidbits of info that don't really deserve their own entry and then squish them together... Oh, and one of them will have something to do with lying. I did this once and I like how it works. So let's go, let's go, L-E-T-S-G-O!

• Stephen Colbert has issued the call to arms:
  

  We’re at war here, singles. Pick a side. You can be married or you can be gay.

  I know I've chosen my side, although I might prefer to have the singles team up with the gays to fight the marrieds... But oh well.
  
  At any rate, Stephen is going to be pissed about this: according to results released by the Census Bureau, married people in the US are now outnumbered by singles!
  
  The most interesting things about these data?
  

  Among counties, the highest proportion of unmarried opposite-sex partners was in Mendocino, Calif., where they made up nearly 11 percent of all households.
  
  The highest share of male couples was in San Francisco, where, according to the census, they accounted for nearly 2 percent of all households. Hampshire County, Mass., home to Northampton, had the highest proportion of female couples, at 1.7 percent.

  While it is no surprise to find that San Francisco is the place to live when you're gaymale and coupled, and while it is no surprise (to anyone who, like Fosco, has visited) that Northampton, MA is Lesbian Central, what is the deal with Mendocino County?
  
  Maybe I should think about moving to that swinger's paradise... I hear that Ukiah (the largest community in Mendocino County) has got a hella crazy club scene...
  
  
• Have you heard of this tool named Aleksey Vayner? It seems he's been a viral internet celeb lately, but not in a good way.
  
  
  
  He's a Yale student (it figures...) and it seems that he prepared this totally narcissistic and bizarre video resume (entitled "Impossible Is Nothing") for some ibanking job. According to the NYTimes,
  

  Mr. Vayner’s seven-minute clip, entitled “Impossible is nothing,” presents images of him bench-pressing what a caption suggests is 495 pounds and firing off what is purported to be a 140-mile-an-hour tennis serve.
  
  The tone of the video seems too serious to be parody, yet too over-the-top to be credible.

  As for the footage of him doing the ski tricks? Well, that's only "probably" him. Oh yeah, he also wrote a book. It's self-published and entitled "Women’s Silent Tears: A Unique Gendered Perspective on the Holocaust." And did I mention that it's largely plagiarized? Yesss... I love this story. Read the rest of it here.
  
  
• Fosco's self-promoting college roommate (God bless him), David Lat, is profiled in this article in the Legal Times.
  
  It's a good profile--quite fawning--and it doesn't dwell too much on David's bizarre and unpleasant conservatism. Did you know that David actually requires that his clothes be tailored by seven-year-old Cambodian orphans? It's true. If you want the real dirt on David Lat, now you know where to go...
  
  Oh, and does Fosco get mentioned in the profile? Not exactly, unless you know that Fosco is actually the nom-de-guerre plume of Jeffrey Toobin. But shhhh...
  

Dancing with Myself (Oh oh oh oh.)

Has all this protest talk been killing your buzz? Mine too. Let's talk about something fun and frivolous.

On Friday, Fosco finally made his entry into Santa Cruz nightlife--accompanied by his sexypals Julie, Liz, Aliya, and Maria. This is actually Fosco's preferred modus operandi for being "out on the town," i.e., surrounded by attractive and fasionably-dressed women. He generally believes that some of their sparkle rubs off on him...

We began the evening at the "Red Room"--the fabled Santa Cruz superlounge. And, although Fosco had heard tons of positive things about the Red Room, he still found it to exceed expectations. The Red Room is actually Santa Cruz's answer to a superclub, in a sense: a smoky and casual downstairs bar and a sophisticated lounge and restaurant upstairs. The pic at the right is the downstairs bar, as I haven't been able to find any online shots of the upstairs lounge to steal appropriate.

The lounge is extremely cool. It's dark and red and decadent with red velvet and divans and a fireplace--the atmosphere is tops. The music is excellent: not too young, not too old (what a radio station might call "the best mix of the 80s, 90s, and today"). How happy was Fosco to hear a Billy Idol double play: "Dancing with Myself" and "White Wedding"? Yessssss....

The drinks are fine and not too expensive ($5.25 Tanqueray and Tonics--not too steep). The service is to be expected in such a popular place, i.e., slow. However, our waitress was certainly friendly and, interestingly, a student of cosmetology--she will probably be coloring Liz's hair in the not-too-distant future. In addition, one of Fosco's students works there are some sort of floor manager, however, this did not translate into free drinks for Fosco (at least I don't think it did... I sort of lost count at one point...)

The most exciting thing about our conversation at the Red Room? It turns out that Liz is, like Fosco, a huge Madonna fan (well, we liked her in her pre-Malawian-baby-kidnapping phase). We even both purchased and later sold/lost Madonna's Sex book! And then "Justify My Love" came on and all hell broke loose...

After leaving the Red Room, we headed to Santa Cruz's only gay danceclub, Dakota. Dakota has a really cool space with a nice long comfortable bar in front and a relatively small dancefloor in back. The coat check drag queen/tranny is fierce. Unfortunately, the Dakota experience could have been better. For one thing, there were hardly any gay men there. When we arrived (around 11:30), it was mostly lesbians. As the night wore on, the crowd started to become mostly straight couples and then finally, around 1, the place emptied out entirely. This was odd, but I suspect it was just that the heterosexual people wanted to get back to their dorm rooms to have heterosexual sexual relations. I've been told that Saturday nights have more bois, so that's the plan next time.

In terms of music... well, Fosco has been out of the club scene for a long time, so he doesn't really know what's popular these days, but... the music was pretty bad. Sure there were high points (e.g., "Shakira, Shakira"), but there were also songs that cleared the dancefloor completely. I'm going to suggest that the Friday night DJ is not the most talented spinner in town. Oh yeah, and he played "SexyBack" twice (the second time by "request"). Is it me or did that song die after about twenty minutes? Of course, during those twenty minutes, Fosco was all over it.

Ah, the nightlife... Fosco is glad to be back.

Protest This: A cri de coeur.

Well, it wasn't exactly the March on Washington, was it?

Wednesday's protest by UCSC students on the occasion of the visit of the UC Regents, garnered some media attention, with an article in the San Francisco Chronicle in addition to the analysis in the local Santa Cruz Sentinel. In Fosco's original post on the matter, he poked some gentle(?) fun at the protesters because, well, it all seemed a bit silly.

But the more Fosco reads about the protest and the fallout, the less silly it seems. Rather, it is becoming clear that this protest was colossally stupid.

"Yeah, yeah," you say, "Fosco is totally in league with The Man." He's "corrupted by White Upper Class Privilege." He's "scared to Fight the Power." He's "gone soft" in academia, where he is "complicit with State Interests." I would disagree (although maybe not completely), but it's a pointless exercise for me to try to convince this critic of my leftist credentials. I think it's enough to say these two things:

• I don't approve of many things that the UC Regents do (or have done).
  
• I am willing to nonviolently protest against specific policies (and have done so many times in my life).

Therefore, while I may not be leftist enough, I certainly can be considered generally sympathetic to leftish causes (and not just in an armchair way). And that's why I'm pissed off about this protest.

This is the big problem with the protest: why were the students protesting? Now, I know that there are tons of potential issues that could have been the cause of this protest and I am sympathetic to all of them: student fee hikes (non-Californians, did you know that, by law, the University of California cannot charge tuition? It gets around this problem by charging "fees." Sneaky, eh?), the funding of nuclear weapons research, cuts to humanities programs, a living wage for UC custodial workers, etc. I would love to hold the Regents accountable for all those things. But here's the problem: no one seemed to be protesting those things!

You don't believe me? Let's listen to the students (from the Sentinel article):

"I agree it wasn't the most successful protest, but at least it is a step away from our image as apathetic youth. For your readers blinded by upper class stability (something I admittedly enjoy), I ask that they recognize us as idealistic human beings, raised in their world, but willing to shed our egos and join together for a better world through a fairer distribution of power."

"These people [the Regents] smile real smug like they got your number and it's real frustrating."

"What we did accomplish is making ourselves known," activist Tomasso Boggia said. "We're here and really pissed off."

What the fuck? These kids tried to surround the UC Regents and (some of them) entered into violent confrontations with police officers because the Regents are smug? Or, to prove that they're not apathetic? This is ridiculous.


This protest lacked the two things that make a protest coherent: a leader (or spokesperson) and a message. To me, this seems like Protest 101 (which, if it were going to be taught on any university campus, would probably be taught here...). Where was the message? Who was speaking for these protesters (and if it was the people quoted above, they need to be fired)? Oh and what about some chants? "We're here and really pissed off!" just doesn't have the same ring to it as "We're here, we're queer, get used to it!" (N.B., the queer one has the additional benefit of offering an actual demand.)

And here's the bigger problem: when UCSC Acting Chancellor Blumenthal sent out his campuswide email today deploring the protest, I (and, I suspect, a lot of other people) actually agreed with it. I don't think this is a good thing--I don't like agreeing with the administration. But when the Chancellor says,

What was both unexpected and completely unacceptable was pushing, kicking, biting, spitting, heaping verbal abuse, and throwing bottles and decayed fruit at staff and visitors, as occurred on Wednesday. Staff members, including our police officers, were verbally abused and physically injured. Guests from the community were pushed and spat upon. [...] Students, faculty, staff (including UCSC police), and visitors are all members of our community and are entitled to civil and respectful treatment.

it's hard to disagree.

Ah, my radical little Banana Slugs... I hate to say it, but maybe you could take a lesson from your compatriots at UC Berkeley. This is how they spent their Wednesday afternoon.

UC Regents Open Fire on Protesters

Okay, not really. But isn't that an awesome headline?

The University of California Regents are on campus at UCSC today--for only the second time in the last forty years. The official report on their visit has them participating in "tours, talks, and hands-on activities." What exactly does "hands-on activities" mean? Are they going to pull carrots at the campus organic farm? Pour concrete at the library expansion? Attempt to subdue Angela Davis (hint: bring a Taser)?

Fosco had forgotten about the Regents visit, so this afternoon, he and Michael and Laurel (the Canadians!) headed for the taqueria at Merrill College (one of UCSC's ten residential colleges). On the way, we passed by the new humanities complex (soon to be Fosco's home) and remembered that the Regents were, at that moment, inside at their "public Q&A session." We saw a number of people milling around on the plaza (mostly a bunch of juggling hippies to tell the truth) and continued on our way.

About half an hour later, filled with burrito, we passed again by the building, but now there was a full force (maybe 20? 25?) of police in full riot gear (face masks, body armor, batons) guarding the building. Laurel saw what appeared to be some arrestees (but Fosco did not--he was driving). What, we asked each other, could have happened?

Well, the answer isn't too surprising. As there is no daily student newspaper at UCSC (which is ridiculous when you think about it), we have to rely on the Santa Cruz Sentinel for the story. According to the Sentinel:

In a show of protest to UC policies, dozens of student protestors attempted to force their way inside a campus lecture hall and disrupt the Board of Regents’ second official visit to UC Santa Cruz in 40 years.

Police used batons and pepper spray to subdue the crowd.

You can read the full story here, but actually, by reading the quote above, you have read the full story (I expect more in-depth coverage to appear somewhere tomorrow--I'll update then.)

The best part about the Sentinel's coverage at this point is the series of pictures, including the one you see above (protesters post-pepper spray) and this one:


Fosco's favorite part of this picture is the masked man in the center who remembered to bring his drum to the protest. I guess you never know when a drum circle might break out.

Now, of course, Fosco is no fan of the UC Regents. Judging from their bios, pretty much every one of them is repulsive: the Schwarzenegger ones for being appointed by Schwarzenegger, most of the others for being businesspeople, and the remaining few for being suspiciously underqualified for running the UC system. Add the fact that there is likely to be a very nasty contract battle between the TA Union and these very Regents next spring and, well, let's just say that Fosco would be more than happy to have them trapped in that Humanities Lecture Hall surrounded by drumming hippies for a long, long time.

No, Fosco's only disagreement with most of these protesters is aesthetic. I know that "aesthetic" is a troubled category, but all I mean is that I like me my protesters to wear shirts and not to wear bandanas (oh yeah, and no drums.) Pay attention, hippies: you could win the support of extremely left-leaning academics like Fosco if only you dressed a little better for your protests. If you put on some khakis and let me know the next time the Regents are in town, I'll bring a pack of my grad school pals and we'll do a thing. Is it a deal?

Denouement: 10/1-10/15

Over the last two weeks, while you were planning a week of Oakland A's World Series parties, Fosco was

• revealing his history of borderline inappropriate text-messaging.
  
• making enemies of powerful people in academia.
  
• finding himself thankful for our northerly neighbors--just not for their bacon.
  
• crossing a rainbow bridge into a magical fairy land where lollipops grow on candy trees and gumdrops sprout from the chocolate ground.
  
• convincing himself that Robbie Coltrane is actually a pretty handsome guy.
  
• making a mockery of all that is holy (in classical music).
  
• pissing off his coupled friends.
  
• realizing that running nude combines his two least favorite activities.
  
• going to the symphony... and then snarking off to some Minneapolis homer in the Comments.
  
• making fun of Skeletor Joyce Carol Oates.
  

We're here, we're queer, and we're going to Valhalla.

Hey Homos! Last Wednesday was National Coming Out Day! And as it should be apparent from every single post on this blog that Fosco is queer, he didn't feel the need to write a celebratory post or anything (although he probably should have).

But how happy was Fosco when approaching his Friday afternoon seminar at Oakes College (one of the ten residential colleges at UCSC) to find that his path led over a RAINBOW BRIDGE! Luckily, Fosco has this new camera phone thingie:



The colors are a bit washed out in these pix, but trust me: this baby was vibrant.

Naturally, I love the gayness here. What's not to love about a 100 ft long homosexual bridge?

But, I must point out that this installation evoked a different meaning as well: at the end of Das Rheingold, what do Wotan and the other gods do? They cross into Valhalla by means of a rainbow bridge revealed by Donner's hammer blow. You can be sure that the music was in Fosco's head all afternoon.

Heda! Heda! Hedo!
Zu mir, du Gedüft!
Ihr Dünste, zu mir!
Donner, der Herr,
ruft euch zu Heer!

(Er schwingt den Hammer)

Auf des Hammers Schwung
schwebet herbei!
Dunstig Gedämpf!
Schwebend Gedüft!
Donner, der Herr,
ruft euch zu Heer!
Heda! Heda! Hedo!

Actually, Fosco might like to Schwing Donner's hammer...

Maybe next year, Joyce...

The first few weeks of October are both exciting and frustrating for Fosco. As the Nobel Prizes begin to trickle out of Stockholm, he has to put with the almost daily announcements of useless awards (like Physics or Medicine) until they finally get around to the Literature award.

Fosco loves the Nobel Prize in Literature (as he loves most other literary awards). Actually, the thing that Fosco loves most about the Nobel Prize in Literature is handicapping it. Who will win? Who should win but won't? Who might win but shouldn't?

To tell you the truth, Fosco's favorite thing about the Nobel Lit Prize is the perrenial presence of Skeletor, er, Joyce Carol Oates on the media's "shortlist." Yes, our JCO is Literature's Susan Lucci, tapped by both the newsmedia and the betting books (yes, you can bet on this!) as one of the heavyweights for the last several years. JCO's annual candidacy has even led the editor of the JCO infosite to provide this tart reply. Personally, I doubt that JCO will ever win the Nobel Prize for Literature, for the following reasons:

• She teaches at Princeton with previous Nobel Laureate Toni Morrison (Winner in 1993). How many Literature Nobels are they going to throw at Princeton?
  
• She's written somewhere in the neighborhood of, oh say, 6500 books and yet, NO ONE I know has read one of her novels. (Fosco has read more of her novels than he would care to admit, but all against his will. Ask him what that means, sometime.)
  
• She's written (by a conservative estimate) about 9,740 books. Every time you look away, another book by her appears on the "New Books" table. Can the Nobel Committee really come to terms with that kind of oeuvre? Do they care to?
  
• Although she's written roughly 4200 books, a close reading reveals that she's actually written the same 5 books, 840 times each. That's something I expect the Swedish Academy to notice. Eventually.
  
• There's that whole mess with her accusing James McGreevey of killing all those teen vagrants. Stockholm doesn't really like teen sex killings.

So who did win? Some Turkish guy. Actually, to be more accurate, it's some Turkish guy who has faced political repression (a lil' bit) in his home country. Huh. Well, at least the Nobel Committee isn't predictable or anything.

So who should have won? Actually, I'm fine with Pamuk winning. I've never read his stuff, but it seems to review well. I mean, if Margaret Atwood thinks it's okay who am I to argue? (Atwood herself is something of a gunner for the Prize, eh?)

Next year, I'd love to see it go to Salman Rushdie (especially if the Academy really wants to make a statement about creative freedom) or Haruki Murakami (cuz I like him).

Actually the writer I think most deserves it (as he is certainly the best living writing working in English) is Philip Roth. However, he will never win it. Never. Why not? Because I don't see another American Jewish man (who writes about aging American men) winning. It turns out that Saul Bellow won the Nobel Prize that should have, thirty years later, gone to Roth. Time plays such cruel jokes.

Don't worry, Joyce--you still have that cushy gig at Princeton, even if Toni makes fun of you behind your back. And, as this post proves, you don't need to have a Nobel to do that...

"Did a shadow pass?": Learning to fear Kaja Silverman

The problem with graduate school (well, okay, one of the problems) is that four times a week (on average), there is a talk on campus that Fosco would like to attend; however, due to Fosco's workload (or frequent need for restorative naps), he almost never makes it to any of them. His good intention to attend a talk almost always replaces his need to actually attend one. However, every so often, a talk strikes Fosco as unmissable... such as last Wednesday's visit to UCSC of Kaja Silverman.

Anyone familiar with Fosco's interests may find strange his desire to attend a Kaja Silverman talk--after all, he doesn't do much Lacan and absolutely NO film theory (in fact, Kaja Silverman probably watched as many films last month as Fosco watched in the last five years). In addition, Silveman's topic seemed almost deliberately obscure: a (long-past) video installation by Irish artist James Coleman (an artist that, incidentally, Fosco has never heard of). So why would Fosco want to go to this talk?

Because Fosco was Kaja-curious.

You see, Kaja Silverman is not just some Lacanian film theorist: she's a full-fledged Star in the Theory firmament. Kaja Silverman and Judith Butler are the Endowed Chair-holding Titans of that Powerhouse of Interdisciplinarity known as the Berkeley Rhetoric Department. So, regardless of whether Fosco was going to be able to understand a word she said, there was no way he would miss out on an opportunity to see a genuine Theory Rock Star! (Just as Above The Law likes to pretend that judges are rock stars, Fosco likes to do the same with theorists... Hmmm. Now do you understand why we were college roommates?)

And what did Fosco learn from this Kaja Silverman talk? Well, for one thing, she is brilliant. Although that's not a huge surprise--Berkeley doesn't just give you an Endowed Chair for being sassy (that's really more of a UC-Merced kind of thing...). The big surprise is that the talk was actually extremely interesting: Fosco forgot how much he enjoys art criticism talks. But this was no normal art criticism talk--she also managed to provide an extremely complicated meditation on time and space, drawing on Bergson and Deleuze. Did you know that you and I can both be living in different presents? At the same time? Wait... that sounds strangely familiar...

Okay, okay--all kidding aside, it actually was a really amazing meditation on space and time. I don't feel like saying any more about it though, as this blog is what I do when I don't want to explicate theory...

But here's the most interesting thing I learned about Kaja Silverman: she is SCARY. No, really! SCARY! Some of my compatriots in the audience have speculated that she might have hooves, but I don't know--I think she was actually wearing black ballet shoes and I would think it might be hard to get cloven feet into those.

How is she scary? Well, for one thing, she has this habit, during the question and answer period, of shadowing your question with "uh-huh"s until she feels that she fully understands the question; then, she cuts you off to answer it. None of that "wait until the questioner is done asking the question before answering it" stuff for Kaja Silverman. That would waste valuable seconds! The freaky art installations of the world aren't just going to explain themselves, dammit--Kaja Silverman has things to do!

You might think I'm making too big a deal of this, and I probably am. But, I guess I'm still a little surprised at it all. I watched her do it to FACULTY for christsake! Tenured faculty! She was clearly on a level above the mere mortals in the room and wasn't thrilled to have to suffer their questions.

I'm also pretty sure that I saw her outside on my balcony last night. [shiver]

Best Couples EVER: The List.

Perhaps Fosco was a bit insensitive in proclaiming Michael and Laurel the "best couple EVER" in his recent post on Canadian Thanksgiving (at least, that's what several of his other coupled friends have suggested in their emails filled with tearful recriminations...)

The problem of course was with my choice of the definite article. What I meant to say (yet did not--I blame the delicious stuffing that Laurel made...) is that Michael and Laurel are one of the best couples EVER.

Which suggests to me that maybe I need to produce the following list of Best Couples EVER (in random order):

• JennyT and her Swedish Meatball, Mantis (You may recall my recent day in San Francisco with JennyT).
  
• Dan and Carol, my "surrogate parents."
  
• Michael and Laurel (of above)
  
• Ellen DeGeneres and Portia DiRossi
  
• chocolate and peanut butter: Two great tastes that taste great together!
  
• Buffy and Angel
  
• Will and Dorothea
  
• Fosco and Rafael Nadal

Blomstedtiana, Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Joshua Bell.

As you well know, Fosco is a lover of the contemporary classical music. But that doesn't mean that he doesn't enjoy a bit of the more traditional repertoire every so often--especially if that means Mahler, Wagner, or, perhaps, a performance led by one of his favorite conductors.

And one of those conductors would be Herbert Blomstedt (or, judging from the photo to the left, you can just call him George F. Will). I think Herbert Blomstedt is brilliant. I got to know him through his recordings with the San Francisco Symphony in the late 80s and early 90s. I consider three of these discs to be the absolute definitive recording of the work:

• Mahler: Symphony No. 2
  
• Orff: Carmina Burana
  
• Sibelius: Symphony No. 2
  

Not to mention his excellent Nielsen cycle and his excellent Hindemith. With my love affair with Blomstedt's recordings, imagine how excited I was in 1997 (or was it 98?) to see him conduct the SF Symphony in a Brahms/Berwald program. I loved that concert... and so, of course, I couldn't resist getting tickets to the SFS last weekend to see Blomstedt conduct Beethoven's Violin Concerto and Nielsen Symphony No. 5.

A "Beethoven Violin Concerto" + "Scandinavian Symphony" program actually suggests to me a digression, as I saw essentially the same program last October in Minneapolis. I was in town for a conference and was strolling down the Nicollet Mall (brrr... that city is COLD) when I passed Orchestra Hall and noticed the Minnesota Orchestra program for that evening featured the Beethoven Violin Concerto (with Christian Tetzlaff) and Sibelius Symphony No. 4.

As I had recently read Alex Ross on the Minnesota Orchestra and their hot new conductor, Osmo Vanska, and
as my greatest dream in the world is to someday become Mrs. Alex Ross, and
as Vanska is considered to be an expert on Sibelius, and
as I lurve Sibelius 4...
I had to get a ticket.

Strangely enough, the revelation of the evening was the Beethoven: Tetzlaff was exceptional and, though I had never paid much attention to the piece before, I came away with a strong affection for it. I was a bit disappointed with the Sibelius: Vanska's tempi were too slow and the piece lacked focus. It felt draggy and dull. And Minneapolis's Orchestra Hall is a TERRIBLE space. Do not buy a balcony/tier seat there under any circumstances.

So it strikes me as a bit of an odd coincidence that again this October I saw essentially the same program (but, luckily, someplace warmer and sunnier... and with a better concert hall).

Let's talk about that concert hall: Davies Symphony Hall. I think there are good reasons to like Davies. The first is that it cuts a graceful profile from street level: (Note the chunk of Henry Moore sculpture in the lower lefthand corner.)

The second best reason to like Davies is that, even if (like Fosco) you are a Second Tier ticket holder (yikes! poor people!), the Second Tier hallway actually contains the best features of the building: the two open-air semi-circular balconies. The views of the city (and City Hall) are spectacular: And luckily, Sunday was the perfect day weather-wise to spend some time on the balconies, enjoying the air.

[N.B.: guess who got a camera phone last week...]

As I already mentioned, I was in the Second Tier. And not just any part of the Second Tier, but the... last row.

Here was my view of the stage:

It might look far away, but it wasn't really. For one thing, Fosco is farsighted. For another, it's music for chrissakes. And, for another, Fosco has a neat pair of opera glasses.

Oh yeah, do you want to hear about the concert now?

The soloist for the Beethoven was Joshua Bell who is, as you can see in the photo at right, super hunky. In the past, Fosco has been suspicious of Josh Bell's musical credentials for several reasons: 1) He is super-hunky (which makes one wonder if he is the product of label marketing to middle-aged women, a la Josh Groban) and 2) he occasionally releases CDs with names like "Romance of the Violin." On the other hand, he did record Corigliano's music for The Red Violin and an interesting recording of the Maw Violin Concerto. So I'd been conflicted...

It turns out that Joshua Bell is really good. His tone is lovely, although perhaps a little too sweet. As a special treat, Bell composed his own cadenzas for the piece and they were quite interesting. His cadenzas were extremely allusive, quoting Vivaldi's Four Seasons and Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 14 (and probably some other works that Fosco didn't recognize). This was an excellent performance.

And the Nielsen? To tell the truth, Fosco has had a great deal of trouble liking this symphony. As much as he likes Blomstedt's recordings, this is one symphony on disc that leaves him cold. The live performance changed this response only a little. The orchestra was in full force and sounding great, but the symphony still didn't compel me. I am torn between blaming this on the work itself or on Blomstedt. The one exception: the last few minutes were arresting. At the final moment, Blomstedt brought the orchestra to the point (because it's sure not a resolution that is achieved) and it was energizing. I would have loved for this moment to be able to go on for a long time.

Some general thoughts on the orchestra itself. The strings are excellent, the brass is powerful and authoritative, but something is not quite right with the winds. Throughout both works, the winds really stood out from the sound of the rest of the orchestra--there was almost no integration. I found this really distracting and bit puzzling, as the wind performers of the SFS may be the most distinguised group in the orchestra (at least judging them as soloists on recordings). I don't recall this problem the last time I saw the SFS (which was five years ago), so I don't know what to make of it.

On the way out, Fosco couldn't help but notice MTT's assigned parking space was occupied. Was he really there on a Sunday afternoon when he wasn't conducting? And in case you were wondering, it was some kind of Chrysler (though not a current model). If I were MTT, know what my ride would be? A rickshaw pulled by a shirtless Jeremy Bloom.

"I'm thankful for Don Cherry, eh?"

Fosco loves Canada and he's not ashamed to admit it. Five years ago, he and his good buddy Liz went to a conference in Toronto and fell in love with the country: so friendly, so progressive, so calm. Canadians just don't seem to get worked-up over things that Americans do (homosexuals, evolution, etc.) We made a pact then that we would try to get jobs in Canada, a pact on which Liz has made good and Fosco is violating--at least for the next 6-7 years.

Now although Fosco loves Canada, he hasn't always loved Canadians--at least not as friends. Fosco had a Canadian friend once and things ended very badly.

But this time, it's going to be different, because Fosco has met Michael and Laurel and they are absolutely cool and funny and smart and the best couple EVER. And yesterday, Fosco went to their house for his first ever Canadian Thanksgiving!

Michael and Laurel are absolutely wonderful hosts and they put together a truly remarkable spread for the occasion--all vegetarian, even! (Recall that Fosco does enjoy vegetarian food if it's the right kind). I was even a bit surprised to find myself enjoying, of all things, the Tofurky. And have I mentioned that Laurel makes the most remarkable homemade cup of coffee ever? You think she's fetching you an ordinary cup of coffee, but then she returns with something creamy with a head of foam--it's the most luxurious surprise and I recommend it (I wish that I, like my pal John Mackey, remembered to take pictures of the things that I eat and drink...)

Of course, it wouldn't be right to celebrate a holiday from another culture without learning a bit more about that culture and Michael and Laurel were happy to oblige with some interesting Canadiana. I think that the most fascinating thing I learned is that there exists a hockey announcer named Don Cherry. Apparently, he's 1) a Canadian national treasure and 2) totally insane.

You can get a sense of him from this brief commercial for Quiznos:


As you can see, he has this thing for high collars and pimp suits. If you really want to see what kind of suit this guy is capable of wearing, you should check out this clip (Don appears at approx. 2:30).

And it's not just his sartorial sense that is problematic. Apparently, Hockey Night in Canada (for which he announces) had to be put on a seven second tape delay because of his penchant for saying borderline offensive things. Like what? Well, how about this (during the 2002 Winter Olympics):

I've been trying to tell you people for so long about the Russians, what kind of people they are, and you just love them in Canada with your multiculturalism. They're quitters and evidently they take a lot of drugs, too.

I wish I could disagree with Don, but I've been trying to tell American people about the Russians as well--but you love them in American with your multiculturalism.

I'm trying to think of an American equivalent for Don Cherry, but I'm not sure he translates. Sure, John Madden continues his rapid spiral into madness, but, as any close listener can tell, the redneck conservative in the booth is his partner Al Michaels. There was that whole Jimmy the Greek thing, but nobody thought of him as a national treasure. Probably the closest we get is Lee Corso, and that, my friends, is a goddamn shame.

Which reminds me: someday ESPN is going to have to stop having students in the background of their "College Gameday Live" broadcasts...
Unless, of course, ESPN is tacitly agreeing that Lee Corso loves cock.

Fosco: Too ugly to live?

Over the years, Fosco's friends have always had a difficult time coming up with a celebrity look-a-like for him. Now he knows why.

Fosco would like to call your attention to a (FREE) service being offered by myheritage.com: you upload a photo of yourself and their software "analyzes" it and gives you a list of celebrities that you resemble (along with the percentage similarity for each match). I have my doubts about how well it works (see below), but even so, it is way more fun than anything else you were going to do today (ah, if only I had read my Heidegger before I came across this...).

I must admit the results, for me, were not exactly an ego boost. I share them with you, in the spirit of full disclosure and because they are, well, bizarre.



(I didn't include the photo I submitted--that would be telling!--but it was a recent photo of which I am quite fond.)

Presumably you, like me, don't know who Christopher Uckermann is. It turns out he is the star of a Mexican telenovela and, consequently, he is a pop star (you know how things are in Mexico...). I found this clip of him on YouTube and while I'm not too impressed by his physical appearance (is that a mullet?), I am fascinated and perplexed by what exactly is going on in this clip. As far as I can tell, he and some guy are flipping a coin to see who has to hold onto an electric shock generator. The perplexing thing is why this goes on for over three minutes. It isn't exactly Jackass, is it...

And hold on a sec... OJ Freakin' Simpson? OJ FREAKIN' SIMPSON? I know that my head is large (and I don't mean that metaphorically)--greater than 2 standard deviations above the population mean, to tell the truth. But still, just because OJ and I have large heads (literally, not figuratively), doesn't mean we look alike. And the fact that we each have been acquitted of a double murder that we actually did commit? Well, that shouldn't show up in our facial physiognomy, right?

On the other hand, I would like to think that I have some of the boyish charm of Hal Sparks.

Luckily, when Fosco tried again with a different picture, a completely different list of celebs appeared... What could this mean? How protean is Fosco?

This has all the makings of the "meme of the week" in the blogosphere: how did it work for (occasionally hubristic) musician John Mayer? Hilariously. It turns out that he only resembles himself by 68%. Although, in all fairness, that's probably true.

Are you ready to try this for yourself? [If you have a Mac, you have to use Firefox, not Safari.] Post your results as comments on this blog and win a free... um... well, nothing. But it will be fun!

Recent Advances in Beethoven Studies

Apparently, one cannot listen to My Chemical Romance every day for two weeks without eventually desiring to hear something different. (No offense is meant to MCR: I am looking forward to the new album more than any other recording released this year.) But, for a change of pace, the other day Fosco was playing through his classical discs...

And then he had an inspiration!

You see, a number of years ago, Count Fosco was the host of weekly radio show in Charlottesville, Virginia, devoted to contemporary classical music. Probably the station is one of the few in the US that would allow such a show to exist (as the audience for contemporary classical is, um, not large). He did this for almost five years, and he loved it. So many good memories:

• chatting occasionally with a regular listener who also happens to be a well-known conservative cultural critic.
  
• playing John Cage's 4'33" live on the air. Actually, as I recall, it was fund-raising week and my cohost and I gave our fundraising pitch for 4 minutes and 33 seconds. I suspect Cage would have approved.
  
• following on air a rock show hosted by his pasty-faced Majesty.
  
• causing a station-wide obscenity crisis by (naively) playing a musical setting of Allen Ginsberg's Howl. Silly me: I thought works of art were immune from obscenity rules... (This is SO not true, it turns out--stupid Supreme Court.)

Ah, good times, temporary layoffs...

But the thing I always wanted to do the most on that show I never did. You see, I heard once (and in the last 10 minutes of Google searching, I have been unable to track down a reliable source for this--if you have one, pass it along) that John Cage once played recordings of all nine Beethoven symphonies simultaneously. Several times during my radio years, it occurred to me that I would love to play such a "mashup" on my show. However, at the time, the technical difficulties of mixing the symphonies seemed a bit too daunting for me (i.e., I had a 386 with no sound card and no speakers) and the logistical difficulties of doing it "live" seemed to offer a problem as well (i.e., there weren't even nine working channels on the station's mixing board...).

Time has passed and I now have this MacBook that comes with (pre-installed!) some program called "GarageBand"--which is basically a mixing board for complete idiots (like me!). And so, flipping through my Beethoven discs last week, I realized that I am now fully capable of listening to ALL NINE BEETHOVEN SYMPHONIES SIMULTANEOUSLY.

And, to tell you the truth, it's even better than I thought it would be.

It's not the sonic mush that you might expect (at least if you, like me, can't imagine what to expect). And, believe it or not, it is quite catchy in parts--the beginning in particular.

Because I am Fosco and I love you, my Dear Reader, I want to make this experience available to you. If you want to hear this, you can download the sound file right here.

BEFORE you start downloading, here are the qualifications, caveats, etc:
1. This is a large file. 167 MB. It will take a bit of time and bandwidth.
2. The file format is AIFF. Why? I don't know. I'm not an expert at these things: just consider yourself lucky I could do this at all.
3. This is only the first movements of all nine symphonies. To go beyond that would be too complicated for me right now.
4. Do you know how hard it is to find a free filesharing site that will allow huge files and unlimited downloads and that will work with a Mac? It's hard, so I am using RapidShare. The downside is that, to download for free, you must A) choose the FREE download button and then B) wait like 3 minutes to begin (they even have an annoying timer). Alas.
5. For copyright reasons, I'm not going to tell you which recordings I've used. Just know that they are all the same conductor and orchestra. Does the conductor's last name (sort of) rhyme with "to-mah-to"? Could be. Does the orchestra's geographical location rhyme with "Merlin"? Maybe. I ain't sayin'.
6. Is this a travesty? Bite me.

Isn't contemporary music fun? And do I even need to tell you again to visit Osti Music to listen to some of John Mackey's compositions?

Why Fosco has a cold today

Yesterday evening was the first rain of the semester and so... well... things get a little weird here at UCSC when it rains.

As Gadamer once said: a tradition isn't really a tradition until there is nudity involved.

I think Gadamer also asked (in Truth and Method I believe): how many of your students have seen your penis?

Is Mark Foley just being misread?

So there's this (now former) US Representative Mark Foley who seems to have conducted inappropriately sexual IM conversations with underage (male!) Congressional pages. This is a seamy story with many deliciously juicy angles, including:

• he was a high-ranking member of the Republican Congressional leadership.
  
• his legislative priorities were focused on "championing laws against sexual predators" (NYT)
  
• the House Republican Leadership may have known about his antics for almost a year (and kept it hush-hush).
  
• he is, apparently, that rarest of unicorns: A Gay Republican.

Is it possible to drown in irony? Glub, glub, glub...

But, perhaps we're jumping to conclusions here. As Fosco knows, IM can be a tricky way to communicate. Unfortunately, it is often the only way for one to communicate with anyone under 20. Before Fosco hired his full-time personal assistant Geoffrey, he often employed several teenage interns of his own. And let me tell you, there were some IM-related misunderstandings--often stemming from the fact that specific lines of text were taken out-of-context by concerned parents, FBI agents, etc. Is it possible that the Liberal Media is ignoring parts of these messages--the parts that would reveal that they were actually intended innocently?

To speak to that question, Fosco will present some of his own IMs to his teen boy interns that have been intentionally misinterpreted by his enemies, typically by refusing to notice the second half of each IM conversation:

Case 1
FOSCO: what r u wearing?
CASEY04: tshirt and shorts
FOSCO: love to slip them off of u
FOSCO: cuz its gonna snow
FOSCO: and if u get sick i cant give u time off
FOSCO: put on a coat

Case 2
FOSCO: i want u on all fours on my rug
TIMMY_S: huh?
FOSCO: i lost a contact. i cant see it.

Case 3
FOSCO: bring me ur underwr
HOTWRESTLER06: why?
FOSCO: i wanna sniff em
FOSCO: cuz i thk i may be allergic to ur laundry detergent
FOSCO: and i have to find out before i get hives agin

Case 4
FOSCO: show me ur dick
FOSCO: cheney
FOSCO: action figure
FOSCO: sorry my im is acting screwy
FOSCO: but id love to see that action figure
FOSCO: i hear its funny

Case 5
FOSCO: wanna go to fcuk?
SPICY_TEEN17: u wanna fuck?
FOSCO: no fcuk = french connection uk. its my fave store and i nd u to buy me a coat
FOSCO: cuz its gonna snow

So let's not judge Rep. Foley until we get the FULL transcripts of these "sexually explicit" IMs. Fosco would hate to see another innocent homosexual brought down by a vicious media attack (like how Joyce Carol Oates alleged that James McGreevey killed all those teen vagrants). Shame on you, Liberal Journalist/Short-Story Writer Media Complex!

Denouement: 9/24-9/30

Last week, while you were writing sexually explicit emails to a teenage Congressional page, Fosco was

• urging you to attend the sexy, sexy church of your choice (with your family).
  
• interpreting the affection of squirrels, learning to speak "gay slang," and worshipping a pink-haired, anatomically-impossible, Japanimation character.
  
• considering whether to intern for Mark Foley or for Joss Whedon.
  
• waiting patiently for the inevitable Urkel sex tape.
  
• imagining how it feels to have an javelin sticking out of one's foot. (The Verdict: Painful, but still probably better than being an intern for Joss Whedon.)