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Heidi J. De Vries

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February 10, 2003
Classical
I might as well 'fess up: I'm thinking of going back to school again. In business. I'd love to run a nonprofit someday, or maybe start a small company with some of my friends. I've already been thinking of the ways my life would have to change, and then I went to the orientation for Berkeley's Evening & Weekend MBA on Tuesday and had the fear of God put into me. I was actually doing fine until they had a student get up to speak. He held up a book. "You see this book? This is the first novel I've read in three years!" In retrospect, he didn't seem like he was probably much of a reader to begin with, but it made an impression on me nonetheless. Oh well. What's three years of my life, really?

Aimee and I gave into temptation on Wednesday night and sacked out on my couch with salty snacks and the extras from the nerdstended version of Fellowship of the Ring. And after that, more Beastie Boys videos. Pure girlie indulgence. The next day I came down with a massive sore throat. Coincidence?

Friday evening I joined the other members of the Quadrant 4 Music Appreciation Society at Davies Symphony Hall to witness Mstislav Rostropovich conducting the SF Symphony through Shostakovich's Symphony No. 8 in C minor. First, though, there was Slava's Fanfare by Dutilleux, in which the players were scattered throughout the seats of the hall. It created a wonderful surround-sound feeling, but I blinked and it was already over. Next up was Prokofiev's Symphony No. 1 in D major, Classical, a perky little piece that was strongly reminiscent of the composer's ballets. After the intermission we settled in for the Shostakovich, which was a total contrast to the lightness and brevity of the previous works. I found myself drifting in and out, resurfacing when the music suddenly surged or when I became entranced by a particular otherworldly passage. At one point there was this low soft hum that seemed to be coming from the strings, but as hard as I looked I couldn't tell whose bows were moving to produce that sound. Rostropovich was a joy to watch throughout the performance, his nimble movements belying his 75+ years.

Saturday night my illness was in full effect, but I ignored my body's cries for rest and instead headed over to 364 Hayes to attend the opening of Jen Pack's show roygbp. The primary colors of her silk "paintings" were reflected in an array of rainbow Kool-Aid and color-coded candies set out by the gallery. Skronky jazz at one end of the room, all the cute people at the other. Erich appeared and introduced me to May and Doria, and later Erika showed up with her friend Carrie. All of Pack's work was simply gorgeous, and I was tempted to buy the piece that disturbed me the most in which she had sewn a flaccid pocket into the middle of a sheer piece of fabric stretched tight across a frame.

Haas Evening & Weekend Program
SF Symphony
364 Hayes
Jen Pack



   



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