Clearly I've Never Been

But, in the words of Addison Pratt, I'm a-going.

Simon Fraser and the Dangers of Wikipedia.

Simon Fraser was a Canadian Explorer. Simon Fraser was also a Scottish Lord--well several Scottish Lords, including one Jacobite martyr. Coming across the story of the latter a few years ago, I mistook him to be the namesake of the Canadian university in Vancouver. After all, how many guys named Simon Fraser could there be? Apparently lots.

Also, there are lots of bodies of water named Leven. Idly, I was reading about the River Clyde today. Among its major tributaries are the Rivers Leven and Kelvin. But apparently there are numerous bodies of water, within and without Scotland, called Leven.

The Aqueduct?

So, I wrote a memo where I mentioned the Roman empire, roads and aqueducts as an analogy. Clever, I thought. So, in keeping with the post-random-clips-from-youtube theme, here's what inspired it:

Swedish Lullaby

Here's another story I've told the wrong way before. And another reason for me to fall back in love with Jewel.

At age 17, I crushed on Jewel. I was enamored with her, watching her Hard Rock Live performance on VH1. Each thing I learned about her--born in Payson, grew up in Alaska--made me more smitten. Well, perhaps there were strikes against her--I cannot say that I was enamored with her every word, in her poetry book; or with every song, "Foolish Games". But from "Who will Save Your Soul" and "You were meant for me" I was hers.

I saw her sing Swedish Lullaby and melted. Beautiful. Defying description. At the time, I envisioned her picking up a tune and some Swedish from a grandmother who sang her to sleep.

Then, later I discovered that Jewel wrote the song herself:

This is a song I wrote in Swedish. When I was writing it I didn't know how to say man or woman yet. But I knew how to say wolf and dolphin.--Jewel

And so, an amazing, simple, and beautiful lullaby. In remedial Swedish:



Sov gott, vackra delfin
Sov gott, jag vita varg
Vi har kärlek för varandra
För varandra
För alltid
Sov gott, vackra delfin
Sov gott, jag vita varg
Morgonen vaknar
Då kysser vi
Kysser vi för alltid
Sov gott, för alltid

She had simply decided to up and learn some Swedish--something that speaks to my soul. Find me a girl who just decides to learn Swedish, and I'll surely forgive her for not having a piercing, angelic voice. In fact, I'll overlook a measure of sappiness,* to boot.

Btw. Did you know that Jewel's cousin plays Pocahantas in New World? Tell me there is another Kilcher for me out there.

(*While I think the story about using wolf and dolphin is cute, and that people who just up and learn Swedish are cool, it's a bit sappier than what I'd had in mind when hearing the song.)

10-31-1998

At the office Christmas party, I found out that my co-worker's husband, who is a really great guy, was at the same Phish concert as I was in Vegas in 1998. At that concert, Phish played as their second set the entire Velvet Underground album "Loaded." Somehow this came up in our conversation tonight. Pretty amazing.

A Day of Days.

After being told my whole like that I look like Fred Savage, today Fred Savage will find out that he looks like me.

Thoughts from McDonalds and Nihilism

Just got lunch at McDonalds in the mall and overheard 9-year old: "Let's eat over there by Starbucks it's all ghetto here."

Later, was discussing nihilism, in the wake of No Country for Old Men--which I had said some wrongfully label as nihilistic. That got me to thinking about Nietzsche.

Back in college, I came up with a few shorthand, crude but "existentialism-for-dummies" ways of talking about major philosophers so that I had something to say, in response to question #3 on the getting to know you list:
1. where are you from
2. what are you studying
3. really, what [good] is that?
(I'm not here to defend those shorthand, not necessarilly accurate spiels, the ideas that existentialism is philosophy, or the idea that it is particularly good philosophy. Nonetheless, to continue storytelling,)

At the time, I would accuse Nietzsche of making the following logical blunder.
(1) There is no objective meaning, purpose or truth in life. Or, phrased differently, there is no morality according to which you should live.
(2) Therefore, you should reject morality, become ubermensch and dominate, etc.

The logical blunder being, as I would say, is that he deduced from *there is no "truth" to tell anyone what he should do* that *one should act, think or believe a certain way.* I mean, if there's no point, there's no point, right? How can a "thou shalt" follow from "there are no thou-shalts."

Years later, with most of Nietzsche forgottenl, and with larger, denser clouds accumulating over what I might have once understood of his ideas, I had this epiphany: What if (2), above, is not a conclusion at all? I mean, he states his point--and then exhibits a will to power. (1) There is nothing to believe in! (2) Therefore, "You should do as I say."

That, in turn, made me think of Hans Lottenbach, upon handing out paper assignments: "If you cannot even spell Nietzsche accurately, how accurately do you think the reader will believe you can understand his ideas?"

EDIT: does anyone want an early German copy of Also Sprach Zarathustra?

Nessun Dorma

Calaf is alone in the moonlit palace gardens. In the distance he hears Turandot's heralds proclaiming her command. His aria begins with an echo of their cry and a reflection on Princess Turandot:
"Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma! Tu pure, o Principessa, nella tua fredda stanza, guardi le stelle che tremano d'amore, e di speranza!"
(English translation: "None shall sleep! None shall sleep! Even you, o Princess, in your cold room watch the stars that tremble with love and with hope")
"Ma il mio mistero è chiuso in me; il nome mio nessun saprà! No, No! Sulla tua bocca lo dirò quando la luce splenderà!"
(English translation: "But my secret is closed in me; none will know my name! No, no! On your mouth I will say it when the light shines!")
"Just before the climactic end of the aria, a chorus of women is heard singing in the distance: "Il nome suo nessun saprà... E noi dovrem, ahimè, morir, morir!"
(English translation: "No one will know his name... and we must, alas, die, die!")
Calaf, now certain of victory, sings: "Dilegua, o notte! Tramontate, stelle! Tramontate, stelle! All'alba vincerò! Vincerò! Vincerò!" (English translation: "Vanish, o night! Set, stars! Set, stars! At daybreak I shall win! I shall win! I shall win!")

I never learned the words until just now. Two performances, touching for different reasons. Two performers, opposite in all regards. And one amazing piece of music, from an incredible, romantic (in the original sense) opera.

Riddled with Cancer. Hobbled. His face courageous, passionate, even pained at the autumn of his life and skill. His last performance. The emotion in his face is marvelous.



And, one of my favorite triumphant moments. A great story. Also, courageous, but timid and frightened too. His first performance. A different face, certainly.

Amazing. And even more so, now that I understand all the words. Add seeing Turandot near the top of my life's goals.



It also illustrates nicely, compared with American Idol, the difference between the British Hero and the American Hero. Hmm. . . where's my copy of High Fidelity.

Clearly you've never been to Singapore.

Just when I thought that I'd not be going anywhere for a while. . . I might be headed to Asia for a few months. We'll see. I volunteered.

Other current events: it was a spectacular sports weekend across-the-board. If I'm not on a plane to Southeast Asia before Saturday, I might just go to another football game this Saturday. For thanksgiving, I travelled all the way to Dana Point, with TC and his family. Oh, and I'm reading again: trying to fight through the five or six books on my nighstand.

Mi Mi. Mi Mi Mi. . .

Dance your cares away

Worry's for another day

Let the music play. . .

Midway through surfing youtube last night (first, for Johnny Cash, then the Swedish Chef, then Steve Martin banjo-picking) and just after reading a Wikipedia entry on Fraggles, I found inspiration to blog again. About my favorite topic:

A variety is said to be the spice of life, and as my days have been filled with that material, that is the cause why I have thought proper to make this rough outline, that my posterity after me might know what trials and tribulations a roving disposition is calculated to bring upon a person who indulges a thirst for traveling. --Addison Pratt

So begins the Journals of Addison Pratt. And, being "posterity", possessing "a roving disposition" and frequently indulging " a thirst for traveling", I was immediately captivated. Although it may be difficult to be any less captivating than my first foray into the blogosphere, this re-launch, strictly speaking, is pointless. It may be useful. As an avocation. An outlet perhaps. But really, I'm not aiming for anything in particular. There is no point.

Addison wrote the above foreword to a lifetime's attempt at journal-keeping while under house arrest in the South Seas. Someday I may also assess the themes of my life, arrange them, or decide what, from those themes I can determine is calculated to happen to others and frame my musings accordingly. For now, I aim at nothing. So don't expect much.

At most, this new blog will be a rough outline of my travels and perhaps the trials and tribulations my roving disposition and thirst for traveling bring about. At least, it will be a voyage into idleness and irreverance. Beyond travelogs and far-off photographs, there will surely be some Mother Hips. Buffalo Creek. Cormac McCarthy. Letters. Languages. Comedy. Sports. Maybe even the odd head-nod to Fraggle Rock. But nothing heady: not much philosophy, law or religion.

In the name of Idleness and Irreverance, then, let me kick this off with the Swedish Chef, and a distant memory of meatballs and lingeberries in Malmo with Lil' Brudda: