christian singing

So I will admit: Eddie Izzard is kind of hard to look at (being a transvestite) and he likes to insert various words into his comedy act which (generally speaking) I avoid...but he's damn funny. And brutally honest, in many ways. Especially in this clip.

thoughts on creativity

If you have not already read Modern Times or Intellectuals, I suggest that you do so right away. Paul Johnson is one of the more fascinating historians that I have read (although, granted, I have not read tons of history books), and right now I’m in the middle of Creators, one of his most recent offerings. It was written as a reply to Intellectuals, in which he defines an intellectual as “someone who thinks ideas are more important than people” (1). After some expressed frustration with that book, calling it mean-spirited, Johnson responded with Creators: a book which discusses “men and women of outstanding originality” (1). A few quotes on creativity for you:

I sometimes talk to a jovial sweeper, who does my street, and who comes from Isfahan, in Persia, wherein lies the grandest and most beautiful square in the world, the work of many architects and craftsmen over the centuries, but chiefly of the sixteenth. I asked him if he felt himself creative, and he said: “Oh, yes. Each day, they give me a dirty street, and I make it into a clean one, thanks be to God.” People do not always discern the creative element in their lives and work. But those who do are more likely to be happy (3-4).

Creation is always difficult. If it is worth doing at all, we can be sure it is hard to do (11).

[on Shakespeare] As for the public, Shakespeare was adept at appealing to both the elite and the “vulgar” or “groundlings” in the same play. Still (as the scene in which Hamlet instructs the players indicates), he was striving to improve the public taste, especially in acting. Like all the greatest artists, he created his own public, teaching the audience to appreciate what he had to offer, and he left the theater a much more subtle and sophisticated world than he found it (53).

[on Bach] As in many of Shakespeare’s plays, there was an element of chance and haphazard opportunities in Bach’s music. It exemplifies a point I have come across again and again in studying the history of great works of creations: a deliberate plan is not always necessary for the highest art; it emerges (92).

something to be thankful for

Name Popularity

Zieglgansberger listings in the USA:

I am grateful that I do not have this last name. I just entered a guy with this last name into our database. Wow. It's nice having a last name that I don't have to spell every time I turn around.

evolution...technologically speaking

Now I know why they call old computers "dinosaurs"...

it's the end of the world as we know it

So the lady I sat next to on the plane was right...the world is going to end. And it might be sooner than we anticipated. Get your tickets (I mean, your lottery numbers) now, which might save you in the event of the annihilation of all humanity.

Or you could just watch this movie trailer.

I smell Orson Welles...don't you? With a faint wisp of Al Gore, maybe?

partially untrue...but funny nonetheless

Check this out: God Trumps!

quote of the day

So we have an extremely small number of male singers in our choir. No shortage of sopranos and altos exists, so the two tenors, two baritones, and two basses must attempt to hold their own in this sea of women. Which (admirably) they do, most of the time. But sometimes, they get a little exuberant. Like yesterday. Mr. Murray stopped the choir in the middle of a piece, and looked right at the guys. "Now, this is an interesting problem here," he remarked. "The tenors are drowning out the men."

There was the briefest of awkward pauses, then slowly a ripple of laughter washed over the choir members as the tenors looked around nervously. One of the "men" piped up, "Why, didn't you know there are three sexes? Men, women, and tenors?"

Dang, the stuff you learn in choir...

lush life

I was listening to this song on the radio today and surprisingly, I had never heard it before. Of course, googling the song revealed that numerous people had recorded it, from Frank Sinatra to Nat King Cole to Ella Fitzgerald to Natalie Cole. The version I heard was by Molly Johnson and her rendition of the song, along with the lyrics, was simply haunting. And in a way, the song describes many of my own feelings. Not all of them...but some.

I used to visit all the very gay places
Those come-what-may places
Where one relaxes on the axis of the wheel of life
To get the feel of life
From jazz and cocktails

The girls I knew had sad and sullen gray faces
With distingue traces
That used to be there
You could see where they`d been washed away
By too many through the day
Twelve o`clock tales

Then you came along with your siren song
To tempt me to madness
I thought for awhile that your poignant smile
Was tinged with the sadness
Of a great love for me
Ah yes, I was wrong
Again, I was wrong

Life is lonely again
And only last year
Everything seemed so sure
Now life is awful again
A trough full of hearts could only be a bore

A week in Paris could ease the bite of it
All I care is to smile in spite of it

I`ll forget you, I will
While yet you are still
Burning inside my brain
Romance is mush
Stifling those who strive
So I`ll live a lush life in some small dive
And there I`ll be, while I rot with the rest
Of those whose lives are lonely too

nonconformists 'r' us

Finally--a website which proves that even though you think you stand out from the crowd...you really don't.

m.c., 1942-2008

Michael Crichton: my favorite modern novelist, died Tuesday at the age of 66. A man whose writing abilites I greatly respected, and who had some harsh (but true) words to say about environmentalism. And apparently he was bloody tall.

I say we should all just go read some of his books in memorium. I myself want to pick up The Andromeda Strain again.

obama, snow, and the ironies therein

It was a long night in choir yesterday. In our three-hour practice, we ran through the entirety of Mozart's Vespers, as well as everything else we were practicing. Mr. Murray, our choir director, was kind enough to give us a few breaks throughout that time, which was time enough to get a drink of water and to rest our now-croaking vocal cords, if only for a moment. But, as they say, there is no rest for the wicked, for during one of these breaks, someone burst into the room and shouted, "Obama has won!!!" Two hours of full-out singing did not stop at least half the assembled choir from breaking out into exhuberant cheers. (I, of course, refrained) Within a few more minutes, we were all back in our seats and Mr. Murray again announced the news of the Presidential race. After another round of approving murmurs, our choir director named the next song to practice: the Triumphant Chorus from Verdi's Aida. With a few carefully selected word substitutions, the song could have been played after Obama claimed victory:

Glory to Egypt and to Isis who protects our sacred land

Let us raise festive hymns to the King who rules the Delta

Glory, glory to the King!

Intertwine the lotus with the laurel in the hair of the victors.

Like a veil, spread over the armies a shower of lovely flowers.

Daughters of Egypt, let us dance the mystic ring dances

Just as the stars in the sky dance around the sun.

Raise your eyes and give thanks to the gods for this victory;

Give thanks to the gods for this fortunate day.

Oh come, avenging warrior, come rejoice with us.

As the heroes pass, toss laurel branches and flowers.

Glory to Egypt!

And we sang it loudly, despite our dry and cracking voices.

But that wasn't the only musical irony of the night. Our final song was a cute little rendition of "Let It Snow!" And as I emerged from the college building, three hours after I first entered it, I saw the dreary Grande Prairie landscape covered in its first layer of snow.

limericks from the devil

Despite being fully finished with my demonic thesis, I still find myself drawn to the subject. Or at least, seeing connections with my thesis or making comments that still bring a slightly darker tone to the discussion. So imagine my joy when I found this delightful little website: a dictionary of limericks!!! Talk about exciting!!! And there were numerous ones on demons, devils, and various other preternatural creatures. Here's a sampling:

Said Satan: "Right here, sign in blood.

And in no time, you'll soon be a stud."

So I gave my autography,

But damn! My cacography*

Made me, instead, Elmer Fudd.

*Cacography (kuh-KAH-gruh-fee) — Bad handwriting.

Waging war against Satan aggressively,

There's no way to do it excessively.

The effort that's spent

Can't be 50 percent.

You will not beat him manic-depressively.

Azazel was evil, my child!

This demon lived out in the wild;

The Hebrews would send

Him a scapegoat, and blend

Of scapecheeses, both Tasty and Mild.

Ademonists don't believe much

In devils and demons and such.

If you say you're the type

To buy satanist hype,

They may think that you're quite out of touch.