Jefferson Han is an inventor who, with colleagues at NYU Courant Institute of Mathematical Sciences, has come up with some marvelous inventions. Here is a video clip of a prototype of a, sometimes called, “smartboard” where one’s hands touch the screen to input commands. Remember in “Minority Report” there was a “computer” that was projected in thin air? I’m ready for it: no mouse and minimal typing. Typing classes will be a thing of the past and will be replaced by Tai Chi!

“The Art Teacher” and “Danny Boy” were discussed today.

With respect to the meaning of “The Art Teacher” the first order of business was whether the story teller was a boy or a girl. Most felt it was indeed from a woman’s point of view, but one student said that she remembered Rufus saying in a concert that actually he was both characters. The line “I was just a girl then” has double meaing for an effeminate man. This notion of Rufus’s effeminacy was briefly discussed: his speaking voice is effeminate, but his singing voice is not. [I will devote a chapter to this in my book.] I opined that Rufus takes singing very seriously, and that he could sing the phone book with devastating conviction.

Discussing the form, we identified each verse, and saw that at the end of each was a refrain: “But never could I tell him it was him,” sometimes sung once, sometimes three times. In toto, there are 5 verses, one being an instrumental verse (solo horn). There is one contrasting section (”All this having been said…”) where there is a fascinating harmonic digression. [A complete analysis will be forthcoming, and the musical level was beyond this class so I soft-pedalled that...]

“Danny Boy” offered a spring board for talking about a few related topics. After playing the introduction, I asked the class what the sound reminded them of.

“A harpsichord?” No. “A hammered dulcimer?” Yes. “Piano used in silent films?” Yes.

I steered the conversation towards the notion of a “honky tonk” piano and how the sound is made. The timbre, or sound quality of pianos heard in cowboy saloons, or in old silent films are often one of two things: either the hammers of the piano have become so hardened from age and smoke, that they create a very sharp attack when they strike the strings; and the other is that people would actually put tacks on the felt hammers (listen to “Matinee Idol” for other examples of this sound) — hence the name “tack piano.”

I then asked: “what is unique about the opening vocal melody in this song?” The class was baffled. “It’s that Rufus stretches each syllable out for a very loooooooooongggggg time. Can you think of any other artist who does this?” Again silence. I then took out my sonic microscope and said “what are we hearing in Rufus’s voice?” At this point, I demonstrated singing in overtones showing how the lips are essentially filters for your vocal chords. Rufus Wainwright has a very “bright” voice that is quite rich in overtones. That vocal quality is attractive to many, and annoying to others.

I asked whether there was any relation between Rufus’s song and “the original.” Many looked puzzled, so I sang “Oh Danny Boy” and the puzzlement evaporated and the answer was “no.” There was a very brief discussion of the meaning of “Danny Boy” but we ran out of time.

“Teresina Cameo” photo by Roger Bourland

I used to think that if I loved myself I would be perceived as egotistical, cocky, and arrogant. Who likes that kind of person, right? I believed that if I wasn’t hard on myself and driven, I would never be successful. If there was something I was really good at, I’d hold back, fearing that others would resent me, or even worse, not like me. Usually, nothing I did made me feel that I was as good as others. I needed to be better, do more. I was afraid that the minute I gave myself credit for doing well, God would come down and take care of that sassy attitude. God was always there to judge my failure. Of course, He wasn’t judging anyone else’s––just mine. I was different. I was special. More was expected of me. God knew I could take it.

Everything was measured and labeled like a secret competition that I knew I was never going to win, but convinced myself it kept me motivated. I also felt that if I loved myself I would be lenient and just stay the loser I thought I really was. I thought accepting myself meant tolerating my own faults, my shortcomings, and my inadequacies, and where the heck would that leave me? It left me in a place where everything had to be perfect, explained, in order, fair, and pay off.

I have to admit that it was fear that drove me, and caused a lot of pain. Striving for others’ notions of perfection, beauty, and talent left me empty––chasing dreams for all the wrong reasons.

Aren’t I pretty? Look at me, I’m not fat, I must have it together. And if you are thin, doesn’t that automatically mean you have it all together?

I yearned to be the most talented, the prettiest, the skinniest, the nicest, and the one that all the boys wanted. And only then could I like myself. Then I could enjoy myself. Once I got there I could let go and not work so hard, and be happy. Or so I thought…

In retrospect, I was too dang busy doing everything, trying to “get there,” attempting to control my way to perfection, deciding I was already not good enough, or that something was wrong with me. Sound familiar?

© 2006 Teresina Sullo

One of the great arias in Mozart’s Magic Flute is “Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen” commonly known as the Queen of the Night aria. In it, the revengeful queen tries to talk her daughter into murdering Sarastro. The role was originally played by Mozart’s wife’s older sister.Fast forward to the studio of one Stella Krazelberg (in her words) — “the illegitmate child of Mawdrew Cgzowchwz and Fyodor Challiapin, who met while performing at the Alaskan Tundra Wagner Festival” who is an amazing opera coach. Please take a few minutes to hear one of her student’s performance of this aria. Not just any student, a boy, who must be 9 or 10, who sings the hell out of it. He reminds me of one of the “Little Rascals” or maybe a member of the Lollipop Guild. But wow!

Teresina Sullo is my friend and fitness coach. She has kept me in shape in spite of myself and inspired many of all ages to stay in shape. One of her fitness passions is the stationary bicycle. From that, she invented a workout regime that is based around the bike. I plan to print here from time to time some of her writings so that I can share some of her physical wisdom with you. Here is the first part of the background of her story. If you have any questions, post them here or write her directly as teresina at mac dot com.

As a child my family always had a garden. Even if we had to drive to it, we had an organic vegetable patch. As a child, pulling radishes out of the ground amazed me. It still does. There was great respect for the earth and the fruit it bore. Later when we lived on a farm, mom made almost everything from scratch. She even made her own pasta! Everything was fresh, home grown and pesticide free. I was very privileged.

Despite this idyllic backdrop, I was an overachieving girl from a loving, overweight, sedentary family that loved to eat. Even on a budget, life revolved around food. Fat and obesity was common to both sides of the family. I watched as my parents and relatives battled the bulge, fought obesity, and wrestled with exercise. I felt their unhappiness, struggle and self-loathing. I lived through their operations, shakes, pills, and watched the failure of one failed weight-loss plan after another. I lived in terror that one day I would be a large as the rest of my family, and from a very early age, I was determined to defy my genetics.

I have been obsessed with food and weight issues for as long as I can remember. I was on self-imposed diets by the second grade and everything had to do with my body image. How big was my belly today? By the time I was 16, I had been on, or read about, every diet known to man: the grapefruit diet, the Scarsdale diet, the banana and egg diet, the protein diet, the diet soda diet, every magazine diet, and all the fad diets that continue to recycle and resurface to haunt the next eager victims. I examined and critiqued my body every waking moment.

College changed all of that. In one fell swoop, I was thrust into a world of food I had not had regular access to up until then. Sugar-coated-breakfasts, desserts galore and ice cream sundae bars! It was torture. My dorm buddies and floor mates downed midnight pizza, buffalo wings, beer, punch, and drinks I had never heard of before or since.

I was terrified of gaining weight. I had chosen a profession that encouraged a very thin body–anorexia among dancers is rampant. I was now determined to be skinny, no matter what it took. I used Ex-lax and diet pills. I watched friends weep in desperation over their mounting self-hatred. I resolved to do the only thing I thought would work: not eat. That way there was no discussion in my head. I didn’t have to make choices. I’d go for days on a bran muffin and white mushrooms.

Unfortunately the abuse my body suffered left me weak and weary. My metabolism was completely shot. I suffered from fatigue, irritable bowel syndrome, and the loss of my period. Some of my classmates withdrew from school because they were so underweight. And suddenly, I could no longer hold my arms up to blow-dry my hair. I couldn’t get up in the morning. I barely had the strength to dance, to do what I love. My psyche ached, my body strained, yet somehow my spirit led me on. I had so many things I wanted to do with my life.

I had no choice but to find a way to get better. I started to search for answers that could begin my healing. I got no help from traditional doctors, so I decided to look elsewhere. This was the beginning of accepting the responsibility for my health.

I put my first effort into my diet. I started eating again long before I finally crashed, and I maintained a good body weight. But my relationship with food and my body was still warped, and I felt so tired. I would go all day without eating, and then eat a large meal, but then I found myself overeating, stressing, and counting calories. Food was still the enemy. It affected my mood, my relationships, everything.

I was desperate. I looked to alternative medicine. I found my way to a Naturopath who forced me to acknowledge the damage I had done to myself. It all made sense to me: I had abused my body so much that I needed to repair my immune system, rehabilitate my digestion and rebuild my metabolism. I had severely altered the workings of my body.

You see, although I was eating again, it was not the right stuff, so in a sense I was still starving myself. It was as if I were saying to myself, “OK, damn you, if I’m going to have to eat, I’ll eat…a chocolate bar!” Once again, I perpetuated the cycle of abuse and recovery.

So I turned to awful tasting herbs, enzymes and experimented with different foods. I also found myself reading health magazines and preparing healthier foods, just generally making changes for a healthier way of life. I started reading labels and caring what went inside of me. I gave up caffeine since I was a heavy coffee drinker (that was a week I’ll never forget). Slowly I abolished sugar and all other over-processed, empty fake foods. I started to get back to the basics! Damn. Why is my mother always right?
And so redefining my relationship with food was helping me to heal my body, but there was still something not right.

(to be continued next Friday)

My partner, Daniel Shiplacoff, had a very cool teacher during his studies at UCLA: Rebecca Allen. He went on to collaborate with her on The Bush Soul which was first installed at Art Futura in Madrid, 1997 and later at SIGGRAPH in LA. She disappeared from our lives for a couple of years and served as Senior Research Scientist and Director of the Liminal Devices research group at Media Lab Europe in Dublin, Ireland. She returned this year and we were able to spend a lovely evening with Rebecca and her husband, David over a dinner at our home. We hit it off well, and I wanted to know more about her.

So, I went to her website and spent some time seeing what she does and how important she has been in the evolution of 3D animation. Then I watched a video of a lunch talk she gave at UCLA in December 2005 about her career. Rebecca Allen is an amazing artist who has had a fabulous career. If you have the time, and a broadband connection, I encourage you to watch the video of her presentation.

Rufus Wainwright will be recreating Judy Garland’s 1961 "Live at Carnegie Hall" on June 14, 2006. Yes, we will be there, in fact we may even DRIVE there from Los Angeles!

This just in from the Music Library Association: Elvis’s library card.

On March 9, 2006 at UCLA’s Schoenberg auditorium, Music Department faculty and students will present a concert of faculty composers. In addition, three Rufus Wainwright songs will be sung by Juliana Gondek accompanied by Neal Stulberg. The concert begins at 8 pm. $12 general admission, $7 students (with ID) and seniors.

Roger Bourland (b. 1952) (premiere)

Four Xmas Songs (2002/5) lyrics by William MacDuff

Tropical Xmas
A Proper Cat
Fly on the Wall
The Crocodile’s Xmas Ball

Juliana Gondek, mezzo-soprano
Neal Stulberg, piano

Rufus Wainwright (b. 1974)

Three Songs
Damned Ladies
In a Graveyard
Memphis Skyline

Juliana Gondek, mezzo-soprano
Neal Stulberg, piano

Mark Carlson: (b. 1952)

After the Sun Has Set (four songs on sonnets by Edna St. Vincent Millay) for mezzo-soprano, 2 oboes, clarinet, bass clarinet, 2 bassoons, tenor saxophone, 2 horns, harp, double bass

Paul Chihara: (b. 1938)

Amatsu Kaze (”Winds of Heaven,” seven haiku, from Basho to Taeka) for soprano, fluet, saxophone, violin, violoncello, and piano

David S. Lefkowitz: (b. 1964)

Surfer’s Guide for the Perplexed (or: Jonah on the Raging Sea) for flute, saxophone, violin, violoncello, and piano

Ian Krouse: (b. 1956)

Songs (premiere)

“Madame Wong” photo by Roger Bourland

Madame Wong brought Chinese Chicken Salad to America (she should get a prize just for that!); taught Wolfgang Puck and many others about Asian cuisine; in her 90s… Family friend. When we see her these days, she gives us a little plastic bottle that says: LONG LIFE NUTS. They are perfectly sweetened pecans, which you can eat by themselves, or put on ice cream, or on salads.

Once at dinner, she rolled up her sleeves exposing the underside of her arm to me (I was terrified she was going to say she was off heroin or had numbers from Auschwitz); she ordered me to feel the underside of her wrist. Mmm, very soft. She attributed her soft skin to eating ONE bok choy per day for her whole life, so girls, take note!