music: MMW- 2/16/01 Tokyo, Japan
Been some time. Howdy.
It’s not that things have been slow. Just the opposite in fact. I’ve been doin’ some hard travelin’, you see, and since the second week of this fine month I’ve been moving all around the country at full tilt with not a moment to pause and gather my thoughts. Thus, there is much to write about and no time to write about it all. I’ve been doin’ some hard thinkin’ as well.
As far as summaries go, here’s what I’ve been up to in loose order since the beginning of the month: teaching teaching teaching, throwing together some classwork for classes of my own, setting up a system to record stuff at murphy’s, editing some tracks recorded at murphy’s, popping down to NYC for the long weekend, popping out to CO to visit colleagues and family, see the mountains, and deliver lectures. Then back to Boston to re-organize things after travelling, distribute libations, sift some through some audio and photo, begin some work in earnest on songwriting, begin the job hunt, teaching, teaching, teaching, forge ahead on the Live Live front, try to have some fun, and hope to keep everything to 18 hours/day so there is time for sleep. Whew.
The past two or so weeks have been packed with substance outside of my own realm: the rebellion in Haiti, the hostile takeover of the Muppets, the beginnings of baseball season, and the like. I’ve had some good thoughts about this and that but haven’t had the time to document them. So many times I’ve said to myself: “that is the seed of a great blog entry.” So many times, however, it has dissipated into the ether. Things are moving fast-too fast to type it all out on a semi-nightly basis. The archivist in me is sad about that, the delusional narcissist in me is upset that adoring throngs haven’t had the chance to read about much, but the rest of me has been too busy to notice. I’m being stretched and pulled here and there and am spreading myself pretty thin these days. All over the place. Here and there. A mishmash. So-so. In short (and in Turkish, of all things): Ş�YLE B�YLE. Which, to the best of my knowledge, is pronounced “surly burly” except you have to imitate the Swedish chef and have a little phlegm caught in the back of your throat when you are saying it. We learned that one this morning in a TEP workshop. Pretty much sums things up.
I have bitten off far too much than I can chew, but I’m surprisingly calm about it. I think I’m learning to live comfortably with transition. More to the point: I think I’m learning that transition is a fluid thing, a matter of degree, and that I will never have the luxury of only thinking about one thing at a time. So the torch-juggling, plate-spinning, unicycle-riding, animal-balloon-making sideshow continues. All things considered, it’s going pretty well. Teaching continues to be challenging and rewarding, the radio show is stable enough to still be worth doing, I’m beginning to get more serious about writing some music, I’m trying to spend as much time as I can out of the house and with friends (largely unsuccessful), I’m digging into this archiving project at murphy’s, I’m beginning to think about both jobs for next year and plans for the summer, and all the while I’m musing about a girl in Brooklyn. The days are getting noticably longer, the weather noticably warmer, and as a result of that and the past two weeks I’m settling with not settling for a bit. Ş�YLE B�YLE.
music: N.E.R.D.: In Search Of…
Those bastards. They stole my idea. I’d be upset, but they are actually doing it. Not exactly as the 1ey and I had envisioned, but they are making that dream a reality. Good for them. Good for us, really.
music: Trojan dub boxed set vol. 2
I was at the Super 88 food court sitting over a bowl of Udon for lunch today. I was tired. I was keeping to myself, not trying to bother anyone, and yet I managed to have quite a remarkable interaction without really trying. Rare is it in the city that someone comes up to you out of the blue and strikes up conversation for no special reason. So rare, in fact, that I get suspicious when it happens. But from what I can tell, everything about my conversation over Udon was genuine. It takes a certain type of person to do this. Mentally ill. Or Lonely. Or young enough to not understand the social norms of city living. The whole interaction went something like this:
a thin boy in a Lakers hat and puffy winter jacket awkward shuffles over to me. He looks about 10 years old. I realize he’s looking at me. He sits down at my table and smiles at me for five or so seconds. I nod at him, acknowledging that he is, in fact, sharing a table with me.-You like my walk?
-what?
-You know, my walk? It was pimpin’.
-I don’t know about that…
-Sure it was. All the ladies love it.
-I think you are just imitating what you watch on TV. And that people don’t really walk like that.
-You gotta be real, you know?
-I’m trying. But is that walk you’ve been doing real?
-I think that you have to be true to yourself and ain’t nobody tell you how you should act.
-Well if the walk is really you, then keep on walking.
-How’s that soup?
-It’s ok. Nice on a cold day.
-I’m on a mission.
-What sort of mission?
-I’m gonna get a quarter.
-How are you going to do that?
-Dunno. Maybe collect cans.
-Where are you going to look for cans?
-In the dumpster.
-Sometimes people leave their cans outside the trash barrels so other people have an easier time picking them up.
-Really? Where is that?
-I’ve seen it in Central Square a lot…
-But I bet they go quick.
-Yeah. You have to be fast.
-Oh, I’m fast.
-What’s your name?
-T-Money.
-What’s your real name?
-Travis.
-Nice to meet you Travis. I’m David.
-Nice to meet you.we shake hands
-So what are you up to these days, Travis?
-You know, playing video games…
-Why do you want to do that?
-Are you over 18?
-I’m 25.
-So you must be graduated from college.
-Sure.
-So you don’t play video games?
-Not so much. But I used to. What else do you like to do besides play video games?
-Do math.
-That’s pretty cool.
-No it’s not. Did your parents make you work hard when you were a kid?
-Yeah. But as time went by, I started making myself work hard.
-Huh.
-So what do you want to do with a quarter anyway?
-Save it.
-For what?
-I don’t know.
-Good thinking anyway.
-I bet that soup is hot.
-It’s ok now.He points to the lady working at the soup booth
-She’s fine, you know? Do you like her?
-I’m sure she’s a nice person.
-But she’s fine!
-If you say so.
-I’m sixteen, you know.
-Don’t lie to me. You’re twelve at most.
-Ok, ok. Fourteen.
-I still don’t believe you.
-See, I was born in 1989. (he counts on his fingers) Nineteen Ninety…Nineteen Ninety One… (all the way up to 2004)
-If you say so. Are you in school?
-No. I’m on break this week.
-And you’re playing video games.
-No, I’m on a mission.
-To get a quarter?
-Yep.
-What happens once you get a quarter?
-That’s classified.
-Oh, I see.
-That’s a nice little bag you’ve got there. (he points to my mountainsmith)
-Little? I think it’s a pretty big bag. It’s acually my superhero utility belt.
-You’re a superhero?
-Don’t tell anyone.
-Do you have super powers?
-You don’t need super powers to be a superhero. What about Batman?
-He had the Batmobile.
-That was just a fancy car. Batman didn’t have any superpowers though.
-Guess you’re right. Think you got a quarter in your bag? Mabye a dollar…
-I thought you were looking for a quarter.
-Yeah, a dollar is a bit too much.
-I probably could dig up a quarter for you. (I find a quarter and give it to him)
-Thanks man. You’re a cool guy.
-You are too Travis. You take care of yourself.
-See ya.he shuffles off doing his slow and awkward walk and disappears around the corner; I head out.
Lord knows where his parents were. Lord knows why he was hunting for small change. I’m sure he could use more than a quarter. I’m sure he could have used a bowl of soup himself. But the kid seemed perfectly happy to sit there and babble about this and that at me. A strange interaction, to be sure, but something I won’t forget any time soon.
music: Altitude Music- 1/13/04
Today begins my February break, and my first real week off since September. This afternoon I finished my third week of student teaching, handed in the first piece to my final portfolio, tied up a bunch of loose ends, and took a very satisfying nap. In a couple of minutes I’m going to jump in the car and head off for NYC for a long weekend. I’m going to return mid-week, get my hands dirty setting up and editing down the murphy’s music archives, prep for a guest lecture on the music industry at UC-Boulder, and then spend four days out in Colorado with a cast of characters, AJM included. It doesn’t seem like I’m going to slow down over this break, just shift focus a little here and there. But damnit, I’m going to sleep in.
I can’t remember ever needing a break this much. I’ve punished myself the past couple of weeks. Teaching itself is taking up 10 hours a day with all the planning and grading. It would take up longer if I let it, but the classes Harvard-side cut me short sometimes. As does my ability to stay awake and productive. One late night (which happens every Tuesday, of course) throws my schedule completely out of whack and I usually can’t get back on track until the weekend rolls around. Coursework has picked up substantially for some reason; It’s sort of unexplainable. And stuff around music, those things I do in for fun in my “spare time,” has picked up momentum lately as well. There aren’t enough hours in the day. This week, as evidenced, burnt me out. I got very frustrated, very negative. Now that I have made it through this week and moreover accomplished all that I set out to do, I’m feeling better about all this pressure.
I’m fully aware that all of this is self-imposed. Of all the things to know about David Taus, one of the most important is that nobody is harder on David than David. And moreover, David has the unfortunate ability to deny himself himself for periods of time if the situation demands it. That was what happened for the past couple of weeks. Everything pivoted around that 105 minute block that I was in front of the classroom every afternoon. My sleep suffered, my eating habits were abyssmal, and my waking hours were spent in work. I was as efficient as I could be, as close to an educational automaton as is humanly possible. My body couldn’t take it; I got sick. I got lots of migraines. Things were not positive.
But I made it through. This is a week of recuperation, this is a time where I can spend indulging in myself a little bit, thinking about the things I want to think about, doing the things I want to do. Thank goodness. Time to build up the mental and physical energy stores, because on the other end of this week the schedule resumes. And the job search begins in earnest on top of that. For now, though, I breathe a little, sleep a little, eat a lot, and take things slow and easy. Thank goodness.
music: Charles Mingus- Mingus Plays Piano
This past Tuesday was Live Live’s 100th radio show. Despite my incredibly busy and demanding schedule, I was determined to make something of the evening that was a little more than me and Andrew sitting around the studios playing our cds. I sent out an email invitation to everyone who had been on Live Live at one point or another, asking them to stop by the station for out 100th show. My expectations were very low; I really didn’t think that anyone would make it out. I got a call from Pete Pidgeon earlier in the week. Excellent. There would be at least one. I convinced M. to stop by, promising free beer. Two. It would be something more than normal, but by no means a blowout.
Maybe it was because my expectations were so low that I was so surprised when Ryan Montbleau and Colin from hi8us also dropped in on the show. Completely unexpected, completely unannounced, but completely welcome. It was great reinforcement for me. It was very affirming that I haven’t been blowing hot air about the live music community this and that for all these months, that this community that exists around music does exist and consists of some good people. And talented. It’s cool to see some of these folks, past guests and Live Live alumni, really getting places in their musical careers. Hi8us is about to embark on a national tour down the coast; Ryan sells out Harper’s on Saturday nights. It would be very easy for these folks to forget about a small radio show on a rinky-dink community radio station in Allston, but they didn’t. They showed up, and turned our 100th show into a modest celebration. If you build it, they will come.
I can’t say that the night made for good radio. I can’t say that things weren’t chaotic. But I can say that the night exceeded my every expectation. That it was a radio show was fine, that it had to do with music is a cool bonus, but that it brought people together was excellent. Again I am reminded that it doesn’t matter what you do, it’s about the people you meet. And again I am amazed at what I have created with this little radio show, what it has become, what it represents, and most of all, what it does for people other than myself. With the small congregation in our humble studios at 451 Cambridge Street, I can safely say that Live Live has accomplished everything I have intended. 100 shows is a milestone, but perhaps a more significant marker of success is the fact that it brings people together around such a wonderful thing as live music. For that, I can’t say enough.
music: Pink Floyd- Meddle
This is how the past day or so has broken down:
Friday was a full day at school. I was in at 8:00am. The morning was teaching, the afternoon was meetings about things coming up next week (our on-the-fly curriculum), next month (museum of science field trip that I’m organizing), in two months (water project). It’s all hard to juggle. I’m managing. Then our weekly faculty meeting. Then grading. I got out around 6:30pm. That was the fourth ten-hour day this week. Fine. A quick nap and then onto more work. The Water Project curriculum I was working on was apparently shit. So I have to overhaul it.
M. calls with an invitation to go hear some music. I talk to her a bit on the way home. I must be a loser and decline for two nights in a row. I haven’t seen her since December, since she went to Central America and back and I’ve been there and back again. We’re long overdue for a check-in, but that will have to wait too.
Tmo calls. I forget what I said to him. Something about a promise I made to work on some audio editing for the Murphy’s stuff. Whoops.
A nap first. The nap begins around 8:30pm, and like a champion I sleep until 3:30am. I lied in bed for a while thinking dark thoughts, getting really angry and feeling very lonely. Then up for some work, some tea, some scotch, then back to bed. Then up at 8:00am on Saturday. More work. Then some errands. Some food. Then back in front of the computer.
M. from NY calls somewhere in there. I couldn’t sustain a thought to make conversation meaningful. I’m having visions of reservoirs, sewers, and effluent all the while. Shit.
So with brief interruptions on the phone and 45 minutes for dinner, I’ve been blasting away at this water unit. It’s not done. It’s pushing 2:00am Saturday night now. And I still have to crank out a 15-pager about the unit plan once it is done. I’ve missed catching a show with M., catching up with tmo, a birthday party in Central Square, and I haven’t really talked to anyone today. Work is not near finished. What sort of a life is this?
music: Burning Spear- Chant Down Babylon
davidtaus at anize dot org
davidtaus at yahoo dot com
david at livelive dot org
music at abfreeradio dot org
david_taus at alumni dot brown dot edu
tausda at gse dot harvard dot edu
dtaus at boston dot k12 dot ma dot us
One for every facet of my existence. One for every day of the week. It’s like fashion accessories or something. This is getting rediculous.
music: Soulive- 5/17/01, San Francisco, CA
There are things we tell ourselves as kids that we will never do as adults. It’s a Peter Pan thing- I won’t grow up/I don’t wanna wear a tie/and a serious expression/in the middle of July. I’ve managed to avoid the tie thing so far, but certain things I swore to myself I’d never do are steadily becoming part of my behavioral repertoire. In the day-to-day, it is easy to think nothing of it. But I’m losing sleep over some of this stuff at night. Somewhere deep down I realized that I’m breaking promises I made to myself a long time ago, and it’s not sitting well.
I was the rebel rouser in middle school that organized a petition among the student body protesting the hat rule. I remember collecting names and support with a righteous fervor. I remember being outraged, and trying my hardest to address the issue constructively. I still to this day have not received good enough reason why we were not allowed to wear hats in school. And here I find myself on the other side of things, being asked to enforce the hat rule with high school students. It’s a multiple-times-a-day thing. I usually just point to my head and say a kid’s name, or comment how I like their hat and cough a little. That gets the point across. If it is pushed at all, I will say something like “you know the expectation” or “what am I going to say to you.” I still can’t bring myself to state the rule explicitly. Too many years of struggle and pain. The twelve-year-old version of me is fuming as it is.
I understand the context in which I work, and the danger to students’ safety implicit in wearing hats, especially hats of certain colors or hats tilted in the wrong fashion. I understand the concern, but I don’t think it carries enough weight at the school in which I work and in this time. I still detest the hat rule. And even so, I find myself not willing to fight it. Granted, if I didn’t, I would be working against the grain of the school. Here, then, the costs outweigh the benefits.
We are told by social psychologists that as we get older, the more likely we are to conform. I think of all those parents who protested Vietnam and marched for civil rights in their 20’s, and kept strict rules for their kids in their 40’s. I worry that my own idealism and values are slowly giving way to a more complacent mentality and that small battles such as the hat rule are early warning signs.
music: Grateful Dead- 11/13/73, San Francisco, CA
Boston is notoriously bad for traffic. It’s just big enough to need a decent public transit system, just small enough to still have a lot of cars and drivers, and just old enough for the street layout to not make much sense. Non-Bostonians who have a map and a dream to end up at a given point on time are more or less guaranteed a headache. Multiplied by ten if they are travelling in a car.
On a good day, there is a sense of victory and accomplishment in travelling the half-mile to the grocery store or wherever else in 15 minutes. On a bad day, you are fully prepared to welcome the meltdown of MIT’s nuclear reactor and eliminate a good chunk of the traffic problems. Any way you slice it, getting around this city can be a real pain in the ass.
I’ve been thinking a lot about how I move about Boston this week as I’ve been guilty of using my car a lot more than usual. I normally only get in the contraption to leave town or to go to Allston for my radio show once a week, and that only in the cold months. But this week I’ve been sick and didn’t have it in me to negotiate the other means of transportation available to me. Yesterday I left home, picked up tmo in Teele Square, and then drove to Murphy’s in Brookline Village. The trip took over an hour. It left me more frustrated than convienenced.
There are a lot of options available in this city as far as getting from here to there: walking, bicycle, bus, subway, car, taxi. As to why so many people choose to use their cars is infinitely frustrating to me. There literally is nowhere to put the things most of the time. Double parking is highly normal. Sitting at stoplights for three or more cycles is to be expected. Most of these cars only have one person in them, and nothing that really demands a vehicle of that size. A lot of these drivers seem able-bodied, young and healthy, and perfectly comfortable and self-assured behind the wheel of their oversized motor vehicle. Being guilty of exactly this over the past week, I began to think a little bit about the transportation situation in this city.
I think, first off, that Richard Powers has it right: People will do what they can to get from point A to point B sitting down. There is a biological principle at work: given the choice, people will take the path of least resistance. That is really what is behind all sorts of innovations and bastions of progress: remote controls, television, pizza delivery, microwaves, and of course motor vehicles: trains, airplanes, and cars. I’m not about to get into the deleterious effects of such choices on the environment here. I’m not really going to get into the political stuff either in terms of oil dependence. They are reasons enough to found the Greater Boston Chapter of Abbey’s Monkey Wrench Gang but for the time being I’ll let them be. This issue of transportation, I think, is more about personal challenge, about maintaining a certain edge or awareness, about not getting too soft by allowing yourself to sit in a comfortable chair while waiting for traffic to plod along.
The path of least resistance, ironically, causes more friction than it is worth when everyone who is able chooses to resist least. Anyone who has driven around this city during can attest to that. Car traffic is terrible. The streets are terrible to begin with. Considering that they were never intended for cars in the first place is good indication that when cars are brought into the mix, there will be trouble. It’s caused the city to resort to the most extreme measures imaginable. The sad fact is that cars aren’t going to go away any time soon, and people, given the choice, will sit in their cage of plastic, metal, and glass and wililngly endure the rush-hour traffic because after all the costs and benefits are weighed, it is the least stressful easiest means of getting from here to there.
There are alternatives. The bus is a little more abrasive, but a viable alternative to the physical act of driving. On the scale of resistance, buses suffer all the drawbacks of cars but none of the benefits. The subway is a step better: no traffic problems, but you lose almost as much time waiting for the thing to pull up to the platform. Plus you are packed into those cars like sardines. I can easily say that my worst part of the day is the transition from the red line to the green line at Park Street every morning: there is a terrific bottleneck in the station: a narrowing passage on the red line platform that leads to a set of ascending stairs. The throngs from Cambridge and Somerville push through this bottleneck as quickly as they can in order to catch the next green line trolley, and it makes for a really unpleasant experience. Never mind that the subway often times takes you far out of your way: it is absolutely terrible for getting from Cambridge and Allston to JP and Roxbury (they probably figure: who would make that trip in the first place?). Harvard to Kenmore, my daily commute, isn’t a whole lot better.
This city opened up to me and really became my own the minute I bought my bicycle. This is, I’ve found, the best way to get from here to there. And in addition to being the objectively fastest way to get around, it has some other perks. One: it puts you back into contact with your natural environment. You are forced to confront things like rain, snow, cold, and wind. Hardly the path of least resistance, but important. It’s something that technology and progress have tried to fight tooth and nail; things like air conditioning are considered to be necessities for so many people. Not so on a bicycle. Two: it’s good exercise. I’d rather incorporate my physical exertion into my life as is. It saves a good chunk of money that would be a gym membership, and saves time. I’ve always thought it was so funny that people would pay all that money to run like a lab rat on a treadmill in order to get exercise and then choose the escalator over the stairs. Three: you are small, quick, and mobile on the streets on a bike. You can skip to the front of the line of cars at a traffic signal. You can weave in and out as needed. You are not limited to the surfaces a car is. And perhaps best of all, you never have to worry about parking.
There is walking as well, a practice forsaken by so many people in this city. And it works pretty well. Last November, I walked all the way from Cleveland Circle to Harvard Square in just over an hour (about the time, remember, I spent in my car yesterday getting to Murphy’s). Walking is a good exercise at realizing things on a human scale, moving at the speed our bodies were designed to move. When there is a lot of snow on the ground, walking is often the most practical way to get around.
There are options. Some require a little more planning, a little more sweat. Others ask you to endure cramped spaces and crowds. Others will inevitably leave you trapped in a metal box, sitting and waiting. Choosing a path other than the path of least resistance in the middle of winter is sometimes a tough choice, but it is something that needs to be conidered. This is about transportation in Boston, yes, but it’s also about movement in general, getting from here to there in a broader sense. I sometimes think that I thrive on that part of me who is biking through this crazy city’s traffic and cold weather. Again, we return to our ongoing theme, printed clearly at the top of this here weblog for easy reference: to struggle is to progress. Speaking of, I need to head out for some groceries some time this afternoon…
