Ooops!

I saw this headline in the New York Times yesterday, and just had to check it out:

Questions Over Fixing Torn Picasso

because, of course, we are horrified and fascinated when we hear of something happening by accident to a staggeringly expensive painting. How could such a thing happen?

Seems that an unfortunate, nameless woman has joined a very select group, entitled "Clumsy People Who Have Accidentally Put a Huge Hole in a Picasso" (gambling mogul Steve Wynn is another member). Poor thing, she was at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, innocently attempting to improve her mind by taking an adult education class, when she stumbled and fell into the painting, entitled "The Actor", a (slightly altered) version of which illustrates this post.

It is a large, rare early Picasso from his Rose Period, and its worth is estimated at approximately 100 million dollars. Or, at least, it was. Not bad for a picture of a slightly creepy guy in pink britches.

Fortunately, the article says that the tear is in a corner of the painting and will most likely be ompletely unnoticeable (to the untrained eye) after its repair.

Now, I don't know about you, but I myself do not have the leaping grace of a gazelle. It is only too easy for me to imagine going into the Met, or the Louvre, or the Pitti Palace in Florence, and, while gazing raptly at Venus on the Half Shell, or the Mona Lisa, or that kid in the blue knickers by Gainsborough, losing my balance, tripping over my own long, narrow feet (like Italian rolls, I have been told) and, putting out a hand to stop myself from toppling, stick it right through Venus' nether regions. Or whatever.

How must Nameless Woman have felt! It gives me a delicious shiver of horror to imagine the immediate aftermath. Did she run for the Scotch Tape? Did she nonchalantly stand in front of the paining for hours, hoping no one would notice? Did alarm bells go off in the museum? Was she hustled into some back room by security thugs? Did they strongarm her to the front door and pitch her out, barring her from ever setting foot in the Met again?

I certainly hope not, but the article is tactfully mum about that subject.

However the Met handled the coup de graceless, I would like to address myself directly to Nameless Woman and say, on behalf of my maladroit, ungainly brothers and sisters, we salute you! You took the hit for us, your uncoordinated fellows. We, whose bodies are covered with the bruises from unintended encounters with furniture, whose crockery shows the delicate tracery of glue, whose decorative panel on the kitchen island has been magic-markered into a semblance of its original self (don't even ask), are grateful to you for leading the way into priceless artifacts. Never again will we worry about accidentally castrating the David while gesturing wildly at its beauty.


We will think of you, and we will be strong. And stay far, far away from the artwork.

This Most Amazing Music

photo courtesy of Spencer Greet

A few posts ago, I talked about Garrett Lisi, a theoretical physicist who has taken an unusual path to the pinnacle of radical thought.

I have recently discovered someone who is kind of a musical companion to Lisi. He is a choral composer named Eric Whitacre, and his music is as sonically expansive and profound as Garrett Lisi's Theory of Everything.

I first heard one of Whitacre's pieces when I attended my son Spencer's Winter concert at Downingtown East High School. One of the choirs that Spence sings in performed Whitacre's i thank You God for most this amazing day; the title and lyrics are from an e. e. cummings poem. The piece was a revelation to me, and the choir, called Masterworks, sang it beautifully.

Eric Whitacre composes choral pieces that are mind-expanding - I don't know what the music of the spheres sounds like, but if it had choral accompaniment, this would be it. The music is dissonant, yet harmonically beautiful; multilayered and complex, yet accessible to the emotions, much like the cosmos.

But the thing about Eric Whitacre that most reminds me of Garrett Lisi is the unorthodox path he took to composing music of this sophistication. Eric Whitacre took piano lessons as a kid but didn't stick with them; he played in the high school band, but got kicked out. He somehow got into the University of Nevada as a music ed major despite the fact that he couldn't read music. Then, because there were a lot of cute girls in the college choir, he decided to join. The choir started to rehearse Mozart's Requiem, and Whitacre's life was changed forever. He had found his passion.

He composed his first piece at 21, and the rest, as they say, is history. Today, Eric Whitacre is 40, and his music is performed all over the world; in addition to choral works, he writes band music and electronic music. He also guest conducts throught Europe, Asia, Australia and North and South America. There are Eric Whitacre festivals, and his music is the subject of scholarly research.

Eric Whitacre's music is recognizable by his signature "Whitacre chords" - seventh or ninth chords, sometimes with suspended seconds or fourths, which give it the dissonant sound that it has (for the non-musically inclined, play two notes next to each other on the piano to hear how dissonant a second is). His chord progressions are also unusual, and he changes meter frequently. His music has sections that are aleatoric (random) or indeterminate.

I find myself pondering what Eric's parents may have thought when their son, who seemed not to have much of a focus throughout his teens, became a music prodigy almost by accident (or not; surely such great ability would have inevitably found its way out). Maybe they encouraged him, maybe they were patient enough to believe that he would find his way. However it happened, I am gateful that it did.

Here is Eric Whitacre's i thank You God for most this amazing day, performed by the choral group Polyphony. If you have five minutes or so, give it a listen. I hope you enjoy it!

Palindrome Day

Gentle Readers, I simply could not contain myself and had to post twice today.

Do you know what today is?

Well, the title of the post is a clue. Today is a palindrome day. It is a day when the date reads the same backwards and forwards, as in 01/11/10. It is also, of course, a binary day; only ones and zeros.

Ok, you spoilsports out there, I know that January 2 of this year was a better palindrome day, as it included the millenium (01/02/2010). But still. Let's not be nitpicky, unless, of course, we have nits.

We must get our jollies where we can, must we not?

The thing is, I love palindromes; you know, words or phrases or sentences that read the same backwards and forwards. They are so...symmetrical. And filled with obtuse wisdom.

I found a list of palindromes on the internets here.

A couple of my favorites:

Amy, must I jujitsu my ma?

Doc, note; I dissent. A fast never prevents a fatness. I diet on cod.

May a moody baby doom a yam?

Niagara, O roar again!

Red rum, sir, is murder

Slap a ham on Omaha, pals.

And the particularly sinister and inscrutable:

Some men interpret nine memos

And the ever popular: A man, a plan, a canal, Panama!

Dude, Where's My Particle?

I have found a new personal hero, and his name is Garrett Lisi.

Never heard of him? Well, the other day I was Googling the phrase "the theory of everything".

Why, you ask?

I was using those lobes I told you about in the last post, the ones that I could get access to now that, of course, the holiday season is over and it is January and the lobe-lease rates have gone back down again, and my fellow time-sharers have done all of their multitasking and Christmas shopping and holiday entertaining and are resting on their laurels. Or, as the case may be, their evergreens.

But I digress.

So, I was Googling the phrase "the theory of everything" because it flew into my head, and the resulting search came up with the following headline:

Surfer dude stuns physicists with theory of everything


and I think to myself, ok, this is from the Onion, right? The satirical news website that publishes faux news that is so relentlessly, punishingly funny that I can't go there too often, or my sense of the absurd overwhelms my common sense and I annoy my loved ones with goofy non-sequitors or silly voices for the rest of the day? I believe it is called The Onion because you will cry (from laughing) as hard as you would if you peeled, well, an onion.

Don't believe me? Read this article, and see if you can keep a dry eye.

Well, anyway, no. Not the Onion. It is a real news article from the British newspaper The Guardian, which as far as I know is a serious newspaper full of serious news. And, Garrett Lisi is a real person.


He also is a surfer dude. And a snowboard dude. And, while he surfs and snowboards, he ponders the big question - I am not actually sure what the question is. But no doubt, it is a big question.


Lisi, who has a doctorate in physics from the University of California at San Diego, has developed, on his own, a unified field theory, which attempts to tie together all of the known forces of physics into one package; he is not affiliated with any research institute or university. His theory involves a structure called the E8, which is the largest LIE group. Don't even ask me what that is.

All I can tell you is that a picture of it looks a lot like the string sculpture my son Spencer created in the fifth grade, a photo of which illustrates this blog. It is an object of great beauty, and symmetry.

Anyway, Garrett Lisi came up with this theory while surfing and snowboarding, with the help of a small grant and a few odd jobs (hiking guide and bridge builder). To quote Mr. Lisi, "Being poor sucks, It's hard to figure out the secrets of the universe when you're trying to figure out where you and your girlfriend are going to sleep next month."

Duuuuude.

Of course, Einstein was a poor patent clerk when he came up with the Theory of Relativity. Perhaps doing a boring job, or a simple one, keeps the autonomic portion of a genius's brain busy so that the serious gray matter can ponder the infinite. But there is something wonderful about the idea of someone surfing a major tube while working out the math that ties together gravity and bosons.

In a story in the New Yorker, Lisi talked about his big breakthrough. “I’m literally tingling with excitement,” he said. “I had to suppress that in order to think more about the actual algebraic structure. You cannot think when you’re ecstatic.” He added, “I didn’t run through the snow shouting ‘Eureka!’ or anything like that.”

How can you not love this guy? 'You cannot think when you are ecstatic'. Words to live by. And, I'm sorry, I like to think of him running through the snow shouting "Eureka".

So far, Lisi's theory is just a theory. And, of course, there are many naysayers lining up to debunk his idea, most of whom are no doubt pointy-headed, hollow-chested ectomorphic geeks who don't know a snowboard from a backboard.

Lisi feels that the physical activity he engages in balances the mental work he is doing. In an interview for Wired magazine, he said: "We live in a beautiful universe, and I wish to enjoy it and understand it as best I can. I try to live a balanced life. Surfing is simply the most fun I know how to have on this planet. And physics, and science in general, is the best way of understanding how everything works. So this is what I spend my time doing. I do what I love, and follow my interests. Shouldn't everyone?"

Dude is righteous.

The Uber-Brain

Hello, Gentle Readers, and Happy New Year!

You may have wondered where I, with my scintillating wit (or, is that not a scintilla of wit?) have been lurking, lo these many moons. And suns.

Well, the truth can finally be told.

I rent my brain. Sort of. Actually, I realized recently that I own a time-share in a community brain. Explains a lot, doesn't it?

Well, to be fair, it is a rather large brain. Quite large. Several more lobes than usual, which explains why it can be used by more than one person.

I came to this realization when discussing with a friend (let's call him "Chris") the similarity of thought pattern we displayed in conversation with each other.

"Chris" is not the only person with whom I share this phenomenon. There is also virtual sister "Jenny", my brother "Jim" (all actual names, I just like using quotes around them) and, apparently, "Chris"'s sister "Angele", whom I have not, in fact, actually met, but I have conversed with, in a fashion.

No doubt there are others in the brain collective. Perhaps you, "Gentle Reader".

OK, enough with the name quotes.

My lobemate Chris and I realized during one conversation that the only way that we could have such similar thoughts would be if we shared access to a common brain, sort of like the Jungian collective unconscious, except that we are conscious. Mostly.

This is how it works for me:

There are days when I feel that I can tap into a lot of smarts. More smarts than I need, probably. These are great days. I feel that I could power entire towns in Iowa with the wattage produced by my cranium.

Unfortunately, I frequently don't have access to all of those brain cells, because someone else in the brain collective has them at that time. You know, it pays to book early.

So, for the last several months, I have not had as much access to my personal lobe and/or lobes of the brain collective as I (or certainly, those who live with me) would have liked. Many demands for brain access were being made, and timeshare rates were at a premium. I had to stumble along using my brain stem, or whatever, to make important decisions like what to have for dinner, or to remember where I put my shoes.

Blogging is not an activity that the brain stem does well, or so it would seem.

Sometimes, it would appear that we members of the collective brain are all using the brain timeshare at the same time. That would be when those other voices appear in my head. Those times are mentally chaotic, to say the least.

I believe that the brain itself is actually housed in a former limestone mine in Boyers, Pennsylvania. The method by which actual brain access is achieved remains, however, a mystery yet to be solved by scientists who actually own their own entire brains.

It is good to have some mystery in life, don't you think?