Songs to Dance to With Your Four-Year-Old Niece

1) Jill Scott's "Golden"
2) Bill Withers "Lovely Day"
3) Beny Moré, "Cómo fue?"
4) Caetano Veloso, "Mimar Voce"
5) Sam Cooke, "Bring It On Home"


Trust me. You won't be disappointed.

Pacquiao Wins Lightweight Crown at 135

Manny dominated every round, drawing blood as early as the second round and continuing to lacerate his opponent, David Diaz, until the Filipino challenger knocked out the Chicago fighter in the ninth round. Many people have said that Manny is a natural fighter at 135, which looked very much the case tonight, as he apparently lost no speed, landing thrumming combinations with trademark sting.

In the early rounds, Manny established an offense consisting almost entirely of right hands -- hooks and uppercuts -- finding Diaz's head repeatedly. You get the sense that Diaz paid so much attention to the deadly Pacquiao left (which the Gen San southpaw kept cocked), that Pacquiao could connect with the right almost at will.

Ultimately, it was a left that dropped Diaz face first into the canvas. The ref didn't count and called him out as soon as the Mexican-American lefty hit the ground.

There was some concern for Pacquiao going into the fight, as Diaz's no-quit style earned him a tenth-round TKO victory over Armando Santa Cruz, even though Diaz was clearly trailing after eight rounds. Manny was unrelenting in his first foray at 135, and the masterful showing earned him titles in five divisions; he's only the fifth man in boxing history to accomplish that.

Diaz, whose victories include a unanimous underdog decision over Erik Morales last August, said of Pacquiao, "He was just to fast... I thought Freddie (Roach) was in there hitting me too." The charming Diaz quipped, "(He was so fast) I thought he had a knife."

Joe Calzaghe and Ricky Hatton are potential upcoming matches for the Filipino champion, though he'll probably stay at 135 for a few fights.

Alesis Multimix 8 Question

So I'm using the Alesis Multimix 8 (USB) and M1 Active 320 USB Speakers. Here's my problem: Both of them show up with the same exact Codec name in my Mac's Sound preferences (as well as Garageband).

In a what I think is a related issue, in Cakewalk LE, only the M1s are recognized as VST Inputs, not the Multimix. Ideally, I'd like to be able to rename one or both so I can distinguish between the two and select the Multimix as my input and the M1 as my monitors?

(My short-term fix has been to run an RCA from the 2-Track output to the RCA Input of the M1s, since Cakewalk recognizes the latter and the Multimix doesn't show up at all.)

Help. Anyone.

A NJ Welcome

And we sing and my niece is collecting leaves in my dad's front yard and asking me to sing a song about the dog that's there and the one that's not. She asks what kind of songs I sing and what's the names of the songs. And then we have this exchange:

Me: But, Bean, what is the grass?
Bean: Huh?
Me: What is the grass?
Bean: A pusa. It says meow.
Me: So what is the grass?
Bean: A dog.
Me: What else is the grass?
Bean: The sky. It's up there.
Me: And what does it sound like?
Bean: Birds. It sounds like birds.
Me: And how can I make my guitar sound like birds?
Bean: It just feels good.

Home is good.

Beny More

I aspire to write a love poem with this kind of swoon factor. "...tu risa como manantial regó mi vida de inquietud..."

Feasting

My friend Caroling Lee has been kind enough to host several meals this week. We collaborated with David Wright on some smashing spaghetti and meatballs on Sunday, followed by a long-promised chicken adobo evening by me (with a mango salad concoction -- red onions, ginger, basil, white vinegar, and just a touch of patis), and with a whole leftover uncooked chicken, our kind friend Heera Kang made curry chicken on Wednesday night.

Today around mid-day, anticipating the day's NBA action, I made omelets. I have to admit, I don't have many dishes that I cook (let alone with expertise), but omelets, I think, I do real well. They usually end up being about 2.5-3 egg omelets. I can cook them in 9 or 12 inch skillets (in a 12 I can get them deliciously thin). The filling was fromager d'affinois, which is a kind of brie I suppose, brezain, which is basically a raclette, except it has a great smoky taste. I also sauteed garlic, spinach, and mushrooms to give the cheeses something extra to hold on to.

For a side starch, I made some spicy garlic skillet potatoes, medium well-done (though I like them even crunchier than that usually). I also picked up a sliced loaf of blue cheese walnut bread. Heera chopped up some papaya, strawberries, and white peaches. And David mixed some mimosas. Oh yeah -- and the weather was unbelievable.

I'd tell you we were finished except for the fact that we spent the afternoon assembling Caroling's new gas grill. Then went to the grocery and grilled up some blue cheese burgers with cheese tater tots for dinner. I'm back at my place, sitting very upright, trying to accommodate the belly.

Quite. Full.

Urosaurus Ornatus

I was grading portfolios this fine (muggy) afternoon in Texas when I went over to switch the fan on. Off to the corner, in a bowl on the floor (to collect water that leaks from the washing machine upstairs), I saw... a lizard! An ornate tree lizard, to be exact. I watched it for a while and was surprised when it simply blinked and didn't move much at all. So I took a few shots (I don't have a macro so they didn't turn out so great). Then, duh, I realized that tree lizards belong in trees, not water!! It was trapped in the bowl. I let her (I believe it's a female -- as the males have a touch of blue on the throat area instead of orange on the females) out in my backyard which is well-wooded for this part of Austin. She scrambled out. Eat well (the mosquitos)!

The Concept should be Executed... Really

I went with a couple friends to the Blanton last night, as the museum has been hosting a periodic event called, regrettably, "B Scene". The event, featuring new works of art, hors d'oeuvres, and a "DJ" sounded promising.

We walked in on what passed to most as a performance piece. On a pedestal was a garbage bag and a person inside it, moving to, well, music that sounded like slow techno. That was it.

Wait, that's actually not it. There's more -- mercilessly. We walked up the wide, main stairwell (the space is beautiful by the way, and, thus, sorely squandered) and here came a man and a woman, looking catatonic, holding in front of them a garbage bag each, descending with all ceremonial drama past us down the stairs.

Having experienced enough of the trash dance, my friends and I wandered a bit around to see the collection (which was fair) and when we got back down I decided to ask a few people what they thought of the performance. Most people I asked were not even around for it, though the place was pretty full when we arrived. (I wonder if the act chased them out.)

I asked one guy, who told me he worked for Dell, if he'd seen what transpired and he said, "Yeah, it was... interesting. I mean it didn't really make sense, but it's art. Art doesn't make sense."

Bingo. Art doesn't make sense. I asked him if he'd ever seen a Goya painting and he said, "You're asking the wrong guy. I'm not an art expert."

The average American has abdicated the power of demanding something good of its artists and writers. They've allowed the academy and other institutions to determine what's good art. They're convinced that art shouldn't make sense, is always difficult, and you must be a trained expert in order to engage it. In turn, artists and those of us who teach art in the academy haven't done enough to instruct people on how to trust their innate expertise on art and song. Here's the news: it doesn't require expertise, unless expertise is diastole and systole. We've encouraged a culture that cannot discern ambiguity from mystery.

Around the hors d'ouevres, I overheard one guy ask another guy where the garbage was. "Right there," I said, pointing to the bag lying empty in front of the stage. He said, "Really?" I said, "Yup."

Epilogue:
We exited the Blanton and there was another outdoor event related to the event inside. I turned the corner to enter and was stopped by a gleeful woman representing ArtBuffs, a group of under-forty professionals who gather around their appreciation for art.

I asked our sentry, I mean potential host, what she thought of the performance. She said she'd seen the rehearsal for it (There was a rehearsal!) and said quite enthusiastically that it was "interesting" and she went on to describe seeing a woman in a garbage bag on a chair. I told her that I had once, when I was eleven, put my brother in a garbage bag and I didn't get invited to a museum for that. Bad boy. Good art.