Repentance, Heisenberg and Oban

Here we go again; back to Heisenberg. In an early posting, we talked about the mutability of Montaigne. Not only how Montaigne continually revises his own thinking, but also how he seems to change with each reading. In On Repentance the master acknowledges this very difficulty: “Constancy itself is nothing but a more languid motion. I cannot fix my object; it goes muddled and reeling by a natural drunkenness. I take it just as it is at the instant I consider it.” Repentance is so full of ideas that its impossible to post once on the essay. Vice and virtue; our public lives in contrast to private life. I will need to revisit this brief essay several times. And just as Montaigne describes his difficulty with discussing an idea that seems to change each time he perceives it, as Heisenberg theorized five hundred years later, we have the very same difficulty reading this essay. Each reading, in fact each rereading of any given page, seems to reveal new layers of complexity.

And as long as we’re on the topic of drunkenness, last night we were at a Bat Mitzvah, and they had Oban on the bar. Pretty good bar, I’d say. As I was waiting to ask for a glass, I noticed that the bartenders, who apparently didn’t have a clue, were pouring it over ice whenever anyone asked for scotch. For all I know, they were pouring ginger ale on top. I tried to tell them, you don’t want to pour that over ice, give them the Chivas. As I said, they had no clue, but perhaps trying to compensate, they poured me about five ounces, neat. It lasted most of the night. I’m not a great fan of Oban; it’s smooth, but seems to lack character. However, I’ll say this for it. The deeper I went into that glass, the better it tasted. It’s always a good sign when the drink doesn’t get tired, when the bottom of the glass tastes better than the first sip.

Game Four's Unsung Hero

With nothing better to watch, I’ve been revisiting the 2004 post-season. Everyone remembers the obvious heroes of game four – Ortiz with his walkoff home run in the 12th – not to mention his two other RBIs to put the Sox ahead briefly in the 5th; Dave Roberts with the biggest stolen base in Sox history; the bull pen, with six innings of shutout ball, the win going to Curt Leskanic, probably the least likely candidate for that honor.

But in rewatching the game, I discovered that Orlando Cabrera was as much responsible for this win as anyone on the team. Not only did he knock in Boston's first run of the game, he single-handedly saved two runs. So considering the fact that the game was tied after nine, without Cabrera, we never would have seen Ortiz’ walkoff, or the bullpen’s heroics.

In the second inning, one out, Matsui on third, Posada hits a ground ball to short. Cabrera throws out Matsui at the plate. In the eleventh inning, one out, Cairo on second, A-Rod hits a line drive into the hole, and Cabrera dives to his right, glove stretched across his body, and grabs the liner inches off the ground. Two spectacular plays, both overshadowed by the game’s offensive heroics. And his RBI is the same - overlooked. Everyone remembers Ortiz, the walkoff and the two-run single; and Mueller's RBI is, of course, seared into our collective memory. But just like the defensive plays, without Cabrera's hit in the fifth, we aren't tied after nine.

And by the way, I keep asking myself, why did we let him go.

The Originality of Charles Lloyd

What is it that’s so unique about Charles Lloyd? His sound is unmistakable. It takes no more than a second to know you’re listening to him, and no one else.

· Is it the sound? Charles Lloyd has a sweet, mellow, even beautiful tone, without being in the least bit syrupy or cheesy. In fact, his sound is so unique, so different from everyone else, that he seems to be playing a different instrument.

· Is it the structure of his compositions? I hardly know enough about music to understand what’s going on, but his songs seem more open, and less structured than most other jazz music. Mike perhaps can tell us why this is so.

· Is it the ethereal quality to his music. Lloyd has the ability to bring a transcendent feeling to his songs. Not all of them, but certainly some works seem to soar above everyday life. They become more than just music. There is a kind of exaltation reminiscent of great classical work, like Beethoven’s ninth, or Brahms’ Haydn Variations, or Verdi’s choruses.

Lloyd’s most recent CD is Jumping the Creek, and the liner notes are by Stanley Crouch, who I guess is as capable a jazz critic as we have around today. Crouch notices the same things I mentioned – Lloyd’s “absolutely unique sound”, and the “soaring weight” of some of his music. But Crouch is no better than I am at describing why this is so, why Charles Lloyd’s sound is unique, and why exactly his music is so original. Perhaps that’s not so unusual though, after all. If Lloyd really is unique, then no one else has ever gone exactly where he’s gone. So it makes sense if no one’s ever been there before, no one can describe with any precision exactly where it is that Charles Lloyd has gone, or how he got there. Or how it is that he takes us along with him. Anyway, it’s worth the ride. Check it out.

Go Sox

Sure, White sucks when compared to Red, but the Sox just won an incredible baseball game. Looking at it from an outsider's perspectve, it was a better World Series game than any the Red Sox played last year. (This isn't an ALCS discussion, because those were probably the best baseball games i'll EVER see). The sox rallied from two down with a monster grand slam in the 7th only to give up the lead with two outs in the top of the ninth. And then Podsednik hits a walk-off in the bottom of the inning. Game Over. I gotta mention that the two-out two-run hit that tied the game for the Astros was a pinch hit by Vizcaino and included a great slide around the tag at home. Both teams were amazing baseball.

These sox are cool ... starters going the distance, a rookie closer who can throw 100, and a wild manager. Seeing Cotts and Jenks strike out three in a row with a man at third and leading by just one run was pretty amamzing, and reminded me of the Sox bullpen in extra innings.

Even so, the key ingredient in watching any sporting event is to really care about who wins. Add that to a game, and suddenly your heart is racing with every pitch. The feeling is addictive, and it turns any win into a beautiful game.

Soon enough we'll be watching Big East basketall, all wrapped up in the moment. Until then we can read Montaigne.

Brubeck at 84; Caol Ila at 18

Since I’m apparently writing to myself here -- no one else chiming in on our man Montaigne, no one else musing on what he had to say, and not even any critics pointing out how I totally missed the point -- I had a vote with myself about expanding the blog for the winter months. After all, the sox went into premature hibernation, and what, I’m going to write about the White Sox and the Astros? WhiteSox nation? They don’t even rule their city, let alone a nation. OK, I think it’s nice they made it back to the series after 46 years, and it’s also nice the Astros got there for the first time, not to mention they beat the Cardinals, who are really no friends of ours, but who really cares what happens now?

And so we need a new topic for the coming months, and I’m unilaterally opening the blog to posting on jazz music, as Wynton call it. (I always thought the term jazz music was redundant, but if it’s good for Wynton, it’s good for me.) And the first posting on the topic of jazz music is about Brubeck’s recent CD: London Flat, London Sharp. Amazing.

We saw much of this music performed when we saw Brubeck last June, at Rochester’s jazz festival. The CD is every bit as good as the performance was. It’s not just that Brubeck is still technically accomplished at the piano. The more amazing thing for me is that he’s still creating. After all those years, and after all the success and recognition he’s achieved in a career spanning six decades, his art is every bit as alive and vital as it ever was.

There are several new tunes on the disc, including the title song. I can’t appreciate the full extent of his technical mastery at the piano; I remember him saying how his left hand plays flats and his right plays sharps. But forget about all that cleverness; the song is terrific. And to have written this in his eighties is nothing short of remarkable. Most artists his age who can still perform, choose to remind us of years long past. A bit of sentiment, or nostalgia, a reminder of what was once so loved. Brubeck, however, does very little of that. Sure he plays Take Five at most concerts, but how disappointed would everyone be if he didn’t? The CD is split between new stuff, and old tunes, some of which were recorded previously by him. In the latter category is Unisphere, notable for its 10/4 measure.

Interesting also that Brubeck continues to perfect his art late in life, just as our master did. Only thing is, Montaigne was dead for 30 years at Brubeck’s age. But both bring a lifetime’s experience to their work. So there, the posting ties into the blog’s themes after all.

I enjoyed Brubeck this evening with a glass a Caol Ila 18, the virtues of which John recently touted. I concur heartily. Smoother than Talisker 18, and softer than Lagavullin, yet full of that distinctive smoky flavor. And although the taste is strong, every time I reach the bottom of a glass of Caol Ila, I want a refill. Its flavor always seems to grow, the more you drink it. This was the first Islay scotch I ever bought, and it remains a favorite.

More Questions than Answers

Of Solitude raises questions more than it provides answers:
· Can’t Montaignes’s advice, to withdraw into oneself, even “in the midst of cities and the courts of kings”, be taken regardless of one’s particular whereabouts? In other words, why is it necessary to withdraw from society, and forego contact with others, in order to achieve the peace of mind, and inner dialogue, that Montaigne advocates?
· Can’t one remain devoted to good work, or good works, yet forego ego and ambition? At the end of Middlemarch, George Eliot tells us that the “growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts [and] half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life….” In advising us to sequester ourselves, and remove ourselves entirely from the world, isn’t Montaigne foreclosing the ability of some to contribute to the greater good? Is that really the kind of world he wants for us?
· Is he serious in advising us not to develop such strong attachments to family and loved ones that our happiness depends on them? What’s better, commitment with risk of loss or no commitment and no risk of loss? Montaignes’s advice reminds me of the people who deny themselves all of life’s pleasures, so they can live longer. But without life’s pleasures, what are they living for?
·So much in Of Solitude makes such good sense – “my sovereign request to God that he make me content with myself”, and “What you must seek is no longer that the world should talk of you, but how you should talk to yourself.” I wonder if Montaigne isn’t overstating his position for dramatic effect. Instead of just giving us good advice, he challenges us with to leave the world entirely and retire into ourselves. But does he really mean that, or is he just being instructive?
·Alternatively, is this advice for old folks? Is Montaigne really telling us how to prepare for our demise? “[A]ge having of late robbed me of those pleasures that were more to my fancy, I train and sharpen my appetite for those that remain and are more suitable to this present season of my life.” If indeed, Montaigne is really speaking from the vantage point of advanced years, with advice primarily for getting old and frail, what was hyperbole becomes merely practical advice for that particular stage of life.

Talisker 18 - Big Taste.

The seasons are changing. The world series is only days away; and because half the games will be played in Chicago, perhaps in subzero temperatures, we’ll get to see the pitcher’s breath, as he looks in for the sign, or better yet, the steam coming off the neck and forehead of a baserunner who has gone from first to third. There’s more than a touch of chill in the air. And so it’s a fine time to turn our attention to Talisker 18, from the Isle of Skye. Technically, not an Islay malt, but best categorized with the other big tasting Islay scotches. And that’s the best term for Talisker – big, huge, vast, enormous, whatever.

Talisker greets one with a peaty aroma, and a spicy, peppery taste as you first sample it. But over time, as it lingers on your palate (I had to get that word, palate, into this description), the taste blows up. I mean really blows up. It grows and grows until it’s almost overwhelming. And it lingers; long after it’s swallowed, you don’t just recall the taste, you can still taste it; it’s still palpable, discernible, noticeable, whatever.

Talisker is one of the few scotches that can rival my favorite, Lagavulin, for big taste. But unlike Lagavulin, which is silky smooth, Talisker has a bit of a bite. What sets the 18 apart is that this bite remains, despite the smoothness that the extra 8 years have imparted to this great whisky. And it’s still a good buy; not as economical as the 10, but not overly pricy for as distinguished and rewarding a drink as this. Not that anyone cares, but I have concluded that this item shall remain a staple in my cabinet.

In closing, “Wait till last year.”

What's so Practical about Philosophy?

Montaigne urges, in Of the Education of Children, a practical education. We should learn to regulate our habits and our common sense. We should travel, to observe the nature and customs of foreign lands. We should take the time to speak with everyone, scholars and tradesmen alike. But what would Montaigne have for our “principal lesson”? Upon what foundation is this practical education to be constructed? Philosophy.

What professional school today would even recommend a single philosophy course for a practical minded student? What law school or business school or engineering school requires kids to read Plato or Kant or Nietzsche? In what job market would a philosophy major have a head start?

Montaigne’s stated goal for education is the “art of living well”. But the unstated goal of On Education is learning to think well, to think critically. Philosophy isn’t the only way to teach critical thinking, but it’s a far better tool than most of the more practical disciplines, as they are being taught today. My own professional education aspired to teach us to think like lawyers: how to look at problems from the perspective of the legal system. But truthfully, law school education is vocational training. And the oxymoron of legal reasoning, which is often reasoning by false analogy, is regularly borne out in statutes and court decisions that are short on common sense, poorly reasoned, or not really reasoned at all.

A curious footnote to On Education is Montaigne’s disdain for his contemporary science. “[M[ost of the sciences in use are of no use to us….” Singled out for special mention is the knowledge of the stars and the movement of the heavens, the teaching of which is “very stupid”. Today, we would find it peculiar to exclude the sciences from a practical education. Was Montaigne prescient? Did he somehow understand that much of the science of his day was misguided?

And one more thing. Lou Piniella might be a fine manager, but he is terrible as a color guy. I don’t recall a duller guy in the booth for such a big event.

On the pleasures of malts

"If a hangover came before we got drunk we would see that we never drank to excess: but pleasure, to deceive us, walks in front and hides her train" (On Solitude)

I think that the pursuit of single malt scotch falls perfectly under Montaigne's concept of moderation in seeking pleasure. Scotch is by its nature a vice, yet it actually tempers our appetite for vice. To me, Montaigne argues that we shouldn't prohibit ourselves from vice, but instead use vice as a kind of reward for more honorable aspects of our life. Further, something like Scotch can motivate us during the working hours of the day. "We should retain just enough ocupations and pursuits to keep ourselves fit and to protect ourselves from the unpleasantness which comes in the train of that other extreme: slack and inert idleness". On that note, I'd like to remind us all that we should be sharing our knowledge of Scotches here.

First, I've recently tried the Balvenie 15 and 21. The 21 is actually affordable for the age, and is remarkably smooth and flavorful. I enjoyed the 15 as well. It has a bit of a bite for a 15 year old Highland, but this gave way to a rich flavor and smooth finish. Neither have the caramel nose of a Macallan or Aberlour, which is something I look for in a Highland.

Last Saturday I had the Caol Ila 12, which I thought was amazing. The flavor was peaty, but the color and texture were light and smooth. This would be a good one to introduce a novice to Islay Scotch. I'm looking forward to the 18.

Peace.

Locating the True Montaigne

Earlier today Uncle Rico, the esteemed Uncle Rico, counseled against discussing ourselves instead of Montaigne, and the point is well taken. The intent of this blog is to explore Montaigne’s essays, so the focus should be on Montaigne, and not any of us. It’s all about what Montaigne thinks; not what any of us thinks about Montaigne. But here’s the problem.

Bloom says (always Bloom), “Montaigne changes as he rereads and revises his own book; more perhaps than in any other instance, the book is the man is the book….no other book is so much an ongoing process.” As a result, even Bloom declares himself unable to become familiar with Montaigne, “though I reread it constantly, because it is a miracle of mutability.” “Montaigne startles the common reader at each fresh encounter….”

This dilemma should be familiar to students of physics -- the inability to know exactly where and how fast something is moving. Stated otherwise, the act of perception alters the object being perceived. So then each reading of Montaigne differs from the previous one, in part because of the qualities the author brings to the work, and in part because of the differences the reader brings to the book each time he or she picks it up.

Therefore, to a certain extent, although we are searching for Montaigne’s meaning in each of the essays, that meaning will change with each reader, and apparently also with each reading. And so, it’s unavoidable that at some point in our efforts to understand Montaigne, we’ll have to talk about ourselves, our lives, our beliefs, our experiences. But we can attempt, in discussing our own selves, and our biases, at least to be truthful: “What gave Montaigne the clarity to see and write the truth about himself?” If we adhere to that principle, perhaps our personal digressions will not hinder, but instead will assist us in our search.

Still a hater

Some folks say that 2004 changed everything. Well, almost everything. Because despite my best intentions, I confess that I'm still a hater. How great was it that A-Rod killed their ninth inning with that double play? MVP? More like AMF (adios, well you get the rest).
pops

Why Montaigne?

My recollection is that at some point when each of you left home, or departed on a journey of some significance, I urged Montaigne on you. I had read two books in which young men leaving home were given a single volume, Montaigne's essays, to help them find their way through life. Now, some years later Mike reports back that Montaigne is the shit. Bloom feels the same way, placing Montaigne in the Canon. And the common thread for these two critics is Nietzsche, who according to Bloom is a "professed disciple of Montaigne." So it's no secret why Mike took immediately to Montaigne. More Bloom: "Montaigne startles the common reader at each fresh encounter....No other writer overhears himself so acutely as Montaigne perpetually does;no other book is so much an ongoing process." Isn't that pretty much what we have here? An ongoing process? Perhaps a process separated by geography, at least for now, and by a few years in age, but still ongoing for all of us. So then the idea is to find out if Montaigne helps us in working out our own process.

pops

Montaigne being Montaigne

Yankees Still Suck

At last, the Montaigne blog is live.

As I am have been vehemently anti-blog in the past, I must quote the master: "to change one's opinion and correct oneself, to give up a false position at the climax of a heated exposition, is a rare, strong, and philosophical virtue." (On Eductaion)

Pops, you should take it from here. Create an account at blogspot.com and I'll give you team membership. Mike, do the same.

Let's hope the Angels can finish the job in Game 5.

Peace!