Liz Denys

My subconscious seems to be running in 6/8 time with the beat on the dotted quarter and 60 beats per minute; at least, whenever I sit down at a piano without sheet music in front of me, I always converge on that setting. Sometimes, I write some of these musings down:

I've mentioned before that I struggle to title compositions, so I titled the short piece above, which reminds me of a Renaissance dance, with another short stanza:

Had I had a fear of heights, maybe,
maybe the view would stick
and reflect in the corner of my eyes.

You can grab a pdf of the score.

I can trace different periods of my life back to the music with which I decided to fill my ears and the stories towards which I let my eyes venture. Rereading tends to bring a part of me back to previous points in times, and occasionally, I partake in this.

But there are few books I revisit often. Because only a few books are composed of words that affect me differently during each read.

L'Insurrection qui vient (The Coming Insurrection) is one of those books. I picked it up just over a year ago at the MIT Press Bookstore on a whim. Little did I know that the book would get so much attention a few weeks later: an impromptu book-reading in New York attended by the police, condemnation on a Fox News broadcast as "the most evil book...in a long, long time", and accusations that it indirectly caused massive raids with helicopters and anti-terrorist police.

The Coming Insurrection examines the tenants of Western politics, philosophy, and lifestyle - and immediately dismisses them. It's not a light read, but it's playfully worded. Even if you are so rooted in your beliefs that the book won't change them, it will shake your way of looking at them because you probably will have never before confronted a view so staunchly opposite that of your upbringing in every single way.

Each time I've read this book, I've been alarmed, confused, put off, you name it. (Even when reading it in the poetic original French.) But even though the words are clear, strong, and ever the same, it pushes me differently each time.

Ramekins aren't just for advanced culinary creations like soufflés and crème brûlées. But as with mathematical proofs, some of the most elegant foods you can prepare in a ramekin are the simplest.

Enter the shirred egg. Don't be intimidated by the word "shirred"; it's just the special term for a baked egg. The yolk is as delightfully runny as in a poached egg, but it's easier than scrambling. And because the egg isn't fried, it's healthier.

I basically treat shirred eggs just as I'd treat poached eggs. The whites even have a similar fluffy texture, though they aren't as thin. In my kitchen, poached eggs usually imply that they are topped with pesto sauce, perhaps mixed with a touch of cream, and shirred eggs aren't much different - I just leave the toast or english muffin to the side. Or in the case of today's breakfast, I omitted the toast for two homemade spiced chocolate biscotti to accompany my cappuccino.

Shirred eggs

Ingredients:

• 2 large eggs
• 1 tablespoon milk
• Butter
• Salt
• Pepper

Preparation:

1. Preheat oven to 325°F.
2. Lightly butter a small (approximately 4 ounce) ramekin. Crack the eggs into the ramekin and top with the milk. If you want, you can top the eggs with a small amount of butter. Season lightly with salt and pepper.
3. Bake until the egg whites are opaque and set (15 to 20 minutes); the yolks will still be slightly wobbly. Serve immediately.

Yields one serving.

Just a few pages off the bustling infinite corridor, there's another hallway, but unlike the infinite, it has four-story-high glass ceilings, my favorite piece favorite piece from the Percent-for-Art Program, and no traffic.

The exterior of building 6C fascinates me. The corridor with the colorful floors of Sol LeWitt's Bars of Color Within Squares connects the outsides of 4, 6, 6C, and 8, and in most places, the hallway would actually just be outside. The ledges of the first floor windows provide convenient benches. The greenhouse-styled ceiling lets in more than enough light for reading, while the pathways above create shaded spots. And when it's too hot or too cold and there aren't clouds in the sky, it's bright, warm, sunny, and just right.

I spend a lot of time thinking about recruitment issues these days. This could be because I'm involved in a few student groups that have been spending a handful of time talking about it lately.

While a good portion of discussion about recruitment is (and should be) focused on "selling" your organization to newcomers, just as much of the discussion should center on clearly defining your organization and what it offers to potential members. A common line of questioning to many of my groups has been the following:

If we claim we are chosen based on values or work towards a set of goals, but we do not display these values or further these goals, then what were we chosen based on and what are we working for? Will others understand the purposes and goals of our organization? How will we "sell" our organization as something based on these values or working towards these goals?

People often don't like to think about this issue because it approaches the "recruitment problem" with "sticks" more than it approaches it with "carrots." I take issue with these concerns because I feel like they put organizations on pins and needles out of the fear that any misstep will ruin their image.

I suggest taking this line of questioning as a basis for discussion, instead of as something requiring the development of new policy.