Podcasts about emperor concerto

Composer Marko Bajzer talks about his composition The Sacrifice of Prometheus, which receives its World Premiere at the Reno Phil's concerts “Beethoven's Emperor Concerto" on March 22 and 23, 2025. Music director Laura Jackson leads the concerts, which also include Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 5, the "Emperor," with Davidson Fellow Katherine Emma Liu as piano soloist, and The Pines of Rome by Ottorino Respighi.

Music Director Emeritus for Life Riccardo Muti returns with Beethoven's Eroica Symphony, a work that shattered the symphonic conventions of its day, with themes of heroism, struggle and triumph. Beethoven's majestic Emperor Concerto features Mitsuko Uchida, who brings “the unaffected wisdom and clarity that comes with decades of interpretive rigor and commitment” (The New York Times). Learn more: cso.org/performances/24-25/cso-classical/muti-uchida-emperor-and-eroica

On this episode of The Hillsdale College Online Courses Podcast, Jeremiah and Juan (and a very special guest) discuss the groundbreaking work of Ludwig van Beethoven before introducing Dr. Hyperion Knight. In “The History of Classical Music,” concert pianist and Hillsdale College Distinguished Fellow Hyperion Knight explains how music has developed and what distinguishes the greatest musical achievements through the life of Beethoven. Join this course, whether you are a music novice or an aficionado of the classical style, to learn what makes music great. The late Classical Period pointed the way to the Romantic Era as composers revolutionized the expression of musical possibilities within the classical structures. Significant pieces of the period include Beethoven's “Für Elise,” Waldstein Sonata, Appassionata Sonata, Emperor Concerto, and his symphonies, as well as Schubert's “Erlkönig,” Impromptus, and Unfinished Symphony.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

On this episode of The Hillsdale College Online Courses Podcast, Jeremiah and Juan (and a very special guest) discuss the groundbreaking work of Ludwig van Beethoven before introducing Dr. Hyperion Knight. In “The History of Classical Music,” concert pianist and Hillsdale College Distinguished Fellow Hyperion Knight explains how music has developed and what distinguishes the greatest musical achievements through the life of Beethoven. Join this course, whether you are a music novice or an aficionado of the classical style, to learn what makes music great. The late Classical Period pointed the way to the Romantic Era as composers revolutionized the expression of musical possibilities within the classical structures. Significant pieces of the period include Beethoven's “Für Elise,” Waldstein Sonata, Appassionata Sonata, Emperor Concerto, and his symphonies, as well as Schubert's “Erlkönig,” Impromptus, and Unfinished Symphony.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Poetry by Aleph Ba, with background music Emperor Concerto by Beethoven. --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/alephba/support

References PLoS One. 2019; 14(1): e0210888 Trends Neurosci. 2015 Jun; 38(6): 364–374 Addict Biol. 2006 Sep; 11(3-4): 339–355 Sci Rep. 2022; 12: 19463. Beethoven, L. 1809. Piano Concerto #5 in E-flat major, Op. 73, "Emperor Concerto " https://youtu.be/kiW-QnQzN9Y?si=qT6PgbhB9L5jpzcZ --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/dr-daniel-j-guerra/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/dr-daniel-j-guerra/support

We'll look at Beethoven's fifth and final piano concerto, the so-called "Emperor" Concerto in E-flat Major, Op. 73.

Internationally acclaimed pianist Andrew von Oeyen returns to Pepperdine for a residency at the Lisa Smith Wengler Center for the Arts! During his time here, he performed Beethovan's Emperor Concerto and Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue with the Pepperdine Orchestra under the direction of Dr. Pierre Long-Tao Tang. I sat down with Andrew to discuss his experiences as a performer and his special connection to Pepperdine.  Follow the Center for the Arts here and on Instagram to stay up to date with new episodes as they're released.  More info about the Center for the Arts at Pepperdine University can be found here: https://arts.pepperdine.edu/  Music by Jeremy Zerbe and Nolan Harvel

Ludwig van Beethovens 5. Klavierkonzert ist, anders als es sein Beiname "Emperor Concerto" suggeriert, kein allein von Heroismus geprägtes Werk. Es hat überraschend sanfte, intime Momente. Der Pianist Paul Lewis stellt das Starke Stück vor.

Synopsis On today's date in 1841 an all-Beethoven concert was given at the Salle Erard to raise funds for the proposed Beethoven monument in Bonn, the late composer's birthplace. Franz Liszt was the piano soloist in Beethoven's “Emperor” Concerto, conducted by Hector Berlioz. About a month earlier, Liszt had dazzled Paris with the premiere of his new piano fantasia on themes from the popular opera “Robert the Devil,” by Giacomo Meyerbeer. So, as Liszt walked on stage—with the entire orchestra in place, all ready for Beethoven's Concerto—the audience clamored loudly for a repeat performance. They made such a racket that Berlioz and the orchestra had no choice but to sit idly by until Liszt first encored his Fantasia. In the audience was a 27-year old German named Richard Wagner, reviewing the concert for a Dresden newspaper. Wagner was outraged that the Beethoven was put on hold for Liszt's flashy solo. We're not sure if Wagner attended a concert the following day at the Salle Pleyel, but any modern-day time traveler would probably want to stick around to hear Frederic Chopin give one of HIS rare Parisian recitals, performing, among other works, his own F-Major Ballade. Music Played in Today's Program Franz Liszt (1811 – 1886) Reminiscences de Robert le Diable Leslie Howard, piano Hyperion 66861

In this episode, I read my poem, “Emperor Concerto, II” and I'm joined by Ric de Azevedo as we discuss the power of music. “EMPEROR CONCERTO” II The strings prepare me Like a good opening act, For the moment the piano comes in Like a ballerina on point Delicately entering the stage. I'm speechless every time. In awe (reverent almost) As my body absorbs the sound waves Harnessed two centuries ago by a deaf man Who arranged them into beauty Then converted them to ink and Stained them on paper. And now I sit, transfixed, As a modern-day acoustic alchemist Transmutes the ink back into waves And floods me with euphoria. [Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 5 in E-Flat Major, OP. 73 "Emperor," II. Adagio un poco moto (mosso)] Real Live Girl (https://youtu.be/oYrMS7jdkG4) I'd love to hear what you have to say bout the episode including thoughts on the topics that were discussed. You can email me at poetdelayed@gmail.com. Special Guest: Ric de Azevedo.

MICHAEL SCHELLE (b. 1950, Philadelphia) Michael Schelle's music has been commissioned and/or performed by over 350 orchestras and professional chamber ensembles across the US and abroad. Including the Chicago Symphony, Minnesota Orchestra, Detroit Symphony, He is a Composer-in-Residence at Butler University in Indianapolis and holds degrees from Villanova University, the Hartt School (CT), Trinity College of Music (London), the University of Minnesota, and has studied with Arnold Franchetti, Dominick Argento and Aaron Copland. ·        JOSEPH KINGMA (joseph@josephkingma.com) ·        Joseph Kingma wowed audiences with his performance of Beethoven's “Emperor” Concerto in the 2020-2021 season with the Chamber Orchestra. Kingma enjoys a prolific national and international career as a soloist, chamber musician, and teacher. He won first prize in the Franz Liszt International Piano Competition, sponsored by the American Liszt Society, and has won awards in the Cincinnati World Competition and Sorantin Young Artist International Competition. He is on the faculty at Palm Beach Atlantic University.

每日英語跟讀 Ep.K119: In Streaming Age, Classical Music Gets Lost in the Metadata   When Roopa Kalyanaraman Marcello, a classical music aficionado in Brooklyn, asked her Amazon Echo for some music recently, she had a specific request: the third movement of Beethoven's “Emperor” Concerto. 最近，布魯克林區的古典音樂愛好者魯帕．卡利亞拿拉曼．馬切羅要她的亞馬遜智慧音箱Echo播放一些音樂時，她具體地說出要求：貝多芬《皇帝》協奏曲的第三樂章。 “It kind of energizes me, motivates me to get things done,” she said. 她說：「它讓我精力充沛，激勵我把事情做好。」 But the Echo, a voice-activated speaker, could not find what she wanted. First it gave her the concerto's opening movement; then, on another try, came the second movement. But not the third. 但Echo這個聲控喇叭找不到她想要的東西。它先播給她協奏曲的開場樂章， 然後在另一次嘗試中播了第二樂章，但都不是第三樂章。 Exasperated, Kalyanaraman Marcello gave up. 憤怒的卡利亞拿拉曼．馬切羅放棄了。 “Just play something else!” she recalled saying. 「就播點別的吧！」她記得自己這麼說。 Her frustration may be familiar to fans of classical music in the streaming age. The algorithms of Spotify, Apple and Amazon are carefully engineered to steer listeners to pop hits, and Schubert and Puccini can get lost in the metadata. 對串流媒體時代的古典音樂愛好者來說，她的挫折感並不陌生。Spotify，蘋果和亞馬遜的演算法是經過精心設計的，引導聽眾點擊熱門歌曲，而舒伯特與普契尼則會迷失在描述資料中。 Classical music has always been a specialized corner of the music business, with a discerning clientele and few genuine blockbusters. But by some measures the genre has suffered in the shift to streaming. While 2.5% of album sales in the United States are classical music, it accounts for less than 1% of total streams, according to Alpha Data, a tracking service. 古典音樂一直是音樂產業的一個專業領域，有著挑剔的客戶且很少有真正熱賣的唱片，但從某種程度上來說，此一音樂類型在轉向串流市場時受到挫折。根據追蹤服務公司Alpha Data指出，美國唱片銷量雖有2.5％是古典音樂，但它在整體串流市場的占比不到1％。 Two new companies, Idagio and Primephonic, see an opportunity in the disconnect. Both are challenging the big platforms by offering streaming services devoted to classical music, with playlists that push Martha Argerich over Ariana Grande, and databases tailored to the nuances of the genre. 兩家新成立的公司Idagio與Primephonic在這種斷線中看到了商機。兩家都透過專門提供古典音樂串流服務方式來挑戰大型平台，有著將阿格麗希排在亞莉安娜．格蘭德之上的播放列表，以及依據音樂類型細微差別量身訂做的數據庫。 “The mission we are on is to turn the tide for classical music the way Spotify has done for pop,” said Thomas Steffens, the chief executive of Primephonic, which is based in Amsterdam and went online last fall. 總部設於阿姆斯特丹、去年秋天上線的Primephonic執行長托瑪士．史特芬斯說：「我們的使命是以Spotify為流行樂所做的那樣翻轉古典音樂。」 For most of the music on Spotify or Apple Music, a listing of artist, track and album works fine. But critics of the status quo argue that the basic architecture of the classical genre — with nonperforming composers and works made up of multiple movements — is not suited to a system built for pop. 對Spotify或Apple Music上的大部分音樂來說，歌手、曲目與專輯的列表運作得很好，但批評現狀的人認為，古典音樂類別的基本架構並不適合於為流行樂而建的體系。該類別的作曲家並不表演，且作品由多個樂章組成。 Source article: https://udn.com/news/story/6904/4047663     更多Podcast單元: 每日英語跟讀Podcast，就在http://www.15mins.today/daily-shadowing 精選詞彙 VOCAB Podcast，就在https://www.15mins.today/vocab 語音直播 15mins Live Podcast, 就在https://www.15mins.today/15mins-live-podcast 文法練習 In-TENSE Podcast，就在https://www.15mins.today/in-tense 用email訂閱就可以收到通勤學英語節目更新通知。   老師互動信箱: ask15mins@gmail.com 商業合作洽詢: 15minstoday@gmail.com  

So privileged to introduced my guest today one of the greats, pianist, musicologist and educator Professor Tibor Szasz. He has given over 1000 solo, concerto, and chamber music performances all over the world. His recordings of Beethoven, Chopin, Liszt, Mendelssohn, Schubert, and Bartók have been issued in the United States and Germany. Tibor Szász holds a Doctor of Musical Arts in piano performance from the University of Michigan, and is a Tenured professor of piano at the Hoshschule fur Music Freiburg in Germany. ----- 0:48 How old were you when you started playing the piano 1:42 Was it a weekly lesson or multiple times a week? 2:18 How many hours a day did you practice? 3:08 What kind of music did you play growing up? 4:25 Do you have Absolute or Perfect Pitch? 6:20 Did you get rid of your perfect pitch? 6:59 What do you make of different tunings? 10:31 Is there a difference between 440Hz and 432Hz? 11:31 What is your perspective of equal temperament vs other tunings? 16:57 Did you improvise as a child growing up? 19:49 Was there a prejudice against improvisation in your career? 23:04 Touring with Béla Bartók's son in 1977 28:22 Was his son much older than you at the time? 34:11 Carnegie Hall debut in 1977 35:57 Did you meet Vladimir Horowitz? 37:49 What did Horowitz think about your performance of the Liszt Sonata? 40:09 Enraging Horowitz at a Q&A 41:07 Does being Hungarian give you greater insight into Liszt's music? 42:32 Beethoven article about basso continuo in the Emperor Concerto 47:25 Did Beethoven abolish improvising cadenzas in concertos? 49:25 The disappearance of continuo in the Romantic concerto 51:55 Robert Levin's reaction to your Continuo article and your relationship with him 52:20 Were there other concert pianists who could read figure bass? 55:31 CPE Bach who said that the Harpsichord's absence could be felt if it didn't play continuo 56:31 Do find that most pianists do not realize continuo notation in concertos in the modern age? 57:27 Isn't Urtext supposed to be THE authentic musical text of the composition? 1:00:57 What is the definition of Il Filo? 1:02:49 What are these building blocks in Il Filo? 1:03:43 How do you get better at developing Il Filo? 1:05:27 How does a student learn basso continuo? 1:07:06 How would you reform music education? 1:10:07 Wrapping Up 1:10:47 Where can people find you?

Another chance to hear Daniel Kaheneman, interviewed by Kirsty Young in August 2013. Widely acknowledged as one of the world's most influential living psychologists, his many years of study have centred on how and why we make the decisions we do. As a child, he lived in Nazi occupied France and he says that, from a young age, he already had a pretty good idea that he wanted to be an academic. He says "My mother had a big influence ... in fact I credit her with the fact that I became a psychologist ... because she got me interested in people and listening to gossip. I've been fascinated by gossip ever since." DISC ONE: Don MacLean - American Pie DISC TWO: Tino Rossi - Bohémienne aux Grands Yeux Noirs DISC THREE: Shirat Hanoded (the wanderer’s song) sung by Betty Klein DISC FOUR: Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto, 2nd movement, performed by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Frederick Stock with Arthur Schnabel on piano DISC FIVE: Danny Kaye - Ugly Duckling DISC SIX: The Beatles - Eleanor Rigby DISC SEVEN – Mozart’s Clarinet Quintet in A Major DISC EIGHT: Bach Piano Suite – played by Daniel’s grandson Producer: Cathy Drysdale.

A bluesy improvisation on the theme from the slow movement of Beethoven's Emperor Concerto inevitably leads me down the path of noninevitability. But why did it lead me back to Leonard Bernstein for the 2nd episode out of the last four? I mean, I love Lennie and all, but really, I don't normally think about him two out of four times I'm thinking about things. And yet here he is again. The reason is that the 3rd motif of the aforementioned Beethoven slow movement is basically the same as the opening of Bernstein's equally gorgeous tune Somewherefrom West Side Story. Bernstein, in fact, said that he borrowed the theme from the concerto. Which is fine. But. It's not exactly the same, is it? The 5th note of Bernstein's theme (on the word "us") is different, and that small difference leads the tune somewhere else entirely. And this leads me back to the point I mentioned in Episode 9—that all of these supposedly meaningful connections between disparate pieces of music are not that big of a deal, certainly not epiphany-worthy. They're just more evidence that there are a limited amount of lyrical melodies available in our universe. Happily, though, there are unlimited variations on those basic themes. So it's not so much the immediatetheme that matters as what comes after it. Links Mentioned: Emperor ConcertoThis is a recording with Bernstein conducting and the great Rudolph Serkin at the piano. (This is on Apple music, but you can find the same on Spotify, Tidal, etc.) Something I notice right away: when the piano enters at around 1:41, it has an improvisational feel. Which reminds me of a salient fact about this period of music. Composers like Mozart and Beethoven, both virtuoso pianists, often didn't write out many sections of the piano parts in their concertos, particularly the cadenzas, until after the fact, when it came time to publish. Mozart, in particular, whose late concertos are absurdly beautiful, rarely wrote out the piano part at all before the first performance. He was either improvising, playing the part he had in his head, or probably some combination of both. This should remind us that the music of that period was far more "improvised" than we tend to think nowadays, when "classical" music has been put on a pedestal, objectified, and consecrated like the god of a major religion. SomewhereThis is Barbara Streisand's recording from her 1985 BroadwayAlbum. Very 1980s in its production, excess, and the goddamn Phil Colinsesque gated snare drum. But, holy crap, that voice—one of the greatest in recorded history—transcends everything. Follow: Podcast Homepage Episode Transcript Subscribe on Apple Podcasts Bandcamp Page Patreon Page Twitter Peter Saltzman Website Facebook Contact: info@petersaltzman.com Episode 12 Transcription: [MUSIC] And I’ll stop right there because I realized it was going down a path where it could only get worse. Now, some of you may recognize that theme. It’s an improvisation on the second slow movement of Beethoven’s Fifth Piano Concerto, the Emperor, and I occasionally start improvising on these slow Beethoven movements. Another one is, uh, the violin concerto in d major. [MUSIC] That one. I just will find myself randomly improvising on these themes. They are very soulful, simple, but deeply emotional. Of course, those who know me know that I revere Beethoven as the greatest practitioner of our art, the greatest composer, and that’s part of it. There are other, perhaps lesser composers who have equally strong themes, but there’s something so fundamental about these slow Beethoven movements. All the complexity in his first movements generally and often the last movements of Sonatas, symphonies, concertos leads to a need for simplicity in the slower movements, Song-likemovements. So they lend themselves to interpretation in an improvisational setting because fundamentally they’re songs and as someone who grew up playing jazz, the foundation of improvisation in jazz, of course, is the song, popular song, particularly the early to mid period of jazz going back say to Ellington and through the bebop era, through the even post bop up to the modern era of Coltrane and Miles. Mostly we’re dealing with songs as the foundation for building larger compositions, meaning the song is the vehicle to create something bigger than the song. This is no different than what Beethoven or Mozart or Haydn or Shubert we’re doing back in the late 18th, early 19th century, using the song as the foundation and this is all the more true in the slower movements because they are literally song like. Whereas in some of the more complex, faster opening movements, the so called Sonata Allegro movements, while there is still a connection to song, it’s more about motif, usually shorter motifs like and and basically Mr Beethoven builds the entire movement on those. Three g’s and one e flat. He builds the whole thing on a short motif, which is not to say there are not song elements in it, but that it’s primarily about developing that very short motif in numerous and ingenious ways. But you notice that he follows that very intense driving complex first movement with a song. [MUSIC] That was the slow movement of the Fifth Symphony. [MUSIC] That doesn’t work quite as well as a vehicle for improvisation. And at least for me. But it does highlight my point about the song as the basis of developing musical ideas, particularly in slow movements. One of the things in a jazz, you had to prove your mettle with the ability to play up tempo, be bop tunes like Confirmation… [MUSIC] And be able to improvise on those changes as we call them, chord changes. And you had to be able to play the modal tunes like So What? [MUSIC] And improvise on those, uh, single chord or two cord tunes. But the sign of a truly mature player was, can you cut it on a ballad? Can you make music on a slow tempo? A very songful type of movement. So once you got beyond the kind of athletic demonstrations in the faster, more complex movements, what could you do when you brought the lights low and it wasn’t about a lot of notes, too many notes as the emperor said in Amadeus. That of course is a movie, not real life. So what can you do with something like this… [MUSIC] That’s not an actual tune. Just giving a example of a slow jazz ballad. I try to avoid too many actual tunes that are not in the public domain so I don’t have to pay licensing fees to be honest, copyright laws being what they are. But getting back to Beethoven, the slow movement of the emperor concerto. In an earlier version iteration of this podcast, believe it was the first episode a friend came over. We were considering using him as a kind of counterpoint to our JingleJews episode because he came up, this is Marc Stopek. He came up with the idea of jingle Jewswith a cartoon from several years ago, which got him into a lot of trouble even though he was Jewish—and still is. But during that recording session Marc, we were somehow talking about Leonard Bernstein again and he mentioned somewhere along the line that the theme from “SOMEWHERE” from West Side Story that Bernstein said that he got it from the slow movement of the Emperor Concerto. I had never really thought about this connection, but if you’ll notice the second or third phrase of that piece, let’s do it again. I’ll do it in the original key. [MUSIC] You can hear there’s a place for us. I’m not going to sing it right now cause that key is too high for this time in the morning [MUSIC] and so on. Mark pointed this out and I immediately pulled out my score because I have the complete Beethoven concertos and symphonies and Sonatas and all that stuff on my bookshelf here. Pull out my score and checked it out. And he was right. There’s a connection between those themes, and apparently Leonard himself said that’s where he got it. Uh, so I suppose in the modern world, contemporary copyright laws being what they are, he would have been sued right there. Fortunately Beethoven’s work is all in the public domain. Unlike Bernstein’s work, which may never be in the public domain because they keep extending copyright laws out into perpetuity through the known universe. Anyway, I pulled out the score and started playing it and Marc was incredibly impressed that I could just do that. I’m not, Why shouldn’t I be able to do that? I’m a composer. I studied all those works very intently back in the day when I was in my teens and twenties. That’s how I learned to compose…by Primarily studying Beethoven and the rest. What I thought about after that encounter with Marc was the absurdity of this notion that that one thing in the Beethoven Concerto, Bernstein somehow came up with the melody based on that. He may have or may not have because the truth is it’s not exactly the same. One goes like this, the Beethoven [MUSIC] and what is Bernstein do? He goes [MUSIC] so it’s really four notes that are exactly the same. Otherwise, it’s completely different. And this gets back to a point of mine in an earlier podcast, I believe it was called, Everything Relates to Everything Else. And so what. That’s my point. So what? Speaking of, so what … [MUSIC] It’s four notes, man, it’s not that big of a deal. If we’re getting to the point where we’re saying Bernstein owes Beethoven for those four notes, I mean, folks, you could come up with a million themes on those four notes. [MUSIC] Hmm. Well, it is kind of a distinctive four notes.

David Afkham makes his highly anticipated return to conduct the CSO in Beethoven's noble Emperor Concerto and Dvořák's dramatic Seventh Symphony. “Afkham rocked Orchestra Hall with an exciting debut. The audience was up on its feet in an instant, roaring for more” (Chicago Tribune).

In his new film Hunt for the Wilderpeople, Sam Neill stars as a grumpy New Zealand farmer forced to go on the run with a Maori kid who thinks he's a gangster. He discusses the film, his acting mentor James Mason and starring in one of the lowest grossing feature films ever. Frederick Forsyth has announced he's stopping writing, partly because he's now too old to travel to the settings of his thrillers. Sharon Bolton, who researched the Falkland Islands from Britain for her novel Little Black Lies, and Stephanie Merritt, who visited Paris and Prague for her historical fiction thrillers, discuss whether writers must travel to their books' settings to really capture the feel of a place. Nicholas Marston, Professor of Music Theory and Analysis at King's College, Cambridge talks about a recently discovered musical 'doodle' by Beethoven which might tell us more about his most celebrated works, the Emperor Concerto. Writer Michael Bird has written a book called Vincent's Starry Night which sets out to ignite young people's imagination through storytelling. Teacher Caroline Osborne believes a proper understanding of art history is a life skill which is as important as literacy and numeracy. Both join Samira to discuss how best to teach children about the history of art. Presenter: Samira Ahmed Producer: Rachel Simpson.

A Chance Encounter: Reality? Ben's the last in line at the convenience store across the street. He appears to be conversing with someone, but no one is speaking to him. These people find better deals here, across the way from that 1-2-3-4-5 star hotel. Better deals on both coffee and cigarettes, Georgie announces. “Shhh. Shut up, Georgie. Get out of my head.” Hotel gift shops are for those in a hurry and for those who don't care much for variety or value. “I never shop there. Guests shouldn't either.” Ben gets a medium coffee and a pack of smokes, along with his change, from the clerk. He tears open the fresh pack of smokes, juggling the medium coffee in his other hand. He steps out the door, glancing at the profile of a woman sitting on the bench outside. She is heartbreakingly beautiful. Suddenly, Ben fumbles. He drops two quarters on the pavement. “What are the chances of that?” she chuckles. You're almost completely blind and deaf. Almost completely, Georgie points out. “I know. Why?” Because, Ben. Because. We're in the presence of a naturally beautiful older woman. It's destiny. Fate. She's the One. “This always happens to me, especially if she's wearing open-toed shoes.” “Excuse me?” the lady murmurs. As she is. “I'd lose my senses completely.” As you have. As you do. “As I am. Oh God, I hope she hasn't got the slightest imperfection of either character or . . . what's the word?” Physique. She is just gorgeous, Ben. Isn't she? Shoot. Here she is coming ‘round the mountain. Here she comes. The lady stands, approaching cautiously. “Are you okay?” she asks. Listen, Ben. Can you hear her? She's got that Plain Jane style, that quietly rapturous voice you crave. Ben suddenly finds himself thrown backwards. I wake up early for once. By 8:30 am, I've already walked the ocean shoreline and am on my way to the convenience store to buy a cup of coffee and a pack of smokes. It is windy. I am almost blown away. I hold onto my bright blue lampshade hat with my left hand for about a block, until I step behind the local hotel and it screens the big ocean breeze. The Sea Port Hotel is right on the water. Some hotel guests are in line before me at the convenience store across the street. They would find better deals there on both coffee and cigarettes. Hotel gift shops are for those in a hurry and for those who don't care much for variety or value. I never shop there. Guests shouldn't either. I get my change and tear open the fresh pack of smokes with a medium coffee in my other hand. Then I fumble the smokes, the coffee, and the change. I drop 50 cents on the pavement. “What are the chances of that?” I hear. I become almost completely blind and deaf. I know I am in the presence of a naturally beautiful older woman. This whole blackout/flashback kick is usual, especially if the beautiful older woman is wearing open-toed shoes. I'd lose my senses altogether if she had the slightest imperfection of either character or physique. “What are the chances of what?” I answer. My own voice echoes strangely in the darkness of my mind. “You were just singing ‘Hotel California',” she says. “I heard you.” It must've been playing on the radio while I showered this morning. She was humming the melody, too. I shut up. I look down. She scrapes something off her heel against the steps. “Aw! I stepped in somebody's gum,” she moans. I pull out a fresh smoke. “I think it's a Lifesaver,” I tell her. She discovers that I am right. “But you were singing the same song as me, weren't you?” she persists. “I don't know,” I explain. “I don't remember.” And here she is. She's brought such a Perplexity into my world. My senses collect every drop of her data. Right then, the bright lights of her jewelry flashes bury themselves in the nostalgic depths of my imagination and memory. “Well, don't be embarrassed,” she suggests. “That's amazing!” “Yeah,” I say. A vintage black Ferrari pulls out of the lot with its top down. Heidi gives it no attention. The male driver (in his 50s) probably suffers from the same premature ejaculation that the car does, backfiring. I grunt at the thought. “Hey, you live down the corner of the next block. You're always smoking cigarettes out front,” she says. I confess, “Yeah. Probably. Maybe.” “I waved to you the other day,” she recalls, “and you just turned away.” She must have recognized the big blue hat. “I'm really groggy in the mornings,” I admit. She smiles. “You're really anti-social.” I correct her. “Not anti-social. Non-social, maybe.” Her face lights up. She starts playing with her hair. “I was just on my way to get my nails done. I've been over at the Sea Port for the past week. God, it's this convention for work. It's so boring.” “What's your name?” I ask. “Heidi Berillo.” Heidi has a nametag on. She must've forgotten. “What's yours?” she asks. “Ben Schreiber,” I say, pointing to her nametag. “I was just checking to see if you were a liar.” I stick my hand out. “You've got a firm grip, Mr Schreiber,” she says. She laughs. Later that afternoon, we are hitting it off like we've known each other for years. “I can't believe you've never given a girl a pedicure,” she scoffs. “Really?” I reply. (I do like feet.) I want to tell her that I am a virgin at making love to feet and toes. Hers are perfect. Heidi's hotel room is strewn with papers and folders. And felt-tip pens. After she lights a joint, she gets a little feisty. Her hair is frizzy and red, and she is wild like my imagination. Like I imagine her imagination. I puff away on my cigarette. I try to read what she is thinking through her huge green eyes. Which eye cries for good things? Which one doesn't? I am simply in the moment. I become an observer of myself, observing myself. I'm not my mind. My mind just works for me. Not the other way around. I am enlightened. For once, normal thoughts slip in, one after another. It becomes easier to focus. I'm not busy judging, analyzing, and making decisions. I am completely focused on Heidi. I think, who's her dealer? Where's this woman from? What does she tell herself about herself? I get the impression from Heidi's eyes that she is experiencing something profoundly empty. Somehow, she is dramatically unfulfilled. She is left with voided hope—perhaps a little like me. She looks me right in the eyes. We have a perfect moment, a true connection. Unfortunately, it ends abruptly. I try not to pry into her life, but I am curious to know more about her. I know I'm not always the best at personal interaction. I'm not sure what is appropriate, sometimes. She asks a lot about me, but I don't say much back. Heidi asks me about all my confusion, about what I want out of my time here on earth. Big philosophical stuff. I tell her all of my needs are already met. I tell her I've already lived my life. “I've had enough experiences with myself. All that crap.” And I tell her about my Pops, who always worked hard and always provided my family with wealth. I tell her about my Pops, who meant the world to me. She calls my ‘I've-lived-my-life-already' bit bullshite, and takes a drag off my cigarette. “Are you happy?” she finally asks. “I'm not sure if happiness is what I'm really after,” I say. I tell her I am trying to actualize myself as “a writer,” a concept that is still completely muddy to me. I have idealized this image of myself in my mind, over the past 10 years, but the image keeps changing. In reality, I am writing mostly in my head, right at that moment. My friends and family want me to put something on paper, to complete something, to achieve something. I don't think it matters anymore. “Why not?” asks Heidi. “It's like I'm too far away, in time, from when I was actively participating in things and enjoying them while they were happening.” “How old are you, Ben?” “Thirty.” Heidi is under the veil of drugs, but she's not paranoid or tripped-out or anything. Inside Heidi, there is somebody genuine, and I can see inside her, just barely make her out. There is somebody real in there. Funny, that's always good to know. The alarm clock radio is tuned to Billy Joel's “An Innocent Man.” Heidi says she has only recently figured out her life, at age 40. I don't believe her, and I tell her so. “I don't believe you,” I say. She says she takes things very seriously. She says that every encounter happens for a reason. “Every situation, every consequence. Everything,” she adds. I wonder what my role in her life really is. Somehow, this woman, whom I've just met, knows me so well already. I've really missed that. People usually take very little interest in other people. But with Heidi, I feel honored and appreciated. Still, I feel like I don't really deserve the luxury. Heidi finishes her joint and pockets the roach. She slips off her open-toed leather shoes and stretches her toes. Her light blue polish has peeled off her nails, like an adolescent girl's. “I need a pedicure,” Heidi says, smiling playfully. “Now!” Toto's “Africa” airs next on the bedside radio: “Frightened of this thing that I've become,” somebody sings. I paint her toes with New Blue toenail polish and she falls asleep. I write a note: “Thank you. Ben.” I watch her sleep for half an hour. Then I write my home phone number below the note in my usual kiddie-print handwriting and walk out, not really knowing what else to do. Heidi has a lecture to attend later on. Later, I sit in my bedroom, still listening to the radio. “Hurry, boy, she's waiting there for you.” The phone rings. The machine picks up. Click. “Hey, Ben, I was just thinking of you.” It's all about me now, isn't it? I can't help it. I take a carefree stroll on the beach, remembering the best parts of growing up. They flood my mind with nostalgia. I try to remain in the present, but I am stuck in the past. The moonshine lights up the sand, and the whitecaps, that break 20 feet out. The tide is low, the rolling is a little choppy, but the wave sounds are soothing. I remember how rich and full my life was before. Before. Before what? I wonder what went wrong. I walk along the water's edge to find some inner peace. I have always enjoyed wandering around, not doing much. I'm comfortable in my imagination, or I'm comfortable nowhere. I think: Has love ever made one whole year of your life miserable? I wonder if my year of misery is approaching. It is nighttime. I start to dream. Heidi and I are lost in our thoughts; we take in all that surrounds us. We are walking the neighborhood sidewalks, holding hands, until we come to the beach where the whitecaps crash right at our feet. Huge seagulls with wide-open wingspans swoop in for their final feast of the day. The next morning, the beach is empty. The sky is gray, flat and still, surreal. The gulls fly low in flocks as the long Pacific rollers wash in and out. We revisit the past. But whose past? Oh my God! The Living Colorful Beauty is so intense. I just can't stand it. I speak on the phone with Heidi. “I was downstairs at one of the lectures. It was sooo boring,” Heidi says. “Boring, huh?” “But I got several compliments on my new pedicure,” she teases. “Thank God,” I say, letting out a sigh of relief. I stand in the empty hotel room that weekend, bewildered. It had been quickly vacated—I could tell. In the bathroom, there is a wet towel lying on the floor, crumpled up from wet feet with a woman's footprints embedded. Empty single-serving soap bottles make a mess on the corner shelf. A Mexican housekeeper readies the room for its next guests. Back at my place, I play the message player back again. “So I thought you might like to know what a great job you did, and on such short notice, too. You were just in time for the only panel discussion I really came here for in the first place.” Her telephone had sat on the unmade bed with a box of tissues beside it. Across the street from me is a fishing pier. A middle-aged couple walks hand in hand to the end of the pier. They stare out at the freight barges sailing into port. There is a snack and bait stand nearby, but it hasn't opened yet. At the base of the pier, a pay phone dangles off its hook. There is some litter rolling around the streets. Not much, though. “I'm meeting some cool people here, but a lot of them are really boring. This whole convention thing is really dull.” The night before, Heidi and I shared a cherry Slush Puppie on the pier. She popped a few Tylenols because, she said, her head was still throbbing slightly from all the boredom and ennui lingering over her past week at the psych conference. I declined the Tylenol. I was still awe-struck by the whirling seagulls and the shooting stars. Only a few fishermen are out with their gear; it's still pretty early. An Asian man pulls up a small fish. The thing must be contaminated—the seawater down below is brown and slimy—but his boy grabs the bucket anyway. That small radioactive fish is a keeper. “So, some of my friends and I wanted to hang out by the bar and talk medicine, but I was hoping we could finish our conversation from last night. I really enjoyed walking the town with you.” After the Slushie, we stopped by my place and shared a Winston. I invited her in, but she declined. We took a drive down the coast under the moon instead. My house is empty; nobody is up yet. The whole neighborhood is still asleep. A white van drives by. A newspaper is tossed on the manicured lawn out front. “At least before I leave tomorrow,” she said. “Oh, and the weather is so much nicer out here.” Sunlight bleeds horizontally through the closed blinds in my bedroom. Pretty soon I am sound asleep. “I was thinking about how brilliant you are,” Heidi told me on the answering machine. “And, jeez, you have so much talent. People look at you and they see big things.” Expect big things. That's what she meant. Big things, little things. It doesn't matter. It's a stress I can't handle, people expecting things. Anything. Not from me. I live in my head. Alone. I buy porno, coffee, and smokes from the snack and bait shop next door, and come home. Jerk off. Alone. I'm okay with that. The clock on Georgie's nightstand reads 10:30 am. I wake up and glance at Georgie. I don't wake him. I crawl out of bed. The sky has cleared up a bit over the beach, and the beach is packed with kite-fliers. A dozen kites glide over the blue-fogged coast, bright with color and wonder. The hotel room next door is clean by now. Ready for new guests. Downstairs, a conference is just letting out. The checkout line is already out the door. Most of the guests wear nametags on their blazers. The bellboys are busier than hell. There are dozens of fishermen on the pier. More men than fish. “What would you do if you knew you couldn't fail?” Heidi had asked. “I love that question.” I walk the beach, having no clue how to answer. Most of the neighborhood seems to be outdoors. Most people wear light jackets or hooded sweatshirts. They walk their dogs. (Parenthetical Pet Peeve) Tiny white dogs with brown runny stuff around their eyes. They walk their children. Alley cats run loose on the sidewalks, and slide underneath the cars parked on one-way streets. A few cars pass by slowly, going maybe 10 miles an hour. Pest control trucks park outside at least one house per block, it seems like. There is hardly any crime, violence, or vandalism in this part of the city. Maybe some drugs, some domestics; you know, whatever goes down inside people's private residences—the stuff we never know about. “Grab hold of just one project and get in there with your teeth and see what happens,” she had said. “Why not? If somebody wants a story about you and you're the only one who knows it well enough, then go for it! You would do the world a favor. Hell, do it for me! I'd love to hear about all that crap, as you call it.” A small gate leads to my front door. It is a charming little pad, perfect for a loner like me. “So what if your dad is some big, well-to-do asshole? This is your chance to shine,” she coaxed. “Just go for it!” It was really nice to have some woman cheering me on. It was the closest thing I'd ever known to true love. Heidi mentioned that she'd found the perfect little gift in the hotel gift shop. She wanted me to call her later. The orange sunset flashes between two buildings downtown. I sprawl out on the beach. The sun is setting earlier than usual, I think. Why did I just leave like that? What about going back? Somehow, I just couldn't change my mind about Heidi. Reality hit me really hard, and I was scared to go after her, like a real man. Time stops for just a few exquisite seconds, maybe five or six, until I can't take it much longer. I am self-aware in my newly discovered growth spurt. I am happy, I guess. I'm so happy, I start to cry—just because I am feeling good. Just because I can. Just until I need to stop. I start to really appreciate having met Heidi. Maybe I'm still working through the obsession with Claudia. From the beach, I head back home. I'm already starting to have conversations with Heidi in my head without her being there or being able to answer me. How lucky she is! Is this love? Beep. “Hey, Ben, I was just thinking of you. I was downstairs at one of the lectures.” Beep. “Hey, Ben, ugh . . .I'm just calling. I'm sorry. It's this stupid conference. I'm not going to go to this class I have in 10 minutes. I'm getting so sick of the same thing over and over again. I'm just in my room taking a bath. Anyway, I'm sorry to bother you. Thanks for letting me vent.” Were we just two shattered souls who ended up trying to save each other in some doomed fashion? The door swings shut from inside the house. I never get calls. And when I do, I always miss them. “Hello?” I answer. “Ben?” “You must look so beautiful in that bathtub,” I say. “That's one of the nicest things a guy has ever said to me.” Back at her place, her lovely feet await my attention. She doesn't refuse when I administer an oral foot massage while she is still in the bath. “Right on the arches, Ben,” she cries. I love every minute of it. Her feet quiver with delight. Her toes stretch awkwardly. “I'm . . . sick . . . I'm dizzy,” she moans. “And you're incredible.” Oh, the gibberish we speak in ecstasy, moaning meaningless words. “Sick-dizzy,” she giggles intensely. She giggles her orgasm, gibbers and moans her pleasure. I understand her, in some fucked-up way. Afterwards, Heidi lies quietly asleep, on top of the white bed covers. She is wearing men's pajamas. I head back home. We hadn't made love. She must think of me as the friendly type, like most other women do. But that is fine. I'm used to that. Heidi is a little nutty, but I like that, too. She is a mess. She is so innocently a disaster. She is the little Perplexity in my head. I get home at 3 am. I've always loved the night, when everyone else is asleep and the world is all mine. It's quiet and dark—the perfect time for creativity. All of a sudden, inspiration comes. Things are clearer. My ideas make more sense. I can finally start to type out, with a little passion, some interesting letters on the screen. I'll have to begin the story from here, with me, as ridiculous as that sounds. It's been forever since I actually sat down to write again. Does this mean my writer's block has broken? Or am I just fooling myself again? “I never meant to be such a narcissist,” I cry. “I just can't get away from myself.” I've always wanted somebody like Heidi to love. But I still don't know what I need. Maybe I just need one tiny success, one simple thing. Maybe I just need something in this life that will work out in the long run. Maybe I just need to complete something, to get over some things. Maybe I just need something good to last. God probably took delight in orchestrating me, that day. I'll call it a day of personal growth. I never hear from Heidi or see her again. And now my mind runs wild with quiet confusion. The little affair we had felt so soothing to the senses. I'll wake up tomorrow, thinking about today. The next day I'll wake up thinking about tomorrow. Am I really just a perverted sex addict, like maybe I think I am? Or is this really some kind of love? (You tell me, Dr C. Please.)Dear Diary:I think we are all good souls, all of us, even me, even if only deep down inside.The Emperor Concerto, Second Movement He slaps the snooze button. Half hit. Half miss. It's all gross. He's sweaty and ashamed. He can't even get up. Another fucking horrible day in the life of . . . me. Georgie Gust. And then laziness creeps in. Georgie starts hating himself. He starts to laugh. “Snooze, damn it!” he tells the alarm clock. He always thought a snooze was a good 9, 10 minutes. Georgie actually timed the motherfucker several times. This piece of crap mostly gives him 9 or 10 minutes of extra sleep time. This day, that day, though, the thing can't even give him two. Cheap, damn thing. It's 1:30 pm. Even at this hour, so far into the day, he hesitates to open the shades. He hopes it is not all dismal and gloomy outside. He's trying to picture himself somewhere out there, in the world. But he just can't picture it. Maybe if he just stays in bed someone else will open the shades, and save Georgie the trouble of discovering the day. He closes his eyes, falling half asleep. He finds himself in a non-smoking room at the local three-star hotel. He's hotel-hopping. He needs to get away again. We always need to get away, Georgie and me, even if it's only in our head. Geographical change is the easiest fix. Georgie opens his eyes. He can't figure out where that three-star hotel has gone. He's already forgotten—he's still at home. The next day, our place now clean, Georgie still can't get out of his head. He thinks how much he dreads, how much he resents, the effort it takes to take another shower, brush his teeth, and clean himself up, again and again. He just did that yesterday—he shouldn't have to do it again today. Once should be enough. Once and forever. Now Georgie craves something different. He's desperate for something new. He would kill for something new. We both would. (But who?) This particular morning, the razor burn on Georgie's neck looks like a leper's chafed jock-itch. He can't wait the couple of days for the skin on his neck to heal, but at least he won't have to spend the time and effort to shave again—and that's comforting. After all, the longer he lets his facial hair grow out, the easier it is to shave. After all these years, Georgie still can't find the right shaving method. Currently, he's on a Panasonic electric for the first layer, then a straight edge without lotion for the second part. Back to a smaller electric beard trimmer, level one, for his goatee shadow. No lotion. No cream. No soap. With so much nausea, angst, worry, anxiety, and despair welling up inside him, Georgie is suffocating in life. His pathetic and abused gut keeps getting filled with an extra load of explosive anxiety. It's worse than tickle torture. He hasn't taken any risks for some time now. The rut where he's been trapped has felt so safe. He's had no view; the walls were high, the rut was deep. All Georgie could see was up and out. Up and away. (But away from what? Away where? More unanswerable questions, huh?) Most things and events really don't have much meaning for him anymore. Georgie needs meaning more than anything else. But meaning is exactly what Georgie hasn't got. And he probably won't get it, either. Georgie really doesn't know what the day will bring. The only thing he knows is his sloppy routine of rituals: smoking, shiting, showering, shaving, fixing his hair, flossing, brushing his teeth, taking his meds, and organizing. He uses a ton of paper creating lists of things to do, things to accomplish, so he can feel productive. His father tells him it's important to be productive. So he tries. He really does. He looks at the bathroom mirror with the sticker in the corner that reads: JUST TRUST ME. Right. Like Georgie's going to trust any of the shitey-assed people he calls friends. Georgie's pathetic reflection looks back at him from the empty mirror. He has this huge ego blowing up his head, like an untied condom, until it screwballs up and away. He guesses he looks all right these days. No, really. He looks good. He just doesn't know what to do about it. He's so glam rock; he's so smart. It's like he has Asperger's, or some kind of artistic autism. But he's not sick. His doctor knows that. (Doesn't she, Dr C?) He can't deal with a label like depression or stress. He feels much worse than that. He feels like shite. (Do you have a Latin name for shite, Dr C?) When he shaves, the razor makes love to Georgie's skin. When he pees, he aims for the silent section on the toilet's water edge. Afterwards, he usually farts, shites, and pees again, while he's sitting a little too long on the toilet. Georgie melts into the quality time he takes, thinking on the porcelain tank. His thoughts are trivial. They seem important, but they're nothing he would ever act on. He is on good behavior. It's just a lot of theory. A CD is usually skipping while Georgie's in the shower. In the shower, he strips down to his naked self. He comes into his true element. He can't see a thing without his glasses, and he can't tell you how many wristwatches he's lost because they don't have waterproofing. But that's okay. Waterproof watches are never appealing to the eye.(Parenthetical Pet Peeve) Smudged eyeglasses. There's no washcloth. He washes himself by hand with shampoo—not soap. Shampoo works better because Georgie is hairy, like me. But I don't wash with shampoo. I use hand-milled, organic soap from Northern California—Sunset Cedar, from a shop called Patti's Organics. Georgie smiles in the shower because he was born a man. The shower is the one place where he's rarely sexually charged. He thinks of himself as a connoisseur, a connoisseur of filth (so soap does not appeal). Women's dirty fingernails, their smelly anal fetishes, anything nasty—her already-smoked cigarettes for the shrine, the smell of gasoline and melted hair follicles. Filth. Georgie hates dropping the soap. He hates all the bottles in the shower. They confuse him and make him think these products are really useful when he knows they're not.(Parenthetical Pet Peeve) Long fingernails. Worse, long toenails. He hates falling in the shower. God, what else? What else can they do to mess up his day? (What else is there to complain about?) They should have a soap dispenser that mixes soap with water, like at a car wash. It would be a time-saving convenience. It would save energy. What an idea! He should patent that, and make a million bucks. Yeah, right, Georgie. Drying off, towels are so coarse and unfitting. Georgie gets water scars in between his toes sometimes.(Parenthetical Pet Peeve) Hangnails. Every day, all this, all that. Everything is still the same. Georgie doesn't change. Nothing does. Neither do I. Same shite, different day, we say. Georgie and me. His feet are a size 12. He wears shoes all the time because his feet embarrass him. He wears blue shoes. That way, he doesn't have to think of how disgusting his own feet are. His legs are still in shape but he wears long pants, no matter how hot the weather gets. His legs embarrass him, too. Otherwise, he is your generic, overweight pumpkin. His plump belly sticks out over his belt. Maybe it's cute and huggie-bearish to some single sex addicts, but to hell if Georgie thinks so. He weighs in around 268. His driver's license says he's 168. The driver's license picture doesn't even look like him, but the photo came out pretty nice. He used to be in shape. Now he just recites affirmations. Now he just tells himself he loves himself just the way he is. It's all bullshite, but it works for him. His passport picture is pleasing. He enjoys looking at himself. Georgie dresses up and blow-dries his hair, and then he primps and curls it. He has these highlights. He has a kind of WASPy, honk-Afro look going on. At least his hair is cool; at least his hair is always having a good day. My hair, now my hair is dark and thick with a bit of a permanent wave. My mother always said it was my best feature. And here I always thought it was my cuddly personality. Georgie should've picked out his clothes the night before. All his full-size shirts and comfortable pants are at the cleaners, and he doesn't fit into the 32s anymore. He went from a “large” to an “extra large” in shirts. Georgie's just started leaving the shirttails out of his pants. He used to tuck them in, neatly, and wear a belt. But no longer. Still, he'll keep the smaller stuff in the closet—the shirts and pants don't fit, but some of the clothes remind him of the past. They have a nostalgic meaning for Georgie. In Georgie's case, too, clothes make the man. (But make him what? I want to know.) An hour later, he's finally dressed. Now for the breakfast order. Like everything else in Georgie's world, breakfast is a chore. He washes the dishes by hand to get his mind off everything else. He can't help feeling like things are falling apart in slow motion. Doing things like that, little things, trivial things, reminds him of being hypnotized. Strolling down the supermarket aisles at midnight with the trippy supermarket music and the paradox of choice everywhere around him. In the grocery store, somehow, time feels different. Georgie's out of orange juice, and the milk will give him gas, but milk goes best with microwave pancakes. Georgie likes his food a little cold, and he dislikes cooking. He presses the “cancel/stop” button twice on the microwave when it's down to two seconds. It's not like he's in any rush. He has all day.(Parenthetical Pet Peeve) Fat free = taste free. His keys are in place. He locks the door without really checking. Georgie's sick and tired of always lock-checking, lock-checking, and then remembering I forget important things after he's already out the door.(Parenthetical Pet Peeve) If I return home, I suddenly get the feeling I didn't lock the door, then find that I did after all. Georgie, I think, could very well be a loser, but what's that say about me? That I'd be a loser of a literary character, too? What's wrong with a whiner? A complainer? An agoraphobic with OCD? Is that me? I catch Georgie out of the corner of my eye and wonder what I've done, giving him all these issues. He swears he's not going to check that lock—but he does, anyway, even though he's just going out for coffee and coming right back. It's not like he's going to plan his whole life, sitting at the counter, sipping his cup of Joe. It's not like he is some romantic poet at the Café Paris. Finally, Georgie lights his first cigarette of the day—a Marlboro Light—and he worries about cancer, like everything else. And puffs away. After his first cigarette comes another cup of coffee, and then another smoke—and a couple of more smokes, after that. He brings along his laptop computer, a pad and pen, and a couple of self-help books with the covers torn off, just in case. Just in case something strikes. He rarely uses any of these things in public. Sometimes he drives to the convenience store and sits in the parking lot. He watches people. He likes people-watching. But he doesn't like people. Go figure. Georgie rarely looks forward to actually dealing with people. But he'll end up running into somebody every time. People get in his way, and they are unavoidable—like signs on the sidewalks, or spills in the elevator. Or sometimes Georgie gets caught in some really important check-in with somebody who really shouldn't care what's up with him. (And neither should Georgie.) All this whining and baby shite gets him nowhere, he knows—but he just keeps bitching. He dreads being in line at the coffee shop again. He gets self-conscious and self-critical around the perfect advertisement-model-types in line ahead of him. They pretend they're holding their noses and standing clear of the stench coming off Georgie's stale, smelly sweater. It reeks of the toxic fumes of tobacco pollution. And they're all so nice and friendly, and trivial, and guarded. Now that's a challenge. Dealing with these people, I mean, without freaking out or throwing a temper tantrum. Still, he's half asleep. Georgie's always half asleep. No matter what I do. Except, of course, when he's thinking of Claudia. She's the only goddamn thing that really makes him feel alive. Georgie is next in line at the coffee shop. Tabitha's working the counter, but Georgie's not paying much attention to her. He's thinking of Claudia. What else?Dear Diary:I just let others say and do what they want—I just keep being me. Well, sort of.

Ludwig van Beethovens 5. Klavierkonzert ist, anders als es sein Beiname "Emperor-Concerto" suggeriert, kein allein von Heroismus geprägtes Werk. Es hat überraschend sanfte, intime Momente. Ulrich Möller-Arnsberg stellt das Starke Stück zusammen mit dem Pianisten Paul Lewis vor.

Christopher's guest is the ebullient Canadian pianist Jon Kimura Parker, a virtuoso star who is also known for his outgoing personality and cheerful sense of humour. Jackie and Christopher discuss Beethoven's "Emperor" Piano Concerto No. 5.

Kirsty Young's castaway this week is the writer J P Donleavy. The author of a dozen novels as well as numerous plays and short stories, he remains best known for his first novel, The Ginger Man, which is widely regarded as a modern classic. Born in 1926 and raised in New York, J P Donleavy was the son of Irish immigrant parents. They told him little of Irish culture when he was growing up but, after the war, he moved to Dublin to take up a place at Trinity College. He was already a skilled boxer when he arrived in Ireland and found that street-fighting was almost a form of public entertainment in the city - and one which he excelled in. Despite Trinity's stature, his student life revolved around drinking, partying, writing and painting. He became friends with Brendan Behan and the legendary Irish writer became the first person to read the completed script of The Ginger Man. Although The Ginger Man was banned in Ireland and expurgated in Britain and America it became a word-of-mouth success. But its publication plunged J P Donleavy into a legal battle that took 20 years to resolve. It was a legal struggle, though, that was worth fighting for - for the past 50 years it has never been out of print.[Taken from the original programme material for this archive edition of Desert Island Discs]Favourite track: 2nd movement of Emperor Concerto by Ludwig van Beethoven Book: 1972 Social Registry of New York Luxury: His own long-handled spoon to make dressings.

Kirsty Young's castaway this week is the writer J P Donleavy. The author of a dozen novels as well as numerous plays and short stories, he remains best known for his first novel, The Ginger Man, which is widely regarded as a modern classic. Born in 1926 and raised in New York, J P Donleavy was the son of Irish immigrant parents. They told him little of Irish culture when he was growing up but, after the war, he moved to Dublin to take up a place at Trinity College. He was already a skilled boxer when he arrived in Ireland and found that street-fighting was almost a form of public entertainment in the city - and one which he excelled in. Despite Trinity's stature, his student life revolved around drinking, partying, writing and painting. He became friends with Brendan Behan and the legendary Irish writer became the first person to read the completed script of The Ginger Man. Although The Ginger Man was banned in Ireland and expurgated in Britain and America it became a word-of-mouth success. But its publication plunged J P Donleavy into a legal battle that took 20 years to resolve. It was a legal struggle, though, that was worth fighting for - for the past 50 years it has never been out of print. [Taken from the original programme material for this archive edition of Desert Island Discs] Favourite track: 2nd movement of Emperor Concerto by Ludwig van Beethoven Book: 1972 Social Registry of New York Luxury: His own long-handled spoon to make dressings.

The castaway in Desert Island Discs this week owns the Daily Telegraph and The Spectator - amongst two or three hundred other newspapers and magazines the world over. He is Canadian-born tycoon Conrad Black, and he'll be talking to Sue Lawley about the notorious misbehaviour of his school days, the tuition his father gave him in the ways of corporate finance and how he views his powerful position in the British establishment.[Taken from the original programme material for this archive edition of Desert Island Discs] Favourite track: Emperor Concerto in E Flat Major Opus 73 by Ludwig van Beethoven Book: The Oxford Book of Verse, especially 'Apologia' (Newman) Luxury: Model of HMS Hood

The castaway in Desert Island Discs this week owns the Daily Telegraph and The Spectator - amongst two or three hundred other newspapers and magazines the world over. He is Canadian-born tycoon Conrad Black, and he'll be talking to Sue Lawley about the notorious misbehaviour of his school days, the tuition his father gave him in the ways of corporate finance and how he views his powerful position in the British establishment. [Taken from the original programme material for this archive edition of Desert Island Discs] Favourite track: Emperor Concerto in E Flat Major Opus 73 by Ludwig van Beethoven Book: The Oxford Book of Verse, especially 'Apologia' (Newman) Luxury: Model of HMS Hood

The castaway in this week's Desert Island Discs is a pillar of the British Establishment, Lord Charteris of Amisfield.Educated at Eton and Sandhurst, he became, at the age of 36, Private Secretary to the young Princess Elizabeth, whom he was to serve for nearly 30 years, retiring only after when, as Queen Elizabeth the Second, she celebrated her Silver Jubilee. After leaving the royal household, he went back to Eton, where he has been Provost for the last 12 years. Among many things, Lord Charteris will be talking to Sue Lawley about the job of Private Secretary to the Queen, and how the Eton of today differs from the Eton he attended as a schoolboy some 50 years ago.[Taken from the original programme material for this archive edition of Desert Island Discs] Favourite track: Emperor Concerto by Ludwig van Beethoven Book: War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy Luxury: Set of wood-carving tools

The castaway in this week's Desert Island Discs is a pillar of the British Establishment, Lord Charteris of Amisfield. Educated at Eton and Sandhurst, he became, at the age of 36, Private Secretary to the young Princess Elizabeth, whom he was to serve for nearly 30 years, retiring only after when, as Queen Elizabeth the Second, she celebrated her Silver Jubilee. After leaving the royal household, he went back to Eton, where he has been Provost for the last 12 years. Among many things, Lord Charteris will be talking to Sue Lawley about the job of Private Secretary to the Queen, and how the Eton of today differs from the Eton he attended as a schoolboy some 50 years ago. [Taken from the original programme material for this archive edition of Desert Island Discs] Favourite track: Emperor Concerto by Ludwig van Beethoven Book: War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy Luxury: Set of wood-carving tools