Although I’ve only been at university since March (the NZ academic school year is different to the northern hemisphere, school years don’t cross calendrical years), it feels like I’ve been here forever. It’s scary thinking that in 2 months’ time I will have completed 1/3 of my Bachelor degree. Even scarier wondering what comes after, but extremely exciting contemplating all the traveling that I want to do – and all the people that I know scattered all over the world who have offered me “couch” accommodation just adds to the excitement.

In the meantime, this is how I spent Friday night procrastinating from practising for my recital tomorrow night: low light phone snaps by Elvia.

Black Motel caged-back dress. She convinced me to wear the shorter one of my two new dresses, over the mesh Asos one. Powerwalking from her apartment near the Sky Tower, we fended off drooling and drunk men on the streets. I was grateful for the height difference between us that allowed her to wear heels and me to stomp in my Dr Martens. The Bouncing Soles really put a bounce in my step. Winter nights are brutal to exposed backs and uncovered arms, the city air an unfriendly reminder of how inebriated we must be to ignore its scathing existence. Taking pictures whilst we are still straight and lips unsmudged by bottle tops and glass rims. They say a girl is sexiest when confident, but how much confidence is real? Leaning against the bar, girls try and skip the serving order by pouting, eyelash batting, whilst men blanket an act of confidence over a core of frenzied excitement. Classified as a depressant, I find alcohol full of connotations: suppressant, an activator, empowerment, enslavement to the lack of conscience that ensues. And for better or worse we can’t escape ourselves and the things we do or say under the influence. But I often wonder – isn’t it really that we’re under less “influence”?

At her apartment we talked about the differences between Taiwan and New Zealand – the contrast in cultures and perceived “normality”. She grew up there, whilst I grew up here. But both spending our young adult life here with different backgrounds and cultural upbringing gives us a rare view that others don’t have. I question the differences, the ones I know of but don’t live by, as she adjusts to the new set of social “normality”. It’s funny how people can come from the same place and end up so different. Or come from different places and still have so much in common. Sometimes the diversity drives me crazy, how people don’t understand, aren’t curious, don’t know to be curious, but variation is never a bad thing: “Six kinds of blue”.

Even though this last picture caught me by surprise and was a snap in a whim, I love how offguard it caught me, its blurriness being precisely as the moment was. Sometimes there isn’t a still in the moment. Does that make sense?

She asked me about the kinds of music I’m into, and showed me Taiwanese bands she’s into. There is a huge gap to bridge but I can see why that stuff sells. It’s depressingly not difficult to write and perform though, in my opinion. That is, relatively.

I have absolutely nothing exciting to write about, but you can fest your eyes on the Florence & The Machine photos below. The only problem with that is I had a really crap night of photography that evening, and totally buzzed out and didn’t recognise that the 2nd song had been played (there’s a standard 3 song limit in the photo pit), so I, uhh, didn’t really get much of “The Machine”. Would’ve liked a shot of the harp, but darn dead brain and light! This week has consisted of opening this draft entry up a grand total of 5 times, and posting nothing whatsoever – so I compiled a playlist instead. I don’t think I’m very good at these things. You know those sweet, music-obsessed snobs boys that spend hours making the “perfect mixtape” and pick all the right songs and arrange them all in the perfect order? Well I could never be one of them. This list isn’t reaaally in any particular order, but it sort of is. Maybe it happened by chance, oh I don’t know. I did a breakdown of it underneath though. Enjoy!

1/ I’ve never been much of a KOL fan, but I absolutely love this song. It’s a great opener, and according to Charlotte they opened their set in Auckland last year with it too. Apart from a few highlights here and there in their discography, I find most of their stuff too… “hillbilly” sounding. I don’t know how to put it any better…
2/ What can I say, as much as I enjoyed their new album, I still liked the Foals better in their first album, Antidotes – even the softer songs have a decent driving edge.
3/ I’ve been a long-time fan of The Raveonettes, and whilst they don’t quite sound like they do on this album anymore, I still enjoy their old, snappy roots. It’s so much more in your face (another track off this album comes complete with a lot of “fuck you”s. But sounds surprisingly soothing?!). They featured on my last playlist I posted as well. Anyway, I just really like the hook of this song, and the question it poses – Do you believe her?
4/ So a pseudo-ex of mine kept recommending this band to me. It was only much later that I realised that several other people have recommended them to me as well. After my internet-scouring failed, I simply nicked their album off Charlotte. Whilst this album (as far as I’ve paid attention to it, anyway) is tainted by much of the same “glaze & haze” that surrounds The Raveonette’s sound (I attribute it to production style, guitar tone and just the overall simplicity and repetitiveness of what’s actually happening musically), this song particularly stood out… because… the frontwoman is singing “I wish she was my boyfriend”.
5/ Here are are at roughly halfway in the playlist. Doesn’t this usually constitute as the hidden gems of a compilation, before the climax 3/4 of the way through? I’m not sure. Regardless, Glass Owls is a lurrrrvely band, and I’m friends with the guitarist and bass player – but that’s not why they’re on here. Despite everyone having favouritism over other tracks of theirs, this has always been one of my favourites. I can still remember the time I snuck into a bar at 16 and heard them play this song in public for the first time – before it sounded as good as this. Two drummer changes and an EP later, I still love this song. And I still swear that Tomas’ voice sounds like Julian Casablancas (hell yeahhh!) – thus I need my cold to go away so I can see them play next week/week after!
6/ Sufjan Stevens has way too many albums for me to be able to honestly say that I’ve paid attention to all of his music. But this is one of my favourites amongst the soft romantic and acoustic type. It’s just too sweet. Unfortunately the problem with songs like this is that it comes with memories of people/events. Ahhh good old music.
7/ BRMC. I don’t need to say more. Sure, they have better written songs, but this one will still be one of the most well-known, and the crowd sure enjoyed it a LOT at their concert a couple of weeks ago.
8/ I have to admit that I resisted listening to Broken Bells for a long time. Sure, it’s nice. But at the end of the album I still went back and listened to the first track. Yup, that is all.
9/ Metric has gotten a bit of bad press for that half-arsed song they have on the Eclipse soundtrack and I don’t blame critics. Apart from their best songs (and this isn’t one of them), I’m not too sure why I’m such a fan. Asides from the odd lyric that I wished I had written instead of Haines, I can see why people might not like them. Anyway, I just love the catchy way that this song begins, and carries throughout. It’s just catchy and great to drive to.
10/ Whilst it seems like I’m just putting a token jazz track on here, I promise that I’m not. This is one of my all-time jazz tracks even well before I’d decided to study jazz. I love the break down of it, and the intro/interlude parts with bass and piano. And the best part is that we’ll be performing it at our (assessed) recital on the 23rd August… in reggae style. No kidding!
11/ Last and maybe least… there is Drumming Song. It is, in all honesty, the only song on Florence’s album that I genuinely like. Hey, I tried, okay? To all those people out there who have gasped at me because I informed them that, sorry, I’m just not a fan… don’t shoot me. Yes, she can sing, and yeah alright, I can understand the appeal – but it just doesn’t really apply to me. Though I like this track because it is mesmerising, and it builds up into something. And you can listen to it on repeat (and I have) without really realising what’s happening because it seems to just go on and on. However, it is for that exact reason that I didn’t realise the 2nd song at her concert ever happened at all, because it simply blended into this one (set opener), oops. As for the rest of her music… I much more prefer the remixes and mash ups.

Florence & The Machine @ Trusts Stadium, Auckland 29th July, 2010:

When I first shot on black and white film in a Nikon F3 almost 4 years ago, I was pleasantly surprised at how much enjoyment I got from rediscovering all the things that I had merely shot in passing, in the city of Wellington.  As I didn’t get the films developed until a few months later, I hardly remembered what I had photographed, especially all the little corner snippets that I had snapped away at, without a thought at all. My mother (the term “professional photographer” here sounds daunting, but she is) has always been supportive and encouraging in anything and everything I do; but for some reason, once upon a time she tried to dissuade me from attempting concert photography. It’s “much too difficult”, she’d said. And it sure as hell is. But that is exactly why I love it. The equation – so it appear so be – is: lack of necessary thought process/laziness + spontaneity + music freak + love a good challenge = concert photography.

Fast forward a couple of years, I had an amazing Friday night. Back when I was googling concert photographers and oggling at the amazing shows they get to shoot, I stumbled across a lady called Ami Barwell. Mostly lo-fi styled stuff, shot a lot of bands that I love – made me mega jealous. I think she used to be the photographer-in-tow for Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, so she has a lot of nice shots of them, and a couple of nights ago I got to have a crack at it myself.

Here are some of the shots that I liked best of BRMC and their opening band, The Checks. The problem is… I’m undecided as to whether I’m happy about them or not:

The Checks:
Can I just add – their drummer reminded me of why I used to have a thing for drummers and dated a couple. He also looks like one that I had crushed on for a long time. Shhhh. Good thing NO ONE knows who it was, ha!

I hate cooking. I avoid it like people avoid cleaning their toilets. In fact, I am the least domesticated person I know. Most of my friends – guys and girls – cook on a regular basis. We’ll be txting each other and then I’ll get a “hold up, I’m just cooking *blah blah* for dinner” sort of response, whereas I’ll more likely than not be indulging in some form of other pastime until my mother or sister kindly fills the table with scrumptious edibles.

But earlier this evening, I really really really don’t know what came over me, and I offered to cook dinner for myself, mum and her visiting friend from Christchurch. I don’t have any photographic evidence to prove this (dammit, I knew I forgot something!) but I miraculously whipped up steak with fried eggs, mushrooms topped with bacon and cheese, and a salad and steamed vegetables to go with it all. As if that wasn’t enough, some strange sensation came over me as if someone had cast  the Imperius Curse on me, and I declared that I was going to make cupcakes. And ice them too. We ran out of icing sugar so I only managed to ice about 3/4 of them, and the end results are below.

Has anybody else been suddenly inclined to do something that they usually hate?

I’m feeling as terribly weird yet very proud. I’m also very proud of having survived my day at university today. Lack of sleep all week has been catching up with me, but I somehow emerged lively as ever after 4 hours straight of bass playing. Of both assortments.

1/ I’m loving the rain. People keep complaining about it but I think it’s amazing.
2/ Very happy with having Thursdays off on my timetable. Going to bathe in the hot springs tomorrow to loosen up and hopefully feel better. This 3-week cold NEEDS TO LEAVE ME.
3/ I’m photographing the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club concert in Auckland on Friday.

Guilty indulgences aside, the thing that I never feel guilt for splurging copious amounts of money on = books. I’m sure that women the world over will know exactly what I’m on about when I describe the slow, creeping guilt that emerges after a materialistic purchase. Clothing, shoes, magazines, even if it was chocolate, or just some other silly little thing that you weren’t quite completely in love with, and definitely didn’t need. But that feeling never occurs when I buy books. I once bought a $64 hardback adventure novel, just because I couldn’t wait for the library system to offer me the next installment penned by Matthew Reilly – especially after an excruciating cliff hanger! Luckily my special lady-friend works at the local bookstore and helps me out with her 30% staff discounts – which also came in handy yesterday when I decided to buy a $95 book on Jazz: A history of America’s Music. What also helps is that, when I buy books, often my parents will offer to pay for them, if they are present; as well as the fact that I simply don’t need to justify any book purchases – but can easily do so. I mean, surely it’s a given that since I’m spending my bachelor’s degree on learning jazz performance that surely I need to become thoroughly familiar with the ins-and-outs of its history and development through the ages. Not to mention, this semester I also have a compulsory jazz history paper anyway.

Specifics aside, I’m sure many people can relate to the self-righteously intellectual feeling that comes with buying a book. It feels like it adds to me and the growth of my mind as a whole. Sure, you have to read it first, but buying a book generally guarantees that no matter how long I put it off for, eventually I will read it. The same can’t be said for books that I get out from the library: I have a tendency to get too greedy at the library (come on, it’s free), as well as judge a book by it’s cover. Also, the best and most popular books always seem to be unavailable at the library anyway, so unless I’d requested a book, it’s never what I’d really like to read.

Does anyone else do this? Or feel like this too?

I really need to go run some scales on the double bass now because semester two is starting on Monday (impending blisters in the week, I just know it). It’s sad that class hasn’t even started yet and already I am longing for the summer holidays in November already!

Four random photos that all somehow have one thing in common (guesses?):

David’s mini birthday I made him and took along to his farewell party.

The cake again, under a very erotic looking red light. The cool shade that goes with it wasn’t in sight. + Having lunch at the Sydney waterfront: view behind me reflected off the back of a Canon 50d.

The new lights I bought in Sydney and fiiiinally put up in my room. And my beloved poster.

Common thread amongst the photos: all taken by the family buddy, Mr Canon IXUS950IS.

It’s 1.30pm and I am still in bed with a cold. Cancelled musical plans for today, because I don’t want to be coughing and spluttering, blowing my nose every two seconds, and spreading it to other people.

Firstly – irony: Since the Netherlands defeat in the WC final, New Zealand is the only unbeaten team in the World Cup.

There is something about Facebook that pisses me off the most. No, it’s not something integral in Facebook itself, but moreso, something that people do on Facebook. I hardly ever sign onto Facebook – in fact usually it takes an email prompt telling me someone has sent me a message or invitation, and then I click on the link, check it out, and exit. But on the rare occasion, out of boredom or curiosity that I linger on the homepage of it, I am thoroughly reminded of why I vow to never do so again until the next spout of craaazy insomnia or whatever. I just don’t understand why some people feel the urge to sit on Facebook ALL DAY and “like” everyone’s statuses and comments, nor why they are on Facebook commenting people back and forth when I know for a fact that they are already either txting or IMing each other (or worse, both).

Some girls that I see out and about in town, at the pub, clubs, etc… what are they doing? Being annoying brats and taking photos (with such bad skill it really makes my head ache) with blinding use of flash whilst everyone else it just trying to have a good time… in semi-darkness. Don’t get me wrong, I love taking pictures, especially when I’m having a great time at something – but some people take it waaay too far, taking waaay too many pictures with the same people, in every possible pose, and it just gets ANNOYING. Especially on the odd occasion I’m going somewhere without a doorlist, requiring me to stand in queue for godknowshowlong next to snap-flashing girls. Urghhh. What’s even worse than withstanding them toppling over now and then – because, you know, trying to piggyback each other whilst in short dresses in a queue thus showing off most of your bra and cellulite is very attractive – and then flashing flahsing, FLASHING, is what happens the next morning… these pictures are then splashed aaaaaaaaaaallll over Facebook, with the people in it all tagged, who then start commenting on each picture. “Oh I remember that, I was soooo wasted”, “I don’t remember that, take that off, I look awful”, “And then this and that and this and that happened before/after this photo”, etc etc. It just gets me so bored and put off, and deters me from Facebook.

Then, there’s the type of people, who (yes, I know for a fact) are in the same room as each other, all on their separate computers, logged onto Facebok, commenting back and forth with each other – WHY?! WHYYYYYY, WHYYYYYYY?!?!!??!!!!

Whatever happened to using Facebook (and other social devices on the internet) as a means of interacting with people that you don’t really get a chance to interact with in real life? At least, that’s what I use Facebook for. If I can easily reach someone via a quick txt message or by merely turning around to face them to converse – why would I want to, oh, open Facebook, log in, find the correct person’s page, then … etc…

Now I just sound like a raging, raving looney; but I’ve wanted to have a rant about that for ages. Plus, I’m still in bed… with a rather large (and growing) pile of used tissues. Gross. Semester starts next Monday, I want to be better!

Off topic, but the title is a lyric which refers to the Milgram Experiment. That stuff (and subsequent related links) gets you thinking…

Families are supposed to be the comfort zone. The people who’ve known you your whole life, know all your embarrassing childhood stories, who care for one another the most. At least, that is the family that I was brought up under the illusion of, despite having been disillusioned over a decade ago about its idealistic ways vs reality.

Unfortunately, over the past week in Sydney, my (immediate) family – who usually live in different countries – have been crammed into one single hotel room. It was large, yes – the size of half our house, but a single space nonetheless; and all the things we usually pretend is all okay could no longer be contained. My parents aren’t getting along. They haven’t for a long time. But under the facade of not living under the same roof for majority of the year, everything is “okay”. In the middle are me and my sister. Whilst she still has to put up with the same problems, same fights and outbursts as I do, she doesn’t have the older-child syndrome of taking on all these problems as my own. I don’t want to take sides. I have two sets of opinions and views on these problems, and how I think they should be dealt with: one, being the daughter, I want them to work through things, slowly, fine, but surely, and just at least do something productive or argue productively rather than stupidly about anything, everything and absolutely nothing at all; and two, being from a completely objective point of view – get it all over and done with, if it’s so painful to coexist.

I shouldn’t be saying this.

In the most selfish manner, also, I have so much else on my plate that I am stressing over, but the whole family thing is an overbearing darkness and source of stress, pain, guilt, troubles, internal and external conflicts that I can’t conjure up the strength to deal with anything else. It also doesn’t help that I’ve been sick for a week and a half, and it’s only draining me more, physically.

I know people out there go through much worst than me – in fact I have close friends that have, let alone all the people whom I don’t know. But it feels soo bad I don’t know how people get through it. I guess they develop some coping mechanism to subtract themselves from the equation of their parents’ misery. I can’t seem to. I am so latched onto every bitter/icy/frustrated/angry/defeated/confused/hopeless/unreasonable word that comes out of their mouths, and I catch all the hurt/vengeful/loathing/sad/intolerable look that the other doesn’t.

I can’t sleep. I was already insomniac enough without the jetlag. Skytv’s ceased working sometime over the days that we were away, so there is nothing to brainwash my sleeplessness with either.

My ipod is currently lost somewhere in the pile of luggage in the lounge, next to the couch on which my father is sleeping – so no music to dither away to.

If there was ever such a time I felt I needed sleeping pills the most – I lied. I really need some now.

The drawings on Julia’s blog reminded me of a habit I’ve noticed more and more recently – lip biting. I know I’ve always done it, now and then; but lately I’ve been catching myself doing it more often. I’m not sure what it means… I think it happens when I’m thinking, uncertain, weighing things up. Contemplating. Anticipating. Nervous. Why?

I usually have at least one long thread of thought that I ponder on, and debate to myself. Turning it over and over, dwelling on things. But strangely, not today. I feel rather numb and empty and lifeless. Thus probably why so music-less today. As I’d said to him, “I don’t have a single musical cell in me today” .

This is the cake I’d decorated for a friend a few weeks ago – eeek at the sloppy edges though!

I’m currently sitting on the couch in a holey bathrobe, astounded at the fact that the Argentina – Korea game currently sits at 2-1 just after half time. Wow.

Yesterday was my sister’s 17th birthday. It’s so weird, my 18th last year seems like only yesterday, yet my 17th seems a lightyear away. I had some errands to run so didn’t end up going to the waterfalls with Liv, mum and a family friend – although I got home earlier than they did, and spent a whole hour decorating her cake. This is why I am not, and will never be domesticated.

1 hour + 3 different icings later = the following: (and the last photo is the amazing dinner mum conjured up, mmm)

Whilst mum was busy snapping away the obligatory smiley, flashy birthday-girl photos, I decided to get my lens out and do my usual moody-ness. The cake looks better in colour, but I just wanted her face and candles, not all the hair and clothes and pink and blue. This is the second pink and blue cake I’ve decorated this month. I must remember to post pics of the other one, I was rather proud of it too.

I’ve forgotten what I had wanted say with the blog title from when I was in the shower thinking about it earlier. The title is derived from a song that was stuck in my head (urghh) that I heard live last week. The originalname used was “Malcolm” but I’m reaaally not a fan of that name – it makes me think of “Malcolm in the Middle”, that awful tv show from back in the day, plus it just doesn’t make me think of an attractive man.

Actually… it’s like 1.20am, I’m watching the footy, I can’t form coherent sentences, I will write about whatever it was… later.