Rachmaninoff and Red Sox

The moon ate a rose and turned into a daisy.

2009-12-19T22:21:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas!

And a Happy New Year!

I am much grateful for all of thee, good checkities. :)

2009-12-12T11:21:00.000-08:00

Rusted roses growing in your

golden mechanical garden.

Rain falling on the silver leaves,

sliding down the stem

into the gears and wheels.

Rapid fluttering

sounds in your ear,

as the humming bird

flies away.

2009-11-24T23:19:00.000-08:00

Rhapsodastical silence,

blank stares at a white wall.

Traveling into netherspace,

watching raindrops trickle into a slow drawl.

Heavy eyes, blinking abstractly,

not really looking at anything.

colours drifting through your eyes,

melancholy teasing your taut smile.

Close the blinds,

force your frame to become erect.

Tear your eyes away from nothingness

and wrap your dark whimsy securely away,

in a safe, conventional drawer.

Twilight. Tada!

2009-11-21T01:12:00.000-08:00

:D

The second twilight movie,
soooo fun to watch in a full, loud theater with some of my dear friends! :)
Really, it's hard to beat audience interaction- opening weekend is one of the only times that I think film can hold its own as a community experience with theater.

Heh. Twilight is seriously fun chickflick material. O:D

2009-11-09T16:18:00.053-08:00

My poor little blog! I hadn't realized I had abandoned her for three weeks! Things are progressing about on schedule though, but I need to make sure I force myself to do at least three hours of piano. Mondays are easy, since it's easy to be scheduled and organized but by Friday it's much harder to stay motivated!

Otherwise, swing dancing is going well I think and I'm enjoying it very much. :) Oh! and my Shakespeare class is really starting to mesh. It isn't easy to have comprehension among 6 people, for as my Biola Wheatstone mentor pointed out this summer, we can all be using the same words but do we mean the same things by them? That is the danger of using words that aren't precisly the right size for the idea. Great discussions are not analogous with a one-size-fits-all clothing department but rather with a tailor. Such a beautiful fit is not without cost though. Of course if you settle for average, you don't have to pay as much.

So ending question: What do we sacrafice for great discussions/communities? Is the cost always worth it, or are there instances where one should invest only an average amount?

2009-10-14T21:31:00.001-07:00

Listening to Nat King Cole,

(in the rain)

is something one only does in the movies.

The heroine of the above pictured vignette would certainly be wearing a beautiful dress with a

very full skirt,

and black heels which she can somehow wear without tripping,

in the rain.

(don't ask me, maybe she got a stunt double.)

I imagine her strolling the boulevards as the camera features subtle colours, grey-blues, blacks- all the colours that the rain provides a grateful audience.

Our heroine is certainly alone, dreamily eyeing the trees and the concrete;

[weathered and smoothed to the scene as the script called for.]

At this point the rain starts to pour, and so Attractive Man In Suit is allowed to come to the rescue with Black Umbrella. Please proceed to nonsensical waltzing in the empty streets- followed by lady losing the heel off one of her shoes.

End scene as Charming Man waves for a Bus.

[Music dies out slowly]

Sunday afternoon walks.

2009-10-04T16:04:00.000-07:00

Walking in the wind, in the autumn,

so undilutedly lovely.

My hair being blown back, soft and fine, unworried.

I never worry while I walk, in my soft red sweater, jeans, white tennis shoes.

I breathe in,

pushing out, stretching deliberately, slowly.

I enjoy the luxury of being barely lost, ambling through streets which are dressed in concrete, through a neighborhood I know because I always go here when I want to go somewhere I don't know. Dear, straight trees, white skinned, so fragile and elongated, these I understand.

I like singing, very carefully expanding my tiny, little voice with its tiny range, and I am exuberantly content. Of course, I have an equally minute memory, so I must be content to sing snippets of songs I love, switching rapidly as I can only remember the sounds of the words, and not the words themselves.

I breathe in...

'Cause Boy asked me to,

2009-10-01T19:41:00.000-07:00

I figure what goes around comes around, no? ;)

<3,

MKR

Progress!

2009-09-29T21:39:00.000-07:00

After being a generally unfocused piano student, I am finally getting back into the swing of things! :)

Yesterday and today each got three hours of practice and my playing is really starting to show improvement for it. For awhile I had just been doing an hour a day, but it was not really going anywhere, which was frusterating. I think that has to do with levels, if, as a beginning student you do an hour a day, you are in great shape. As a slightly more advanced student though, I just wasn't getting enough time in to make progress. However, after a lesson, I decided I just needed to risk a wrist injury and get in the time. The thing is, if I play it safe, than I certainly won't make it. At least this way I have a shot at it. Of course, the way I am practicing is very careful, it's just the amount that might be a problem. Two days are through though, and I think I'm okay?

For the first time, I think I have a shot at making auditions if I keep working like this; here's hoping! :)

This is a long post. You have my full permission to skip it now. ;)

2009-09-16T15:41:00.000-07:00

*These are about three years of thoughts on the subject of home. I must apologize, both for the length, and for the inevitable borrowing of ideas that occurs in this process. Any borrowing without crediting the author is unintentional. :P

"What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make and end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.

[...]

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time" (T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding, part V).

The concept of home is rooted so deeply within the soul that no human innovation can escape its siren-like call. A prevalent example of this occurs in music theory. With rare exceptions, the piece beings on the tonic chord from where it will progress to sub-dominant, dominant and finally tonic again. Following this pattern is inherently natural, hearing an unresolved chord begs for the resolution. It is unnatural to not return to where you began.

The paradox though, is that though in one sense the tonic chord, home, is the same, in another sense home is utterly transformed to the listener. Has the actual beginning changed? No. What has changed is our perception and understanding of the beginning. The richness of the experience has caused us to know what we first heard, but to find the richness, we must journey away from the place of our we began, the place of our birth.

This has been a concept I have struggled with before and I am sure, will continue with which to struggle my whole life. One experience that helped me understand the nature of home came from trying to come to terms with my personality. When I was young, I was so happy, chatty and outgoing. As I grew older though, I had to deal with depression, something that seemingly essentially changed who I was. I wanted so very much just to go back to what I had been, but there is no way to return to home the same way that we leave it.

The solution? I am not sure what the solution is. I know though, that the happiness I had when I was small was limited. Not bad, but limited, so while I experienced very little serious pain, I never understood beauty so well that it drew tears from my eyes. Somehow, when I return home, I will be more essentially me, not less, but deeper and fuller, more able to experience and understand the place into which I was born.

So much sadness though occurs when we try to deny our beginning home. None of us chose the place we were born into, and yet we must cope with the circumstances and results of it. Either we reject or accept our home. If we reject it, we are trapped into being defined by our home as a result of negation, always acting against what we hate, but never free from its shadow. Or, we can accept home and if we do that, we must accept the ugly as well as the beautiful. Must we be satisfied with the ugly? No, but the ugly will have to be corrected and faced. This will inevitably lead to terrible pain. If we endure the pain though we will finally see what we always knew, but we shall see more truly. We shall, "arrive where we started/

And know the place for the first time" (Elliot).

It's that time again....

2009-09-15T21:50:00.000-07:00

Alright sports fans, let us examine the situation.

The Red Sox, thanks to a lovely outing by the newly returned Dice-K, are 5.5 games up on the wild card. I'm going to say that they probably won't win the division, though I suppose it's still vaguely possible.

Now that means that most likely the AL playoffs will be Angels-Red Sox and Yankees-Detroit. (shades of 2004, anyone? I wish :D)

This would be kind of interesting because this line-up could yield a very familiar ALCS. If the Red Sox beat the Angels as they have frequently in recent play-off history and the Yankees beat Detroit, then we have the doomsday match up of Yankees-Red Sox. Not only would that be stressful with the rivalry but the media would go crazy and heavens knows we don't want that. :P

On the other hand, if Detroit beats the Yankees, which would be ideal on just about every level and the Red Sox win against the Angels, THEN I WILL BE CONFLICTED! I mean in the end I will of course want the Red Sox to win, but it would be slightly bitter-sweet. :P I prefer undiluted ownage, when at all possible.

Or we could have the Angels-Yankees, which would be shades of 2002. In which case we want the Angels to win. Or if it's Angels-Detroit, then I think probably we want Detroit to win as vengeance for the Red Sox.

There. I think I have hashed out every possible situation. Unless Texas becomes awesome, or... I don't know, half the AL East gets kicked out for steroid abuse. :P

Baseball, how I love thee. :D

2009-09-13T20:21:00.000-07:00

Death is such an empty laugh,

now that light is here.

Tears dry so quickly,

gone is the fear,

"Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us."

Though I have seen death openly creep,

stealing the colour out of saint's cheeks,

I know what is real.

Sometimes, sitting on the concrete, I see the leaves silhouetted black against the sky

and it is so beautiful

and so familiar.

I cannot touch that beauty, but it comforts my soul.

In the same way, the more death I see the more I feel the presence of the Church eternal.

The saints will not be silenced,

and sometimes I experience, not just remember, them.

"Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us."

I still feel pain of death. But, I would not, could not shy away from a single tear, because my love is not dead.

If the past tense were our only hope, if my dim memory was my salvation, I would despair.

But, the Church is alive, she is vibrant, and beautiful, strong and serene. Joyful and ever young.

So, it is not that I loved, not that I was loved, but that we are always giving and receiving, always loving, always moving in the silence, in the laughter.

"Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world, grant us they peace."

Win

2009-09-06T15:41:00.000-07:00

Today:

the Yankees lost
the Red Sox won
the Tigers won
Texas lost
Angels won

Which means pretty much everyone I know is happy and the Red Sox had a perfectly ideal day. :D

EDIT:

AND the Reds won, Calvin. ;)

Sheesh, I feel like I'm making this up! No, it's just all good. :D

State of the Union Address

2009-09-03T10:22:00.000-07:00

Ah, September baseball. On the whole, I'm not sure what happened that the Red Sox got 7.5 games behind the Yankees! It was all going so well! 1.5 games in first place, cruising. :) But, as often seems to happen, I leave with everything totally under control, and when I get back, not only have David Ortiz and Manny Ramirez been having... er, PR issues, the Yankees have taken over!

Now, the Red Sox have been playing very well recently, but the Yankees seem incapable of losing on any of the days the Red Sox win. :P It is possible I am imagining this, the-Yankees-never-lose-phenomenon since no-one is writing about it. Hard to say.

At least the wildcard is still in good shape, right?

Having now bored 9/10s of my readership.... maybe the Red Sox will win so I can retain the last 1/10? :)

2009-08-14T10:31:00.000-07:00

Don't want to play the Rangers, Don't want to play the Rangers... Reject Rangers! :)

AAAAAAH!

Danielle is coming Danielle is coming Danielle is coming...

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaay!

BoUnCe, iF, i, HaD, StAiRs, I, WoUlD, bOuNcE, dOwN tHeM! :D

Entering out of the Twilight closet. :)

2009-08-13T13:40:00.000-07:00

In case I have managed to hide my deep dark secret well, I confess to intensely enjoying Twilight. As the market demographic, I realize such a confession is hardly going to create a respectable academic reference! Still, (and I do not say this to be trite) Twilight strongly resonates with me in a way that has popped up before in various things. Possibly this is just a symptom of my being a romantic. However, since I care about Twilight, I want to challenge the text and see how it stands up for itself.

My initial question is one of grammar & adjectives. Bella consistently misuses grammar, something that bothers me a good deal. My theory though is that this is intentional and stylistic feature. If this is true, I would expect Bella to misuse grammar, but Edward to be impeccable on that front. (unless there is a progression where Bella influences how Edward speaks).

As far as adjectives, I have heard complaints before that Twilight is poorly written just as far as writing technique goes. I want to look at how words are used, and again, see whether the writing changes based on different character's range of speech.

You may now mock me, if you wish. ;)

100 posts.

2009-08-03T22:52:00.000-07:00

I'm rather glad to be at one hundred posts. It's probably miraculous that I ever got here given how slowly I post and how many poetry entries I never post here.

This is one of my favorite pieces I've written, from early last year. Sorry that the correct font isn't translating over, and sorry for the slightly uncheerful vibe! Thank you for reading through 100 posts. :)

decoupage

Sometimes when I sleep, I go to work with scissors and with glue,

to decoupage a dream out of the scraps and ribbons of today.

and yesterday. and the week before.

The end result is smooth and mesmeric, and actual life would impose most harshly,

at least, it would, if I could remember more clearly.

Does it count to say that it was lovely to see you last night? I suppose you were not

actually

there, but your name was, a refrain from, complete absence?

Or maybe the pain drives me neurotic,

zooming forward and back in, watching the lens sink and spin...

I’m not upset, but the keyboard isn’t working.

Forgive because I’m not really,

awake.

Good health: Water and Wheatstone.

2009-07-20T09:51:00.000-07:00

Water has no taste, smell or colour. If you tried to describe water to someone who had no concept of what water is, how would you do it?

How would you articulate the grace, the strength and the translucent beauty of water?

Perhaps you couldn't do it, but that wouldn't make water less beautiful.

Wheatstone puts me in a similar difficulty. I could describe to you the elation that I felt when my small group began to really become a group, I could tell you how magnificent opera coerced tears out of my eyes numerous times-but that wouldn't explain Wheatstone.

Part of the beauty of Wheatstone is in fact, that it has a certain amount of transformative leeway. There is no way to plan what 10 people are going to discuss, no way to know just when that defining moment of painful joy comes and gives strength to the individuals.

That's the fun of Wheatstone, life is an adventure because everyday you interact with immortals. Even if you aren't with an immortal, you cannot escape nature's presence. Stretched out on the grass I looked at a tree and realized that the sight of a single branch was enough beauty to last me a lifetime.

So of course I can't define Wheatstone, but I would be disappointed if I could. And, lest you think that makes the power of the thing less, I am in fact, still going to drink water, and I advise you to do the same.

Baby Poechella

2009-07-06T18:38:00.000-07:00

Let me preface this by saying I do not like salmon. I do not quite loathe salmon, but I also fail to understand how anyone can spend 25 dollars for a plate of it and simultaneously avoid grief.

On the other hand, anything that comes from the store lovingly wrapped in brown paper and tied with a sticker must be good. Even better when this object is soft and squishy, and pink.

So, cooking it is a great joy. Dicing garlic, [becoming obsessive compulsive over dicing said garlic perfectly symmetrically...] putting it all in the sauce of olive oil and lemon, all good.

By the time I got to the stage of lovingly rubbing the salmon in the sauce, I had named the pink gooey thing: Baby Poechella. It was about at that point that Mom kindly suggested I was becoming overly attached to our prospective dinner.

I tried to convince Mom that we shouldn't cook Baby Poechella, but it was a futile endevour, and Baby Poechella was sliced and roasted over a hot grill.

My relationships have a habit of not working out well, at least insofar as they involve Mom wanting to eat my new friends.

holding Simone.

2009-06-21T16:14:00.000-07:00

Tiny, unknowingly serene,

curled up unaware of and inside the world,

dreaming voice tucked inside her sleeping eyes and curled fists.

Baby three month old girl.

You are resting like a rose on the water, little girl,

so light that I can hardly feel your weight at first,

teetering on translucent, you weigh so little.

Little sonatina growing into a sonata so effortlessly.

Curling eye lashes, beauty unforced, sans truculence

trusting that the world around you is safe and sighing,

your diaphragm expands in a tiny burst:

as the syntax of sleep dictates.

Never let me near a music store.

2009-06-19T22:21:00.000-07:00

Originally, I was going to buy clothes with my birthday money, or maybe shoes! I had it all planned out down to a science.

Science; however, could not save me from my inevitable fall in the music-store-of-glory. Within maybe an hour I had spent all of my money. :P Actually, I had almost made it out of the story with some of my money intact, when I found a book on film scoring. That was the end of the potential shoe shopping as we learn that a musician and her shoes are soon parted. :D

I'm nervous about music though, it's hard to focus, and I really need to work harder, my fingers are kind of stiff. That means lots of Czerny. :) Difficulties, difficulties... Hopefully I will buckle down and concentrate, this year especially! In the meantime though, there are books to be read, at least four the last time I checked. :) :)

Back to the topic at hand.... the film scoring book looks very interesting, and I am very excited to learn how music needs to adapt to meet the needs of film.

Night checkities! :)

These shoes...

2009-06-11T23:58:00.001-07:00

are really cool. :D They are half named after me! What's not to like? O:)

http://www.payless.com/store/product/detail.jsp?skuId=063692090&productId=61519&subCatId=cat10270&catId=cat10088&lotId=063692&category=&catdisplayName=Womens+

Torrey Banquet

2009-05-29T23:08:00.000-07:00

My greatest honor and my greatest joy,

was being a part of your community, (you the noble, true and brave).

And if I ever understood joy in fact, or pure gladness in tears untainted by sorrow,

it was tonight, in a pure moment of gratitude.

It's so wonderful, I could never forget how right the moment was, how perfectly right. Justice not forced to met out punishment is the sweetest kind yet, perhaps.

And our tutor? Who has shown us poetry, light, beauty- who has sifted through miles of written chaff in order to pull out a single golden grain, a grain so dear after the labor it has cost.

Mostly my words are muddied by tears, but maybe the tears are appropriate even so.

Dear, precious class, my thanks.

2009-05-24T23:47:00.000-07:00

Language is terribly vague,

and there are not words to describe the slight tremble of tears

or the subtle elation of the rain.

Instead we play at alchemy,

mixing adjectives and gerunds while we try to find gold.

Even a fool's gold shines brighter than brass.

Perhaps poetry suffers from lonely musings devoid of the muses,

as emptied virtues play at beauty,

but maybe that's all the muses ever were.

So quality remains hidden; not dead,

and there's still time before the dark to revise despair.

Not to advocate universal genius by any means,

but if apathy doesn't paralyze the majority into deafness

there may be room for genius yet to sound.

If then, all cannot be great, all can learn to recognize reality,

and by doing so, love those things worthy of love.

Leaving faceless idols to crumble away in light.

2009-05-20T07:08:00.001-07:00

MY PAPER IS

done! :)