5 posts tagged “classical”
I am still using the Mystery Meat setting on my iPod, and not all the way through sampling every song on there. I don't have everything I want on there yet, but what I do have keeps me pretty entertained. So on the way back and forth to the office I hook up the thing to a crappy radio adapter, and sing along. Loudly (as if you didn't know already).
First one on the list this afternoon was one of my own songs. Listening to it, and realizing that I was the person who wrote it, I decided that I'd go with the idea I had for a new site redesign and start on it right away. You can only let procrastination win for so long before it becomes boring, and you become stupid. Now to find a flattering photo to use... good luck and godspeed on that one.
Next was Stewart Copeland's "Strange Things Happen". I had been in the middle of pre-ordering his unreleased book by this same name last night before I was foiled by a glitch on the website, so I was actually heading home to complete that order before my computer packed it in and lost my shopping cart.
I know a whole bunch of folks who are even more thrilled about the release of this book than I am. They have probably already predicted what strange things have happened in the story. After Sting's rather sparse (read: non-gossipy) account of the band's history, and then Andy Summer's more rambunctious joyride through his Police memories, I'm wondering if being last to tell the tale has its merits.
And Stewart talks the way other people write. You can never be sure just what the man will say -- you know it will be absolutely unfiltered, and chances are it will be surprising. But while other people take some time to think up clever answers and spend time thinking about what they are writing, and what they SHOULD be writing, and the best words to say it with... well... that stuff just comes rapidfire right out of his mouth. With no thesaurus-thumbing and really no thinking gap at all. There's barely a chance to really take in the full meaning of what he's just said before he goes on to something else. I'm amazed and impressed with this ability because I've never met anyone like this in my entire life. I wish I could think in words that quickly. But because he talks like other people write... what is he going to write?
Anyway. I've just now finished my pre-order of the book, along with a second readable copy of Andy's "One Train Later" (the autographed one from Luminato is now untouchable). Like the rest of us, Stewart's put out some questionable stuff (and I'm willing to take my licks on that from the nutters -- plus I'm first in line to showcase some of the really horrible songs I'm forced to take credit for myself) but this book is going to be something to really look forward to and devour no matter how it turns out. And there's always the chance of a booksigning tour :)
Would you ever want to be a model? Why or why not?
I actually was a model. Once. It was such a terrible experience that I refused to ever do it again.
I got to dress in all sorts of really neat clothes, but it was the kind of show where the models walked among the seated guests. And these guests simply reached out and touched the clothes, ostensibly for rubbing thumb and forefinger against the fabric to check out texture and content, but it was creepy as all hell. I had no warning at all, they never spoke, there were just hands clutching at me and I was uncharmingly yanked back as if I were a trophy fish, free to move again only when they released me. My instructions were to mingle throughout the room and keep my eyes lifted above everyone, and for God's sake, smile. It was like walking through a forest in the dark, where the trees reached out and grabbed you. I absolutely hated it -- their quietly snide comments, their scrutiny, their unseen hands snatching at me, my skinny teenage body being used as a way to sell someone's overly priced merchandise.
I finished the gig and I got the hell out of there and I never looked back. I was asked to model many more times after that (well before I got chubby from having my kids, during my long-gone days as a flat-chested rake). I don't care what the money was like or how many cool clothes I could have collected, or any of the other things that could be said about the career - I only remember their eyes, and how I felt so lonely avoiding the look in them, and how disgustingly edible their scrutiny made me feel.
I'm much, much happier being a programming, classical-music composing, plump nerd than I ever could have been as a clothes pimp. I am 100% sure on that one. I'm glad there are people out there who do it, and I'd be happier still to know that they enjoy it, but that is one career that is just not for me.
One of the things I miss, when technology takes a big leap and knocks everything else out of the way, is the stuff that we've packed away because it's supposedly redundant. We have a ton of VHS tapes, and somewhere in a box is one of my all-time favourite movies, "Rubin and Ed".
I've made references to this movie twice within my last handful of posts, and after googling a certain phrase from that movie I managed to find a clip. Not just any clip, but the clip of Rubin and his dead cat's squeaky toy, stomping around his room, blasting Mahler.
And the post where I talked about it.
Gah, I miss that movie.
I just booked tickets to see the Toronto Symphony Orchestra at Roy Thomson Hall, and boy am I excited. The Tokyo String Quartet, a world premiere by a Canadian composer, and a pipa - I am in raptures! I spotted another concert I want to see (Hungarian-themed) because it is like the songs I compose myself, so I may book more tickets as the date gets closer.
The thing is, even though I write classical music and huge scores for orchestras, I don't think I've ever been to see a real one in a real theatre. I even missed seeing my famous cousin perform his works of art with an orchestra. The only problem that I can see is how emotional it will all make me, and how mortifying it will be to escape the venue with mascara-tears streaking down my cheeks. I've always been that way, from the time I was in grade school and the highschool band played for us, and sometimes even now when I write something that strikes a particular nerve within me. What can you do? I'm a girl.
Anyway, I am going to have to start slimming after the holidays (who the hell starts slimming DURING the holidays?) so that I can fit into a slinky Little Black Dress in time for the concert. I'm almost jumping around with excitement, and it's just as well, because what comes next is weeks of deprivation from indulgences and hard work!
[ if you got here through one of my tags but didn't find what you were looking for... this is the explanation why ]
It's really very simple.
Being a writer is a shitty job. People think that writers should just write for the pleasure of it, and therefore writing is a job they won't pay you for. Not true. People think they can just sit down and decide one day to be a writer. Not bloody likely. People also think they can control what other people write. You can't.
I've always said that if you know a writer, you will eventually find yourself in one of Mork's reports back to Orson.
Does Mork care if you are in the report? Nope. Does Orson think it's wrong for people to interfere with Mork filing his report? Hell, yes.
So I'm going to admit it. I'm sick to death of the scrutiny. Quite frankly, I'm embarrassed for you -- that you think you have the right to control the things I say, what I do, what I think, and what I write about. I'm tired of feigning respect for, and continuing to smile and nod at, the people who just want to judge me. Worse: when they communicate these judgments to me and then expect me to change to fit their ideas.
I'm taking my control back. Here's what I've left for you: your scrutiny, your judgments, and your ideas. You can have them. They are, after all, just yours. I've never shared them.
This is not my first VOX blog post. I've moved almost everything into
"neighbourhood only" so that I can select who sees what, and when. How's that for showing some lady balls? I hope you aren't feeling threatened. All I'm doing is living my own life. Which is, like it or lump it, the life of a writer.
If you need access to one of my previous posts, whether through a Google search or a link that one of my friends has shared, just message or contact me, and I'll hook you up.
