The Ryndex

Life is problematic. Work is hard. Taxes are complicated. That special someone is elusive. Everything costs more than you expected. You have arguments that you don’t really care about. The entropy of your living space eternally tends toward filthy.

Obviously, you need therapy. Even if you don’t need therapy, you need this therapy. If you’re already getting therapy, congratulations, good luck and please add djembé-playing to your mental health routine.

I started African drumming a week ago. Another Canadian expatriate invited me out to Versaille to for a lesson. It’s a very small association — one instructor, three or four experts for support, two or three intermediate players and four or five beginners. We sit in a single circle, legs wrapped around our djembé and play together, taking turns playing the phrases we’re learning, or playing an accompaniment. The other experts play the dunduns, the three bass drums that provide a backbone for the music.

Last week, I started with just the accompaniment. BOOM-bada BOOM-bada BOOM-bada: a single bass note with the flat right hand, followed by a right-left strike on the edge of the drum skin with the fingers closed. Over and over and over:

R . r l R . r l

It sounds so simple — the rhythm couldn’t be much easier and the hands are right-left-right, repeat. When you start in the circle, however, it takes up 100% of your conscious brain to keep a consistent beat in sync with all the others.

It gets harder with the more complicated phrases. In addition to the bass and the strike, there’s also a slap on the edge of the drum with the fingers open. The first phrase I learned was:

r l . L rx . R . rx . . L rx . R .

which is sixteen half beats. Notice that the right hand always plays on the beat. The capital letters are bass notes in the centre, and the small letters are strikes at the edge. I added an x if it’s a slap instead of a strike, but it’s still difficult to make a difference between the two at this stage.

The next phrase is a variation:

r l . L rx . R . rx . rx lx rx lx rx .

So while half the group is playing the BOOM-bada accompaniment, the other half is alternating the two variations on the first phrase. The dunduns are playing a cool rhythm and the leader cues people in and out with a special rhythm (a ‘call’) that you quickly learn to recognize inside all the rest of the noise. If you’ve ever seen a drumming circle going all out and suddenly stopping on a dime in complete synchronization, this is how they do it.

We learned another phrase, but it has triplets to I’m not going to transcribe it here. We have two or three more phrases to learn and practice and we’ll have finished our first song — Lolo. I’m not sure if we’re going to learn the dundun parts as well, since they involve both hands playing separate rhythms.

The pleasure comes from sitting in the circle, either grooving on the accompaniment, or trying a complicated phrase and getting it wrong, and wrong, and off-beat and with the wrong hands. You struggle with it, and get it right once and wrong a dozen times again, even though you can hear the right beat in your head. Then it comes together and it’s right, and suddenly you’re listening to the correct beat and it’s surprising to realize that it’s you. The drum sings like a bell, and it’s a bit like life.

In conclusion, musical instruments are expensive and drumming circles aren’t just for hippies although they are welcome to play as long as they don’t stink up the place.

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A great article on the delights of eating things you don’t like! Of course, this is targeted to some of you more than others (you know who you are)…

It’s worth reading, but here’s the summary: biologically, we are all omnivores, capable of eating (and appreciating) far more than we typically do. Pickiness about food is a learned trait, but can be unlearned through repeated exposure. The magic number is eight to ten times.

I can personally attest to this. At one point in my life, I was physically repulsed by seeing someone bite into a raw tomato like an apple. Now I eat raw tomatoes nearly daily in my salad at the cantine.

The first few times I had sushi with workmates, I could barely gag down a california roll, although that could be the fault of the jerks I worked with and their snickering, clumsy-handed initiation into the world of wasabi. How many years of delicious Japanese cuisine did I miss thanks to you? How many teriyaki chicken box lunches did I eat instead of boats of delicate and aesthetic seafood?

To be fair, when you’re an experienced sushi eater, it’s easy to forget that the virgin palate is a delicate thing that should be gently introduced to the joyful power of wasabi. You asshats.

The first eight to ten times I drank a bitter aperatif (Campari, Amero, Suze), I have to admit that politeness was a more important factor in getting it down than taste or enjoyment. Now bitter liquers are a true pleasure — I can’t wait to get my hands on more Becherovka (a surprisingly cinnamony herbal booze from the Czech Republic).

The foods I still dislike include:

* Blood sausage.

* Liver, although most offal is also on the list (kidney, tongue, sweetmeats, etc). Oddly enough, gizzard isn’t any problem for me.

* Andouillette, a French sausage made of smoked intestine.

* Caraway and Cumin seed: specifically on bread and disgusting Dutch cheeses.

* Sambuca. Ouzo. Pastis. Black licorice and anise.

* Tomato juice. Tomato juice with clam broth.

* Deep-fried Zucchini.

There’s my list. I’m going to conquer them!

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Alright, so it turns out that Beautiful People get more than fifteen minutes. As it turns out, they’re actually better at everything (and everyone) they do. Who knew? For the pretty faces that just got bad news from a certain Finnish phone manufacturer, keep your spirits up! Apparently, people over 6’2″ make up about 4% of the population, but nearly a third of CEOs.

But I’d like to talk about something much less superficial, something closer to home. Fashion is transient. Today it’s a dark velvet blazer over an untucked shirt and jeans, tomorrow it’ll be carefully sheveled anti-bohemian tweeds. There’s more important things than how you look on the outside.

Of course, I’m speaking about underwear.

Let’s discard the boxers right away. They are flappy, bunchy monstrosities. The only way to make them more uncomfortable would be to make them out of flannel so that they can be itchy and sweaty as well. The only reason to have them is if you’re trying to conceive, or if your girlfriend wants to borrow them (note that I’ve solved both those problems quite neatly).

One of the alternatives is boxer-briefs, which are fitted boxers providing ample coverage for modesty and comfortable support. I’m currently firmly in this category — I picked a cheap brand (Hanes) and a couple dozen pairs in a variety of colours. I avoid white because they’re too difficult to keep looking new, especially without a dryer.

The problem, of course, is that I have skinny chicken legs, so boxer-briefs end up being baggy anyway. God forbid that you ever see me in spandex. Combine that with the fact that I can actually afford nice underwear — well, obviously it’s time for a change.

A very wise friend once said that you should never underestimate the importance of power underwear.

For those of you that aren’t horrified by underwear models, there’s a good selection here and here. Comments? Opinions? What’s the deal with microfiber?

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Sometimes the episodes of The Tinfoiled Show have an ending, sometimes they don’t. The storyline progresses anyway.

Here’s some developments in the storylines, some of which I’ve already blogged about.

1. I sent my Freebox back and resubscribed to the France Telecom service. At this point, Freebox acknowledged the return of the modem and started charging me the monthly fee. They hadn’t started charging me earlier because the service was never, ever connected.

Thankfully, I had sent a letter to the bank objecting to any automatic withdrawals from Free ADSL.

2. I’m staying in my apartment for the moment. My landlords found a better place for their daughter. I had a bit of a dispute with them at this news — they were surprised that I was upset about their lack of consideration. They apologized profusely.

I’m still keeping my eyes open for someplace better, and I’m not relying on this apartment for the rest of my stay in Paris — but I’m not leaving in the short term.

3. My mix CD has been permanently disrupted by an influx of very good music: the new Beautiful South (re-interpreted cover tunes), back to Depeche Mode, Lambchop, Damien Rice and Mylo. And I had just about finished the cover art.

Just a teaser — the tentative title of the mix was “It Gets Thrills to the Table on Time” and, as usual, included more than it’s share of ironic misogyny. I think I’ll be moving it in another direction.

4. My plans to buy an iPod Shuffle when I was in Canada were foiled by the delay in the launch date. Why doesn’t anyone ever come to Paris in the spring?

5. I returned to 8 hours of sleep when I got a cold. Plus I took Cold-FX tablets. It seems to have passed by with nothing more than a tickle in the throat, but I’m staying at 8 hours this week.

6. Running: on track. I’ve been doing six kilometres (untimed) twice a week through the forest at work. Rollerblading: mostly on track — I did the 3 hour randonnée through Paris two weeks ago, but missed last week. I hate going by myself, so I’m going to join an association (and take some lessons) either this summer or in the fall when I get back from Canada. Aikido: going to my first lesson on Monday, in order to decide whether it’s interesting.

Actually, rollerblading and the randonnée are sufficiently interesting to warrant another entry. Some other time.

7. Exfoliation: once weekly. I don’t know if it actually does that much, but it feels good.

8. Don’t try and solve this image puzzle because it is too cool for words and will suck up your time. There’s fifteen stages, and I’m currently stuck at eight — but I’m supremely proud for having passed stage five!

So, you’re pretty much up to date.

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For the first time, I’ve found a Firefox theme that is more efficient and aesthetic than the default. Pimpzilla is the second best reason to move to Firefox from the old and decrepit Internet Explorer.

Not being an idiot remains the best reason, however.

Tin Foiled Technology