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I might as well 'fess up: I'm thinking of going back to school
again. In business. I'd love to run a nonprofit someday, or maybe
start a small company with some of my friends. I've already been
thinking of the ways my life would have to change, and then I went to
the orientation for Berkeley's Evening & Weekend MBA on Tuesday
and had the fear of God put into me. I was actually doing fine until
they had a student get up to speak. He held up a book. "You see this
book? This is the first novel I've read in three years!" In
retrospect, he didn't seem like he was probably much of a reader to
begin with, but it made an impression on me nonetheless. Oh well.
What's three years of my life, really?
Aimee and I gave into temptation on Wednesday night and sacked out on
my couch with salty snacks and the extras from the nerdstended version
of Fellowship of the Ring. And after that, more
Beastie
Boys videos. Pure girlie indulgence. The next day I came down
with a massive sore throat. Coincidence?
Friday evening I joined the other members of the Quadrant 4 Music
Appreciation Society at Davies Symphony Hall to witness Mstislav
Rostropovich conducting the SF Symphony through Shostakovich's
Symphony No. 8 in C minor. First, though, there was Slava's
Fanfare by Dutilleux, in which the players were scattered
throughout the seats of the hall. It created a wonderful
surround-sound feeling, but I blinked and it was already over. Next
up was Prokofiev's Symphony No. 1 in D major, Classical, a
perky little piece that was strongly reminiscent of the composer's
ballets. After the intermission we settled in for the Shostakovich,
which was a total contrast to the lightness and brevity of the
previous works. I found myself drifting in and out, resurfacing when
the music suddenly surged or when I became entranced by a particular
otherworldly passage. At one point there was this low soft hum that
seemed to be coming from the strings, but as hard as I looked I
couldn't tell whose bows were moving to produce that
sound. Rostropovich was a joy to watch throughout the performance,
his nimble movements belying his 75+ years.
Saturday night my illness was in full effect, but I ignored my body's
cries for rest and instead headed over to 364 Hayes to attend the
opening of Jen Pack's show roygbp. The primary colors of her
silk "paintings" were reflected in an array of rainbow Kool-Aid and
color-coded candies set out by the gallery. Skronky jazz at one end
of the room, all the cute people at the other. Erich appeared and
introduced me to May and Doria, and later Erika showed up with her
friend Carrie. All of Pack's work was simply gorgeous, and I was
tempted to buy the piece that disturbed me the most in which she had
sewn a flaccid pocket into the middle of a sheer piece of fabric
stretched tight across a frame.
Haas
Evening & Weekend Program
SF Symphony
364 Hayes
Jen Pack
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Heidi J. De Vries
