Production
Musicals are fun to be involved in but they’re certainly an enormous amount of work. My fingers and neck feel like they’re bruised. 21 hours of playing a violin in 2 days will do that to you … especially when you’re playing a cheap, borrowed electric violin with fence wire for strings! As a matter of survival I changed the strings today … now the pegs refuse to hold. I need to locate some chalk … not ideal but I need a quick fix for tomorrow. *sigh* I miss my acoustic violin! :`o(
Rehearsal is 9.00am to 9.00pm again tomorrow. @_@ That will be the end of the hothousing until a week before the show. Until then it will be 4.00pm to 9.00pm rehearsals most afternoons (longer on weekends). I hope that I don’t expire from exhaustion. x_x Toward the end it won’t be hard to spot the Musos involved … they’ll be the ones wandering around in a daze. XD
This music’s shaping up quite nicely and the cast is getting their act together. I’m sure the hard work will pay off and it will be a good production.
Music and Musicians
Viewing a film that speaks straight to your heart can be a very profound experience.
This is not a review of The Soloist but, rather, a brief meditation upon the nature of music and musicians.
It is difficult to fully articulate what music means to me; a window on another existence, a thread woven through all the days of my life, a web of sound intertwined with my soul, a part of the very fibre of my being.
Some means of communication supersede all others. The ability to release oneself from base articulation through musical expression is hard won. It is often equal parts joy and pain but the elation of an intense musical experience submerges all sorrows.
Musicians recognise the sacrifice that our art requires and we often feel a sense of fellowship with each other. The experiences of struggle and triumph are commonalities between us. Despite the challenges and demands, life without music is unthinkable. Our hearts demand the release that our fingers can cajole from an instrument.
Howl’s Moving Castle
I really don’t know why it’s taken me so long to finally watch this movie but I’m glad that I finally made time for it. If, like me, you’ve inexplicably put off watching Howl’s Moving Castle I’d recommend that you watch it as soon as possible … you won’t regret it!
Howl’s Moving Castle is a visually and aurally beautiful movie. Hayao Miyazaki of Studio Ghibli did a fantastic job of bringing Diana Wynne Jones’ novel to life in his own unique way. All of the characters, both major and minor, are well realised. Sophie is a strong and likeable young woman who is forced to reconsider the world and life in general from a different perspective. Howl is a mysterious, powerful but surprisingly fragile and childlike wizard. The Witch of the Wastes is consumed and trapped by her obsession. These characters are bound together by a number of themes including greed, cowardice, the futility of war and redemption.
Howl’s Moving Castle is a very artistic and beautiful film which I would highly recommend.
Swimming
I should write an ode to my poor neglected blog … I should write something about anime … instead I’ll reflect on swimming. 
I’ve enjoyed swimming for as long as I can remember. I have a vivid memory of pleading to swim in the pool of a hotel my family was staying at. I think I was about 5 or 6 years old. I accepted that the sea wasn’t always safe to swim in but if there was a pool available then I wanted to be in it. It was winter but I was determined. I was granted a quick swim. It was freezing (by Australian standards). When I was told that my time was up I was shivering, my teeth were chattering and my lips were tinged with blue but I was happy.
Growing up I used to swim laps every day and now I’m attempting to return to that regimen. It’s a good way to keep fit. Rather than sleeping until 7.00am I’ve been getting up at 6.00am and going straight to the pool for about an hours swim. It’s an interesting way to wake up. Swimming laps isn’t the most exciting thing to do but it is rather peaceful and gives you time to reflect.
Peace out. Catch you on the flipside. ;oP
Wasabi Ice Cream
I have an addiction. I hold a friend responsible. He challenged me to try wasabi peanuts. I like wasabi on my sushi so I thought that it wouldn’t be a problem; however, I didn’t count on their addictive qualities. I’m hooked! I’ve even added wasabi green peas to my list of desirable snacks.
In my wanderings I came across wasabi flavoured ice cream. Instead of running away screaming (as any sane person would) I found myself wondering what it might taste like. How would the wasabi blend with the creamy texture and milkiness of the ice cream? I want to try some. It’s already too late for me …
Boyfriend’s Arm Pillow
Apparently boyfriends and girlfriends are redundant. Who needs them when you can buy a Boyfriend’s Arm Pillow or a Girlfriend’s Lap Pillow? In my wanderings I stumbled across two bizarre objects that are actually available for purchase. People part with their hard earned cash to buy them? This world is a strange, strange place!
It appears that the Boyfriend’s Arm Pillow was released a few years ago. Somehow, I appear to have missed this momentous event. A plushie boyfriend’s arm complete with a heartbeat … what more could a girl want? It can even wake you up with its inbuilt alarm. It comes clad in a choice of several coloured shirts to suit any decor and sells for ¥8,500
The success of the Boyfriend’s Arm Pillow led to the development of the Girlfriend’s Lap Pillow. It is described as having realistic-to-the-touch urethane foam legs and a short polyester skirt (black or red upon request) and sells for ¥9,429.
Now I know some people become very attached to their pillows and have heard of some who even travel with them but how would you explain lugging either of those around!?
First Steps
Maezehn was silent. He walked beside Yemaen, seemingly intent on the passing of one foot before the other. Occasionally, he would kick a stone from his path and a slightly wistful smile would tug at the corners of his mouth, lightening his expression for a moment. A furtive glance at his equally silent companion, and the shadow of guilt, soon dampened the brief daydream. He hoped that it wasn’t true that the old master could read his apprentices’ minds. Finally, Yemaen stopped before a Juinab tree. Maezehn stared up into its spreading branches trying to guess what might be required of him.
“Fetch me that Juinab,” Yemaen commanded, pointing at the farthest fruit.
Maezehn looked sullenly from the ripe fruit, easily within his reach, to the apparently green one which Yemaen had chosen. He was growing tired of the old man’s unreasonable demands.
Of course he would have to turn a simple task into a major undertaking, Maezehn thought broodingly.
Knowing from weary experience that there was no point arguing, he moved to the foot of the tree, took a firm hold of a low thick branch, and started to climb. When he reached the indicated fruit, Maezehn saw that it was one of the greenest on the tree. Every child knew that Juinab were slightly poisonous when green. The one his master had chosen would be sure to induce abject misery if eaten. His hand paused above the fruit.
“Don’t take forever, Boy,” Yemaen called out with annoyance.
It would serve him right if I give him this one, Maezehn thought, sourly.
He was just about to pick the green fruit when a further thought occurred to him. His hand froze. Perhaps this was a test. If he presented this fruit his master would probably accuse him of trying to poison him. Perhaps this was a trap. He decided that he would not be caught so easily. Finding a ripe fruit nearby, Maezehn picked it and quickly shimmied down the tree. Once more on firm ground, he took a moment to inspect some of the numerous scratches he had acquired from the clinging branches before moving towards Yemaen with his hard won prize. His victory was short lived.
“That was not the one that I chose,” Yemaen said shortly, slapping the proffered Juinab from Maezehn’s hand.
Maezehn tasted blood as he bit his lip to keep back a sharp retort which he knew would only make matters worse.
Finally, he managed to master his voice, “The one which you chose was not ripe, Master.”
“Are you questioning me, Boy?” Yemaen asked dangerously, his eyes glinting fiercely.
Maezehn turned abruptly, and angrily stomped back towards the tree.
“You’re useless,” Yemaen announced with a note of exasperation. “Stop! I’ll do it myself.”
Maezehn glared angrily at the Juinab, that gently glided down from the tree’s branch–bristling height which he had needlessly been forced to climb. He didn’t even stop to wonder at his master’s graceful skill as he watched it float easily to Yemaen’s hand outstretched hand. He held it out towards Maezehn.
“It’s not ripe, Boy,” he said shortly.
Maezehn stared at his feet and held his Breath. The Juinab appeared within his line of sight as Yemaen shoved it towards him.
“Eat it,” Yemaen commanded.
Maezehn was shocked into staring directly at him, his mouth slightly open. “But, Master, you said yourself that it wasn’t ripe,” he pleaded in
confusion.
“Well, of course you wouldn’t eat it green.” Yemaen smiled slightly and Maezehn sighed in relief. “It’s obvious that you’ll have to ripen it first,” he explained as if to someone of deficient intellect.
Maezehn stared at him in disbelief. “But, Master, I can’t …”
“You’ve learnt how to force grow a seed into a sapling so you shouldn’t have any trouble ripening a small Juinab,” he interrupted shortly.
“Please, Master, I …”
“You can eat it ripe or you can eat it green,” Yemaen replied with sudden anger.
Maezehn knew that he had no option other than to attempt what had been asked of him. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment to still his clamoring thoughts. Opening his eyes again he fixed his gaze on the fruit and thought of it softening and changing from emerald green to light orange. With growing confidence he watched it slowly transform, the burnished orange spreading. Glowing with triumph, he finally held the orange fruit that he had imagined. Briefly, he looked at his master with a smile then raised the Juinab to his mouth. Before he could bite into it, the fruit flew from his hand to that of his master.
“You would eat this, Boy?” Yemaen questioned, holding a green Juinab
towards him.
“But, Master, it changed,” he cried in disbelief.
“It did not change,” Yemaen countered brusquely.
“But I saw it,” Maezehn fumed.
“You imposed an image, you stupid boy, nothing more. You can only change something from within. Perhaps I should have let you eat it. Making yourself ill may have made you less obstinate!” Yemaen turned away from Maezehn in disgust. “Find your own way home, Boy,” he said angrily, then promptly disappeared.
Maezehn walked to where the fruit lay and kicked it forcefully. It landed some meters from him and he called it back. It rolled back to him and stopped at his feet.
I can at least do that, he thought with a bitter smile.
He stepped on it and it was as hard as a stone. He wished it would splatter under his foot; he wanted to crush something. He slipped and almost fell as the soft flesh of the fruit squashed beneath his foot. He looked at it in amazement and bent down for a closer inspection. It had split like an overripe Juinab, though instead of the usual orangey juice, a thick red liquid oozed from the fruit. It looks like blood, he thought with a laugh, remembering his murderous thoughts as he had stepped on the Juniab . He went to the tree and picked another green Juinab. This time he thought of the soft flesh and the syrupy tart juice as well as the burnished orange of its skin. Soon he held what seemed to be a ripe fruit. Tentatively, he took a small bite. It was soft and juicy and definitely ripe. He ate it heartily then picked another to ripen for his master.
Perhaps I should turn the juice black, he thought with a grim smile.
After Maezehn had started the long journey home and disappeared from view, Yemaen winked back into existence. He walked over to the squashed fruit and chuckled softly.
“Headstrong boy,” he whispered with a fond smile. He nudged the soggy mess with his boot which came away red tipped. “I’ll have to curb this tendency towards the melodramatic though,” he sighed. “A Juinab with black juice indeed!” He gave the fruit a final nudge, then, smiling broadly, quietly disappeared.
Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig oraibh!
“Good times, good friends, good health to you … and the luck of the Irish in all that you do.”
Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!
As tradition dictates, I wore green today! ^.^ Sadly, I didn’t really have any other opportunities to mark the day. I wandered YouTube listening to a few Irish songs and came across an old friend. I was taught Molly Malone when I was about 7 and I used to wander around constantly singing it. It’s not the happiest of songs but it was definitely a childhood favourite and I still remember all the words. It’s one of those songs that never leaves you.
National Day of Mourning
In Australia, today was a national day of mourning. Memorial services were held for the vicitms of the Victorian bushfires. The fires, which began on the 7th of February, claimed the lives of more than 200 people. Not all the rubble in the areas that were destroyed by the bushfires has been cleared so the death toll is expected to rise. “Black Saturday”, as it has been called, will be remembered every 7th of February when our flags will fly at half mast in remembrance of those who lost their lives in Australia’s worst natural disaster.
In recent days we have witnessed unspeakable suffering. We have lost mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers, we have lost brothers, sisters, sons and daughters, the tiniest of children. All these are precious lives. No words can provide solace for grief so personal. But simply know this: You who suffer are not alone.
(Prime Minister Kevin Rudd)
Australian Red Cross Victorian Bushfire Appeal 2009: http://www.redcross.org.au/default.asp
Salvation Army Bushfire Relief Appeal: http://salvos.org.au/
Haze
Words escape
My
Lips.
Now mere breaths
Of
Sound.
Whispers lost
To
Storm.
Unheeded
Thought -
Bound.
Memories
Gather
Still.
Horizons
Faded
Light.
Future song
Now
Mute.
Tomorrow
Taken
Flight.
