Q. If, instead of dipping, i purposely let large pieces of cake or cookie fall past the coffeefoam in my cup so that i have to spoon them back out, am i being messy or thorough? (show all work on separate piece of paper)
A. The dunk timing needs to be just right and adjusted for the size and density of the cookie/cake so they saturate but do not disintegrate.
31. Januar 2009
27. Januar 2009
applying for art school—sort of.
At the end of last week I took the train to berlin in order to partake in the mysterious task/test or interview marking the second level of the sound studies application process. [side note, cliché it is but german trains really are a pleasure which, this trip reminded me, I had not been taking advantage of].
Overnighting at the very sniffling andreas’ i entered the appointed building at 20 minutes to the appointed time and found, after some dawdling and delaying, the designated room in which also entered, had entered or were about to enter ten or so other applicants. “sooo…anyone have any idea what we’re doing here” I ventured into the silent silence following the petering out of hushes side conversations.
No, answered the concensus of shrugged shoulders and angled heads.
I asked these fellow competitors where they were from—a variety of response. You? “the US” I said. “well actually I was born…[short life story]”
There was a derisive snort to my right. “you’re kidding”
I turned, but all I could see was neighbor’s mufasa dreadlocks half obscuring black glasses.
I must have sat next to him, tawny skinned boy, because I sensed the americanismus. (consciously, it was the opposite the door, window seat thing)
He was from Detroit and somewhere else. German dad, born in berlin, raised stateside with mom. Also had twelve year old brother. (I miss mine so much! I later exclaimed as we all sat outside over coffee. I don’t, he countered. But back in the then and there..)
Comforted by the fact I wasn’t the only candidate with questionable german skills, further conversation was precluded by the entrance of a professor, and administrator, to administer the…whatever was to come.
The man stood at the front of the room looking as coy as a tall round-glassesd balding german professor can possibly look. He cleared his throat
Our task, as it were, was to listen to a piece of music and describe what we heard.
Oh
But there were conditions.
First, we could not use associative language. No descriptions of feelings or emotional effect/affect. No technical language.
We were not to try and guess at or describe how the sounds were produced (which, as a few of my fellows were sound engineers they could probably have done quite easily), or who composed the piece or how it fits in the history of music.
We could use our own ‘private language’ but at the same should produce a description of the piece such that a second person might get an idea of what it was like. Just as one might describe an abstract painting.
Please formulate this into a few prägnante phrases. Here was the written task and paper.
Oh, one more thing, this was not a piece any one of us was likely to recognize, or something remotely familiar. It was non structural and fell into the category of abstract sounds.
(“so this is a written test” asked an asian man across the room. And, as though reading my mind, dropped his head in his hands.)
The piece was nine minutes. We had a half hour. Then we were given personal interview times. See you at the interviews. Have a good day.
What followed was, literally, indescribable. Unless, of course, you use some associative language (kind of like air-warfare, or something gone wrong at the sound check) or emotional expressions (it was tense and confusing, it felt like chaos rising and discord) some technical turn of phrase (the dissonance approached resolution but instead turned into pinknoise) etc.
So we opened our ears, scratched our heads and scribbled down our de-structuralist descriptions.
We went down to the café and some of sat around in a small group waiting for the interviews. None of us had a sense of what we had to do, or what was right. They were interesting people, sounds designers or conservatory musicians or down and dirty rockers.
The interview seemed fine. I can call this week to find out the results. And then, if they are positive, I can puzzle over the practicality of actually following through with this plan.
Overnighting at the very sniffling andreas’ i entered the appointed building at 20 minutes to the appointed time and found, after some dawdling and delaying, the designated room in which also entered, had entered or were about to enter ten or so other applicants. “sooo…anyone have any idea what we’re doing here” I ventured into the silent silence following the petering out of hushes side conversations.
No, answered the concensus of shrugged shoulders and angled heads.
I asked these fellow competitors where they were from—a variety of response. You? “the US” I said. “well actually I was born…[short life story]”
There was a derisive snort to my right. “you’re kidding”
I turned, but all I could see was neighbor’s mufasa dreadlocks half obscuring black glasses.
I must have sat next to him, tawny skinned boy, because I sensed the americanismus. (consciously, it was the opposite the door, window seat thing)
He was from Detroit and somewhere else. German dad, born in berlin, raised stateside with mom. Also had twelve year old brother. (I miss mine so much! I later exclaimed as we all sat outside over coffee. I don’t, he countered. But back in the then and there..)
Comforted by the fact I wasn’t the only candidate with questionable german skills, further conversation was precluded by the entrance of a professor, and administrator, to administer the…whatever was to come.
The man stood at the front of the room looking as coy as a tall round-glassesd balding german professor can possibly look. He cleared his throat
Our task, as it were, was to listen to a piece of music and describe what we heard.
Oh
But there were conditions.
First, we could not use associative language. No descriptions of feelings or emotional effect/affect. No technical language.
We were not to try and guess at or describe how the sounds were produced (which, as a few of my fellows were sound engineers they could probably have done quite easily), or who composed the piece or how it fits in the history of music.
We could use our own ‘private language’ but at the same should produce a description of the piece such that a second person might get an idea of what it was like. Just as one might describe an abstract painting.
Please formulate this into a few prägnante phrases. Here was the written task and paper.
Oh, one more thing, this was not a piece any one of us was likely to recognize, or something remotely familiar. It was non structural and fell into the category of abstract sounds.
(“so this is a written test” asked an asian man across the room. And, as though reading my mind, dropped his head in his hands.)
The piece was nine minutes. We had a half hour. Then we were given personal interview times. See you at the interviews. Have a good day.
What followed was, literally, indescribable. Unless, of course, you use some associative language (kind of like air-warfare, or something gone wrong at the sound check) or emotional expressions (it was tense and confusing, it felt like chaos rising and discord) some technical turn of phrase (the dissonance approached resolution but instead turned into pinknoise) etc.
So we opened our ears, scratched our heads and scribbled down our de-structuralist descriptions.
We went down to the café and some of sat around in a small group waiting for the interviews. None of us had a sense of what we had to do, or what was right. They were interesting people, sounds designers or conservatory musicians or down and dirty rockers.
The interview seemed fine. I can call this week to find out the results. And then, if they are positive, I can puzzle over the practicality of actually following through with this plan.
1. Januar 2009
The Big Bang
street lit up in a collective neighborhood fireworks dispelling, a friendly competition and combination of efforts— who can most outsparkle the stars. we dropped firecrackers under the manholes to make them resonate, shot off rockets and fired volcanos that spewed bright glittering geysers into the dark. it reminded me of a warzone for a moment: scaring away the last year while exploding the next into being.
comrades in a fizzsparkling champagne dizziness we let ourselves be lifted with the missiles let out of empty bottles dissappearing an instant before eruption in the smoky depths of midnight sky.
comrades in a fizzsparkling champagne dizziness we let ourselves be lifted with the missiles let out of empty bottles dissappearing an instant before eruption in the smoky depths of midnight sky.
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