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Link: Bloodletters - Hack Yourself.

You know the demon. You may think you hate the demon, but you don't. You love it. You let it own you. You do everything it says. Everytime there's something you want, you consult the demon first, to see if it will say, “You can't have that.”

Chicago Tribune | The selling of dance:

Who attends dance performances?

The Chicago Community Trust, with help from Prince Charitable Trusts, funded research that focused on the local dance audience. The profiling data, gleaned from the phone surveys and focus groups with arts patrons, are to be used to help dance companies gain broader recognition and boost ticket sales. A look inside the demographics of "dance attenders," or those who have attend-ed one or more professional dance performances in the last year.

71% are female (29 percent male).

56 years old, on average.

77% are white (12 percent Latino, 7 percent Black).

63% are urban dwellers (37 percent live in suburbs).

59% took dance classes growing up.

60% do artistic or creative activities themselves.

The number in there which really surprised me is that sixty per cent of those who attend dance, practiced at one point or another. It's true that there are always a significant proportion of current professional dancers, dance teacher, ex-prima ballerinas as well as a legion of young people presently studying dance in most given audiences.

Many times I have taken culturally aware people (who go to at least one of museums, theatre or art cinema regularly) to dance performances. Usually mixed results. They are not often sold on making it a regular part of their lives. They think of it more as a curiosity than anything else.

Oftentimes, either the music is alienating. Most of the classical ballet canon, apart from Diaghilev's Ballets Russes pieces scored by Stravinsky or taken from Rimsky-Korsakov symphonies, are set to wretchedly banal scores, Swan Lake the notable exception. Even Giselle is maudlin. Or the modern stuff is just cacophonous. Or to sparse to be enjoyed (a single high hat being tinkled twice on the minute).

In modern dance in North America (and to a lesser extent in Europe) one suffers from the "anyone can be a dancer" train of thought, which considers that not personal beauty, stage charisma or dance talent should play a deciding factor in one's ability to express oneself via movement in front of others. In classical dance in North America, audiences all suffer from the Auschwitz factor. The gentlemen who rule the roost have no great taste for the female figure. And so the female dancers are all young Adonis without rounded shoulder or bottoms or breast. Not a curve in sight.

These twig figures are hardly muses or and in many cases are barely recognisable as humans, let alone adult human females. Fortunately in Europe, the female dancers, depending on the company, are far more authentically proportioned. And thus more pleasing to the untrained eye. Perhaps it should not be a surprise that ballet enjoys wider favour among audiences in European cities.

So just how does one expand dance audiences? The eternal question.

In my particular case, take beautiful pictures of dance and publicise dance as widely as possible. Personal experience has shown this not to be enough.

More pleasing performers and consistently higher calibre music would help enormously. In any case, that strategy worked for Diaghilev.

But in general it would seem that answer would be to expand dance schools and train as many people as possible in Terpsichore's art.

As a remedy for the general gracelessness of the world and problems of form, this would probably offer considerable both health and aesthetic benefits. Perhaps the Health Ministries should get involved.

A supple body and awareness of the body contribute mightily to a good intimate life. Perhaps the tabloids and the women's magazines could join the effort.

The older I grew the more I became attached to the intellectual charms of women. With the sensualist, the contrary takes place; he becomes more material in his old age: requires women well taught in Venus’s shrines, and flies from all mention of philosophy.

In accordance with the plot I had laid against the count, I began by shewing myself demonstratively fond of Betty, envying the fortunate lover, praising his heroic behaviour in leaving her to me, and so forth.

The silly fellow proceeded to back me up in my extravagant admiration. He boasted that jealousy was utterly foreign to his character, and maintained that the true lover would accustom himself to see his mistress inspire desires in other men.

He proceeded to make a long dissertation on this theme, and I let him go on, for I was waiting till after supper to come to the conclusive point.

“I believe you, and I see that I must make haste to leave Naples, if I would not be the most unhappy of men.”

“What do you mean?”

“I should love you without the hope of possessing you, and thus I should be most unhappy.”

“Love me then, and stay. Try and make me love you. Only you must moderate your ecstacies, for I cannot love a man who cannot exercise self-restraint.”

“As just now, for instance?”

“Yes. If you calm yourself I shall think you do so for my sake, and thus love will tread close on the heels of gratitude.”

Big news in Austria over the last week has been the awarding of the Nobel Prize for literature to their citizen Elfriede

Jelinek. A controversial writer even in Austria, this is a brave and forward-looking decision from the Stockholm-based jury.

Jelinek is no New York Times bestselling author. But not content with their president's failed commandeering of the United Nations, many Americans would like to put the Nobel prize jurors in their place and assure a more level playing field for American writers.

VIEW / What's a Nobel in literature really worth?:
the literature prize, since it was first awarded in 1901, is irrelevant when it comes to ensuring a writer's immortality, let alone in assuring that an author will be recognized as "great" -- both qualities we are supposed to associate with the prize bestowment, but which it doesn't deliver.

Take the first part. Even the most erudite among us will have a hard time naming a single book by a great chunk of past laureates. How about that Sigrid Undset (1928)? Who could ever forget her, right? Or how about Par Lagerkvist (1951)? Or Jaroslav Seifert (1984)? Got those names tattooed on the brain, don't you? And if you do, it's because you've boned up on all the past winners for trivia night at the pub.

So what is the point of the Nobel Prize in literature? Maybe there isn't one. Maybe it's just as it appears to be: the hefty $1.3 million cash award given out by a civilized, knowledgeable group of Northern Europeans to authors they really, really like for completely subjective, sometimes political, reasons.

Who do they have in mind? Philip Roth, for instance. A foul mouthed man obsessed with his own genitals and with a vile writing style to boot.

Apparently all is not well in the world of Blue Note fans. The worst thing to happen to them were the Grammies that Norah Jones won. The triumph of Capitalism with a capital C. Her success caused controversy on the company forums. The forums were taken down, scattering and angering the fan base which had kept the company running for twenty years.

MediaPost Advertising & Media Directory: [Blue Note] seemed oblivious to the uproar they had caused their fan base, because quite honestly, these weren't their fan base anymore. Their fan base were the people buying Norah Jones records. These other people were part of some other time and place. They were good for a couple of thousand in sales, but in their entire history didn't buy as many albums as Norah Jones sold in a few short weeks.

And the passion, loyalty, and emotional investment these folks had made in this brand over their entire lives - it was expendable, inconsequential, and misplaced brand equity. Welcome to Norah Jonestown.

The whole article is worth a read for anyone interested in jazz or the business of music. Or even scalable web solutions.

I have a soft spot for our canine friends and all matters dog. My middle sister shares the interest and I couldn't resist pointing out this fabulous description of a pet policy at Google. Read the whole thing. It jumps back and forth between passive and active voice, officiousness and friendliness. It's as if a committee of six alternated at the keyboard as they wrote policy. It could serve as a parody if it weren't deadly serious.

Google Investor Relations:
Aggressive behavior, such as growling, barking, chasing, or biting, is unacceptable....Employees are financially responsible for any damage or cleaning to Google facilities.... Owners must maintain adequate liability insurance against dog mishaps. Google assumes no responsibility for any pet. Following these guidelines mentioned above should allow dog owners to enjoy the company of their pets while allowing all Google employees to feel safe and secure in their work place.

One leaves the policy paper with visions of a third-rate horror film Attack of the Killer Dogs where the Google IPO is shredded in the end by a pack of fierce canines ganging up on the humans and computers and chasing them up and down the corridors, GROWLING, BARKING, CHASING and BITING.

Au cœur de la Dordogne anglaise:
Ces résidents britanniques ne viennent pas à Eymet pour être vus sur un marché à la mode, comme ces « célébrités » parisiennes qui prennent leurs quartiers d’été dans le Luberon, mais pour faire des emplettes et aussi pour se retrouver et savourer ensemble un concentré de ce qui les a conduits à s’expatrier : la good life symbolisée par ces fruits et légumes en abondance, ces produits du terroir, ce restaurant qui sert du rosé et du monbazillac bien frais, le temps qui s’écoule lentement, le soleil. Tout cela dans le décor d’une superbe bastide du Moyen Age. Le cliché de la vie au pays des châteaux – au sens propre, tant ils sont nombreux en Périgord – vue des brumes d’Albion, mais un cliché que beaucoup ont converti en réalité au cours de ces dernières décennies.

Beats the fogs of London, let me tell you, winters in Périgord. A good meal can be had in London but expect to travel and expect to pay about £40 per person for what would cost €15 in Périgord.

And even then, you're still not in Périgord.

But one can only hope that this mode anglaise not become too popular. It would be shame to see the South West overrun like Spain with beet red uncouth brutes.

Blog Maverick - www.blogmaverick.com:

In business deals, look for the fool. If you don’t see one, the fool is you.

Success and Motivation - The Benefactor Tests - Blog Maverick - www.blogmaverick.com:

7. It’s ok to yell and be yelled at

One of the rules I have is that I don’t mind if people raise their voice and even yell a little bit. At MicroSolutions, my partner Martin and I would have some knockdown drag outs. They were always short bursts. They didn’t happen a lot. When they did, I knew, and he knew, that this was an issue we were passionate about.

As my businesses grew, it happened less often because people deferred to me more often. I hated that. If someone believed strongly enough in something and I was being passionate about something, I wanted them to match my level of passion if they felt that strongly about it.

So I told people that if they thought it was the only way to get through to me, to go for it. This may not work for you in corporate America, but anyone in a family business, or in a private business of any size with a partner or two, knows exactly what I am talking about!

I would agree with this latter point. Everything is much too safe in North America. People are afraid to disagree. It's fine in business to always be reasonable, but it is deadly for art. I remember seven minute circumlocutions from choreographers to just say "I don't like it." The seven minutes could be spent just creating something else.

And every step of the way.

My own brusque manners I learned in Russia and have had to shed them (with great difficulty, I was in Moscow for nearly ten years) to be able to get along in the West. The Russians do very well in the collective art forms (opera, ballet even cinema before they ran out of money). I believe it is in large part as they are not afraid to speak their minds nor hear the thoughts of others.

Apparently the same rules can apply in business.

In the best online MBA courses you will be able to speak your mind.

On German etiquette.

After I had dined by myself, I dressed and went to the opera provided gratis by the duke in the fine theatre he had built. The prince was in the front of the orchestra, surrounded by his brilliant Court. I sat in a box on the first tier, delighted to be able to hear so well the music of the famous Jumella, who was in the duke’s service. In my ignorance of the etiquette of small German Courts I happened to applaud a solo, which had been exquisitely sung by a castrato whose name I have forgotten, and directly afterwards an individual came into my box and addressed me in a rude manner. However, I knew no German, and could only answer by ‘nich verstand’—“I don’t understand.”

He went out, and soon after an official came in, who told me, in good French, that when the sovereign was present all applause was forbidden.

“Very good, sir. Then I will go away and come again when the sovereign is not here, as when an air pleases me I always applaud.”

On delicacy of sentiment. Ascribing motivation.

A moment after, coming out of one of the casemates, her head-dress got slightly out of order, and she begged that I would remedy the accident, but, having to bend her head down, the state in which I was could no longer remain a secret for her. In order to avoid greater confusion to both of us, she enquired who had made my watch ribbon; I told her it was a present from my sister, and she desired to examine it, but when I answered her that it was fastened to the fob-pocket, and found that she disbelieved me, I added that she could see for herself. She put her hand to it, and a natural but involuntary excitement caused me to be very indiscreet. She must have felt vexed, for she saw that she had made a mistake in her estimate of my character; she became more timid, she would not laugh any more, and we joined her mother and the major who was shewing her, in a sentry- box, the body of Marshal de Schulenburg which had been deposited there until the mausoleum erected for him was completed. As for myself, I felt deeply ashamed. I thought myself the first man who had alarmed her innocence, and I felt ready to do anything to atone for the insult.

Such was my delicacy of feeling in those days. I used to credit people with exalted sentiments, which often existed only in my imagination. I must confess that time has entirely destroyed that delicacy; yet I do not believe myself worse than other men, my equals in age and inexperience.

On the nature of love and on a woman's appearance. A very superficial assessement.

love is only a feeling of curiosity more or less intense, grafted upon the inclination placed in us by nature that the species may be preserved. And truly, woman is like a book, which, good or bad, must at first please us by the frontispiece. If this is not interesting, we do not feel any wish to read the book, and our wish is in direct proportion to the interest we feel. The frontispiece of woman runs from top to bottom like that of a book, and her feet, which are most important to every man who shares my taste, offer the same interest as the edition of the work. If it is true that most amateurs bestow little or no attention upon the feet of a woman, it is likewise a fact that most readers care little or nothing whether a book is of the first edition or the tenth. At all events, women are quite right to take the greatest care of their face, of their dress, of their general appearance; for it is only by that part of the frontispiece that they can call forth a wish to read them in those men who have not been endowed by nature with the privilege of blindness. And just in the same manner that men, who have read a great many books, are certain to feel at last a desire for perusing new works even if they are bad, a man who has known many women, and all handsome women, feels at last a curiosity for ugly specimens when he meets with entirely new ones. It is all very well for his eye to discover the paint which conceals the reality, but his passion has become a vice, and suggests some argument in favour of the lying frontispiece. It is possible, at least he thinks so, that the work may prove better than the title-page, and the reality more acceptable than the paint which hides it. He then tries to peruse the book, but the leaves have not been opened; he meets with some resistance, the living book must be read according to established rules, and the book-worm falls a victim to a coquetry, the monster which persecutes all those who make a business of love. As for thee, intelligent man, who hast read the few preceding lines, let me tell thee that, if they do not assist in opening thy eyes, thou art lost; I mean that thou art certain of being a victim to the fair sex to the very last moment of thy life. If my candour does not displease thee, accept my congratulations

From the memoirs of Casanova:

although I ought to have been well satisfied as far as physical beauty was concerned, my enjoyment was very limited, as the nymphs I wooed only spoke Swiss dialect—a rugged corruption of German. I have always found that love without speech gives little enjoyment, and I cannot imagine a more unsatisfactory mistress than a mute, were she as lovely as Venus herself.