I was quite surprised to read from File 770 that Alan Bostick had died a week ago, both because, well, he was younger than I, and because I'd had hoped to have heard such news through the personal grapevine.

Alan was a long-standing member of the Bay Area/Seattle fannish nexus, having lived in both places at various times. He was, as F770 noted, first known for one of the first of a 1980s wave of "ensmalled" fanzines, short and frequent, which he appropriately titled Fast and Loose. In recent years his principal activity was playing poker - Texas Hold 'Em was his variety - at which I gather he became quite skilled.

Alan and I were friendly in our earlier years - I was on the mailing list for the entire run of Fast and Loose - but over time he seems to have found me exasperating, and consequently I felt uncomfortable with him. Nevertheless he could be friendly, waving hello when we came across each other at the eclipse viewing party at Redding's Sundial Bridge in 2012. The last time I saw him was a month ago at Corflu. He greeted me when we passed in the hallway, but alas he was wearing a full-face mask and I didn't realize it was him until too late to respond.

I'd like to offer you a sample of Alan's writing, but all I can dig up are two issues of Fast and Loose, both from 1980 and both numbered 3 for some reason, but both devoted mostly to discussion of procrastination over getting the next issue out. One of them starts like this:

"I can't do it, I can't do it," I said with my mouth. The person to whom I was speaking with the aforementioned orifice was Teresa Nielsen Hayden, who is my roomate, and the subject was her question-- "When are you going to publish another issue of Fast and Loose, 'the Frequent fanzine'?"
"I can't, I tell you!" I shouted. "Russian troops are in Afghanistan, Iran has been holding American hostages for over 100 days, Canada just raised the price of export oil 30%, and they're going to draft my fair young bod to die in Afghanistan!"

Doesn't sound much cheerier than today, does it? It didn't seem so at the time, either. Anyway, Alan's housemates (a more accurate term) eventually convince him that "There are over four billion people living on this planet right now. Statistically speaking, one of them ought to be publishing Fast and Loose."

"I said with my mouth," by the way, is I think a Burbeeism - or if not, it falls in the same category - one of a number of verbal mannerisms introduced into fannish discourse by Charles Burbee in the late 1940s, and used by subsequent acolytes to communicate that they were faanish [sic] fans, fans into fandom for fandom's sake, and not bound to discuss science fiction or anything serious and constructive like that. Instead, they'd write about whatever came to their minds, such as - in this case - not writing anything. Typical of this breed of fannish writing. Anyway, that was a bit of Alan vintage 1980: light, attempted humorous, a bit self-indulgent, but enjoyable if you were his friend or regular reader.

What I like Trader Joe's best for is their frozen skillet dinners. The ones I like B. mostly wouldn't, so I have them for lunch, typically half of it and save the rest for zapping the next day. I have had success with B. with some side dishes, especially a dynamite asparagus risotto.

I've for some time been happy with the Kung Pao Chicken, to which I add just one of the two sauce packets: that's enough, and it saves on carbs. But I've added others. They have a Spicy Thai Shrimp Fried Rice which I find addictively tasty, especially after I dig out the peas which are the one thing I don't like. You're supposed to cook the shrimp first, and the packet of shrimp is deeply buried in the package, so I empty the rice out into a large bowl first so I can grab the shrimp. This also makes it easier to get at the peas.

Some time ago - I think it's no longer still there - they had a paella which was also pretty good (again, except for the peas). I told them at the time that if they got a jambalaya of the same kind, I'd buy it. Well, guess what, now they have. It's intensely popular; the second time I went to buy it, a whole double-bin in the frozen food section that was labeled with it was completely empty. I went to another TJ's where I had gotten it before and couldn't find it; I enquired and confirmed they were out, but they said they'd be getting in more with that night's shipments. So I came back the next morning and grabbed some.

The jambalaya has a few veggies - tiny pieces of onion and bell pepper - and a fair offering of andouille sausage slices. If you want chicken or shrimp, you'll have to add it yourself, and I've been doing that. A quarter pound of tiny salad shrimp is enough.

I've also bought a bulgogi rice package, but haven't tried it yet.

1. Sorry I wasn't one of the 8 million protesting for "no kings" on Saturday, but standing around for hours in the sun is no longer in my repertoire. My heart, and more importantly my vote, is with you.

2. Went to see Sullivan's last operetta, The Emerald Isle (yes it's set in Ireland). Not sure why; I'd seen it before. Very sketchy production: no sets, formal dress for costumes. Couldn't make out most of the words, sung or spoken, and the supertitles were nearly invisible.

3. The Lord of the Rings: toughest quiz ever. It's by John Garth, who knows his Tolkien better than almost anyone else active today. I got 25 out of 30, not including the one I would have gotten if I hadn't had a mental glitch, but it does include one that I don't think anyone would get unless they'd already independently noticed this (I had). Some pretty knowledgeable people got as low as 14, so don't feel bad.

So I'm reading all these books of Tolkien scholarship as part of the jury establishing the finalists for an award, and I'm not sure what to do when an otherwise admirable book makes a boneheaded error. Here's a detailed exploration of Tolkien's methodology in making his sub-creation which repeatedly uses Valar and Ainur as synonyms. The Valar are actually a subset of the Ainur, as is perfectly clear from Tolkien's writings on the subject, the most relevant of which this scholar examines in detail, but how closely did he read it? Then there's the book on Tolkien's religious philosophy which defines Methodists as a subset of Anglicans. I don't know what to do with things like this, I really don't.

I thought of that when I got the program leaflet for yesterday's concert of the orchestra in which B. plays viola, and found that it featured works by Ludwig von Beethoven. No such person, though people in Beethoven's time made the same mistake.

Anyway, they made it fairly crisply through the abrupt opening chords of the Coriolan Overture. The Eighth Symphony was extremely hairy, full of sloppy playing and a few big clams, but fun to listen to - more than it was to play, B. says, as m.d. George Yefchak took it very fast. Also on the program, a gentle early string suite by John Rutter and a lively arrangement of that song from K-pop Demon Hunters, much more attractive than the original. Additional pieces for solo piano, string quartet, and bassoon duo made it into something of a variety show rather than an orchestral concert.

The icon on the DW and LJ versions of this post is a caricature of Haydn, and for once that's really appropriate, for this concert consisted of 3.5 Haydn string quartets. The 0.5 was his final quartet, which he was only able to half-finish. This turned out to be about 1.0 more Haydn quartets than I wanted to hear in one concert, and I grew itchy during the last one. This was a gentle and dignified interpretation of Haydn, without much that was witty - though Haydn often demands a witty approach - and not much more that was energetic, though there was some zip in a few places, notably the finale of Op. 20/4. And that's about all I have to say about a pleasant but unexciting concert. I wonder if I'd have been able to come up with more if I'd been assigned to review it and had my close-listening ears on, though that would require that I have taken a caffeine pill to be more alert, and those are off the menu for me right now for physical pill-swallowing reasons. I fear my fine discernment may be atrophying, or at least I'm experiencing fewer opportunities to exercise it.

We've had a resolution on the insurance question of the U-Haul driver who clipped my car three weeks ago. I'd made a statement on the phone to his insurance company, which they recorded with my permission. The driver has admitted liability, as he bloody well ought to have, so what I get is a reimbursement for the large deductible on my car's repairs. I wonder if I'd have been reimbursed if I'd had to get a rental car too. No reimbursement for the trouble of having to work out using B's car for my errands (mostly medical appointments) for a week. On the other hand, the repair shop nicely cleaned up my car above and beyond the results of the accident, so I get that gratis.

The announcement of the Lord Ruthven Awards, named for the vampire in Polidori's pioneering tale, reminds me of another well-known Ruthven in literature, the baronet Sir Ruthven Murgatroyd in Gilbert and Sullivan's Ruddigore, and an error associated with him.

Sir Ruthven had been living in disguise as a yeoman farmer called Robin Oakapple, but at the end of Act 1 he is unveiled and forced to take up his baronetcy and the family curse associated with it, which is what he'd been trying to avoid. He reintroduces himself as a bad bart in this sung verse, which Sullivan set to sinister music:

I once was as meek as a new-born lamb,
I'm now Sir Murgatroyd - ha! ha!
With greater precision
(Without the elision),
Sir Ruthven Murgatroyd - ha! ha!

Now, Gilbert and Sullivan companies know that the name Ruthven is pronounced 'Rivven', and that fact is noted by Ian Bradley in his Annotated G&S when the name first appears in Act 1. But at this point, Bradley makes a mistake, his only one that I've noticed. He says that "without the elision" means that this one time, the name should be pronounced as spelled, and since his volume originally came out in 1984 I've noted that most G&S performances follow his advice, whereas earlier on they didn't.

But Bradley is wrong! Look at the earlier line: "I'm now Sir Murgatroyd." (A complete error on Gilbert's part, by the way - 'Sir Lastname' is never used in Britain and is the mark of complete illiteracy - but Gilbert, for all his genius, was often clumsy where scansion forced his hand.) The elision is of the entire first name and not of a letter or syllable. Accordingly it is put back in in the subsequent line, but there's nothing about how it's pronounced. If I were playing the part, I would insist on pronouncing it normally. (Although if I were good enough to play principal roles in G&S, I'd prefer to be cast as Ruthven's brother Despard, with B. as his wife, Mad Margaret, so that we could perform the song celebrating their release from durance vile, which you can watch Vincent Price with Ann Howard in here.)

Mark Evanier can't think of any food he disliked as a child but likes now. I can, for myself: scallops, the shellfish. I disliked the taste, find it OK now.

That's not counting a lot of exotic cuisines I would probably have picked at if I'd encountered them as a child but didn't. College and grad school years were the great eras of discovery for me. I remember exactly when I first had Thai food: I was 25 and a colleague where I was working on my grad school work-study program took me out to dinner at what was probably then the only Thai restaurant in San Francisco. It was also one of the two spiciest Thai restaurants I've ever eaten in, the other being in Birmingham, England, a bit of a surprise since English versions of spicy cuisines tend to be very mild.

Memories of great meals of the past are giving me comfort since right now I'm not eating much of anything.

I went into the Social Security office this morning. As I didn't have an appointment, I had to wait an hour and a half to be seen. (During which I got a lot of reading done.) But when I was seen, the man didn't try to tell me that I could have gotten my 1099 form online. He just took my ID, confirmed my name and address on their system, and grabbed the form from the printer. Out and done in two minutes, and I didn't have to wait for it to arrive in the mail.

Meanwhile the "check engine" light came on in my car. This has happened before. It's usually a phantom alert from an emission control system; at least, the shop was unable to find anything when I asked them to take a detailed look. On another occasion, the same shop just plugged in a reader device and read off that it was the same thing. I asked them to cancel the alert and was on my way.
So I stopped into that shop to ask them to do that, and the guy was a different guy than the one I had before, and he wanted to argue with me. He wanted to take the car in for several days to run a full diagnostic (something which I didn't need; the body shop had done that last week). I asked him just to tell me what the alert said, and we'd figure out what to do next then. If it was the same phantom alert, just cancel it and I'll be on my way. But no, this guy was determined. He told me I was trying to dictate their work. That was pure projection on his part. He was trying to dictate to me, that I should leave my car for days just to find out what the alert said. He got very huffy about it.
I left. I'm not going back there again, not with customer service that rude, condescending, and dictatorial. I went to an auto parts store which can't fix anything, but which will gratis plug their device in and tell you what the alert says. Sure enough, it was the phantom. I thanked them, and I'll let it be until my next servicing.

Wednesday, Stanford Music Dept.
The quarterly showcase of matching the students up in chamber music groups. There were a lot of pianists this term, so the concert was full of four-hand and two-piano works by Barber and Rachmaninoff. But the first one, by Mozart, turned out to be scored for two pianos and a cell phone alarm. The scherzo from Ravel's string quartet and the slow movement from Dvořák's Op. 87 piano quartet lacked oomph, but the students get credit for trying.

Saturday, California Symphony
The common thread of the three composers on m.d. Donato Cabrera's program at Lesher in Walnut Creek is that they all came from countries being oppressed by the Russians at the time. Two were contemporary "holy minimalists": Valentin Silvestrov (Ukraine) for Stille Musik, a piece for small string orchestra, beautiful harmonies but disconcertingly off-kilter; and Arvo Pärt (Estonia) for Tabula Rasa, half an hour of two violins playing overlapping hypnotic rocking figures while the string orchestra murmurs behind them. The third was Jean Sibelius (Finland) for his Second Symphony, played as if it were the anthem for Finnish independence it was sometimes taken for. That meant with all the stops out. Even the first movement sounded as grand as the finale, and the finale went totally overboard, the sort of thing that made Virgil Thomson hate Sibelius.
Recent Cal Sym concerts have been pretty full, so it was notable that this one was more sparsely attended. The Sibelius is a crowd-pleaser, so it must have been Silvestrov and Pärt who scared the hordes away.

Sunday, Marea Ensemble
Ensemble consisting of a string quartet (four women) and a soprano (Lori Schulman), presented by the Santa Cruz Chamber Players at their usual church in the hills behind Aptos. What attracted me to this one was the theme of "a journey from despair to hope" bookended by Shostakovich's Eighth Quartet, probably the most suicidal piece in the repertoire, and the "Heiliger Dankgesang" from Beethoven's Op. 132 quartet, probably the most luminous piece in the repertoire.
In the event, the Shostakovich was solemn and deliberate, avoiding slashing vehemence, which more matched it with the equally solemn and quite graceful Beethoven than contrasted with it.
The four pieces in between were all by contemporary American composers, three of them vocal. My favorite was "And So" from Caroline Shaw's song cycle Is a Rose, for its imaginative, varied and sweet accompaniment, but then Shaw is one of my favorite living composers. A cycle by Eliza Brown employed varying styles depending on the nature of the poems, but favored shimmering chords of light dissonance. Source Code by Jessie Montgomery, the instrumental piece, consisted of fragments taken from or evoking spirituals embedded in a soup of dissonance.
Local composer Chris Pratorius Gómez, who shows up on SCCP programs a lot, set "Sonder," a purpose-written poem by local writer Kristen Nelson about shared humanity under crisis. I like patterned poetry, and this was made even more effective by the composer's choice to give some of the lines to the instrumentalists to be spoken, like this:

Singer: Here hawks still circle and screech
Quartet: For now
Singer: Here owls still hoot at night
Quartet: For now

Afterwards I was able to speak to Nelson and compliment her on the poem. A long series of patterned triplets addressed "to a photo of the kids I love / their guts intact in their bellies" included

May they never fear the sky
May they never fear the sea
May they never fear the cops

A rear gut-kicker, that one, I told her, and she said, "Oh good, you got it."