122: Satisfaction

I think most find it difficult to imagine, after weeks of listening to music on tinny laptop speakers, how gratifying it is to hear music blasted joyously through the air. I used to (and still do) snark on people whose cars form one gargantuan subwoofer; yet I willfully took up the asshat’s mantle, holed myself up in 306 Soda, jimmied my computer into the line-out, and let loose a barrage of music rarely amplified in the CS-held territories.

I finished off a half-baked playlist of Chopin’s mazurkas (Evgeny Kissin live at Carnegie Hall, part 2 of 2 – I have never heard him in such detail before! It was a good experience) which then poured out into Rachmaninoff’s Symphonic Dances. Now there is a piece to stir your bloodstreams: the spirited stomping of the first movement, the lovely coquettish grotesque flourishes of the second movement, and the furious maelstrom of finality in the concluding movement – all this is very exciting to listen to. I was especially satisfied with the final statements of the “Dies Irae” motif in the last movement: the speakers in 306 Soda do the brass of the Russian National Orchestra great justice.

Somewhere in the third movement of Prokofiev’s third piano concerto, I got up and paced restlessly. I tried to sketch a Totoro on the whiteboard, but this only succeeded in elevating my resentment at my inept hands. I erased my obscene scribbles shortly after.

I frustrated myself over a trifle a few days ago: I suddenly became very conscious of the many splintered chat standards: chances are, most of my friends couldn’t network amongst each other for lack of standardized communication protocol. The common denominator tends to be Facebook, thankfully, which provides me the semblance of sufficient standardization.

Still, it irks me to no end that there is no single decided-upon format that we can’t all interoperate. All of these chat companies insist on create closed cliques which can’t communicate with one another except by throwing invitations to join their respective closed community at each other. As one girl put it, “who still uses e-mail?” (yes, that line was heard in conversation today. Confound my generation). Yes, indeed, why not use the most robust (as of now), decently organized, almost completely interoperable method of communication when you can wall yourself off from everyone except to send them invites to use your odious software?

I could probably marshal a horde of endangered lemurs to gather at an Irish manor and devise a better workable standard than all these fragmented solutions on the market now. But, lacking both lemurs and Irish manors, I will not do so. I will be content to be malcontent. Ew.



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