Frolic: jazz, books, food

Jazz, Books, Food, and the Writing Life

Blogging from New Orleans, La

31 July 2003

Good news! I got the temp job at the bank. I won’t have to return to the polling company. My career as a telephone pollster has ended as quickly as it began.

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I spent last night calling random strangers across the nation and asking them about their awareness of cable advertisements. Actually, I got hung up on by random strangers, while one kind soul took five minutes to answer my questions. Yes, in a desperate bid to add something to our bank account, I signed up to be a telephone pollster. It pays seven dollars an hours, which is roughly seven dollars more than I’m making at the moment.

It was hard to sit through the three hours of unpaid training and not feel like Barbara Ehrenreich in Nickel and Dimed. Of course, it was also hard to not feel like a bourgeois impostor. This was especially true given the fact that I had to start the job last night instead of Thursday, since it’s Restaurant Week and I have Thursday night reservations at Ardeo. Even at the discounted rate, my meal tonight will cost more than I could earn on a five hour shift of polling.

A temp agency called me back yesterday about a bilingual administrative assistant position. It pays thirteen dollars an hour. It sounds strange, but it hadn’t occurred to me that being bilingual was a marketable skill. With all the talk of a rising Hispanic population, I just assumed that fluent speakers of both Spanish and English were easy to come by. If I get the bank job, then I’m not going back to the polling place. Then again, maybe the place where I interviewed Monday will offer me a real job.

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30 July 2003

IlXor asks, “Did you really feel ‘welcomed’ to the jungle by Axl Rose, or do think that was sort of just insincere, halfhearted graciousness?” A thoughtful discussion ensues.

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29 July 2003

The China Town metro station was packed last night with ticket holders for the American Idols concert at the MCI Center. Many people had cardboard signs proclaiming their favorite singer, although I don’t think any competition was involved.

I was in the neighborhood to attend trivia night at Fado, part of a chain of pseudo-Irish pubs. After a slow start, our team managed to pull into third place by the 7th round. We had some problems with our knowledge of Winnie the Pooh and the Godfather films, though, which pushed us back to the middle of the pack in the 8th and final round.

The game ended around the same time the Idols stopped singing, and the trains were mobbed again. Luckily, the crowds of concert goers emptied out after one stop, transferring to the trains headed back to Northern Virginia.

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28 July 2003

The Strand Book Store in New York sells books by the foot. Interested in eighteen inches of ornithology, two feet of biographies of great men, and a couple of yards of “leather looking” bindings? They can take care of that for you:

Are you searching for a library that not only looks great, but reflects the best that has been written in any subject? We have put together libraries for hundreds of clients, including the Plaza Hotel, Steven Spielberg, and Polo Ralph Lauren. Let our professional library consultants put together a collection that will please the eye and satisfy the mind.

Let no one say that Steven Spielberg is not a serious artist.

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This morning, I have a third round of interviews for a job. After today, I will have spent almost seven hours interviewing for the position. That has to be a good sign.

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25 July 2003

I must finish the final corrections to the dissertation, so I’ve escaped to the Library of Congress to complete them. No job searching. If I want to access the internet, I have to avoid the suspcicious librarians. So far, the work is going well.

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Is there a bassist alive with a larger tone than William Parker? Is there a better rhythm section working today than Parker and Hamid Drake? As Scrapbook (Blue Series/Thirsty Ear), Parker’s most recent release, makes clear, they are more than just a rhythm section. Joining with the violinist Billy Bang, the three function more like a classical trio than a traditional jazz rhythm section backing a soloist.

On the first track, for example, the trio establishes a buoyant exchange, with Parker’s bass filling in where you expect to hear Drake’s hi-hat or Bang scraping on his violin to handle the rhythm while Parker takes the melody. With “Sunday Morning Church,” they create a noir dirge, the perfect soundtrack for a funeral forced to take place under the cover of darkness. The album ends with “Holiday for Flowers,” a mournful song begging to be a standard.

Make no mistake, despite the sometimes infectious melodies and Parker’s innate funkiness, this is avant-garde music. After tracing out a melody, Bang’s violin will squawk in an atonal rage. Parkers compositions can be as complicated as they are catchy.

Matthew Shipp, the pianist and curator of the Blue Series, should be congratulated for keeping the albums short and avoiding the popular tendency to fill out the CD with everything recorded at the session. Scrapbook, like other discs in the series, leaves you satisfied but not satiated.

Posted by Todd at 9:05 am | No Comments

24 July 2003

Housekeeping note: Autopsy Report has been added to my blogroll. Be forewarned, this blog recounts the experiences of an intern at a medical examiners office. Those with weak stomachs are advised to click elsewhere. The tone of the writer is professional and he clearly knows his subject.

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23 July 2003

It’s a sans-serif smack down! In this flash game, you help the classic Helvetica font defeat Microsoft’s insurgent Arial. The last font with letters left in their case wins.

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This weekend, for a few short days, my social life was more active than it’s been in months. I’m still getting caught up on work. Friday night my friend Brad came by Cleveland Park for drinks and dinner. Brad, a freelance writer, was in Washington to interview Nelson Rockefeller’s environmental attorney for an oral history project.

After too many beers, Brad convinced me that I should write a book about my uncle Jerry, who spent his life ripping off casinos from coast to coast. Jerry even cleaned out a few cruise ships. The next morning it still seemed like a good idea, so I might just follow up on it. I would need to get my uncle to sign on and then start taping interviews with him and his associates.

Saturday I finally saw the Small Wonders exhibit at the National Gallery, and it was disappointing. Adriaen Coorte, a seventeenth-century Dutch painter, produced throughout his life a series of vegetables, fruits, and shells arranged on a cracked marble ledge against a black background. Except for a couple of vanitas, he produced nothing else. Scholars rediscovered Coorte in the 1950s, but this might be a case of academics hyping an artist to build their own careers. Coorte failed to master the optical effects that give depth to seventeenth-century Dutch paintings and make them so stunning. His still lifes look more like meticulous stickers pasted on a three-dimensional backdrop.

A favorite professor of mine, who I hadn’t seen since I graduated from WashU in 1996, happened to be in town. I joined her and her son on a quick spin through the Freer Gallery and the exhibit of Noguchi ceramics at the adjoining Sackler Gallery. I could only stay for an hour or so, since I had to meet Andrea at her office so we could drive out to Arlington for a cocktail party in honor of some recently married friends.

But wait, there’s more. Our good friends Andy and Cynthia, who relocated to Shreveport this summer, were also in town. So we left the party early, picked up our friends, and headed over to Kaz Sushi Bistro for the most incredible sushi I’ve ever tasted. I don’t know if foie gras marinated in plum wine topped with a plum wine jelly would meet a connoisseur’s definition of real sushi, but I like it.

Sunday was a little more relaxed. We met up with Andy and Cynthia again and spent some time at the U.S. Botanic Garden, but we were too early to see the Titan arum in bloom. They say it smells like rotting flesh, so that may have been a lucky break. For dinner we stopped in at Bistrot du Coin, an unpretentious bistro just off Dupont. While Washington’s restaurants can’t measure up to New York, Bistrot du Coin goes a long ways in making up for the overabundance of stuffy steak houses. I would argue it’s just as good as Baltazar in New York, but half the price.

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22 July 2003

Is there anything more refreshing than a gin and tonic on a hot summer day?

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21 July 2003

To Do List:

Hear rising fado star Mariza at the Birchmere Monday.

See Seabiscuit at the Uptown theater.

Hear Jake Halpern read Tuesday evening from Braving Home: Dispatches From the Underwater Town, the Lava-Side Inn, and Other Extreme Locales at Olsson’s (Dupont Circle)

Posted by Todd at 1:29 pm | No Comments

18 July 2003

Writing an open letter to the New York Times in McSweeney’s, Michelle Arenas wonders why the recently married couples featured each Sunday in the Style Section look “as if they’ve been eating powdered donuts while gazing into an atomic explosion.”

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Since no one has time to actually read books anymore, Mastication has decided to focus on what really matters and review the covers. After all, what’s important is how impressive the book looks on your coffee table.

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16 July 2003

The Chronicle of Higher Education’s advice columnist, Ms. Mentor, reveals in an aside to her most recent column how competitive the academic job market has become:

Graduate students on the job market sometimes hire coaches to rid themselves of pronounced regional accents. (Yes, they are contributing to the homogenization of American life, Ms. Mentor concedes — but unless they get jobs, they’ll have no opportunity to show that Louisianians are as smart as Minnesotans.)

Sure, I hired the typical wardrobe consultant and personal stylist before hitting the interviews at last year’s MLA conference. Who doesn’t? But a voice coach? That’s going too far.

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