So much is happening that I don't really know where to begin a blog post, so I'll throw up a recipe.
First, some background: Everyone should have an Aunt Lynda. Mine lives a couple of states away, and she and my uncle have this incredible home that calls out to visitors, "come hang out with us for a while... it's therapeutic!" Weekends with them are generally spent watching for bunnies in the garden, hiking, staring out at the prairie, staying up late, playing cards... stuff like that. Things I never get around to at home, but ones that, in the right company, seem to drain the accumulated angst of life away. Yeah, there was that time my cousin and I got completely smashed on gin cosmopolitans while we were there, but that's a rare (though probably necessary at the time) occurrence.
Anyhow... on my last visit, we were playing pitch in the middle of the afternoon, and for some reason everyone was hungry. Dinner wasn't planned for some time, so my aunt threw together a great salsa that staved off starvation, and it (or a variation thereof) has since become a football-season staple here at home. I call it, simply,
Aunt Lynda's Black Bean Salsa
(All measurements here are approximate; use as much as you like)
1 15-oz can black beans, drained
1/4 cup cut yellow corn
About 1/2 tomato, chopped fine
About 1 tbsp diced jalapeno pepper, seeds removed (optional)
1-2 cloves garlic, pressed
About 3-4 chopped green onions, or a couple tbsp red or brown onion, finely chopped
2 tbsp bell pepper, finely chopped
olive oil
salt to taste
Throw everything together in a bowl with enough olive oil to mix well and refrigerate until someone attacks it (this stuff doesn't last long at my house, but it's actually better after it's been around a day or so).
Serve as a dip with chips or veggies, or fill a pita with the dip and a slice of cheese, and toss it in the toaster oven for about 5-10 minutes. This recipe also scales easily; simply add more of everything and adjust as necessary until it looks right.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Oliver, Oliver....
... *$&%@!
Been playing that show for two weekends now, and the main theme is driving me to distraction. It's worse, probably, because I'm covering the bassoon book (on bass clarinet--more on that in a moment), and the bassoon is the first to play that theme. Solo. Unaccompanied. And it's one of those tunes that glues itself into your aural memory for several days after hearing it, so you get to enjoy it well into the next week. Argh.
So exactly how does one cover a bassoon part on bass clarinet? Originally, my plan was to transpose the book from the bassoon key (bass clef and in C) to the bass clarinet's key (treble clef, Bb), but that was before a) I ended up having to re-work two of my classes for fall, and b) I actually got a look at the book. It's the small orchestra book--about 70 pages of stuff that includes bassoon rather prominently, and there isn't enough time in my universe to transcribe the whole thing. I was actually starting to panic when a random perusal of Craigslist enabled plan B, which was to play the show on my newly-acquired contra-alto clarinet. I bought the horn from a local composer, and it's a beast! The range of the instrument goes down to low Eb (the lowest Gb on a piano), and since it's keyed in Eb, playing a bass clef part in the key of C is possible by reading it as though it were in treble clef and adding three sharps to the key signature (as well as reversing a lot of accidentals). It's not difficult, exactly, but it does take some getting used to, especially when lines of sixteenth notes are flying by, and some are also in tenor clef, which shifts everything down one note or one space. Finally, throw in the stuff I have to take down an octave because it's out of the contra-alto's practical range (pretty much anything above high C), and you end up with music that keeps me on my toes. I know every serious woodwind doubler deals with this, but it does make reading big band charts seem like a welcome relief. The only other little snag I deal with is the odd part that ends up being impossible to play once it's transposed... and unfortunately, that solo section on the main theme falls in that category. I dealt with this by putting the first two numbers into the key of Bb instead and playing them on bass clarinet, which makes them tricky but still playable. It means lugging two instruments out instead of one, but there was no way I was going to make that section work otherwise. Ho-hum.
Of course, situations like these always have an upside, and in this case it's that I'm having to get the bass clarinet out and work on my chops a bit, which reminds me of how much I like playing that instrument. It's sort of like the regular clarinet, but with a prettier low register and some extra notes. Mine goes down to low C (low Bb on the piano), though, so there's quite a bit of extra keywork on the bottom that I don't have to cope with on any other instrument, and it's taking up some practice time reminding my pinkies of what all those keys DO. Still, it's fun, and the more doubling I do, it seems, the more I'm called upon to do. Cool.
On other musical fronts, I've taken a hiatus from the Tuesday evening band over at GCC because I got the opportunity (courtesy of a friend) to play bari sax in a really good big band that rehearses at the musicians' union on Tuesday nights. The bandleader has worked as a copyist for decades, and because of that he's got access to one of the the most incredible jazz libraries ever assembled. The guys in the band are also really good players--most are either working pros or have been at some time in their lives--so it's kicking my butt from a playing perspective, but they seem to be okay with what I bring to the section so far. I kinda spend weeks looking forward to Tuesdays rolling around now, but it definitely makes all the practicing worthwhile.
I've also been getting calls to play/sub on the lead alto chair in a couple of bands, which also forces me to develop my reading/phrasing chops to a higher level. It's a little nerve-wracking, but I'm getting more and more confident as I do it. I'm also starting to enjoy playing alto again. Go figure.
With all this music happening it's kind of a drag to have real life intrude, but the fall quarter managed to sneak up on me again and I'm prepping like mad. This term I'm teaching two sections of Strategic Maangement (one in each department, so each has to be prepped separately), and one of Principles of Management. The survey class meets three days a week from 8am-9am, which is going to make things interesting, me being even less of a morning person than most of my students. I may have to open those sessions with a round of jumping jacks or something... we'll see.
More later though--this week is fall conference, which means endless college/department meetings. Argh again.
Been playing that show for two weekends now, and the main theme is driving me to distraction. It's worse, probably, because I'm covering the bassoon book (on bass clarinet--more on that in a moment), and the bassoon is the first to play that theme. Solo. Unaccompanied. And it's one of those tunes that glues itself into your aural memory for several days after hearing it, so you get to enjoy it well into the next week. Argh.
So exactly how does one cover a bassoon part on bass clarinet? Originally, my plan was to transpose the book from the bassoon key (bass clef and in C) to the bass clarinet's key (treble clef, Bb), but that was before a) I ended up having to re-work two of my classes for fall, and b) I actually got a look at the book. It's the small orchestra book--about 70 pages of stuff that includes bassoon rather prominently, and there isn't enough time in my universe to transcribe the whole thing. I was actually starting to panic when a random perusal of Craigslist enabled plan B, which was to play the show on my newly-acquired contra-alto clarinet. I bought the horn from a local composer, and it's a beast! The range of the instrument goes down to low Eb (the lowest Gb on a piano), and since it's keyed in Eb, playing a bass clef part in the key of C is possible by reading it as though it were in treble clef and adding three sharps to the key signature (as well as reversing a lot of accidentals). It's not difficult, exactly, but it does take some getting used to, especially when lines of sixteenth notes are flying by, and some are also in tenor clef, which shifts everything down one note or one space. Finally, throw in the stuff I have to take down an octave because it's out of the contra-alto's practical range (pretty much anything above high C), and you end up with music that keeps me on my toes. I know every serious woodwind doubler deals with this, but it does make reading big band charts seem like a welcome relief. The only other little snag I deal with is the odd part that ends up being impossible to play once it's transposed... and unfortunately, that solo section on the main theme falls in that category. I dealt with this by putting the first two numbers into the key of Bb instead and playing them on bass clarinet, which makes them tricky but still playable. It means lugging two instruments out instead of one, but there was no way I was going to make that section work otherwise. Ho-hum.
Of course, situations like these always have an upside, and in this case it's that I'm having to get the bass clarinet out and work on my chops a bit, which reminds me of how much I like playing that instrument. It's sort of like the regular clarinet, but with a prettier low register and some extra notes. Mine goes down to low C (low Bb on the piano), though, so there's quite a bit of extra keywork on the bottom that I don't have to cope with on any other instrument, and it's taking up some practice time reminding my pinkies of what all those keys DO. Still, it's fun, and the more doubling I do, it seems, the more I'm called upon to do. Cool.
On other musical fronts, I've taken a hiatus from the Tuesday evening band over at GCC because I got the opportunity (courtesy of a friend) to play bari sax in a really good big band that rehearses at the musicians' union on Tuesday nights. The bandleader has worked as a copyist for decades, and because of that he's got access to one of the the most incredible jazz libraries ever assembled. The guys in the band are also really good players--most are either working pros or have been at some time in their lives--so it's kicking my butt from a playing perspective, but they seem to be okay with what I bring to the section so far. I kinda spend weeks looking forward to Tuesdays rolling around now, but it definitely makes all the practicing worthwhile.
I've also been getting calls to play/sub on the lead alto chair in a couple of bands, which also forces me to develop my reading/phrasing chops to a higher level. It's a little nerve-wracking, but I'm getting more and more confident as I do it. I'm also starting to enjoy playing alto again. Go figure.
With all this music happening it's kind of a drag to have real life intrude, but the fall quarter managed to sneak up on me again and I'm prepping like mad. This term I'm teaching two sections of Strategic Maangement (one in each department, so each has to be prepped separately), and one of Principles of Management. The survey class meets three days a week from 8am-9am, which is going to make things interesting, me being even less of a morning person than most of my students. I may have to open those sessions with a round of jumping jacks or something... we'll see.
More later though--this week is fall conference, which means endless college/department meetings. Argh again.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Campus widlife
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Must be a popular class!
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Gotta remember to download those CF cards!
Found this photo from a recent trip to San Francisco--it's the logo from one of the municipal trolleys. I'm surprised it turned out so well, considering I shot it from the car as we were stopped at a light. Canon 10D, ISO100, 35mm focal length, 1/125th at f-9.5
Maximum carnage in a minimum of time...
Visited with my friends Donna and Rick at Donna's mom's house near Phoenix this past Friday night. Kind of thrown together at the last minute, but that's how my social life usually works. So, after playing an outdoor gig in the morning, I ran home, showered, and headed off to the airport. After about an hour in the air, I touched down, rented a car (and by the way, at Alamo Rent-a-Car, a PT Cruiser is among their "compact" models), and soon I was crawling through traffic on my way to the suburbs south of town.
After I arrived, we hung out at the house a while, looking at real estate websites (they're working on a possible move to the area), giggling at lolcats, and having a glass of wine before striking out for dinner about an hour later. The Mexican restaurant we went to was a favorite of Donna and Elinor for their mole, but the place was pretty crowded so we ended up outdoors on the patio. They had great chips and salsa, and we munched those for a while as we ordered a round of drinks. My blue margarita was excellent, and in the 100-degree heat it went down like fruit punch, even though I'd been making a special effort to drink a lot of water all day. After a short while our entrees arrived, and we chatted about business planning as we worked through them. I had the pollo asado with rice and borracho beans, which was very good. Donna's mole was excellent, and I was kind of wishing I'd ordered the same when the weirdness started setting in.
"Weirdness," in this context, is the best term I can think of to describe the general feeling of, "whoa... what the heck is happening to my head?" After confirming with Rick that yes, I was looking a little pale, I tried waiting it out, hoping like crazy I hadn't lost track of how much I'd been drinking and was about to lose my dinner all over the patio. Just in case, I asked Donna to walk with me to the ladies' room. It was a good thing she agreed, too... because she kept me from doing a face-plant moments later, as I unceremoniously passed out.
But wait... it gets better! So I come to and find myself on the tile in the middle of this restaurant. The manager is offering me a damp towel and telling me not to get up so quickly, and I'm thinking, "oh crap... I can't believe I just did that." But I still wanted to go to the ladies' room, so Donna and the restaurant manager (a very nice lady who said this happened a lot) escorted me over, and I soaked up the air conditioning while I tried to clear my head. A few minutes later a team of paramedics arrived, so we moved back out to the patio where they checked me over. My blood sugar was normal and I was starting to feel a bit more together, so we were thinking of just heading for home when the medics asked me if I was okay to walk out to the car. Upon standing my blood pressure and pulse (which were being monitored) both took a nosedive, so on their recommendation I consented to be taken to the hospital. Within minutes I was sporting an I.V., a heart monitor, a pulse/ox monitor, and was being loaded into an ambulance bound for Mercy General Hospital in Gilbert. Not *exactly* how I'd planned to spend the evening.
I was certain I was headed for a lecture about my reckless alcohol abuse, but after a battery of blood tests, an EKG, and a chest X-ray, the E.R. doctors decided that my meltdown was likely the result of a combination of fatigue, low potassium, and being unused to the heat, which were all amplified by the drink I'd had at the restaurant. They dumped about a liter and a half of saline into me, prescribed potassium and sleep, and then turned me loose to go home at about 1:30am. Rick and Donna (who had been incredibly good sports through this whole stupid adventure) drove me back to Elinor's house, and spent a few minutes peeling innumerable little adhesive foil squares off my skin before heading off to bed. What a night.
Given that waste of an evening it would have been nice to stay a little longer, but I didn't really mind going home Saturday and spending the rest of the weekend taking a break from my usual hectic routine. I think that if there were a moral to this story, it's that I'm not 18 anymore and really need to get serious about taking better care of myself. That's a bummer, but as my office-mate once remarked, getting old is WAY better than the alternative.
In the interest of posting a trip photo, though, I give you this shot of Elinor's little whirlwind of a Boston Terrier, Pogo. This year-old terror is almost always moving, and I was actually surprised to catch him taking a momentary catnap the next day. Here he's hoping that his perfect "down-stay" will earn him another game of tug-of-war...
After I arrived, we hung out at the house a while, looking at real estate websites (they're working on a possible move to the area), giggling at lolcats, and having a glass of wine before striking out for dinner about an hour later. The Mexican restaurant we went to was a favorite of Donna and Elinor for their mole, but the place was pretty crowded so we ended up outdoors on the patio. They had great chips and salsa, and we munched those for a while as we ordered a round of drinks. My blue margarita was excellent, and in the 100-degree heat it went down like fruit punch, even though I'd been making a special effort to drink a lot of water all day. After a short while our entrees arrived, and we chatted about business planning as we worked through them. I had the pollo asado with rice and borracho beans, which was very good. Donna's mole was excellent, and I was kind of wishing I'd ordered the same when the weirdness started setting in.
"Weirdness," in this context, is the best term I can think of to describe the general feeling of, "whoa... what the heck is happening to my head?" After confirming with Rick that yes, I was looking a little pale, I tried waiting it out, hoping like crazy I hadn't lost track of how much I'd been drinking and was about to lose my dinner all over the patio. Just in case, I asked Donna to walk with me to the ladies' room. It was a good thing she agreed, too... because she kept me from doing a face-plant moments later, as I unceremoniously passed out.
But wait... it gets better! So I come to and find myself on the tile in the middle of this restaurant. The manager is offering me a damp towel and telling me not to get up so quickly, and I'm thinking, "oh crap... I can't believe I just did that." But I still wanted to go to the ladies' room, so Donna and the restaurant manager (a very nice lady who said this happened a lot) escorted me over, and I soaked up the air conditioning while I tried to clear my head. A few minutes later a team of paramedics arrived, so we moved back out to the patio where they checked me over. My blood sugar was normal and I was starting to feel a bit more together, so we were thinking of just heading for home when the medics asked me if I was okay to walk out to the car. Upon standing my blood pressure and pulse (which were being monitored) both took a nosedive, so on their recommendation I consented to be taken to the hospital. Within minutes I was sporting an I.V., a heart monitor, a pulse/ox monitor, and was being loaded into an ambulance bound for Mercy General Hospital in Gilbert. Not *exactly* how I'd planned to spend the evening.
I was certain I was headed for a lecture about my reckless alcohol abuse, but after a battery of blood tests, an EKG, and a chest X-ray, the E.R. doctors decided that my meltdown was likely the result of a combination of fatigue, low potassium, and being unused to the heat, which were all amplified by the drink I'd had at the restaurant. They dumped about a liter and a half of saline into me, prescribed potassium and sleep, and then turned me loose to go home at about 1:30am. Rick and Donna (who had been incredibly good sports through this whole stupid adventure) drove me back to Elinor's house, and spent a few minutes peeling innumerable little adhesive foil squares off my skin before heading off to bed. What a night.
Given that waste of an evening it would have been nice to stay a little longer, but I didn't really mind going home Saturday and spending the rest of the weekend taking a break from my usual hectic routine. I think that if there were a moral to this story, it's that I'm not 18 anymore and really need to get serious about taking better care of myself. That's a bummer, but as my office-mate once remarked, getting old is WAY better than the alternative.
In the interest of posting a trip photo, though, I give you this shot of Elinor's little whirlwind of a Boston Terrier, Pogo. This year-old terror is almost always moving, and I was actually surprised to catch him taking a momentary catnap the next day. Here he's hoping that his perfect "down-stay" will earn him another game of tug-of-war...
Friday, August 17, 2007
The world's most laid-back airport
But don't tell anybody. Burbank airport is one of the few places I fly from/to where you can show up a half-hour before a flight and still make it. Love the air-stairs, too.Sorry for the ugly cellphone pic...
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