Music to my ears

To be updated over the next week.

I registered in a Stanford U online course on creativity and the first segment was released around a day ago (living in Korea, I lose track of North American timeline).

The first lecture discussed the innovation engine- which is probably described in the link I gave above.  It is also described in the prof's book, inGenius.

This week's homework is to imagine my life were a music playlist and to design an album cover.  As a bonus I can also make a playlist of up to ten songs - real or imaginary.

I feel myself becoming cynical in my middle age.  I used to be only sarcastic but my cynicism has a grimmer, more despairing edge.  Anyway, I will try to make an album cover and playlist that showcases my sense of humour and fun rather than my less pleasant feelings.

Album cover ideas (sarcastic, cynical):
egg- representing my life as a white man in Asia and problems adapting.

Album cover ideas (positive):
Some of my teaching-driven art, even this picture I drew.

Playlist:
Gotta include Summer of Lovin'  and To be a liberal by Zimmerman and some by Jonathan Coulton: Skullcrusher Mountain and First of May.  Spirit of the West, probably Save this House. Barenaked Ladies: Peterborough and the Kawarthas and Odds Are.  And obviously Doug and Slugs.  That last one may be too obvious, I guess most entries will feature D & S. Alright, Making it work and Who Knows How to Make Love Stay. And, because no one knows I love it, sinfonietta allegretto (Leos Janecek).

I gotta say, this playlist has been a lot of fun and it fits who I am now.  Who'da figured that Barenaked Ladies would have the serious song of the bunch?
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Off topic, but Kottke has a post about the daily rituals of artists.  It links to this post and this book.  From the post:

A habit of stopping when they’re on a roll, not when they’re stuck. Hemingway puts it thus: “You write until you come to a place where you still have your juice and know what will happen next and you stop and try to live through until the next day when you hit it again.” Arthur Miller said, “I don’t believe in draining the reservoir, do you see? I believe in getting up from the typewriter, away from it, while I still have things to say.” With the exception of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart — who rose at 6, spent the day in a flurry of music lessons, concerts, and social engagements and often didn’t get to bed until 1 am — many would write in the morning, stop for lunch and a stroll, spend an hour or two answering letters, and knock off work by 2 or 3. “I’ve realized that somebody who’s tired and needs a rest, and goes on working all the same is a fool,” wrote Carl Jung. Or, well, a Mozart.