Foot Foot Massage

Stuck as I was, in a city of multinational citizenry, with tired, wet, cold feet, our trip to Chinatown started with a pre-dinner visit to the local accupressurist.

Yes, in big cities you can find experts in Eastern medicine to soothe the savage barking our flat feet endure. Ever since watching a John Candy movie, and when I have sore feet, I always proclaim “the dogs are barkin’!”

So up the stairs we went (it seems in these places, it’s either up or down stairs), and I found a woman in waiting. She smiled, as if some ancient proverb had forecasted my arrival on this rainy evening. “What is your problem?” she asked me, in English, but with a heavy Chinese accent.

Taken aback by such a question, I smiled, tenderly out of fear, and said, “It’s my feet, the feet are my problem.” I somehow felt like George Costanza telling her this. Vulnerable and stupid.

“Come this way…” I walked down a hallway, and she opened a door. She asked me to take off my shoes, my socks, and to roll-up my pants. “Have you had dis done before?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Feet, right?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“4 minute, be ready!”

She told me this, with a little bit of a command in the diction. I went to work, contemplating the joy that might follow, when the sore, inflamed dogs might be soothed by the knowledge of an Eastern master in accupressure.

What I wasn’t prepared for was a foot massage.

Let me say that again, more precisely. A foot foot massage. That’s right, my friends, a foot massage with feet.

An older man came into the room, and said “Hello!” so clearly and happily that I wagered it might be the only English he knew. He sat in a chair, some distance from the table where I sat after he pulled on my arms and hands. He then motioned for me to sit up, and not to lay down.

He was wearing bamboo sandals, I noticed, when he took them off, and rubbed his feet with a towel. “Hmm… my feet or yours?” I thought. My thought bubble burst when he turned around, and grabbed my feet almost violently… with his own feet.

He was crafty, I’ll say, cracking my feet, and finding the places that commanded attention… I giggled outloud, and he smiled at me. It was not a pleasure giggle, but one reflective of the novelty of receiving a foot foot massage.

“I ought to write about this experience,” I thought, as the massage continued. What struck me the most was how this man used his chair, rocking back and forth, and even on one leg, to position himself just so, to manipulate my own feet, just so. Instead of sitting, really, he used his arms to hoist himself above the seat. The massage lasted almost 30 minutes, and ended with a cool cream on my own feet–applied by hands.

I wasn’t sure if this massage was given by mistake (she had asked me about the feet), or this was simply de rigeur, but it was curiously just what I needed to break up a long day on my feet, before a Chinatown dinner.

Charlie Osgood Owes me an Umbrella

This morning, from my bedside, I watched CBS Sunday Morning as I do many Sundays, and on this particular Sunday, Charlie Osgood was telling me about an art exhibition at the National Gallery of Art on the British painter, a Mr. Turner, who supposedly, was one of Britain’s best painters. I casually asked “would you like to go?” and the next thing I knew, I was washed, dressed, and out the door on the way to Starbucks.

Yes, and from there, to Washington, D.C.

Our Osgood adventure had us stop at Springfield to get the Metro train.

When we emerged near the museums, it was raining. Damn you, Charles Osgood! I swore, now cold and wet. It was quite a trek to the NGA. By the time we made it, I was chilled, breathing deeply, and soaking wet. We hadn’t brought an umbrella nor any kind of hats.

When we got inside, there was quite a line to see this art by the so-called Turner.

Upon exiting, we took a taxi in the (now more robust) rain to the subway. I had originally desired to eat in the city, but now that it was still raining, that was out.

Back to Springfield, and back on a stuck I-95 drive home.

Now, I’m home, dry, and warm, listening to some Buxtehude. Was Turner worth it? Well, not really, but it was good to know that Charlie could get me out of bed and send me on a little adventure. And with two servings of Chinese food today, I’m set for the week.

Happy New Year.

I do write blogs, I do.

Several little things have been bothering me today.

1. This blog needs a little kick in the pants. I think with 5 days off from work, I should revitalize biberfan.org. I’m a little tired of reviewing baroque recordings, if you couldn’t tell. Who reads this stuff? I used to get quite a few hits to the old biberfan, when I wrote on three subjects at once.
2. I had a secret blog where I’d write about things that were private, or else, graphic enough I wouldn’t want others to read it. Turns out it wasn’t so secret. Neumann?!
3. Why did I get into this whole blogging thing… ah yes, the stories. Does the name, biberfan, still have any cache?
4. Someone today asks me… after telling them about a restaurant I ate at…. “Did you review it?” Hell yes, I did. What is with that? Don’t these people use RSS readers, or else, visit my food site? How rude, I felt it was, to be asked that. If you ask about someone’s blog and what’s going on there, but don’t visit that said blog, that’s either just lazy or rude. Likely one but not both. I’m still figuring that one out.
5. Cappuccino maker. Tough decision. I’ve been reading all night about these things. Never before after Christmas have I had such “return all the gifts” feelings. I received a cappuccino maker for Christmas. It seems nice enough, but it looks like it will be a lot of work to use it. Let me break out of my numbers here to convey just what’s involved.

A cappuccino maker (espresso with a steamer wand) is a far cry from what they have at Starbucks. I owned a Krups model that kinda stunk. It was all plastic, was from around 1993, and needed some serious cleaning inside. You filled it with water, waited like 5 minutes, and made your espresso. No “crema,” and the frother was tough to use on milk. 2007. Spend more money, but you get a decent pump-based system that does all the same.

• grind beans
• tap (tamp) these ground beans into a little cup
• fuss with getting this cup into the machine
• fill the machine with water
• turn it on, make the espresso
• get the milk out, fill the little tin cup
• change the machine to steam mode
• wait
• steam/froth your milk
• finish by combining the two parts of the latté
• add your sweetner, stir

Yeah, not so simple. There’s a reason, I guess, that I pay Starbucks over $4. And it’s not for the sayings on the sides of the cups. I go there like 5 times a week. I like:

• lattés, triple lattés
• white mochas
• chai lattes

Those are my boys. So I’ve seen these totally automatic machines at Williams-Sonoma et al. Seems the Jura-Capresso is the big daddy brand, and among those, various levels, E, F, S, and Z. There are probably more. Who cares. Tonight I read all up on them. Seems I’ve mentally settled on the S series, which can take a lot of abuse, and uses a dual-tank system so that steam and coffee making can happen without any wait.

But this thing is $2300. That’s +$2050 more than what I have now costs. Who is to say it will make a better latté?

But it will save time.

It grinds the beans, filters the water, tamps the grounds, froths the milk, etc., etc., all but add the sugar. You want another latté? Just hit the button. You’ll have lattés coming out your ears, just by pushing some buttons.

But I don’t have $2050 sitting around waiting for a super automatic machine… but if I was going to buy an espresso machine, that’s the one I’d want.

So, do I pull out all the money for the ultimate machine? Or keep the one I received? Or just return it all, and get the money? Because there is plenty more to buy.

Copper wire. A new camera. Trips this year. Bagh. Next year, I’m going to vote for Festivus. You don’t have to exchange gifts, try and keep secret blogs, and you still get to feast at a meal.

Here’s to 2008: more banter.

Trip

I am on my way back from a trip to Florida, where I spent the holiday with my parents.

We enjoyed ourselves, playing Wii games, listening to Bette sing Christmas carols, and eating pricey ham.

I am glad the ham passed my mom’s “best in my life” category for taste and flavor.

On the music front, I acquired a new CD (actually, a reissue) of music by Kapsberger by Onofri and friends on Das Alte Werke. I look forward to listening to that upon arriving home in Virginia.

Janine Jansen Plays Bach

Bach’s Inventions for keyboard (both the 2-part, and the 3-part, so-called Sinfonias) are rich little pieces of music. Too bad they are so short, but so fun each one is, written in a variety of keys. A sort of predecessor, if you will, to Bach’s giant preludes and fugues (WTC).

The inventions are significant because they are contrapuntal in nature, light fugues, if you will. But the writing and themes are so well-done, that experimentation with them is par for the course for many performers. While I love my recording of these works by Suzuki on harpsichord, this new album by Janine Jansen and friends is the more adventurous type of recording, doing these on stringed instruments.

It takes good players to render each single line in tune and in balance with the other performers. For the 2-parts, we get violin and cello; for the 3, violin, cello, and viola. I particularly enjoyed several movements that were more eclectic (especially spooky slow, or fast), and I realized I could listen to these by at least 3 more ensembles with their own interpretations. The music is so good it can take different takes, just as we might have 3-5 recordings on keyboard by different virtuosi.

She includes one of the solo partitas for violin (the big one, with the chaconne), and while it is well done (great tone), I would have preferred some more of Bach’s transcriptions with her two colleagues.

Not a must have, but if you adore these works and like an “authentic approach”-influenced sound world, this one is for you.