.. at the record store … I got “Inside Shelley Berman” (currently Larry David’s Dad on “Curb”) and Schumann’s 4th Symphony, in D-minor performed by the Cleveland Orchestra, conductor George Szell.  (Recorded circa 1958, according to wiki). 

It’s lovely, the Schumann.  By the way, did anyone buy me Alex Ross’ book yet?  Regardless.  From Morris Hastings notes on the back of the album:

“Schumann was a man of extraordinary shyness, and a colleague of his has left us an entertaining picture of the great composer at the time he was working on the original version of the D-minor Symphony.  ‘Schumann came to me yesterday,’ wrote the friend, ‘and remained without speaking for a whole hour.  From which I gathered that he would not be adverse to hearing his symphony once more in public.  I hinted that it would be better for him to hear the horns rehearse; on which he made it clear by signs that he would willingly pay for a rehearsal to make the work go thoroughly well.  After this, he smoked two cigars, rubbed his mouth twice, as if to prevent a single syllable from coming out, took his hat, forgot his glove, nodded his head, tried the wrong door, and at last got away through the right one.”

My friend Marcie sent me this and I got so mad in the first paragraph, I couldn’t finish.  Not mad at Robin Morgan, who wrote it, but at the frustrating matter of what she’s saying. 

Anyway, I finally read it all the way through and you should too. 

[I’m still mad at these two bozos.)

it’s too late, that’s all.  too much / little / late.  

For all of you still sticking around for the late show . . .

A replay. 

(I believe this scene has since been cut.)

In the first line, “seeming” should be “seemingly.”  Jeez.  I can’t stand it.  Now my stupid formatting’s all messed up, below, see it?  Screw it, going home. 

Because it’s raining and I’m uninspired, I took a peek at my “Writing” category and the posts therein.  (I have used “therein” twice now today.  Here or elsewhere, not exactly sure.)

Anyway, some of it’s fun. 

From Gawker, an excerpt of The Financial Times’ profile of literary critic James Wood.  Who I totally heart, it turns out, for the exact same reasons Gawker does.  For one, he gets fact-checkers dead on: 

“I find it isn’t the editors who put the qualification in,” he says.  “It’s the fact-checkers.  They have to be resisted because they want to water down unproveable assertions.  So you say: ‘There is great disagreement about Cormac McCarthy’s status — this was a piece I wrote a couple of years ago when No Country For Old Men came out — and they’ll say to you:  ‘Well, I’ve been on the internet and I haven’t found much disagreement actually.’  So you say:  ‘Well, for instance, Ian McKewan thinks he’s complete shit.’  ‘Yeah, but we’ll have to say, then, there’s “some” disagreement.’  And already it’s getting wimpish.”

Also, he loves semi-colons.  Me too, James!; Me, too;!

It turns out renting space with a bunch of writers and giving it a name, doesn’t hurt. 

So I’m renting an office downtown, above the Army Recruiter, and calling it “List of Collective Nouns by Subject.”  If you write, I’ll let you in.  We’ll offer classes — “Re-ordering Your Netflix Queue”, “Watching Raindrops Splatter the Pool Every Single Day for Three Months”, and “Mistaking Every Piece of Debris for Really Big Scary Bugs”.

I expect Richard Pine’s call any minute. 

Very Short List just sent me links to Hema, an online Dutch-based Target-style chain.  (Stores in Germany and Belgium, if you want to stop by.)

First, click here.  Let the site load, let it do it’s thing.

Then if you really want to shop, click here. 

 

“Virgil” did some number-crunching and associated about 100 books and types of music with SAT scores.  Something like that.  Anyway, see if what you’re reading or listening to means you’re smart or dumb.

Booksthatmakeyoudumb.

Musicthatmakesyoudumb.

(If you’re not reading or listening to music then just make fun of someone who is.)