Today I finished my work a little earlier---by around noon, so when I went out onto patio to take a dip in the pool, and brought my new bluetooth speaker, it was not playing jazz but classical music, specifically Mozart's 39th Symphony.
I usually do classical in the morning, specifically short Bach pieces in between note-taking of the video lectures for my computer science courses (three different courses each day, mainly from M.I.T. but also one from Stanford).
Bach is fantastic for relaxing one's mind after bearing down on highly technical subjects. In fact, this is how I became such a music fanatic recently after going years hardly listening to music at all. I needed this kind of break, something that kept my mind going, but in a way that was sideways to way one uses with my computer science and engineering.
It varies day by day, but by the end of the third class in the morning, I will have often moved from Bach onto Haydn, or, as today Mozart.
Thursday, May 31, 2018
Homeschooled at Yale
Over coffee in the morning, when it is light enough by sunlight, I typically do some morning reading for the Theory of Literature course I'm following from the Yale website, taught by Professor Paul Fry.
I started the course a couple months ago before we left for France (I even had one of the lectures downloaded to my iPad so I could listen to it on the plane).
The course is magnificent. It has changed the way I think about not only art, but the entire world, although I am still only on the tenth lecture. I have been moving through it slowly, taking extremely detailed notes, and then rewriting them later.
Although I didn't do so at first, I now faithfully do all the assigned readings before listening to the next lecture. For a while, that meant using Google to find PDF's online of the assigned essays, if available, but a couple weeks ago I finally bought the textbook, The Critical Tradition, on Amazon.
It's a very large anthology of essays covering the history of criticism starting in Antiquity and going all the way to contemporary times. Most of the assigned readings for Fry's course are from later in the book, but, having felt so much joy in what I learned so far from Fry, and inspired by wanting to learn as much as possible about the subject in general, I decided to read the entire book from the beginning, even if it took a year (which it probably will).
This morning I made my way through a few pages of the included passage rom Plato's Republic, which is included as the first essay in the anthology. It is the section Plato famously describes poets and artists as imitators who are "thrice removed" from truth.
I started the course a couple months ago before we left for France (I even had one of the lectures downloaded to my iPad so I could listen to it on the plane).
The course is magnificent. It has changed the way I think about not only art, but the entire world, although I am still only on the tenth lecture. I have been moving through it slowly, taking extremely detailed notes, and then rewriting them later.
Although I didn't do so at first, I now faithfully do all the assigned readings before listening to the next lecture. For a while, that meant using Google to find PDF's online of the assigned essays, if available, but a couple weeks ago I finally bought the textbook, The Critical Tradition, on Amazon.
It's a very large anthology of essays covering the history of criticism starting in Antiquity and going all the way to contemporary times. Most of the assigned readings for Fry's course are from later in the book, but, having felt so much joy in what I learned so far from Fry, and inspired by wanting to learn as much as possible about the subject in general, I decided to read the entire book from the beginning, even if it took a year (which it probably will).
This morning I made my way through a few pages of the included passage rom Plato's Republic, which is included as the first essay in the anthology. It is the section Plato famously describes poets and artists as imitators who are "thrice removed" from truth.
Wednesday, May 30, 2018
The Gregorian Coffee Ritual
When I hear the click of the electric kettle, indicating it has reached it boil, I go into the kitchen and pour the hot water onto the grounds in the filter atop the glass carafe. The carafe has a special design to the hold a metal filter on top. It comes with a reusable metal filter, which is messy to clean, so I use a paper filter as well.
It is a ritual of patience to refill the water as it slowly drains through the grounds. When the carafe is half filled, I remove the filter and place it into glass, then pour the initial coffee into my earthenware mug. Then I put the filter back and keep pouring the water until the water is gone, at which point the carafe is almost fill up again.
At this point, with water still in the filter, I go to the fridge to get the half and half for my coffee. When I open the door, the light from the fridge is usually the first bright light I see in the morning, even after being awake for nearly an hour, so it always a little startling.
I remove a spoon from the drawer to stir the half and half in the mug, then place it in the empty sink. Then I pick up the mug, which is almost full to the brim after putting in the half and hour, and careful navigate through the darkness back to my office room, where I put the bug onto my desk.
By this time, I can see out the windows that the sky is getting light. The sun will be coming up in a few moments.
I might normally begin reading at this point, but I don't like turning the light on, and it is usually not light enough yet to read by sunlight through the window. So I often open the iPad and load Gregorian chants on Youtube, and listen while I take sips of coffee. It's the first music of the day, on a typical cycle that might take me through the entire breadth of music history by the time I go to bed.
I like this time of suspension. Soon it will be time to work, but for the time being, there is just chanting.
It is a ritual of patience to refill the water as it slowly drains through the grounds. When the carafe is half filled, I remove the filter and place it into glass, then pour the initial coffee into my earthenware mug. Then I put the filter back and keep pouring the water until the water is gone, at which point the carafe is almost fill up again.
At this point, with water still in the filter, I go to the fridge to get the half and half for my coffee. When I open the door, the light from the fridge is usually the first bright light I see in the morning, even after being awake for nearly an hour, so it always a little startling.
I remove a spoon from the drawer to stir the half and half in the mug, then place it in the empty sink. Then I pick up the mug, which is almost full to the brim after putting in the half and hour, and careful navigate through the darkness back to my office room, where I put the bug onto my desk.
By this time, I can see out the windows that the sky is getting light. The sun will be coming up in a few moments.
I might normally begin reading at this point, but I don't like turning the light on, and it is usually not light enough yet to read by sunlight through the window. So I often open the iPad and load Gregorian chants on Youtube, and listen while I take sips of coffee. It's the first music of the day, on a typical cycle that might take me through the entire breadth of music history by the time I go to bed.
I like this time of suspension. Soon it will be time to work, but for the time being, there is just chanting.
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Routine Aquinas
Every day lately begins much the same. Since coming back from France, I get up around 4 a.m., give or take a half hour. Then I go out onto the patio and sit in the darkness, in prayer and meditation for a half hour. Then I go inside to my office desk and use the iPad in the darkness to read scripture in night mode, white on black text.
By then I'm ready for coffee. I go into the kitchen and turn on the electric kettle, which I make sure to fill with water the night before. The blue electric light comes on, and I go back to my office and open up Youtube red on the iPad, and then scroll to my philosophy playlist, where I tap on the video for the audiobook of Summa Theologica by Thomas Aquinas. While the kettle heats up---it takes a while, I listen to some of the audio recording, usually just a few moments.
While I do this, I often turn my office chair to face the open window, looking east. By then the twilight will have spread out against the mountains, halfway up into the sky.
I'm about half-way through the seven-hour recording of Summa Theologica (I'm currently on Question 11 of Part I). I've actually been at it since before France. I don't know how long it will take me to get through, probably the entire summer at least. It feels pleasing to follow through on a plan.
By then I'm ready for coffee. I go into the kitchen and turn on the electric kettle, which I make sure to fill with water the night before. The blue electric light comes on, and I go back to my office and open up Youtube red on the iPad, and then scroll to my philosophy playlist, where I tap on the video for the audiobook of Summa Theologica by Thomas Aquinas. While the kettle heats up---it takes a while, I listen to some of the audio recording, usually just a few moments.
While I do this, I often turn my office chair to face the open window, looking east. By then the twilight will have spread out against the mountains, halfway up into the sky.
I'm about half-way through the seven-hour recording of Summa Theologica (I'm currently on Question 11 of Part I). I've actually been at it since before France. I don't know how long it will take me to get through, probably the entire summer at least. It feels pleasing to follow through on a plan.
Kind of Bluetooth
A perfect afternoon of late May. Summer heat has been making itself known lately, but today was moderate and bearable, even in the late afternoon.
The day's work being done, I tried out the new portable Bluetooth speaker that arrived today via Amazon Prime. A nice little device.
After charging up, it worked seamlessly from the get-go. The iPad seemed to want to play Miles Davis' Kind of Blue (1959), so I went with that. I took the little device out onto the patio and let it play while I swam in the pool in the golden-tangerine sun and the long afternoon patio shadows.
The day's work being done, I tried out the new portable Bluetooth speaker that arrived today via Amazon Prime. A nice little device.
After charging up, it worked seamlessly from the get-go. The iPad seemed to want to play Miles Davis' Kind of Blue (1959), so I went with that. I took the little device out onto the patio and let it play while I swam in the pool in the golden-tangerine sun and the long afternoon patio shadows.
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