The locks of my cello case have been rusting, slowly but surely, and I put up with all the squeaking and the stiffness until today, when I found that the nuts on the major two hinges holding my cello case together had popped out somewhere/sometime, and suddenly the prospect of having to fork out a few hundred bucks for another case became very real.
But anyhow, that was just a temporary scare, nothing that a trip to the hardware shop couldn't solve. More importantly, I sort of woke up to the idea that I should stop abusing my cello case by letting it rot in rust or allowing it to crash to the floor, despite the fact that we do have a mutually abusive relationship.
Enters WB-40, the amazing lubricant that works wonders for rusted parts. Now the locks click shut with a nice full sound, without the accompanying squeaks. But the rust is still present, a deep dark brown, the indelible reminder that once upon a not-too-distant time I let it be, didn't care about what was happening to it, didn't care if it consumed itself and died.
It would be great if we could have lubricant not just for physical parts but emotional unhingedness. or for relationships rusted in an uneasy stalemate, where smiles actions words feelings come across as stiff, forced, deliberately constructed to give the impression that everything's still functioning alright.
But come to think of it, we do actually have lubricants for life and relationships - religion, friends, mediators, music - basically anything or anyone that makes living easier, less painful, easier on the joints. Sometimes you find them in the most unexpected places, like deep muscular relaxation techniques in a social work lecture. Sometimes you find it in cathartic connection with a character in a movie that makes you feel understood in a strange way. Sometimes you find yourself attempting to be a lubricant but ending up as sandpaper.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Friday, February 24, 2006
smoothing over the cracks
This happened a while back. Was on the bus home when a transvestite plunked him/herself in the seat directly opposite mine. S/he was in a skin-tight black shirt, black shorts, carrying a well-used Crumpler bag. Hair was rebonded China-doll style. S/he took out her make-up bag, which was a grubby cloth bag with Eeyore on it, whipped out her Za Two Way Foundation compact and went through the paces of her whole make up routine. From foundation to eyeliner and mascara - the bus was jerky but s/he had an incredibly steady hand. In between make-up application, s/he kept looking at her reflection in the window, touching her hair, batting her eyelids. Pin up person for femininity.
What was fascinating was this. You would think that people who apply make up in public have to have a certain amount of confidence, because they're essentially telling other people that they put in effort to look good. (Most people aim for the effortlessly gorgeous look). S/he had a certain amount of it, from the way s/he sashays with an air. But from the grubby Eeyore cloth bag, and the constant looking into the window, in the 15 minutes that (s)he was seated there, there were a whole host of other signs screaming insecurity. (S)he must have known that many people were staring, and felt exposed sitting where she was, so she walked to the back to join her friends, drawing more stares in the process.
I felt this mixture of sympathy and, I don't know, sadness? I think it's difficult to be fully secure when you don't feel like your skin resembles anything of who you are. Perhaps the whole routine of putting on makeup in public is part of her metaphorical building up of a face to meet the world with. Stares poke holes through the defence, thus the need for constant touching up, to fill in the gaps between who she is and what she looks like.
What was fascinating was this. You would think that people who apply make up in public have to have a certain amount of confidence, because they're essentially telling other people that they put in effort to look good. (Most people aim for the effortlessly gorgeous look). S/he had a certain amount of it, from the way s/he sashays with an air. But from the grubby Eeyore cloth bag, and the constant looking into the window, in the 15 minutes that (s)he was seated there, there were a whole host of other signs screaming insecurity. (S)he must have known that many people were staring, and felt exposed sitting where she was, so she walked to the back to join her friends, drawing more stares in the process.
I felt this mixture of sympathy and, I don't know, sadness? I think it's difficult to be fully secure when you don't feel like your skin resembles anything of who you are. Perhaps the whole routine of putting on makeup in public is part of her metaphorical building up of a face to meet the world with. Stares poke holes through the defence, thus the need for constant touching up, to fill in the gaps between who she is and what she looks like.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
the long haul
There was once a nice guy who took pity on four oddly dressed performers sitting on the floor outside a condo's function room, and bought them milk tea in blue bottles from 7 eleven. The milk tea was incredible, or so they thought, because when one is trapped in hot stuffy costumes, anything that brings relief is looked favourably upon.
The milk tea was forgotten for awhile, until one day the memory of it resurfaced like a decomposing dead body in a muddied canal.
Then started the hunt for the elusive milk tea, for no other reason than to recapture that vaguely remembered feeling of exhilaration. she trotted through 7-Elevens from Bishan to Bencoolen, even ventured into the wide aisles of Carrefour and Cold Storage, but not once did she spot anything that faintly resembled the blue-bottled milk tea.
Until one day, she passed the 7-Eleven which she goes by almost everyday, and was possessed to sneek a peek into the chiller, and found to her surprise/dismay/incredulity that it was right in front of her nose all this while.
So it's true then, you find things when you're not really looking for them. But then that's not a valid reason not to try either. I believe it's in the process that you discover things for yourself - you find out how much you want something by how much effort you go through to get it. And when you get it, whether you feel the same way about it is significant too. Perhaps that's why some people say that it's very easy for Christians to become complacent - when salvation is by grace and not dependent on good works, it's so easy to take God for granted.
The milk tea was forgotten for awhile, until one day the memory of it resurfaced like a decomposing dead body in a muddied canal.
Then started the hunt for the elusive milk tea, for no other reason than to recapture that vaguely remembered feeling of exhilaration. she trotted through 7-Elevens from Bishan to Bencoolen, even ventured into the wide aisles of Carrefour and Cold Storage, but not once did she spot anything that faintly resembled the blue-bottled milk tea.
Until one day, she passed the 7-Eleven which she goes by almost everyday, and was possessed to sneek a peek into the chiller, and found to her surprise/dismay/incredulity that it was right in front of her nose all this while.
So it's true then, you find things when you're not really looking for them. But then that's not a valid reason not to try either. I believe it's in the process that you discover things for yourself - you find out how much you want something by how much effort you go through to get it. And when you get it, whether you feel the same way about it is significant too. Perhaps that's why some people say that it's very easy for Christians to become complacent - when salvation is by grace and not dependent on good works, it's so easy to take God for granted.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
the truth is..
There really is no allure in alcohol. It was written in a moment of sleep-deprived/adrenaline-rush -ness, used more for comparison purposes than anything. Apart from its temporal mind-numbing properties, alcohol destroys brain cells, adds empty calories. But what's worse is the moment of clarity, where you attain something along the lines of a seer's vision and you see the future in all its bleakness (the big picture), which is in fact more of an allowing yourself to wallow in depression and pessimism more than reality. Reality always comes with a healthy dose of surprises and twists, enough to keep you excited and on your toes.
And there are always other means of attaining the so-called 'high' that alcohol brings, without the subsequent low/hangover the next day. So. I don't really know why I'm writing this. Maybe it's just to be politically/Christianically correct, and to avoid leading people down "the broad way that leads to destruction" in Bible-speak. But I think alcohol just lost it's allure when I turned 18 - it loses significance as a symbol of 'defiance', and after a while, it just seems rather tiresome not to mention expensive.
Maybe it's a sign of premature aging.
And there are always other means of attaining the so-called 'high' that alcohol brings, without the subsequent low/hangover the next day. So. I don't really know why I'm writing this. Maybe it's just to be politically/Christianically correct, and to avoid leading people down "the broad way that leads to destruction" in Bible-speak. But I think alcohol just lost it's allure when I turned 18 - it loses significance as a symbol of 'defiance', and after a while, it just seems rather tiresome not to mention expensive.
Maybe it's a sign of premature aging.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
the alcohol allure
8 Days 800th issue launch. Was. Weird. and discomfiting, maybe because we are getting paid for doing so little. The only plus was perhaps the door gift with Jacob's Creek Sparkling Rose (!!!). And Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream. It's embarrassing how a little bit of alcohol can evoke such violent reactions of (!!!); maybe I'm just deprived. Or maybe it's just that gift vouchers for facials/swatch/"Munich" movie pass aren't as mind-numbing. Ah I shouldn't be complaining, freebies are also good, even if they encourage indulgence and excessive, redundant spending.
Talking about redundant spending, it was amazing how the Mediacorp people just went to buy 4 stands because they forgot to bring them, and we're talking about the black heavy ones that aren't cheap. Reminds me of how NUS is now implementing the fee hike after spending so much hiring musicians for the NUS Centennial Symphony. (Of course that's not it, but still, it was a whole lot of money and they shouldn't be burdening students like that even if they think the education they provide is worth every cent.)
Today made me realise a few things though.
Having one member out of the quartet missing in action disturbs balance. I suppose sometimes you get so used to the way a person cues, plays, the tempo, the tone, that when someone else enters the picture, and makes the differences known and obvious and significant, even if there's nothing wrong with the playing per se, everything just feels out of sorts, you have this niggling feeling that it could be better, but can't, at least not for that moment.
I realised today that I get frustrated when I know that something can be way better, but can't make that happen, due to circumstances or otherwise. I suppose I've always known that there's a perfectionist in me somewhere, but it never came out so strongly until today. And it was scary. It felt horrible knowing that we weren't playing as well as we could/should, it felt wrong sitting around and not doing anything and still getting paid for that. I realised that I have all these expectations that I impose on myself, and so when I don't meet those expectations, no matter what other people say, I'll never be convinced, and typing all this out now seems so revealing and so stupid.
It's just that time of the night where the subconscious surfaces, probably. Random thoughts in random pieces.
Talking about redundant spending, it was amazing how the Mediacorp people just went to buy 4 stands because they forgot to bring them, and we're talking about the black heavy ones that aren't cheap. Reminds me of how NUS is now implementing the fee hike after spending so much hiring musicians for the NUS Centennial Symphony. (Of course that's not it, but still, it was a whole lot of money and they shouldn't be burdening students like that even if they think the education they provide is worth every cent.)
Today made me realise a few things though.
Having one member out of the quartet missing in action disturbs balance. I suppose sometimes you get so used to the way a person cues, plays, the tempo, the tone, that when someone else enters the picture, and makes the differences known and obvious and significant, even if there's nothing wrong with the playing per se, everything just feels out of sorts, you have this niggling feeling that it could be better, but can't, at least not for that moment.
I realised today that I get frustrated when I know that something can be way better, but can't make that happen, due to circumstances or otherwise. I suppose I've always known that there's a perfectionist in me somewhere, but it never came out so strongly until today. And it was scary. It felt horrible knowing that we weren't playing as well as we could/should, it felt wrong sitting around and not doing anything and still getting paid for that. I realised that I have all these expectations that I impose on myself, and so when I don't meet those expectations, no matter what other people say, I'll never be convinced, and typing all this out now seems so revealing and so stupid.
It's just that time of the night where the subconscious surfaces, probably. Random thoughts in random pieces.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
termination
I think I finally understand the importance of having closure. It allows you to move on, from where you left off, it marks a clear stage that has passed and you've hopefully emerged none the worse for wear. It doesn't happen enough.
We seek closure of sorts in little things like the post-concert coffee/dessert, where talk about the blatant/ hopefully unnoticed errors, laugh over it so you won't lose too much sleep that night, talk about the songs you liked most and why, waste camera battery by taking random shots of miscellaneous things (but the people aren't miscellaneous of course..) Basically, it's taking a breath before you plunge straight into the whirl of work, of conflicts, of natural sunlight and fresh air. No more of the dimly lit stage where the only light is the one clipped on the music stand, no more of the unnaturally cold air conditioning where burning your lip on hot water is infinitely more favourable because it makes you feel like you're human (and not vampire).
It's a relief that it's over, and it went quite well; there's no longer a need to worry about whether you can hear yourself above the piano/band to avoid going out of tune -- last night was like one long gradual exhalation. And at the end of concert you don't know if you have enough in you to feel happy but you eventually smile when you walk past the front-of-house and people come and tell you they liked the music.
But there's also a sense of loss - not just about losing the whole concert/rehearsal experience, but at a loss about where to begin picking up where I left off before last thursday. I know this probably sounds overdramatic, but there's this massive inertia to resume reading, to go for lectures, to bother. Drifted through school today in a blank. I think it's because the short term goal took up too much energy and the long term goal is nowhere in sight.
We seek closure of sorts in little things like the post-concert coffee/dessert, where talk about the blatant/ hopefully unnoticed errors, laugh over it so you won't lose too much sleep that night, talk about the songs you liked most and why, waste camera battery by taking random shots of miscellaneous things (but the people aren't miscellaneous of course..) Basically, it's taking a breath before you plunge straight into the whirl of work, of conflicts, of natural sunlight and fresh air. No more of the dimly lit stage where the only light is the one clipped on the music stand, no more of the unnaturally cold air conditioning where burning your lip on hot water is infinitely more favourable because it makes you feel like you're human (and not vampire).
It's a relief that it's over, and it went quite well; there's no longer a need to worry about whether you can hear yourself above the piano/band to avoid going out of tune -- last night was like one long gradual exhalation. And at the end of concert you don't know if you have enough in you to feel happy but you eventually smile when you walk past the front-of-house and people come and tell you they liked the music.
But there's also a sense of loss - not just about losing the whole concert/rehearsal experience, but at a loss about where to begin picking up where I left off before last thursday. I know this probably sounds overdramatic, but there's this massive inertia to resume reading, to go for lectures, to bother. Drifted through school today in a blank. I think it's because the short term goal took up too much energy and the long term goal is nowhere in sight.
Monday, February 13, 2006
fly away
Figured I have to post now if not I'll never get to sleep. Realised today that UCC Hall is almost the size of Esplanade Concert Hall when I looked into the audience and saw a mass of people. I wasn't scared as much as just felt this rush of blood to the head and everything else after that was a blur.
I've said it before and I can't help saying it again, but she's genuinely awesome, the way she moves the crowd, the way she talks to them as if she was in her living room, I think that's what generates her mass appeal. And also, the way she doesn't mind staying back after the concert and signing autographs for a whole foyer full of people..(she was still signing when we left at 11 pm and the concert ended at slightly past 9pm.) Again, I say that her records are like low carb mocha/frappacino lite - suggestive of her ability but a poor substitute. If you want to understand the hype surrounding her, you have to go for her concerts.
I shan't whine about my playing, because half the time I was trying to untangle my left thumb from the earphone cord, and heard more of the echo than of my own playing, but there was this one intensely flat note that took all the effort I had not to make a face. A friend who went said I was grinning continuously, and I supposed those were the numerous times when I had weird sounds coming through the earphones, or from the cellos, and the facial muscles unconsciously spasmed.
This sounds delirious.
On a more sober note, I think it really was the prayer before the concert that helped. Even if it was held with people of different denominations, or people of other religions, it did remind me of the Source of all music, (good or bad). And there was this moment of stillness, (pseudo Zen because who needs zen when you have God). I don't know what I'm rambling about actually, it seems all to be an elusive subjective feeling, in all the imprecision of an Arts student. Whatever. Think I've finally used up enough words to sleep now,
and if this post doesn't sound faintly cerebral, it's because alcohol has killed the brain cells.
I've said it before and I can't help saying it again, but she's genuinely awesome, the way she moves the crowd, the way she talks to them as if she was in her living room, I think that's what generates her mass appeal. And also, the way she doesn't mind staying back after the concert and signing autographs for a whole foyer full of people..(she was still signing when we left at 11 pm and the concert ended at slightly past 9pm.) Again, I say that her records are like low carb mocha/frappacino lite - suggestive of her ability but a poor substitute. If you want to understand the hype surrounding her, you have to go for her concerts.
I shan't whine about my playing, because half the time I was trying to untangle my left thumb from the earphone cord, and heard more of the echo than of my own playing, but there was this one intensely flat note that took all the effort I had not to make a face. A friend who went said I was grinning continuously, and I supposed those were the numerous times when I had weird sounds coming through the earphones, or from the cellos, and the facial muscles unconsciously spasmed.
This sounds delirious.
On a more sober note, I think it really was the prayer before the concert that helped. Even if it was held with people of different denominations, or people of other religions, it did remind me of the Source of all music, (good or bad). And there was this moment of stillness, (pseudo Zen because who needs zen when you have God). I don't know what I'm rambling about actually, it seems all to be an elusive subjective feeling, in all the imprecision of an Arts student. Whatever. Think I've finally used up enough words to sleep now,
and if this post doesn't sound faintly cerebral, it's because alcohol has killed the brain cells.
Friday, February 10, 2006
rehearsal day 2
I think by the end of this whole thing I won't want to hear anymore of her songs, not that it's bad, but it's really getting to be a bit of an overdose. Although one can imagine, the number of times she has played the songs, she's probably even more tired of it than we are.
The band came in today, made things a little bit livelier, because it was a lot noisier, and it was funny to watch how almost all of them have long hair, in varying degrees of curliness, and some rebonded. (and I'm not referring to girls here) Sound check was very tedious as usual, checking monitor levels and bearing with the screeches and the feedback and the overdose of whacked drum beats that resonates through the cello.
Discovered I have one more solo cello-piano piece to play on Sunday, which means more chance of screwing up in front of 1800 people. Although I don't know if that's worse than playing 4 solo cello-piano pieces on Monday in UCC theatre. The rest of the octet have been very encouraging though, maintaining that no one will notice as long as I keep a poker face and pretend that it was meant to sound that way. But still.
I didn't believe her when she said it was good, because I missed one major accidental and flopped all my bowings and screwed up the one line of double stops. So I just gave her the wry knowing smile, which was an instinctive response. (So much for Scorps being mysterious, I think I'm too much of an open book already). Maybe it only sounds passable because she's listening to the cello via the monitors, and above the sound of her piano. The piano covers all (or at least most) faults, hopefully..thankfully.
I know I really shouldn't be so pessimistic - after all, it's a gig and you're supposed to have fun playing for gigs. But still.
It's not like I'm a perfectionist or anything. Far from it actually. I'm content to leave things in a mess as long as other people don't notice. But I think it's because all along my cello teacher has been extremely picky on sound, tone, vibrato, every possible thing, that I can't shake the feeling that there's something wrong with every note I play. (Yeah right, now adopting an external locus of responsibility eh..)
Leslie once said, during a post-concert talk, that when he practices, he listens to himself like how a teacher listens to his student. And recently I think I'm starting to do that, only that being less technically equipped, it's paralysing, because there's so many things wrong, you just don't know where to start.
Ok maybe I'm over reacting again. It's just that after seeing her video of one of her L.A performances, I think I have huge shoes to fill - her cellist there is this rather witchy looking woman with long curly hair and with a perfect tent-like body structure to execute majestic vibratos and she sounds really good.
(My goodness it's horrifying how blogging encourages all this talking to myself). I should just focus on workable goals, which right now, is figuring out how to convince my teacher tomorrow that I've been too busy playing pop songs to have time to practice my cello.
The band came in today, made things a little bit livelier, because it was a lot noisier, and it was funny to watch how almost all of them have long hair, in varying degrees of curliness, and some rebonded. (and I'm not referring to girls here) Sound check was very tedious as usual, checking monitor levels and bearing with the screeches and the feedback and the overdose of whacked drum beats that resonates through the cello.
Discovered I have one more solo cello-piano piece to play on Sunday, which means more chance of screwing up in front of 1800 people. Although I don't know if that's worse than playing 4 solo cello-piano pieces on Monday in UCC theatre. The rest of the octet have been very encouraging though, maintaining that no one will notice as long as I keep a poker face and pretend that it was meant to sound that way. But still.
I didn't believe her when she said it was good, because I missed one major accidental and flopped all my bowings and screwed up the one line of double stops. So I just gave her the wry knowing smile, which was an instinctive response. (So much for Scorps being mysterious, I think I'm too much of an open book already). Maybe it only sounds passable because she's listening to the cello via the monitors, and above the sound of her piano. The piano covers all (or at least most) faults, hopefully..thankfully.
I know I really shouldn't be so pessimistic - after all, it's a gig and you're supposed to have fun playing for gigs. But still.
It's not like I'm a perfectionist or anything. Far from it actually. I'm content to leave things in a mess as long as other people don't notice. But I think it's because all along my cello teacher has been extremely picky on sound, tone, vibrato, every possible thing, that I can't shake the feeling that there's something wrong with every note I play. (Yeah right, now adopting an external locus of responsibility eh..)
Leslie once said, during a post-concert talk, that when he practices, he listens to himself like how a teacher listens to his student. And recently I think I'm starting to do that, only that being less technically equipped, it's paralysing, because there's so many things wrong, you just don't know where to start.
Ok maybe I'm over reacting again. It's just that after seeing her video of one of her L.A performances, I think I have huge shoes to fill - her cellist there is this rather witchy looking woman with long curly hair and with a perfect tent-like body structure to execute majestic vibratos and she sounds really good.
(My goodness it's horrifying how blogging encourages all this talking to myself). I should just focus on workable goals, which right now, is figuring out how to convince my teacher tomorrow that I've been too busy playing pop songs to have time to practice my cello.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
corrinne may
is awesome. Her records don't do justice to her voice at all. Today we had our first eight-piece ensemble rehearsal with her, for the NUS Arts Fest concert, and her voice and piano is really to die for. It's the kind of music that makes you space out and sigh, curl up and die. It liquefies your insides.
Both she and Kavin are very down-to-earth people, and they're so comfortable to play for. I know it sounds weird , this description. What in the world is 'comfortable' right? It's not just the absence of heart palpitations and sweaty palms. It's the ability to breathe and play, to have fun while not losing focus.
Ok, not really. You lose focus all the time when she starts a new song.
At first I thought it was just that I was getting used to the whole gig playing thing.(Today I've somehow earned the unflattering nickname of 'gig player'). Or maybe it's because I'm actually getting to know my cello better the way you grow into knowledge of your partner. But it isn't that either.
I have never played 'serious' solo cello with piano on any other occasion other than the Grade 8 exam; church hymns don't really count because they're quite easy. And now due to unforseen circumstances I've to play numerous songs alone (i.e without all the other strings), and it's a rather nerve wrecking experience. Or so I think, considering all tickets for both nights have been sold out. But I feel strangely still.
Ok, not quite, I still grimace when I run out of bow, flub the weird syncopations, forget to play accidentals, and screw up intonation (all of which happened today), but it's this still water feeling that I can't shake.
Maybe it's because I haven't recovered from the trauma of knocking over my cello and seeing it crash land on the ground when I left the house today. Everything seems like it's happening in a haze - there was the sudden reminder that nothing is predictable and every minute alive is divine grace.
Weird. It feels as if my brain is making random connections (as always), and right now the only thing that's on my mind is waking up early enough to listen to the tracks again, practice practice and practice and hope my cello teacher forgives me for neglecting the gross Walton Passacaglia that I'm supposed to be learning.
Both she and Kavin are very down-to-earth people, and they're so comfortable to play for. I know it sounds weird , this description. What in the world is 'comfortable' right? It's not just the absence of heart palpitations and sweaty palms. It's the ability to breathe and play, to have fun while not losing focus.
Ok, not really. You lose focus all the time when she starts a new song.
At first I thought it was just that I was getting used to the whole gig playing thing.(Today I've somehow earned the unflattering nickname of 'gig player'). Or maybe it's because I'm actually getting to know my cello better the way you grow into knowledge of your partner. But it isn't that either.
I have never played 'serious' solo cello with piano on any other occasion other than the Grade 8 exam; church hymns don't really count because they're quite easy. And now due to unforseen circumstances I've to play numerous songs alone (i.e without all the other strings), and it's a rather nerve wrecking experience. Or so I think, considering all tickets for both nights have been sold out. But I feel strangely still.
Ok, not quite, I still grimace when I run out of bow, flub the weird syncopations, forget to play accidentals, and screw up intonation (all of which happened today), but it's this still water feeling that I can't shake.
Maybe it's because I haven't recovered from the trauma of knocking over my cello and seeing it crash land on the ground when I left the house today. Everything seems like it's happening in a haze - there was the sudden reminder that nothing is predictable and every minute alive is divine grace.
Weird. It feels as if my brain is making random connections (as always), and right now the only thing that's on my mind is waking up early enough to listen to the tracks again, practice practice and practice and hope my cello teacher forgives me for neglecting the gross Walton Passacaglia that I'm supposed to be learning.
Friday, February 03, 2006
Yellow Dog
Grown ups have this way of projecting their own wishes onto children. They wish that their children would do better than they did when they were in school, they make their children learn the things that they always wanted to learn, but didn't have an opportunity to. In other words, they exploit children so as to gratuitously relive their own youth (or what they wished had been their own youth).
My father recently bought a ukulele, but not a real, nice brown wood looking kind, It is bright yellow, with the front and back view of Snoopy sitting on an island, on the front and back of the instrument respectively. Let's call it Yellow Dog. Cute it is, but playable it is not (strings too far away from the fingerboard - you need a whole lot of strength to bar chords). Today he asks,
"Eh go and see if you can find out how to tune the thing, search online or something."
"Why?! You can google it yourself right.."
"No la, no time."
And then he runs off to the library to borrow books.
So. He buys an instrument, he expresses an interest, but doesn't have the time to find out how to play it. But no worries, I went online, and found a fantastic site set up by a guy called "Pineapple Pete" (very Hawaiian feel indeed). Since I didn't feel like doing any more of my readings on anxiety disorders and Anna Freud's defense mechanisms theories I decided to attempt to learn how to play Yellow Dog.
It isn't that difficult really, very much like playing the guitar, only there's a whole new set of chords, the space between strings is a lot wider, and it's not tuned according to ascending or descending pitch. (The first (G) and fourth (A) string are one tone apart, the middle two strings (C and E) are pitched lower than the 1st and 4th. ) And in the 90 minutes my dad's away, I made an extra effort to learn the thing and play something impressive-sounding so that when he came back, he'd think that it's very easy to pick up and would be inspired for a while not to abandon Yellow Dog.
Predictably, that was what happened. (I suppose uncannily accurate predictions come with 20 years of interaction). When he came back I played some (self-proclaimed) funky tune, and he went,
"What's that?! How you do?!"
And was interested for a grand total of 5 minutes, in which I showed him the whole weird plucking method and basic chords, after which he laid Yellow Dog down to rest, presuming that I had already slavedrived the poor instrument when he was away. (Which isn't that far from the truth anyway.)
Well, I suppose parents projecting their desires/hopes on their children is not that bad - after all the child might actually learn a new skill which may be of (dubious) use in the future. But when they slavedrive their kids to get all 'A's when they got 'B's and 'D's and *gasp* 'F's as seen from a yellowed cert strategically hidden in an inconspicuous corner, that's not very good.
They should just leave their children to slavedrive themselves.
My father recently bought a ukulele, but not a real, nice brown wood looking kind, It is bright yellow, with the front and back view of Snoopy sitting on an island, on the front and back of the instrument respectively. Let's call it Yellow Dog. Cute it is, but playable it is not (strings too far away from the fingerboard - you need a whole lot of strength to bar chords). Today he asks,
"Eh go and see if you can find out how to tune the thing, search online or something."
"Why?! You can google it yourself right.."
"No la, no time."
And then he runs off to the library to borrow books.
So. He buys an instrument, he expresses an interest, but doesn't have the time to find out how to play it. But no worries, I went online, and found a fantastic site set up by a guy called "Pineapple Pete" (very Hawaiian feel indeed). Since I didn't feel like doing any more of my readings on anxiety disorders and Anna Freud's defense mechanisms theories I decided to attempt to learn how to play Yellow Dog.
It isn't that difficult really, very much like playing the guitar, only there's a whole new set of chords, the space between strings is a lot wider, and it's not tuned according to ascending or descending pitch. (The first (G) and fourth (A) string are one tone apart, the middle two strings (C and E) are pitched lower than the 1st and 4th. ) And in the 90 minutes my dad's away, I made an extra effort to learn the thing and play something impressive-sounding so that when he came back, he'd think that it's very easy to pick up and would be inspired for a while not to abandon Yellow Dog.
Predictably, that was what happened. (I suppose uncannily accurate predictions come with 20 years of interaction). When he came back I played some (self-proclaimed) funky tune, and he went,
"What's that?! How you do?!"
And was interested for a grand total of 5 minutes, in which I showed him the whole weird plucking method and basic chords, after which he laid Yellow Dog down to rest, presuming that I had already slavedrived the poor instrument when he was away. (Which isn't that far from the truth anyway.)
Well, I suppose parents projecting their desires/hopes on their children is not that bad - after all the child might actually learn a new skill which may be of (dubious) use in the future. But when they slavedrive their kids to get all 'A's when they got 'B's and 'D's and *gasp* 'F's as seen from a yellowed cert strategically hidden in an inconspicuous corner, that's not very good.
They should just leave their children to slavedrive themselves.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
night blindness
It is often said that you don't know that you miss something until you lose it, but recently I realised that deprivation makes you realise how much you can do without.
We normally have too much light in this city, as seen in the abnormally bright nights where you have to shield your eyes from the glare of the street lights and the stars lose their primal function. But one day in the not-too-distant past, I realised that the lights at the basketball court go out by 10 pm. So there I was, alone in the dark court, wondering whether I should just go home because I'd already been playing for 15 minutes, or whether I should keep shooting because I'd only been playing for 15 minutes. I chose the latter and realised that it was amazing how your body adapts to the lack of light, and how there really is an absolute lack of night, even in the heartland. 90 degrees to the hoops, and I'm blinded by the lights from the adjacent HDB block. 'Blinded' - the way looking at the sun leaves a mark on your retina that doesn't go away for a while. You end up playing with your eyes closed (at certain angles), and you only know your shot has landed when you hear the swish of the net. (That is, if the net hasn't been shredded already).
But it wasn't a bad experience at all. Everything seems so much clearer at night - a lot less distractions, hence a lot more focus. Your mind clears faster too. You see people hurrying home at 11 pm, in office wear, you see toddlers with their parents wandering about, (and wonder what happened to the 'children need to sleep 8 hours' idea). It's a great cure for insomnia, with the added benefit of learning more about the community. Of course, with the recent spate of molest and stabbing cases in the neighbourhood, let's change that to 'selective' learning.
Then again, if no other reason exists for playing basketball at night, at least now the "I don't have time to exercise because I come back late" excuse is no longer valid for me. Bah. That's one less defense mechanism (rationalisation) I can use.
We normally have too much light in this city, as seen in the abnormally bright nights where you have to shield your eyes from the glare of the street lights and the stars lose their primal function. But one day in the not-too-distant past, I realised that the lights at the basketball court go out by 10 pm. So there I was, alone in the dark court, wondering whether I should just go home because I'd already been playing for 15 minutes, or whether I should keep shooting because I'd only been playing for 15 minutes. I chose the latter and realised that it was amazing how your body adapts to the lack of light, and how there really is an absolute lack of night, even in the heartland. 90 degrees to the hoops, and I'm blinded by the lights from the adjacent HDB block. 'Blinded' - the way looking at the sun leaves a mark on your retina that doesn't go away for a while. You end up playing with your eyes closed (at certain angles), and you only know your shot has landed when you hear the swish of the net. (That is, if the net hasn't been shredded already).
But it wasn't a bad experience at all. Everything seems so much clearer at night - a lot less distractions, hence a lot more focus. Your mind clears faster too. You see people hurrying home at 11 pm, in office wear, you see toddlers with their parents wandering about, (and wonder what happened to the 'children need to sleep 8 hours' idea). It's a great cure for insomnia, with the added benefit of learning more about the community. Of course, with the recent spate of molest and stabbing cases in the neighbourhood, let's change that to 'selective' learning.
Then again, if no other reason exists for playing basketball at night, at least now the "I don't have time to exercise because I come back late" excuse is no longer valid for me. Bah. That's one less defense mechanism (rationalisation) I can use.
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