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Good Morning
Feb. 18th, 2022 07:46 am
Feb. 18th, 2022
Just when I thought...
Feb. 18th, 2022 01:24 pmJust when I thought that everything was done and dusted, more correspondence - from the local council - a form to complete to claim a 25% discount on my council tax as sole occupier of my house. And a six page document from the Department of Work and Pensions to complete and return as they owe Ros three weeks state pension and I have to prove that I am entitled to receive the funds.
As regards probate of Ros' will I spoke with Farewill solicitors and, after discussing the content of the will, they said that probate was not necessary as Ros' instructions were clear and unequivocal. That should save around £500 in solicitor's fees. I trust that the DWP will accept this as it is pointless to pay out £500 to receive a DWP payment of £618 for the pension owed to Ros.
Give me strength. I am really exhausted with all this administration.
As regards probate of Ros' will I spoke with Farewill solicitors and, after discussing the content of the will, they said that probate was not necessary as Ros' instructions were clear and unequivocal. That should save around £500 in solicitor's fees. I trust that the DWP will accept this as it is pointless to pay out £500 to receive a DWP payment of £618 for the pension owed to Ros.
Give me strength. I am really exhausted with all this administration.
The Friday Five
Feb. 18th, 2022 10:55 pmManners - we all know what they are, we all know what they are for.
1. Do you think you are more or less courteous than your parents?
2. Has the pandemic effected your manners and in what way?
3. Do you think manners should be taught in school or at home?
4. If you are a woman, do you like having a guy hold open a door for you or would you rather hold open a door for a guy?
5 Guys, what about you? Do you like having a woman hold a door for you or does it make you feel weird. Why?
1. Do you think you are more or less courteous than your parents?
2. Has the pandemic effected your manners and in what way?
3. Do you think manners should be taught in school or at home?
4. If you are a woman, do you like having a guy hold open a door for you or would you rather hold open a door for a guy?
5 Guys, what about you? Do you like having a woman hold a door for you or does it make you feel weird. Why?
Book 10 - Vladimir Nabokov "Pnin"
Feb. 18th, 2022 11:23 pmVladimir Nabokov "Pnin" (Penguin Modern Classics)
Nabokov must have had a lot of disdain for American academics. Actually, it seems he was disdainful of everyone involved in the insular world of humanities' departments in American universities and colleges, from ignorant undergraduate to dedicated, but inane graduate student, from lowly lecturer to chairs of departments. Not to say I didn't enjoy this book, because I did. After all, anyone who has ever been in grad school in a literature and language department knows there is something quite ridiculous about the whole thing. Nabokov is an amazing writer, his way with language (not his own even!) is breathtaking, his metaphors are divine, his descriptions of the inner lives of his characters draw you in, but somehow, while I would have loved to listen in on a lecture by Nabokov, I wouldn't have wanted to be his student.
The first paragraph of Chapter 3 gives us this delicious little characterization of the eponymous hero of our novel:
“During the eight years Pnin had taught at Waindell College he had changed his lodgings – for one reason or another, mainly sonic – about every semester. The accumulation of consecutive rooms in his memory now resembled those displays of grouped elbow chairs on show, and beds, and lamps, and inglenooks which, ignoring all space-time distinctions, commingle in the soft light of a furniture store beyond which it snows, and the dusk deepens, and nobody really loves anybody. The rooms of his Waindell period looked especially trim in comparison with one he had had in uptown New York, midway between Tsentral Park and Reeverside, on a block memorable for the wastepaper along the curb, the bright pat of dog dirt somebody had already slipped upon, and a tireless boy pitching a ball against the steps of the high brown porch; and even that room became positively dapper in Pnin’s mind (where a small ball still rebounded) when compared with the old, now dust-blurred lodgings of his long Central-European, Nansen-passport period” (p. 44).
Or — much later in the novel — say, at a point at which we might have a slight craving for an academic’s inside (and somewhat sardonic) observations on the animal instincts of other tillers (i.e., colleagues) in the fields of academe, we have the following:
"'He received a grant of ten thousand dollars,' said Joan to Betty, whose face dropped a curtsy as she made that special grimace consisting of a slow half-bow and tensing of chin and lower lip that automatically conveys, on the part of Bettys, a respectful, congratulatory, and slightly awed recognition of such grand things like dining with one's boss, being in Who's Who, or meeting a duchesse" (p. 115).
The displacement of such past griefs in the new life of affluent, optimistic America is one of the book's fine achievements. Nothing is resolved as Pnin drives off into the sunset, having absorbed--we may believe, if we wish--his own measure of optimism.
A highly recommended read.
Nabokov must have had a lot of disdain for American academics. Actually, it seems he was disdainful of everyone involved in the insular world of humanities' departments in American universities and colleges, from ignorant undergraduate to dedicated, but inane graduate student, from lowly lecturer to chairs of departments. Not to say I didn't enjoy this book, because I did. After all, anyone who has ever been in grad school in a literature and language department knows there is something quite ridiculous about the whole thing. Nabokov is an amazing writer, his way with language (not his own even!) is breathtaking, his metaphors are divine, his descriptions of the inner lives of his characters draw you in, but somehow, while I would have loved to listen in on a lecture by Nabokov, I wouldn't have wanted to be his student.
The first paragraph of Chapter 3 gives us this delicious little characterization of the eponymous hero of our novel:
“During the eight years Pnin had taught at Waindell College he had changed his lodgings – for one reason or another, mainly sonic – about every semester. The accumulation of consecutive rooms in his memory now resembled those displays of grouped elbow chairs on show, and beds, and lamps, and inglenooks which, ignoring all space-time distinctions, commingle in the soft light of a furniture store beyond which it snows, and the dusk deepens, and nobody really loves anybody. The rooms of his Waindell period looked especially trim in comparison with one he had had in uptown New York, midway between Tsentral Park and Reeverside, on a block memorable for the wastepaper along the curb, the bright pat of dog dirt somebody had already slipped upon, and a tireless boy pitching a ball against the steps of the high brown porch; and even that room became positively dapper in Pnin’s mind (where a small ball still rebounded) when compared with the old, now dust-blurred lodgings of his long Central-European, Nansen-passport period” (p. 44).
Or — much later in the novel — say, at a point at which we might have a slight craving for an academic’s inside (and somewhat sardonic) observations on the animal instincts of other tillers (i.e., colleagues) in the fields of academe, we have the following:
"'He received a grant of ten thousand dollars,' said Joan to Betty, whose face dropped a curtsy as she made that special grimace consisting of a slow half-bow and tensing of chin and lower lip that automatically conveys, on the part of Bettys, a respectful, congratulatory, and slightly awed recognition of such grand things like dining with one's boss, being in Who's Who, or meeting a duchesse" (p. 115).
The displacement of such past griefs in the new life of affluent, optimistic America is one of the book's fine achievements. Nothing is resolved as Pnin drives off into the sunset, having absorbed--we may believe, if we wish--his own measure of optimism.
A highly recommended read.
Schubert Piano Sonata D960
Feb. 18th, 2022 11:33 pmTime for some music and a bit classical -
Schubert - Piano Sonata No.21 in B flat, D. 960
Mitsuko Uchida, piano 1997
1.Molto moderato 21:59
2.Andante sostenuto 10:38
3.Scherzo 3:55
4.Allegro ma non troppo 7:59
Mitsuko Uchida is a very rare pianist. She puts composer and his music first and her performer's abilities, emotions, ego and intellect second. Her approach is built around commintment to the composer's idea and spirit. Thus no silly drama, no unnecessary displays of virtuosity, no mannered phrazing, no sound teatrics - all these are just don't exist in her universe. She goes deep, very deep. She lets the piece breathe and unfolds in its own natural way and at inherent to it tempos. In her hands something so familiar is heard anew. The effect of intimacy she produces is a natural outcome of her own intimacy with material. That way her approach is akin to methods of Grigori SOKOLOV. Blessed with light touch and precise articulation she poduces limpid shimmering sound - never exaggerated or forced. That artful approach would not jibe with masses. That is not her concern. Star status is for glory hungry narcissists. A true poet like her would just be concerned with music and its matters right there at the keyboard. All the better for us.
Schubert - Piano Sonata No.21 in B flat, D. 960
Mitsuko Uchida, piano 1997
1.Molto moderato 21:59
2.Andante sostenuto 10:38
3.Scherzo 3:55
4.Allegro ma non troppo 7:59
Mitsuko Uchida is a very rare pianist. She puts composer and his music first and her performer's abilities, emotions, ego and intellect second. Her approach is built around commintment to the composer's idea and spirit. Thus no silly drama, no unnecessary displays of virtuosity, no mannered phrazing, no sound teatrics - all these are just don't exist in her universe. She goes deep, very deep. She lets the piece breathe and unfolds in its own natural way and at inherent to it tempos. In her hands something so familiar is heard anew. The effect of intimacy she produces is a natural outcome of her own intimacy with material. That way her approach is akin to methods of Grigori SOKOLOV. Blessed with light touch and precise articulation she poduces limpid shimmering sound - never exaggerated or forced. That artful approach would not jibe with masses. That is not her concern. Star status is for glory hungry narcissists. A true poet like her would just be concerned with music and its matters right there at the keyboard. All the better for us.
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