School & education related.

Stuck inside my imagination, Busy making something from nothing. Pictures of hope and depression, Anything is better than nothing

It’s been a mind-and-history-delving, poetic-reading and inspired-writing couple of days. The highs and lows are hitting me in waves, waves and waves like nothing before, but it’s been interesting to see how I’ve grown up and changed in the way that I’ve been dealing with everything. Asides from an intense hockey training tonight that kicked up with a huge run around the block (man, that block seems so much smaller when driving!), everything I’ve done for the past few days hasn’t really taken much physical effort. Oh yeah, I forgot that two days ago I trekked my way into uni in the stormy weather to have a kind-of rehearsal – but because of yesterday’s events, the day before feels like a month ago by now.

Three albums that have been on repeat for the day:

New Moon – Elliott Smith

A posthumous release, I had never really paid much attention to it until recently. But tonight,  the songs between “High Times” and “Going Nowhere” are really striking a chord with me. Pun unintended. For me, Elliott Smith’s music is largely about the mood and lyrics, since majority of songs aren’t instrumentally or musically complex at all. I mean, sonically, only “Everything Means Nothing To Me” (one of my favourites, ever – definitely worth a listen) from his Figure 8 album really really stands out, because it’s in an epic key on the piano, full of black notes.

Raven In The Grave – The Raveonettes

The Raveonettes is one of my favourite bands, and this is their latest album. My favourite is Lust Lust Lust, but that has its time and place, and is a whole other bittersweet story altogether. Point is, I don’t care what Pitchfork or whoever else says, this is a great album. Not a life-changing release that’s about to influence me and leave the same imprint as Lust Lust Lust did, for sure, but it’s enjoyable nonetheless. They just do concepts, atmosphere and nostalgia so fucking well. And I’m all about atmosphere and nostalgia. Oh nostalgia! Take me back, when…

23 – Blonde Redhead

Even though they’ve been around for years and years and years (in other words, they first released something when I was aged 2), I’ve only started listening to them recently. So it’s a huge testament to say that now they’re my 6th top band on lastfm, which I’ve been scrobbling on since late 2006 – albeit with a couple of years off in the middle. They’re just amazing and so far I’ve haven’t ceased discovering something new in the many layers of their music, every time I listen. In a way, I think that I look up to the Italian Pace – brothers who make up 2/3 of the band – because of their “backgrounds in jazz”. According to various interviews and web-sources, they seem to have Bachelor degrees in jazz, so it’s refreshing to see jazz graduates moving on and making such beautiful yet relatable music that isn’t jazz. They would be around the same age as my tutors at jazz school, and I can’t help but hope that their paths is the one I take. I mean, jazz is wonderful, but I just don’t have the same passion for it next to some of my fellow students. I’m kind of in the middle-ground actually. There are those that are wholeheartedly intent on making jazz waves and they live, eat and breathe jazz; then there are others who are purely doing it for a music performance degree, and don’t even enjoy jazz. And really, I’m in the middle of the two. I enjoy it, but it’s not my #1-always-all-the-time thing. Music in general is. Anyway, wild tangent aside, I love this album.

Something I wrote two nights ago in a frenzy. Always in a frenzy:

Lines­ on my face
this clear trail you can claim to
Scars in my chest
these years you’ve been through.
So much easier now that she speaks
and you’re not listening
So much harder now that you talk
and she’s not hearing.
Uneasy questions on my face
you can’t respond to
Wounds in in the harshest place
those nights you’ve lived through.
Haunted by the spark I blew
The one true part I claim of you
Realisation in your eyes –
to truth.
I weep.
If I walked once so easily
What makes you trust and stick with me?
If I walked once so easily
What makes you trust and stick with me?

My copy of John Green’s Looking for Alaska just arrived today so I think I might tuck into bed with it now. Although I’m partway through The Great Gatsby, I think Fitzgerald can wait. Just a little while. And for now, some relevant, such relevant… food for thought (it makes more sense and is even more relevant in private, but I can’t go scrawling such internal ancient matters on the internet):

“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.” – Elizabeth Kubler Ros

By that definition, who are the beautiful people you know?

I can’t hold my breath so long, When you pass me by without a sound. You got something more to give, To girls who never thought they’d love, Love

I’m trying to pick out five photos for a photo exhibition and I’m finding it absolutely impossible! In the meantime, I stumbled upon these photos whilst trawling through my folders and folders full of photos. This is how us sisters roll.

How to devour a cupcake (from Disneyland):



Whilst I’m at it, here’s another one.

How to be a good girlfriend:
1. Accompany your boy to his friend’s birthday party. Dress well, so that you complement one another. And look good. Very good.
2. Proceed to drink as much beer as socially acceptable in terms of sobriety and number of allocated bathroom trips – after all, he’s sacrificed himself as sober driver so someone can drink!
3. The next morning, cook him a wholesome breakfast.
4. Be awesome and be genuinely interested in sports – not merely fake it.
5. Drive him to his football match. Be even more awesome and date someone with a decent shirt number. In this case, his #7 is much easier to spot and understand, as opposed to my #33.
6. Be a good spectator and always know what’s going on. It also helps to play the same position (perhaps in a similar sport) so as to understand the lines he runs and calls he makes. This also helps with being empathetic over frustrations. Maybe so empathetic that you’re the one wanting to yell “STRAIGHT/LEFT/LINE!” more than he does.
7. Be an even better spectator and throw him a water bottle whenever he looks like he needs it. Be careful to avoid getting whacked on the head with it as it comes flying back to you at an awkward angle with the sun in your eyes.
8. In the instance that he shall then misplace his wallet (apparently down the side of your car seat), lend him money at the postal office. Even if it means the eftpos machine at the post office hates your card and rejects it, forcing you to employ the use of an ATM machine on the other side of the mall.
9. Drive him back to yours and provide a dinner of tacos and beer.

See, I never knew I was such a nice person. I usually get annoyed and angry at myself, for being annoyed and angry with other people; but it turns out that I’m not always such a bitter person. Although I might have to admit that finally being done with the first half of semester one may have had something to do with my elated mood yesterday, because now it’s rather worn off and I just want to groan and sigh at the pile of stuff I have to deal with in the 2-week Easter break.

I only had my point and shoot lazily in my pocket, so this photo isn’t anywhere near as exciting as the boy’s dad’s epic action shots, but this was yesterday for me:

And today… has been a different story altogether. I found some more photos of things I had immortalised, so maybe I’ll post them later. For now I’m just going to wallow in self-(something) and try to pick out a series of photos to exhibit.

Is it the way she looks at you? Seeing her face as you walk through the crowded avenue, That sets you afire

It’s Sunday now, and I haven’t slept in my own bed since Wednesday, thus it’s now piled with clothes, books and folders. In a monumental headache-related fuck up yesterday, I accidentally fell asleep after my hockey game, which resulted in getting nothing on my “Saturday To-Do’s” list done; I eventually did a fair bit of jazz theory at the boy’s house, which is a strike of today’s list instead, but catching up on this huge list is just a nightmare right now… In the meantime, I’ve rekindled my love for the album Primary Colours by The Horrors. I haven’t listened to it in a fair while now, and I’m just remember how much I enjoyed their noise, bass sounds and lyrics.

It’s funny because at jazz school, asides from some of the tutors, no one else seems to participate in any form of sports or physical activity beyond the fitness that we need to strenuously play music for hours on end. On Thursday evening, I was engaged in a lengthy conversation with the head of jazz about windsurfing and various other water sports that he does. And I’ve had many conversations with my old bass teacher about the diving and spear fishing he’s into, but really, no one else is into anything physical. It’s funny to me that in a discussion in the common room on Friday, none of the other jazz students could get their head around the idea of how I’m excited to get back into winter hockey again this season, because I’ve missed the stress relief it brings me. Plus the fact that it allows me to directly exert some physical aggression that might be building up due to stress… and the fact that I’m a bit of an intolerant, grumpy person to begin with anyway.

See, despite all my terrible living, sleeping and eating (the latter is improving though) habits, I’ve been rather missing the feeling of being physically capable, fit and toned. In other words, I really miss the feeling of being able to walk and walk and walk, run and run and run, and carry a load of heavy stuff without feeling like collapsing. I also miss how flexible I used to be. Gone are the days of doing splits and grand battement in ballet!

My point is, surely I’m not the only one who used to be and misses being much more physically active as a kid, running around playing sports every lunchtime and then playing more sports after school? As if to rub salt in the wound, lots of people I know could care less what they eat/drink/do, but still have “better figures” by definition of being slim. And boys! Think about how many boys you know that can eat four times as much as you and still complain about how they aren’t putting on weight. If only females had that luxury… especially as we are the ones who are more likely to have bad food cravings anyway.

On the topic of indulgence, here are two cakes that mum’s friend paid her to make for her daughter’s 1st birthday yesterday. I helped the the icing. An absolute nightmare:


Why must chocolate frosting taste sooo good? There’s a bit left over and all I want to do is eat it by the spoonful!

This is what happens when you sleep on me. You get photographed. Applicable to humans also, but in this case, darling kitty.

Isn’t he just such a sweet sweet?

I really want to fast forward into this time in 6 days because by then I will have done my three-assessments-in-a-row and will be enjoying my 2-week Easter break. It also means I get to finish off a the films I’ve started in three separate cameras, get them developed (ouch, expensive!) and see what the heck is on them.

But I’ve been waiting too long to give this up. The more I see I understand… But sometimes I still need you

I’m surprised that I’m not hallucinating by now, because I’ve had very little sleep all week, and only had 3.5 hours of sleep last night. It’s a bit stupid that I stayed up so late working on my transcription test which was at noon, but I had spent most of yesterday with my ring finger in a mug of cold water since I accidentally got a burn blister from cooking (a tiny fragment of an eggshell!!! who knew those things got so hot so fast?!). It was made more difficult by the fact that I had to change all my fingering for slides and triplets and all a bunch of crap, as well as trying to play up to speed in the first place. Argh.

That said, I know it sounds even more retarded that I’m not in bed asleep already – and trust me, I dreamed of doing so, all day, but I have so much stuff on my mind that it just doesn’t want to rest. I just sat for an hour in bed writing a reply letter to one of my best friends abroad instead. See, that’s the funny thing about people being abroad – they will eventually come back. Even if it’s just for a short visit. There are two instances where this very subject is gnawing away at my mind right now: the former, being very close friends (see below), whom I wish would be back for longer so I could spend some decent quality time with; and the latter, being someone who I perhaps might not know well (or at all), who I dread having to come across one day.

The problem with having a blog that is read by people I know offline is that most of the time, I can’t just say things straight up. I sometimes miss the anonymity of when my blog was little more than chunks of (mostly neglected and unread) text that I could say anything and everything in. The upside was that I didn’t have to censor much. But the obvious downside was that I hardly had any readers and so rarely got the thought-provoking sort of response that I was looking for anyway. Ahh, forever a blogger’s dilemma.

For now, this was my evening. My friend Raymond held a musical soirée at the iconic Sly’s Pianos in Newmarket, as he was passing through on his way to Wellington for some work with the NZSO. All I can really say is that listening to him made me really miss the feel of playing classical piano. The very particular texture and timbre that such black and white keys deliver is completely incomparable to the raw and rugged experience which a bass brings… especially that of an upright. My fingertips feel like they’re on fire – to which, of course, my bass teacher shows his approval of the fact that I’m playing more and more. They hurt so much that it felt like I was inducing yet another burn blister when I ate fries at the bar with my hands earlier.

I’m always humbled by how amazing all my friends are. Truly.




Later, at Mac’s Brewbar on Nuffield Street. I love the decor in this place.


I swear I didn’t “conveniently” not have any money with me.


His & Hers: Mac’s Black & Great White beer. Previously, Sassy Red & Hops Rocker.

What their beer menu looked like. I have no idea how the quality of these two photos are so… shoddy. Oh welllll.

I can’t wait until Easter break, because I’d really like to catch up with my old piano teacher. We had meant to get together over summer, but that never got organised in the end. But better late than never! I really miss all our late-night piano lessons filled with laughter, musical revelations and anecdotes. I think anecdotes are possibly every teacher’s best friend.

http://www.slyspianos.co.nz/

You say can we still be friends… If I was scared, I would. And if I was bored, you know I would. And if I was yours, but I’m not

I’m about halfway through working on my transcription which is due to be tested in Improvisation* class on Thursday. The transcribing part is down, but next I need to learn how to play these 64 bars of Ron Carter’s solo on “Bohemia After Dark” from the Stardust album.

I had a really long phone conversation with Miss Felisa M.D. last night, which involved hanging up as close to 59 minutes and 59 seconds as possible, because we have this phone deal at the moment that charges $2 per hour of international calling, but a lot more if the time is breached. We went over the hour mark by a few seconds once, so I really, really hope the bill doesn’t fly too high, because mum frowned when I told her about it.

Speaking of my mum, she took this awesome photo on last night when the boy and I were busy stuffing our faces with butter chicken and beer:

Also, I now stake that this post marks the day I became domesticated enough to voluntarily cook dinner whilst not home alone, and without mum having to pull the “I’m really tired and have a headache” card. Tonight for dinner I whipped up a waistline-threatening amount of couscous and then proceeded to flavour it with anything I could think of that was in our fridge. It started innocently enough, with me thinking “now I need to cook extra because I want to solve the problem of having to pack a lunch tomorrow”, and ended up involving: 4 fresh diced tomatoes, yellow and green capsicum that were diced and then pan-seared in butter, chicken cooked also in butter and some rosemary from the back yard, 4 hard-boiled eggs, a questionable* amount of olive oil, and nice dollops of whole seed mustard and pesto.

The results are as follows:

Rounded off with a beer, it was really a lovely meal, if only I hadn’t spent so long cooking it, I think my appetite would’ve been better!

*Just as I was typing the word “questionable”, I suddenly remembered the web-Comic Questionable Content that I used to follow religiously back when I was like… 15, 16? I have just over a thousand posts to catch up on, but I really mustn’t let myself indulge until the holidays, or I will never get any work done! I’d highly recommend it for anyone who enjoys a good serving of sarcastic dry humour and indie references.

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