Beff's semester finishes today, and she is due home after dark tonight. Tomorrow night we take Big Mike out for Chinese buffet

The Midwest Clinic is now a dim, dim memory save for the streaming video online (see the top of the page). I wrote feverishly, again, since the last update, producing much weird and wooly stuff, on the Rick Moody song "How to Read", and finished it on Monday. Wednesday, if editing and adding dynamics where I'd deliberately left them out to be decided later count. I send a PDF and MIDI of the sucker to Rick Moody, who called it cool and weird (it is both), and told Amy D that it was "antic and strange and wooly," which is also probably an apt description. I also sent it to Soozie, for whom, after all, it was written. She is in Florence (Italy, not Henderson) and said she'd read it when she was back in the States where there was a reliable phone connection. So I thus finished the Sex Songs just in time for school, and they clock in at 21 minutes. I then wrote to the estate of Edna St. Vincent Millay for permission for the Millay poem, which keeps me ahead of the curve. The order: Millay Sonnet, The Gardener, Streetsong, How to Read. How to Read is full of rock and roll gestures a la Moody's Blues, so there's no way it could be followed by anything. Or at least not by anything by me. I would hope it would be followed by thunderous applause, a standing ovation, and gobs of money floating into my hands. But I seem to have gotten off the beaten track again.

Soozie has also been doing a Copland Recording grant with Albany Records for Sex Songs and just about all the other stuff I've written for her over the years (yes, I now have written enough for her to fill an album), but since she is in Florence (with David Rutherford -- a scholar and my BEST friend at the American Academy in Rome, if only because he stood guard while I urinated on the Coliseum, and he didn't mind doing cheeseburgers at Big Benny with me on Sunday mornings), she was unable to get the required materials to Albany. So I did that -- printed scores, bound some scores, send CDs as I was directed. Including a copy of Beff's CD to give an example of Chris Oldfather's playing. Ironic that I sent it to Albany, which is the label it is on. In any case, that was a bit time-consuming.

I also went into Brandeis twice this week, thus restarting the living hell of the life of the Chairman. Will I make it through the next thirteen weeks? School starts Thursday, but that's only for non-Chairs. I will, by the way, be teaching orchestration in pro seminar. I also visited Nancy Redgate in the hospital on my way back this morning, and it was good to see her. She is as animated and opinionated as ever. I want her back in the office as soon as possible.

Weather played a big part of the previous week, especially the increasing lack of competence of They That Make's ability to predict within the current weather patter. To wit, the flurries of tomorrow became the snow showers of tomorrow became the Winter Storm Watch of tomorrow, with 2-4, no make that 3-5, no make that 4-6 or more inches of snow expected in the afternoon tomorrow. We had a storm on Wednesday and Thursday that was in two pieces that began with three inches of mostly cloudy (we walked downtown in it, where I had Buffalo wings, yum yum yum yum yum), and finished with another 3 or 4 inches of snow (we walked downtown in it, where I got a prescription renewed and we were lucky to find some buns for chicken sandwiches), some sleet, freezing rain and plain old rain. Crusty ice this morning with pock marks on it, and I spent maybe half an hour with the snowblower just after it changed to rain clearing the driveway. Beth thankfully dealt with the plow schmutz at the end of the driveway, which took as long to clear (since it was so heavy) as it took me to do the whole driveway. Just before I finished, the snowblower ran out of gas, which made for a nice wet return to the garage. So for two days, thoughts were mostly of the weather. As they will be tomorrow, dadburn it.

They That Make predict very warm (60 on Thursday) for the end of next week. Stay tuned to see how close they came.

Tomorrow Beff will be leaving early, as she is driving all the way to New Brunswick (the one in Canada) for a performance. Tomorrow she gets as far as Bangor after having her clarinet looked at in Searsport (the storm is forecast to leave 1-2" there), and on Sunday, which is predicted clear, she goes to Canada. Monday (good day for driving) she comes all the way back in one shot. So after she leaves -- thanks to the storm, long after -- Maynard Door and Window arrives (10 am) to see if they can do anything to fix our front door. Previously a locksmith declared the door too old for any parts to be found; this is our second opinion. If we can get it fixed, we can use the front door as a door, and eventually add a bathroom -- if that is what we want. Or even a small addition onto the house.

NYNME told me newly of performances of TWO CAN PLAY THAT GAME (an old sucker for Bcl and marimba) in Atlanta in April and New York in May. I can't make either one of them. Earlier I was told they were in February in LA and March in New York. Alas. Well, the Atlanta performance will be at Emory University, and you can make all the jokes you want. I'm already tired of the Emory board joke, even though I'm convinced I made it up on the spot.

Amy D is back from Sri Lanka, where she was in the mountains when the tsunami hit. We are all very glad she and Shehan are safe and that they made it back. She inquired about a new piece for piano, two toy pianos and electronics. I said the only thing I could: "What?"

This week we have a little icicle (in the shape of an upside-down peace sign) forming off pine needles in a gutter, and cats. For those of you who asked how big they are now.

They that make were both right and wrong about yesterday's high temperature. You may recall that 60 was predicted as yesterday's high as long as a week ago, and I had made some plans in my head (the best place for them) to enjoy the balmy afternoon temperatures, which as of Wednesday, were still predicted to be 60. But at 1 the temperature was still 37, and it was mondo foggy. So lemme splain.

Early yesterday morning (6:41) I picked up Big Mike at his place to bring him in to teach his first day of the term (as it was the first day of the term). They that make had predicted it would be about 40 in the morning. But instead what was was 31 with a glaze of freezing rain on our sidewalk and driveway, and light freezing rain was still happening -- none of which was in the forecast. So I drove slowly to BM's place, and to work. We made it in less than record time, due to careful, likely elderly, drivers also going in, not to mention a big ol' cement mixer. But this is too much detail. I took Mike back after his class was over at noon, and I kept noting that a slice of pizza might be real nice. By now, by the way, it was mildly foggy and 37 degrees (not 60, in case you've been paying attention). And no pizza place reared its pretty, boring, or ugly head. BM then mentioned that there was a very greasy pizza place next to his complex, so we stopped there. I told him "your slice is on me," and ordered two plain slices. Then for whatever reason, BM ordered two pepperoni slices. He just didn't hear, I guess. So I paid for all four slices, and we each had one of each. When I got back home, I did some salad, but not the full lunch I had been expecting. And at 37 and foggy, there was no outing to enjoy the weather.

Meanwhile, Geoffy was on his way, and we had appointed to (this is complicated, so pay attention) meet Lee at the Lincoln train station at 6:10, drive to the deCordova museum (in Lincoln) to take a gander at the installation Kate's been putting up all week, go to our house for some munchies, and then go to a restaurant with them and Geoff. So Beff 'n' I waited at the Lincoln train station for a half hour while a train zoomed right by at 6:06. We called Geoffy's cell phone and found out that he had arrived. Then he called my cell phone and said someone called Kate had called our answering machine and said that Lee had been waiting at the train station a half hour, she was waiting outside in the deCordova parking lot, and would not be able to make another call after the current one. We zipped across to the other side of the street, where a SEPARATE platform served outgoing passengers, picked Lee, up and drove deCordovawards. About a half hour late.

And then the fog got thicker and thicker as we approached the deCordova, until the visibility was no more than about five feet. We got on the road for the deCordova, and I was tailgated by an SUV that kept flicking its high beams to get me to speed up (I uttered some choice words heard only by those in our car). Luckily, the deCordova entrance was well marked, though the driveway was long; the museum itself was dark, the lone figure in the parking lot was Kate, and we picked her up. We couldn't see the installation (see "the museum itself was dark"). But we slowly drove back (see "visibility was no more than five feet"), once barely missing two deer that bound across the road in front of us (I would have been rear-ended if I had stopped short), and freaking out both of our back seat passengers.

Well. Eventually the fog got less thick (it was still 37 degrees out) when we got back to Great Road, we made it to the Quarterdeck Seafood restaurant, where Geoffy had established a beachhead (he said five, and we had eight chairs ... ?), and Kate ordered a Glenlivet (pronounced Glen-liv-ay by the waitress, who wore a track suit). A full glass of Scotch the size of a Buick was served, so Kate was happy. See above for what I got, and Beff got some sort of fish with capers. By now we had all calmed down, the freshness and deliciousness of the fish was alluded to precisely 87 times, and we finished in plenty of time to get Lee and Kate to the 8:57 out of South Acton. When we got outside, some of the fog had lifted, and the temperature had zoomed up to 57 -- all in an hour and a half. At the South Acton station, plenty of fog was still rolling around (lifting and rolling, etc.) so we watched it. When the train arrived with the lights piercing the peasoupy fog still remaining down the tracks, it looked like a Bergman film. We said exactly that. And then they left. Back at home, I took a beer and made Geoffy watch Sibling Revelry streaming online -- since one of the etudes from which it sprung was written for him. At 10:30 I mentioned to Geoff (who was having Calvados) that I had had enough beer, was ready for bed, and if Jay Eckardt were here he would coax me into two more beers. Then I said, "another drink?", Geoff said yes, and I joined him. Then we all went to bed.

Things at Brandeis were very intense this week, including an emergency meeting (you know why) to make a counterproposal (to you know what). In the morning I dashed off (there were periods, commas and question marks, too) a 3-page talking points memo to get things rolling. After an hour of treading water, things happened. And, alas, the perception was that my leadership was thick enough to cut with a knife. Crap. As one of the almost eleven suggested last term, I need more creative incompetence, less leadership. Oh well, maybe it's time to let some things fall apart.

Meanwhile, here I mention that Geoffy cleans up after himself, and drinks the mineral water that we have for only him. There is a little bit of water in the basement -- as the temp shot up to 59.9 today, it poured, and the temp dropped again. We went into Cambridge today for separate reasons, and I sent Beff on an errand to make our 2004 Roth IRA contributions in downtown Boston. But the storm -- warm as it was -- whipped her umbrella inside out several times, as she was near the ocean, and she got soaked through and through. She made a point of calling me where I was to let me know she got soaked through and through. But she did also accomplish the other goal, which was to get a copy of American Record Guide at Virgin Records, where we are BOTH reviewed this month. I get to be a leading light, and the reviewer imagined people squirming during the second movement of Ten of a Kind. Beff has a knack for atonal chord voicings. See Reviews 3 for the complete review. It was 57 degrees today at 9:30 am, and 37 at 1; we encountered mixed rain and sleet as we entered Maynard when we returned. But a great majority of the snow on the ground disappeared, and I like it when that happens.

Over the weekend I responded to another challenge by the estimable Rick Moody. Originally it was to be a minimalism/pulse etude ripping apart the regularity of classic minimalist gestures. Instead, I actually had fun writing it, used as a source a chord from HOW TO READ, and subtitled it "impatient minimalist etude on chord-building". It is #66 and I still have no title for it, though "Out of Minimalism (but we expect more tomorrow)" was a working title. Amy and Rick and Geoffy are on the case naming the piece (Music for One Player, Music for Two Hands, Mini Mouse), but nothing has suited me yet. There is an E pedal throughout, so both Geoff and I thought of "E-Machine," but that would just be silly. Willy. Dilly. Pilly.

There were two sloppy snow/ice storms this last week, not including today's torrential rain. This weather pattern is a bummer. Plenty of back-breaking exercise, however. Meanwhile, Beff beat one of the storms when she drove to Moncton, New Brunswick (that's in Canada) on Saturday -- a group there played a few movements of various video/no video piece. The performance sounded good. Meanwhile, Beff also found out that "Winnifred Goes Outside" will be done next month in the Bangor Auditorium. Whoa. As to Wednesday's dreary storm, I actually took the train in. So there.

I think Soozie and Don Berman did some songs of mine at the American Academy in Rome today. I could be wrong.

This was not a week of picture taking, so I submit two larger than usual shots of cats reclining.

JANUARY 21. Breakfast this morning was a large hamburger bun (from BJs) toasted with lowfat peanut butter, orange juice, and coffee. Dinner was strifry chicken from a Trader Joe's Kung Pao stir fry packet with the Kung Pao sauce discarded and lemongrass sauce substituted. Lunch was the two slice special at Cappy's. Today's lunch was Sun Bird hot and sour sour (for both of us) with Mongolian fire oil and white pepper added. TEMPERATURE EXTREMES THE LAST WEEK -1.8 and 38.9. LARGE EXPENSES this last week include an amazon.com gift certificate from the department to Jim Olesen in appreciation of his service as Chair -- believe me, I know "service" is not exactly the right word here. MUSIC GOING THROUGH MY HEAD AS I TYPE THIS The very end of the bandstration of "Strident." POINTLESS NOSTALGIC REMINISCENCE: somewhere midst our old, old memorabilia is a small notebook of cute things I said before any of my memory kicks in (about 4). It is said that, when caught picking crabapples when told not to, I explained "I was only picking the leaves." This same notebook reminds me that my brother used to call me "Dready" (spelled "Dreddy" in the book), obviously not referring to any unfortunate hairstyle choices -- yet. RECOMMENDATION/ PROFESSIONAL LETTERS WRITTEN THIS WEEK 2. DISCOVERY OF THE WEEK iPods are not so inexpensive. THIS WEEK'S COSMIC QUANDRY: other than the color, what's the difference between lemonade and pink lemonade? RECENT GASTRONOMIC OBSESSIONS: campari tomatoes, honey barbecue chips made with canola oil, sugar free popsicles. NUMBER OF FRAGILE THINGS DESTROYED BY THE CATS IN THE PREVIOUS WEEK a bunch of rolled-up pieces of newspaper. FULL NIGHTS OF SLEEP THE LAST WEEK: 2. INANIMATE OBJECTS THAT WOULD BE A BETTER PRESIDENT THAN THE CURRENT ONE suaveness, continuing education, shampoo envy, paint allergies.

Them what make are waffling about a big snowstorm forecast to pass to our south about 24 hours from when this is posted -- do we get snow showers, 3 to 5 inches, 1 to 2 feet? The Weather Bug down in my system tray was chirping at me as I started typing (about 3:30 in the afternoon) to get me to find out that "heavy snow advisory" was in the works -- following quickly on the heels of a "heavy snow advisory." Gosh, these weather advisories are like the Republican talking points (footnote to the Daily Show and Jon Stewart): they must be true, because they're said a lot.

The problem with a heavy snow advisory is that we are slated to go to the BMOP concert tomorrow night to hear the premiere of Eric Chasalow's Something about Sunspots piece, as well as Martino's Clarinet Concerto and pieces by Elliott Schwartz and Tom McKinley. By the way, this concert is called The Boston Connection (they have such a concert yearly), and the networking capabilities of Elliott Schwartz -- who lives 175 miles from Boston -- are once again in evidence. Either that, or metro Boston is growing at an exponential rate (at the same time Massachusetts was the only state to lose population since the turn of the century). Now I've gotten really far off the beaten track. Anyway, if the snow starts too early, then we won't go to the concert. Ironically, it'll be a Tom McKinley thing back from undergrad days: "I'll catch the tape, man." I'm leaving out the part where part of his chicken salad sandwich gets spit out as he says it.

The event of the week was likely our MLK Day brunch at our house, which attracted two childful couples and one childless one. Del and Laura (who was referred to be others as LK) came with Alexandra -- and some flowers -- and Sam and Laurie came with Georgia -- the daughter, not the state. Cammy would have none of it, and, once Alexandra got into kiddie kitty petting mode, neither would Sunny. So in the morning with those two couples, there were bagels and coffee to be had by all (including by me), as well as cherries and strawberries and various other fruits we made our contribution to the affair. Ken and Hillary made it around noon, so the activities were spread far and wide within the household. LK, who is a professional photographer, used our window seats downstairs to take nice pictures of Georgia, and meanwhile Alexandra was kept mostly quiet by a showing of one of our many Looney Tunes DVDs. She had to sit about a foot from the TV so it would be loud enough for her and so the adults could have conversations. Alexandra also got to play a vibraslap (the thrill leaves pretty fast) and have her own (light blue) blanket. After the kidful couples had to split, we took Ken and Hillary out to the Village Pizzeria for Buffalo wings, where I was the only one to have Buffalo wings. Hillary had a giant chicken Caesar salad that could have fed all of Liberia, and I forget what Beff and Ken had.

I had spent much of the weekend doing a draft of the Music Department's response to the Dean's Looney Bin proposal, with much input -- much of it conflicting -- from two of my colleagues. I had to filter out some disrespectful tone suggested by one and some superfluous statistics suggested by another. And then it was sent Wednesday morning. Thursday was a faculty meeting, and the amazing collegiality from the previous meeting was less in immediate evidence. I hate being the Chair.

On David Sanford's recommendation, Beff got a Danish film called FIVE OBSTRUCTIONS, which I thought was both pretty cool and pretty tiresome. The premise was better than the movie: a director was challenged to remake a movie of his from the 1960s in five different ways with limitations (obstructions) posed by another director (who Beff posited would be the kind of filmmaker whose films you'd talk about but not ever watch). The first remake, in Cuba with the limitation of no edit longer than 12 frames, was pretty cool. The remake as a cartoon was cool, too, and it was interesting to hear the phrase "MTV" in Danish -- it sounds the same. So when we weren't watching Obstructions, we were watching vast swaths of the fifth season of Buffy (the Glory year).

Two nights ago I got ten hours of sleep. Heaven.

On Tuesday I taught my first orchestration class, thus being in front of a classroom for the first time in seven months. It was, actually, thrilling. Reminding me, of course, that that's what I really like doing, not toning down the expletives I would otherwise hurl at the hand that feeds my department. It was pretty high octane most of the time (duh), and I actually spent some down time afterwards doing something else I haven't done in seven months -- thinking of more ways to present the material in a way that was both fun and valuable. For the first time in their lives, eight graduate students went home with unmarked CDs with excerpts of Looney Tunes cartoon music with the assignment to transcribe about 10 to 15 seconds of anything in the excerpts. I am both crafty and mean. What they don't know yet (because it's something I decided in that down time) is that they will get my now world-famous analysis of Nuages (well, famous in my world, anyway) with a new layer of orchestration layered into the argument. I already said a few things about Nuages in the class, actually. I will, by the way, try to be catching myself from doing what other teachers of orchestration have done (according to anecdotal evidence from others): no long stories about Lenny, and no standing there with a fake expression of wonderment on my face as an excerpt plays on the stereo and I point vaguely sideways and skywards while blurting out "clarinets!" or "masking in the cello pizz." as the music passes by. Several students said it was a good class. They were probably sucking up.