No Subject Line
Jan. 28th, 2004 08:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphThe color of the sunset this evening gave me a craving for lox. This is a product difficult to find in these parts, despite the fact that there are fairly large salmon fisheries nearby, and a major salmon stream flows within a mile of my house. In truth, I'm not that fond of lox, in any case, but once in a while I get a nostalgic craving for it. This probably has more to do with the places in which I used to eat the stuff than it has to do with the stuff itself. I don't like carob at all, but now and then I find myself craving it, just as an evocation of another time and place. I guess I'm lucky I never tried smack.
Rummaging about in a pile of CD's today, I came across my collection of Ernesto Lecuona's solo piano renditions of his own work. After playing it for the first time in ages, I was reminded of why I let it settle to the bottom of the pile. His music alternately delights and outrages me. He'll start with an interesting idea, then veer off into something inane or pretentious, or simply incomprehensible in the context of the opening. I intend to listen to it some more, in hopes of figuring out exactly what it is that goes so terribly wrong in so many of his pieces. I suppose this could be considered the musical equivalent of forensic pathology. Yes, we know that he committed this crime, but how and why?
But I'll do that later. Now I will go make myself wet in the shower, so that I will match everything else around here, which is still damp despite the end of the rain. So much moisture, so little sun. My hair will look funny because I am out of mousse.
Rummaging about in a pile of CD's today, I came across my collection of Ernesto Lecuona's solo piano renditions of his own work. After playing it for the first time in ages, I was reminded of why I let it settle to the bottom of the pile. His music alternately delights and outrages me. He'll start with an interesting idea, then veer off into something inane or pretentious, or simply incomprehensible in the context of the opening. I intend to listen to it some more, in hopes of figuring out exactly what it is that goes so terribly wrong in so many of his pieces. I suppose this could be considered the musical equivalent of forensic pathology. Yes, we know that he committed this crime, but how and why?
But I'll do that later. Now I will go make myself wet in the shower, so that I will match everything else around here, which is still damp despite the end of the rain. So much moisture, so little sun. My hair will look funny because I am out of mousse.
