Sinfonia da Vita, Op. 1
Monday, January 26, 2004
Grave
It’s been two weeks since we last meet to discuss about the musical. Megan arrives with two new numbers, while I spend the time before she arrives composing the new song for the character Lucy at the piano. I realise I cannot write without the keyboard. If I don’t, I usually write erratic stuff that sounds nonsensical when played later.
Meg has been fretting over who should play the characters Rodney Tan and Fabius Kwok. Rodney is a flamboyant figure who is approached to imitate a priest – he’s the type interested in women for their money. Fabius is a bit of an “ah-kwa” who owns a flower shop.
Meg’s thought of two Year Ones to play the roles. But when she calls them in, they read the script and decline the offer. We’ve looked for Cyril Wong to play Fabius – he fits the role perfectly – but apparently Cyril only wishes to direct, and not act. Everyone spends the day recalling the faggots in our college. However most of them would have been in the army already. We shortlist a few who might still be available.
I forget to mention; we look up Weiqi to play Rodney. Rodney was originally written for Wilfred to perform, but Wil has to go into the army early, so we need someone else. Weiqi has that kind of “attitude” that would go down well with the character of Rodney Tan.
But Meg is still despairing. She contemplates re-writing the script if she cannot find the people to play these two parts. We urge her not to do so; the script is very good as it is already. Changes might have deleterious effects on the story.
We’re considering some activities during International Friendship Day on 13 February in the college to raise funds for our musical. I’m thinking of doing a Solo Piano Marathon whereby people can come and pick pieces they’d like to hear, and I’d try to weave all their requests into one huge medley that lasts for at least three hours and no more than five hours. Meg wants to sell something unique and not like what everybody is selling in school during such college activities.
Late afternoon we pop by Miss Loong’s office to chat. Meg’s idea of inspiration – it’s a much needed break from all the tiring discussions about work. It feels so good and so different to be talking as graduates to our teachers; a certain kind of barrier has been removed.
In the evening I work on the stage band arrangement of “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life”. I’ve come to love this song somehow. It’s been playing and re-playing in my mind, and I’ve even been taken to singing aloud on the streets. ¶ 1/26/2004 10:39:00 pm 0 comments
It’s been two weeks since we last meet to discuss about the musical. Megan arrives with two new numbers, while I spend the time before she arrives composing the new song for the character Lucy at the piano. I realise I cannot write without the keyboard. If I don’t, I usually write erratic stuff that sounds nonsensical when played later.
Meg has been fretting over who should play the characters Rodney Tan and Fabius Kwok. Rodney is a flamboyant figure who is approached to imitate a priest – he’s the type interested in women for their money. Fabius is a bit of an “ah-kwa” who owns a flower shop.
Meg’s thought of two Year Ones to play the roles. But when she calls them in, they read the script and decline the offer. We’ve looked for Cyril Wong to play Fabius – he fits the role perfectly – but apparently Cyril only wishes to direct, and not act. Everyone spends the day recalling the faggots in our college. However most of them would have been in the army already. We shortlist a few who might still be available.
I forget to mention; we look up Weiqi to play Rodney. Rodney was originally written for Wilfred to perform, but Wil has to go into the army early, so we need someone else. Weiqi has that kind of “attitude” that would go down well with the character of Rodney Tan.
But Meg is still despairing. She contemplates re-writing the script if she cannot find the people to play these two parts. We urge her not to do so; the script is very good as it is already. Changes might have deleterious effects on the story.
We’re considering some activities during International Friendship Day on 13 February in the college to raise funds for our musical. I’m thinking of doing a Solo Piano Marathon whereby people can come and pick pieces they’d like to hear, and I’d try to weave all their requests into one huge medley that lasts for at least three hours and no more than five hours. Meg wants to sell something unique and not like what everybody is selling in school during such college activities.
Late afternoon we pop by Miss Loong’s office to chat. Meg’s idea of inspiration – it’s a much needed break from all the tiring discussions about work. It feels so good and so different to be talking as graduates to our teachers; a certain kind of barrier has been removed.
In the evening I work on the stage band arrangement of “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life”. I’ve come to love this song somehow. It’s been playing and re-playing in my mind, and I’ve even been taken to singing aloud on the streets. ¶ 1/26/2004 10:39:00 pm 0 comments
Saturday, January 24, 2004
Diffidgnte
I’m taking the SAT for the third time; the previous two times have not been to the Conservatory’s expectations (regarding the first try) and my expectations (regarding the second try). This had better be the third and last try; anyway I cannot afford to take the paper again, because I need the score from this sitting to complement my A-level results. I’ve prepared for this test… not to say very sufficiently, but I ought to have enough confidence… I guess…
For the first time I’m taking the examination at Singapore Expo. Imagine sitting in the middle of a vast hall with thousands of other students (well, I did end up sitting near the centre of the hall)… feel the pressure. In fact it’s the first time for the Centre for Testing and Assessment Services (CTAS). They book this place because there are simply too many candidates who want to take January’s test. There are still last-minute candidates who stood with their cheques and registration forms in a queue that snaked all the way to Hall 6 (by the way, we’re in Hall 5).
Conducting the exam in such a large hall also proves its own logistical problems. The proctors screwed up at the beginning when they let the stand-by students (those who requested change of test date and centre at the last moment) into the hall and let them merge into the crowd of registered students (those who were already assigned places and registered for this date). They start asking the standbys to move out of the row of seats in order that they can be assigned new ones. Later the supervisor is heard screaming towards the foyer of the hall: “Anymore students outside? Anymore more? Quickly come in… we’re going to close the doors!”
All this ruckus takes almost one and a half hours. At 09:30, the papers are distributed. Then comes the daunting task of filling up our particulars on the Optical Mark Sheet. It’s not merely the simple task of “name” and “identification number”: there’s other details like address, date of birth, registration number, this code and that code… everything takes about half an hour.
Finally, at ten, we start. We’ve sit in the hall for two hours, and we’re behind schedule by one (normally most SAT exams start at nine)
Somehow I manage to get accustomed to the setting. It isn’t really that daunting, especially when I’m all bent on completing the section of my test on time. I sort of ignored everybody and everything else. I brought a watch, but didn’t really seem to glance at it. I don’t know how the hell I work so fast; I’m usually done before the “five minutes left” announcement, including the shading of the ovals on the mark sheet. Possibly it could have been the air-conditioning, coupled with the cold weather outside (it has been raining since Friday night), which provides a stimulant for the brain (thankfully I brought a jacket along; I don’t need a cold stimulant for my body thank you very much). The only thing I fear is getting a headache at the end of the test, because in my last attempt in 2003, my head was literally killing me at the end of the paper, despite the fact I had a good sleep of more than eight hours the night before. This time I only had like, if I recall, 6.5 hours. And I wake up, nearly being late.
After the two half-hour sections, the supervisor announces a five-minute toilet break, according to protocol. The Chancellor and I have to leave the hall for the toilets outside, because those inside are virtually crammed.
So are those in the foyer.
We have to trek further down to Hall 4 (my old workplace… ah, it brings back so many fond memories) before we find a toilet whose queue is still rather manageable. The lines back at Hall 5 were, scarily, like lottery queues. I guess that’s five minutes waiting for one’s turn, followed by one minute business… if everybody has to that I expect our five minute break to be stretched.
I am right.
The Chancellor and I finish and quickly make our way back. While in the toilet we overhear this bunch of guys discussing about their test… which the rules forbid during intermission. To hell with the rules, it’s not my business if they break the rules or not… but it’s terribly disgusting to hear someone else talk about a paper you’ve just done! When you finish an exam all you want to do it trash it from your mind and concentrate on whatever is coming up in the future. There’s no use going back to discuss about the answer because obviously you cannot change anything, and you only worry even more when you compare answers and realise that everyone else’s is different from yours. Then everybody starts to panic, and continue to hold this feeling when they go back for the next paper.
The break stretches into twenty minutes. After this experience, the supervisor refuses to provide toilet breaks until the very end.
The hall is silent again as we work on the following sections of the test. It is rather eerie… considering a huge, vast hall filled with people, but hardly any noise, save for a few (violent) coughs and a table crashing onto the floor and so forth. But the feeling is quite unique, especially when I’ve just experienced the John Little Warehouse Sale about a week ago; it was so noisy and boisterous, with the radio played the whole day over the PA system. Here it is like mass mourning, with hours, not a minute, of silence.
When the rain falls, you can hear it. A few times we hear a faint roaring sound as the rain intensifies. Then you hear the sounds of water dripping onto the metal roof of the hall. But most of us are unperturbed; the only thing on our minds is to finish the test before the allocated time for each section. There is no room for appreciative thoughts.
The whole thing finally finishes at two o’clock. We’ve been sitting in that dratted hall for six hours already. Everybody whoops with delight and a sigh of relief. ¶ 1/24/2004 10:32:00 pm 0 comments
I’m taking the SAT for the third time; the previous two times have not been to the Conservatory’s expectations (regarding the first try) and my expectations (regarding the second try). This had better be the third and last try; anyway I cannot afford to take the paper again, because I need the score from this sitting to complement my A-level results. I’ve prepared for this test… not to say very sufficiently, but I ought to have enough confidence… I guess…
For the first time I’m taking the examination at Singapore Expo. Imagine sitting in the middle of a vast hall with thousands of other students (well, I did end up sitting near the centre of the hall)… feel the pressure. In fact it’s the first time for the Centre for Testing and Assessment Services (CTAS). They book this place because there are simply too many candidates who want to take January’s test. There are still last-minute candidates who stood with their cheques and registration forms in a queue that snaked all the way to Hall 6 (by the way, we’re in Hall 5).
Conducting the exam in such a large hall also proves its own logistical problems. The proctors screwed up at the beginning when they let the stand-by students (those who requested change of test date and centre at the last moment) into the hall and let them merge into the crowd of registered students (those who were already assigned places and registered for this date). They start asking the standbys to move out of the row of seats in order that they can be assigned new ones. Later the supervisor is heard screaming towards the foyer of the hall: “Anymore students outside? Anymore more? Quickly come in… we’re going to close the doors!”
All this ruckus takes almost one and a half hours. At 09:30, the papers are distributed. Then comes the daunting task of filling up our particulars on the Optical Mark Sheet. It’s not merely the simple task of “name” and “identification number”: there’s other details like address, date of birth, registration number, this code and that code… everything takes about half an hour.
Finally, at ten, we start. We’ve sit in the hall for two hours, and we’re behind schedule by one (normally most SAT exams start at nine)
Somehow I manage to get accustomed to the setting. It isn’t really that daunting, especially when I’m all bent on completing the section of my test on time. I sort of ignored everybody and everything else. I brought a watch, but didn’t really seem to glance at it. I don’t know how the hell I work so fast; I’m usually done before the “five minutes left” announcement, including the shading of the ovals on the mark sheet. Possibly it could have been the air-conditioning, coupled with the cold weather outside (it has been raining since Friday night), which provides a stimulant for the brain (thankfully I brought a jacket along; I don’t need a cold stimulant for my body thank you very much). The only thing I fear is getting a headache at the end of the test, because in my last attempt in 2003, my head was literally killing me at the end of the paper, despite the fact I had a good sleep of more than eight hours the night before. This time I only had like, if I recall, 6.5 hours. And I wake up, nearly being late.
After the two half-hour sections, the supervisor announces a five-minute toilet break, according to protocol. The Chancellor and I have to leave the hall for the toilets outside, because those inside are virtually crammed.
So are those in the foyer.
We have to trek further down to Hall 4 (my old workplace… ah, it brings back so many fond memories) before we find a toilet whose queue is still rather manageable. The lines back at Hall 5 were, scarily, like lottery queues. I guess that’s five minutes waiting for one’s turn, followed by one minute business… if everybody has to that I expect our five minute break to be stretched.
I am right.
The Chancellor and I finish and quickly make our way back. While in the toilet we overhear this bunch of guys discussing about their test… which the rules forbid during intermission. To hell with the rules, it’s not my business if they break the rules or not… but it’s terribly disgusting to hear someone else talk about a paper you’ve just done! When you finish an exam all you want to do it trash it from your mind and concentrate on whatever is coming up in the future. There’s no use going back to discuss about the answer because obviously you cannot change anything, and you only worry even more when you compare answers and realise that everyone else’s is different from yours. Then everybody starts to panic, and continue to hold this feeling when they go back for the next paper.
The break stretches into twenty minutes. After this experience, the supervisor refuses to provide toilet breaks until the very end.
The hall is silent again as we work on the following sections of the test. It is rather eerie… considering a huge, vast hall filled with people, but hardly any noise, save for a few (violent) coughs and a table crashing onto the floor and so forth. But the feeling is quite unique, especially when I’ve just experienced the John Little Warehouse Sale about a week ago; it was so noisy and boisterous, with the radio played the whole day over the PA system. Here it is like mass mourning, with hours, not a minute, of silence.
When the rain falls, you can hear it. A few times we hear a faint roaring sound as the rain intensifies. Then you hear the sounds of water dripping onto the metal roof of the hall. But most of us are unperturbed; the only thing on our minds is to finish the test before the allocated time for each section. There is no room for appreciative thoughts.
The whole thing finally finishes at two o’clock. We’ve been sitting in that dratted hall for six hours already. Everybody whoops with delight and a sigh of relief. ¶ 1/24/2004 10:32:00 pm 0 comments
Thursday, January 22, 2004
Gong Xi Fa Cai!
Holidays are no big deal to me now… the only deal is that the house gets damn noisy because everybody is at home. Another deal is that we’ve got the tedious job of doing house visits.
I wake up at 12pm today; slept at 2am this morning “shŏu sùi” – i.e. the tradition says that if the kids stay up late on New Year’s Eve the parents will live longer. Whether it’s true or not I don’t care… anyway it’s an excuse to start work on my new “money-less” commission from the TJC Symphonic Band. Alas, I end up chatting on the net instead. By the time I want to start writing I’m already dozing off.
So I have no chance to work on the score when I wake up. While bathing I had sudden ideas to how the arrangement of “First Love” should open, and how “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” should work. So I dash down (with clothes on, duh) and begin to scribble notes. As we’re about to leave Mother says, “Take your papers along with you; we’re running late.” YES! I get to bring my manuscript book along!
We’re the first to arrive at my grandma’s (paternal side). While we’re lunching my First Uncle and his family arrives, followed by my aunt and hers. The house is freaking crowded and noisy. There’s sixteen people squeezed into the living room. And there’re four kids – my aunt’s three young children and my brother. Now isn’t that bad? And when there are four kids it means that we are entitled to watch cartoons on Kids Central. My brother has been watching that fucking channel since morning, and now we unduly suffer the same fate again. Anyway I’m writing my score, I don’t care what’s on the telly.
Consider my luck to fit in braces around this feastive season. When you fit in braces, you are deprived of sweets and chocolates and other foods that will induce cavities. I’m discouraged from eating chocolates because they will stick to the braces and make it hard to brush thereafter. Anyway other types of food already jam onto the metal when they go in; it makes almost no difference.
Later we go to my maternal grandmother’s house. Hurrah! Now I’ve got the chance to listen to Vitali’s Chaconne in g minor at full blast on the computer! To hell if it’s sad and unfit for a festive occasion; tragedy appeals to me! How I get goose pimples every time I listen to it! It just induces me to dance around the room and cry and sing madly and loudly and to burst into tears! It’s an escape from the fucking Kids Central, which my brother is still selfishly clinging on to. I desperately wish that channel is not free-to-air and that we have to pay for it. Then Father will refuse to subscribe for it and then I will not have to endure that on the television anymore.
Back home I slog on the score of “First Love”, having prepared the reduction score earlier at my grandma’s place. It’s a very brash piece, none of the yucky intimacies of romance, and it definitely doesn’t sound like a J-Pop arrangement under my charge. I think it’s more of a Hollywood style. Perhaps lovers should be open and outright and not play hide-and-seek, of which unfortunately I am an epitome of the latter. ¶ 1/22/2004 05:09:00 pm 0 comments
Holidays are no big deal to me now… the only deal is that the house gets damn noisy because everybody is at home. Another deal is that we’ve got the tedious job of doing house visits.
I wake up at 12pm today; slept at 2am this morning “shŏu sùi” – i.e. the tradition says that if the kids stay up late on New Year’s Eve the parents will live longer. Whether it’s true or not I don’t care… anyway it’s an excuse to start work on my new “money-less” commission from the TJC Symphonic Band. Alas, I end up chatting on the net instead. By the time I want to start writing I’m already dozing off.
So I have no chance to work on the score when I wake up. While bathing I had sudden ideas to how the arrangement of “First Love” should open, and how “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” should work. So I dash down (with clothes on, duh) and begin to scribble notes. As we’re about to leave Mother says, “Take your papers along with you; we’re running late.” YES! I get to bring my manuscript book along!
We’re the first to arrive at my grandma’s (paternal side). While we’re lunching my First Uncle and his family arrives, followed by my aunt and hers. The house is freaking crowded and noisy. There’s sixteen people squeezed into the living room. And there’re four kids – my aunt’s three young children and my brother. Now isn’t that bad? And when there are four kids it means that we are entitled to watch cartoons on Kids Central. My brother has been watching that fucking channel since morning, and now we unduly suffer the same fate again. Anyway I’m writing my score, I don’t care what’s on the telly.
Consider my luck to fit in braces around this feastive season. When you fit in braces, you are deprived of sweets and chocolates and other foods that will induce cavities. I’m discouraged from eating chocolates because they will stick to the braces and make it hard to brush thereafter. Anyway other types of food already jam onto the metal when they go in; it makes almost no difference.
Later we go to my maternal grandmother’s house. Hurrah! Now I’ve got the chance to listen to Vitali’s Chaconne in g minor at full blast on the computer! To hell if it’s sad and unfit for a festive occasion; tragedy appeals to me! How I get goose pimples every time I listen to it! It just induces me to dance around the room and cry and sing madly and loudly and to burst into tears! It’s an escape from the fucking Kids Central, which my brother is still selfishly clinging on to. I desperately wish that channel is not free-to-air and that we have to pay for it. Then Father will refuse to subscribe for it and then I will not have to endure that on the television anymore.
Back home I slog on the score of “First Love”, having prepared the reduction score earlier at my grandma’s place. It’s a very brash piece, none of the yucky intimacies of romance, and it definitely doesn’t sound like a J-Pop arrangement under my charge. I think it’s more of a Hollywood style. Perhaps lovers should be open and outright and not play hide-and-seek, of which unfortunately I am an epitome of the latter. ¶ 1/22/2004 05:09:00 pm 0 comments
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
Last day of work; I’m quite sad really, because I’ll be leaving all the nice people I’ve met during the right days I’ve worked with John Little. However, I’ve got a job to complete: I need to finish stock-taking and packing all the stationery before noon, when the trucks will arrive to cart everything away.
Wendy has sent four boys to help me with the stocking and packing of stationery. They are unaccustomed to my slow and methodical style of working, and discourage me from taking anymore stationery out and lining them up (I still have a box of assorted stationery from the cash office which I forgot to open up yesterday). In fact I really have to thank them, or else I’d still be sitting on the floor stupidly counting goods up till two. They told me not to open the boxes that had not been touched, but merely relied on the quantity on the label stuck to the side of the box to determine how many items were inside. Perhaps it’s a chance to keep up with my mathematical thinking, as we calculated the total amount for the items rather than counting them physically. We manage to finish before lunch. After they go away I still at the out port table and write up the inventory of stationery nicely for Kalai. The temp staffers are leaving; Wendy has just called the perm staff for a briefing and very soon they’ll be gone too. I give thrust to my working speed.
Lawrence waits for me to finish, before we go and bid Kalai and Bryan and the rest farewell. We exchange telephone numbers. It’s sad to leave everyone after eight days of working and knowing so many people in such a short period of time. The experience of working with John Little will forever be etched into my mind. Most eminently it will definitely be the social contact during the course of employment.
We go to the café to clock out for the last time. Then we slip the punch card, badge and overtime form into the envelope given to us during orientation and return them to Wendy. Then we walk through the empty hallway slowly, savouring every bit of what was our workplace, and what used to be a sales floor, now strewn with rubbish and the odd items here and there. We spot a roll of string wrap on the floor; ever since the sales day I’ve been obsessed about retrieving all the wraps back to the out port. There’s a big lorry parked near the middle of the hall; earlier we’d seen it drive (at high speed, yes!) in and flatten a few items along the way.
Out of the hall and into the foyer, where we assembled for the first time without knowing one another. Then out of the building and down the sheltered walkway towards the bus stop. Lawrence lights a cigarette. The heat is tremendously strong that we have to squint. I comment about the weather, how it seemed to rain forever yesterday and now it is so bright… a little too bright.
We arrive at the bus stop. Lawrence tips the cigarette into the bin, pats me on the back and shakes my hand. Keep in contact, he says. Definitely, I reply. Let’s go down to HMV next week.
* * *
There’s about three hours to my meeting with Carol and Si Ying. I never expect I’d be released so early from work. Anyway, I don’t want to travel too far so I head for the Bedok Library to compose in solitude. At three I head for McDonald’s at the Bedok bus interchange to wait for them. I continue to compose there, while awaiting the two ladies – and awaiting the call from either Proko or Schubie about what are the songs I’m supposed to arrange for stage band. Within the three hours I manage to orchestrate the Entr’acte to Act 4 Scene 1. Sometimes I find that I orchestrate better on paper, as my thoughts are more logical. I’ve been using pen for my manuscripts, by the way, but it still looks as neat. The good thing about pen is that you only carry one piece of stationery around with you, and you train yourself to be careful (because I never carry correction fluid with me). As usual, I clutter the table at McDonald’s with large manuscript paper, my manuscript book and God knows what else.
Si Ying arrives approximately ten minutes to our meeting time. She’s changed quite a lot since I last saw her. Well it was ages really, considering it was during the A-Levels – two months back. She’s gotten contacts; she’s dyed her hair a little brown; and she’s into a relationship. How great the changes are. Me, I’m still the same, badly dishevelled and forever writing some God Knows What score. Probably the change I’ve undergone is the use of pen to compose now: I detest using the pencil now. Ink gives me greater strength and confidence.
Carol arrives rather late; it’s the fault of SBS Transit again. She shows us the folder containing information about United Artistes’ Network. Si Ying signs up. I’m not so sure, anyway I just sign up as I didn’t feel very good rejecting when my music partner has done so. I made plans to call a few days later to reject my application. Partly I don’t trust the company, as Wilfred discovered it to be a sham. Also I was not enthusiastic about paying money to go for grooming courses in return for artistic management. I would rather find and go for my own courses in music, be it composition, orchestration, conducting or performance.
* * *
After Carol leaves Si Ying and I decide to discuss the repertoire for our Mardi Gras performance. Mrs Yong had not provided the details; anyway we would scout around and suggest pieces to each other, until we got a confirmation and then we could settle the final programme. We threw in mostly songs from the cartoons, musicals and some pop stuff. I promised to send her my database of sheet music, while she would send me her list of songs that she could sing. Hopefully we would be able to choose songs that both of us were familiar with to lessen the need for much practice. We always have the habit of crashing out a rehearsal a few days or hours just before we’re about to showcase our stuff on stage. She knows my style; I know her's, so in the event something happens in the performance, we just keep going and listen out for each other. ¶ 1/20/2004 10:25:00 pm 0 comments
Wendy has sent four boys to help me with the stocking and packing of stationery. They are unaccustomed to my slow and methodical style of working, and discourage me from taking anymore stationery out and lining them up (I still have a box of assorted stationery from the cash office which I forgot to open up yesterday). In fact I really have to thank them, or else I’d still be sitting on the floor stupidly counting goods up till two. They told me not to open the boxes that had not been touched, but merely relied on the quantity on the label stuck to the side of the box to determine how many items were inside. Perhaps it’s a chance to keep up with my mathematical thinking, as we calculated the total amount for the items rather than counting them physically. We manage to finish before lunch. After they go away I still at the out port table and write up the inventory of stationery nicely for Kalai. The temp staffers are leaving; Wendy has just called the perm staff for a briefing and very soon they’ll be gone too. I give thrust to my working speed.
Lawrence waits for me to finish, before we go and bid Kalai and Bryan and the rest farewell. We exchange telephone numbers. It’s sad to leave everyone after eight days of working and knowing so many people in such a short period of time. The experience of working with John Little will forever be etched into my mind. Most eminently it will definitely be the social contact during the course of employment.
We go to the café to clock out for the last time. Then we slip the punch card, badge and overtime form into the envelope given to us during orientation and return them to Wendy. Then we walk through the empty hallway slowly, savouring every bit of what was our workplace, and what used to be a sales floor, now strewn with rubbish and the odd items here and there. We spot a roll of string wrap on the floor; ever since the sales day I’ve been obsessed about retrieving all the wraps back to the out port. There’s a big lorry parked near the middle of the hall; earlier we’d seen it drive (at high speed, yes!) in and flatten a few items along the way.
Out of the hall and into the foyer, where we assembled for the first time without knowing one another. Then out of the building and down the sheltered walkway towards the bus stop. Lawrence lights a cigarette. The heat is tremendously strong that we have to squint. I comment about the weather, how it seemed to rain forever yesterday and now it is so bright… a little too bright.
We arrive at the bus stop. Lawrence tips the cigarette into the bin, pats me on the back and shakes my hand. Keep in contact, he says. Definitely, I reply. Let’s go down to HMV next week.
* * *
There’s about three hours to my meeting with Carol and Si Ying. I never expect I’d be released so early from work. Anyway, I don’t want to travel too far so I head for the Bedok Library to compose in solitude. At three I head for McDonald’s at the Bedok bus interchange to wait for them. I continue to compose there, while awaiting the two ladies – and awaiting the call from either Proko or Schubie about what are the songs I’m supposed to arrange for stage band. Within the three hours I manage to orchestrate the Entr’acte to Act 4 Scene 1. Sometimes I find that I orchestrate better on paper, as my thoughts are more logical. I’ve been using pen for my manuscripts, by the way, but it still looks as neat. The good thing about pen is that you only carry one piece of stationery around with you, and you train yourself to be careful (because I never carry correction fluid with me). As usual, I clutter the table at McDonald’s with large manuscript paper, my manuscript book and God knows what else.
Si Ying arrives approximately ten minutes to our meeting time. She’s changed quite a lot since I last saw her. Well it was ages really, considering it was during the A-Levels – two months back. She’s gotten contacts; she’s dyed her hair a little brown; and she’s into a relationship. How great the changes are. Me, I’m still the same, badly dishevelled and forever writing some God Knows What score. Probably the change I’ve undergone is the use of pen to compose now: I detest using the pencil now. Ink gives me greater strength and confidence.
Carol arrives rather late; it’s the fault of SBS Transit again. She shows us the folder containing information about United Artistes’ Network. Si Ying signs up. I’m not so sure, anyway I just sign up as I didn’t feel very good rejecting when my music partner has done so. I made plans to call a few days later to reject my application. Partly I don’t trust the company, as Wilfred discovered it to be a sham. Also I was not enthusiastic about paying money to go for grooming courses in return for artistic management. I would rather find and go for my own courses in music, be it composition, orchestration, conducting or performance.
* * *
After Carol leaves Si Ying and I decide to discuss the repertoire for our Mardi Gras performance. Mrs Yong had not provided the details; anyway we would scout around and suggest pieces to each other, until we got a confirmation and then we could settle the final programme. We threw in mostly songs from the cartoons, musicals and some pop stuff. I promised to send her my database of sheet music, while she would send me her list of songs that she could sing. Hopefully we would be able to choose songs that both of us were familiar with to lessen the need for much practice. We always have the habit of crashing out a rehearsal a few days or hours just before we’re about to showcase our stuff on stage. She knows my style; I know her's, so in the event something happens in the performance, we just keep going and listen out for each other. ¶ 1/20/2004 10:25:00 pm 0 comments
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
Allegro ma non troppo: “Happy Feeling Upon Arriving For Work”
First day of work! There was a mixed feeling of excitement and apprehension. The excitement is meeting new colleagues and hopefully new friends as well. I’ve already met Lawrence, my co-worker at out port.
I force myself to arrive at Singapore Expo at eight, half an hour before the time stated. I still remembered what Debbie, the HR personnel at Specialist’s Centre, mentioned about the punch card machine, therefore if I am late in clocking in I would miss out some of my salary. Anyway, most importantly, I must give a good impression by not being late at all costs.
Robinson’s has kindly left behind their fixtures for our company to use – anyway both belong to the same parent company. So it’s eased our work (but probably add to the overwork at the end of the sales since we have to clear off everything, including the fixtures) as we only have to bring in and arrange our stocks.
Lawrence and I are introduced to our bosses, Kalai and Bryan. Those two are a forever bickering bunch who constantly bicker with one another and throw “fuck you”s at each other. Bryan constantly goes around singing “Oh No” in falsetto voice for the first two days, whenever something screws up. Thereafter when we have the radio turned on over the hall’s speakers, he’s a great entertainer by dancing in front of the out port table to whatever that’s being broadcast. Bryan swears a lot, and that’s fun. Like when Class 95FM played the advertisement for the John Little warehouse sale, he was heard screaming: “Don’t come! Don’t come! Nothing to buy here!”
It’s cool to work in out port. You sit at a small row of tables next to a gigantic shutter which is constantly left open throughout the day, and where humongous lorries reverse into the hall like no one’s business. One driver of a minivan even requested Kalai and Bryan to let him drive all the way to the ladies’ section on the opposite side of the hall to deliver his goods. Our basic tasks are to stamp consignments, and do checks of the goods upon receiving purchase orders. Sometimes we do manual labour, such as taking the pallet jacks to go about the hall and remove the empty pallets, as well as organise the storage area behind the sales floor.
Burger King has happily gained a monopoly; it’s the only available food and beverage outlet in the Expo and we are all forced to eat there for lunch. So imagine about a hundred or so members of the staff queuing at their outlet for drinks and meals – how much would they earn? Anyway, I have to eat Burger King as well; no porridge stall or whatsoever about, and despite the fact I just fitted in braces the day before. Well, the doc said I could be thick-skinned, so I thought, “Fine, I’ll be thick-skinned.” I go ahead to buy a Whopper Junior.
The moment my bucktooth hits the bread… it’s like I touched a live wire of 240 volts and got electrocuted. It’s damn fucking PAINFUL. No joke, I tell you. Coupled with two matured ulcers on the sides of my mouth (because the metal brace has been scraping against the skin of the mouth), this organ is virtually invalid. I have to peel the burger into small pieces and feed myself gingerly.
Another bother is that the food gets trapped in the mouth. In other words, only 80% of the food goes down the throat; the rest get stuck onto the metal braces and the gap where four of my teeth have been extracted in order to create space for re-alignment of the other teeth. The moment I finish my torturous meal (I’m a gourmand, and this is the first time feasting has ever been so excruciating) I’m off to brush; I can’t stand it any longer, with the food stuck there. Besides, it’s disgusting talking to people and that they can see bits of vegetables and meat covering the whites (or rather, the yellows) of the teeth. Yucks.
The best part of the job, however, is the social aspect of it. I’ve made a few friends, and we would form a clique throughout our eight days working at the warehouse sale. There’s Julius, who’s currently studying in the States and is back on holiday; Wee Seng, a tall lanky fellow who’s just finished his O-Levels; Winnie, a rather tough lass who cares to retaliate if taken offence. There’s Keegan, the young man who has got the “beng” look but really a very nice fellow. And of course, there’s Lawrence, my colleague at out port. All of us met working under Spencer to help him set up his household linen department. I also make friends with the other temp staff who come to out port to obtain stationery or to obtain goods. Having friends makes the work easier: although we work long hours, the thought of socialising at the very end makes it all worthwhile. Besides, working side by side with friends lessens the toughness of the task. ¶ 1/13/2004 05:06:00 pm 0 comments
First day of work! There was a mixed feeling of excitement and apprehension. The excitement is meeting new colleagues and hopefully new friends as well. I’ve already met Lawrence, my co-worker at out port.
I force myself to arrive at Singapore Expo at eight, half an hour before the time stated. I still remembered what Debbie, the HR personnel at Specialist’s Centre, mentioned about the punch card machine, therefore if I am late in clocking in I would miss out some of my salary. Anyway, most importantly, I must give a good impression by not being late at all costs.
Robinson’s has kindly left behind their fixtures for our company to use – anyway both belong to the same parent company. So it’s eased our work (but probably add to the overwork at the end of the sales since we have to clear off everything, including the fixtures) as we only have to bring in and arrange our stocks.
Lawrence and I are introduced to our bosses, Kalai and Bryan. Those two are a forever bickering bunch who constantly bicker with one another and throw “fuck you”s at each other. Bryan constantly goes around singing “Oh No” in falsetto voice for the first two days, whenever something screws up. Thereafter when we have the radio turned on over the hall’s speakers, he’s a great entertainer by dancing in front of the out port table to whatever that’s being broadcast. Bryan swears a lot, and that’s fun. Like when Class 95FM played the advertisement for the John Little warehouse sale, he was heard screaming: “Don’t come! Don’t come! Nothing to buy here!”
It’s cool to work in out port. You sit at a small row of tables next to a gigantic shutter which is constantly left open throughout the day, and where humongous lorries reverse into the hall like no one’s business. One driver of a minivan even requested Kalai and Bryan to let him drive all the way to the ladies’ section on the opposite side of the hall to deliver his goods. Our basic tasks are to stamp consignments, and do checks of the goods upon receiving purchase orders. Sometimes we do manual labour, such as taking the pallet jacks to go about the hall and remove the empty pallets, as well as organise the storage area behind the sales floor.
Burger King has happily gained a monopoly; it’s the only available food and beverage outlet in the Expo and we are all forced to eat there for lunch. So imagine about a hundred or so members of the staff queuing at their outlet for drinks and meals – how much would they earn? Anyway, I have to eat Burger King as well; no porridge stall or whatsoever about, and despite the fact I just fitted in braces the day before. Well, the doc said I could be thick-skinned, so I thought, “Fine, I’ll be thick-skinned.” I go ahead to buy a Whopper Junior.
The moment my bucktooth hits the bread… it’s like I touched a live wire of 240 volts and got electrocuted. It’s damn fucking PAINFUL. No joke, I tell you. Coupled with two matured ulcers on the sides of my mouth (because the metal brace has been scraping against the skin of the mouth), this organ is virtually invalid. I have to peel the burger into small pieces and feed myself gingerly.
Another bother is that the food gets trapped in the mouth. In other words, only 80% of the food goes down the throat; the rest get stuck onto the metal braces and the gap where four of my teeth have been extracted in order to create space for re-alignment of the other teeth. The moment I finish my torturous meal (I’m a gourmand, and this is the first time feasting has ever been so excruciating) I’m off to brush; I can’t stand it any longer, with the food stuck there. Besides, it’s disgusting talking to people and that they can see bits of vegetables and meat covering the whites (or rather, the yellows) of the teeth. Yucks.
The best part of the job, however, is the social aspect of it. I’ve made a few friends, and we would form a clique throughout our eight days working at the warehouse sale. There’s Julius, who’s currently studying in the States and is back on holiday; Wee Seng, a tall lanky fellow who’s just finished his O-Levels; Winnie, a rather tough lass who cares to retaliate if taken offence. There’s Keegan, the young man who has got the “beng” look but really a very nice fellow. And of course, there’s Lawrence, my colleague at out port. All of us met working under Spencer to help him set up his household linen department. I also make friends with the other temp staff who come to out port to obtain stationery or to obtain goods. Having friends makes the work easier: although we work long hours, the thought of socialising at the very end makes it all worthwhile. Besides, working side by side with friends lessens the toughness of the task. ¶ 1/13/2004 05:06:00 pm 0 comments
Saturday, January 10, 2004
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday to Benson
Happy Birthday to you
Zhu Ni Sheng Ri Kuai Le! (4x)
Gong Hei Lei! (2x)
Today is The Chancellor’s Big Day, so us Pipilanders celebrate this festive occasion with a picnic at the beach. Dawn whipped up the food, while the rest brought drinks and bread and the picnic mat. The Turtle baked the cake herself – pandan chiffon (her favourite green colour). Of course there were no candles, but the birthday boy just cut the cake with one of Dawn’s pink knives (what a kaleidoscope of colours).
Halfway this guy called Nick (short for Nicholas) came along and offered us to make dedications in front of the camera for MTV Asia. Dawn, Khan and Yuanxin were excited about the prospect, but the rest of us – Chancellor, Duchess, Bee and I – were camera-shy people who got cajoled into appearing for the show. The four of us conspired to stand at the back and make a dash for it if when a chance presented itself. For me… I would only appear on Arts Central or perhaps one of BBC’s arts programme, but MTV: no way. A classical musician should know how to behave himself and only be seen on an appropriate media channel.
The MTV crew was filming at McDonald’s at East Coast Park; the three girls sat at the table nearer to the camera, while the rest of us took the table at the back. One of the ladies in charge said, “Only three people can be shot by the camera at one time, so the rest…” obviously beckoning to us “…perhaps would like to wait outside, because we will be filming outside as well…” What she really meant, to us, was: “Okay, this is your chance to escape! Run!” To confirm that we were not going on air, I quibbled, “Oh, don’t bother carrying your cameras outside… they’re too heavy…” and we dashed out, only to be given a dirty look by Nick. Thank heavens we were not going on the goggle box!
Sometimes one will get a good turn, and we did. One of the Chancellor’s seniors was doing a survey for Bossini about casual wear: the enticing part was a voucher of $20 for doing the survey. Of course we did it enthusiastically, to the extent of circling whatsoever convenient option on the paper for the sake of the voucher. Damn! I should have waited for this moment before buying my white polo t-shirt for my job at John Little!
Time to cut the cake. The cake was a pandan chiffon, personally made by the Duchess. Of course, green is her favourite colour – pandan is green. No candles, but we just cut the cake, so after all we adhere to the customary birthday ceremony.
Dawn gives the Chancellor a huge sports bag, for his use in National Service. I give him a CD of Wagner’s music, played by, of all ensembles, the great Berliner Philharmoniker. I apologise that I cannot remember what the others gave, because I am writing this a great length of time after the event.
In the late afternoon we go to play pool. Ever since I played the game for the first time in four years during the Ruan outing last Saturday, I have been hooked on it. Just think, the sensation of the cue sliding between the thumb and second finger! Hearing the whack of the balls is just pure adrenalin. It is ecstasy when the ball drops into the hole! Argh, I just want to play it again! It is the BEAUTIFUL GAME!
The Chancellor and I are the most ardent players. I have lots of freebies from the Chancellor, who keeps fouling and allowing me to have a free ball, which I gladly use to win goals. There were some miracle performances: once an orange ball rebounded so hard that it slid along the top of the edge of the table and carted off one of the edges onto the floor. Or the white ball would do a flying tackle and instead bounce off the table. It is the first time that Bee plays pool, and she gets the hang of it pretty well. She’s scored some incredible goals.
I think we played about five rounds, shooting past the time I’m supposed to arrive at Wilfred’s house to rehearse with him for a mini performance for his class. Anyway, I quickly jump onto a taxi, carrying the titbits and drinks that we didn’t open, and in my mind, the excuse I was to give, thanks to the Pipilanders.
Anyway my bike is chained to a fence outside the Parkway Builder’s Centre. I have to go back there to retrieve it at night. ¶ 1/10/2004 10:34:00 pm 0 comments
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday to Benson
Happy Birthday to you
Zhu Ni Sheng Ri Kuai Le! (4x)
Gong Hei Lei! (2x)
Today is The Chancellor’s Big Day, so us Pipilanders celebrate this festive occasion with a picnic at the beach. Dawn whipped up the food, while the rest brought drinks and bread and the picnic mat. The Turtle baked the cake herself – pandan chiffon (her favourite green colour). Of course there were no candles, but the birthday boy just cut the cake with one of Dawn’s pink knives (what a kaleidoscope of colours).
Halfway this guy called Nick (short for Nicholas) came along and offered us to make dedications in front of the camera for MTV Asia. Dawn, Khan and Yuanxin were excited about the prospect, but the rest of us – Chancellor, Duchess, Bee and I – were camera-shy people who got cajoled into appearing for the show. The four of us conspired to stand at the back and make a dash for it if when a chance presented itself. For me… I would only appear on Arts Central or perhaps one of BBC’s arts programme, but MTV: no way. A classical musician should know how to behave himself and only be seen on an appropriate media channel.
The MTV crew was filming at McDonald’s at East Coast Park; the three girls sat at the table nearer to the camera, while the rest of us took the table at the back. One of the ladies in charge said, “Only three people can be shot by the camera at one time, so the rest…” obviously beckoning to us “…perhaps would like to wait outside, because we will be filming outside as well…” What she really meant, to us, was: “Okay, this is your chance to escape! Run!” To confirm that we were not going on air, I quibbled, “Oh, don’t bother carrying your cameras outside… they’re too heavy…” and we dashed out, only to be given a dirty look by Nick. Thank heavens we were not going on the goggle box!
Sometimes one will get a good turn, and we did. One of the Chancellor’s seniors was doing a survey for Bossini about casual wear: the enticing part was a voucher of $20 for doing the survey. Of course we did it enthusiastically, to the extent of circling whatsoever convenient option on the paper for the sake of the voucher. Damn! I should have waited for this moment before buying my white polo t-shirt for my job at John Little!
Time to cut the cake. The cake was a pandan chiffon, personally made by the Duchess. Of course, green is her favourite colour – pandan is green. No candles, but we just cut the cake, so after all we adhere to the customary birthday ceremony.
Dawn gives the Chancellor a huge sports bag, for his use in National Service. I give him a CD of Wagner’s music, played by, of all ensembles, the great Berliner Philharmoniker. I apologise that I cannot remember what the others gave, because I am writing this a great length of time after the event.
In the late afternoon we go to play pool. Ever since I played the game for the first time in four years during the Ruan outing last Saturday, I have been hooked on it. Just think, the sensation of the cue sliding between the thumb and second finger! Hearing the whack of the balls is just pure adrenalin. It is ecstasy when the ball drops into the hole! Argh, I just want to play it again! It is the BEAUTIFUL GAME!
The Chancellor and I are the most ardent players. I have lots of freebies from the Chancellor, who keeps fouling and allowing me to have a free ball, which I gladly use to win goals. There were some miracle performances: once an orange ball rebounded so hard that it slid along the top of the edge of the table and carted off one of the edges onto the floor. Or the white ball would do a flying tackle and instead bounce off the table. It is the first time that Bee plays pool, and she gets the hang of it pretty well. She’s scored some incredible goals.
I think we played about five rounds, shooting past the time I’m supposed to arrive at Wilfred’s house to rehearse with him for a mini performance for his class. Anyway, I quickly jump onto a taxi, carrying the titbits and drinks that we didn’t open, and in my mind, the excuse I was to give, thanks to the Pipilanders.
Anyway my bike is chained to a fence outside the Parkway Builder’s Centre. I have to go back there to retrieve it at night. ¶ 1/10/2004 10:34:00 pm 0 comments
Friday, January 09, 2004
Grave
It’s becoming terribly hard to compose any music, ever since I became stuck with sequencing the musical (God bless, I’m only still at the opening of Act I Scene 1!). I have just composed the confirmed version of the Entr’acte of this section of the musical having written and abandoned God knows how many versions. Now I’m worried about how the orchestration will sound, because I only wrote the melody line on paper and orchestrated directly on the computer. As usual it has my trademark shift of modes and unexpected and twisting harmonic changes. I fear it might become too autobiographical… because I have been feeling exactly the same way my music feels for the past few days.
* * *
I go to the Esplanade library in the evening; it’s been a while since I went there, and I sorely miss it. I’m going to get the “Trout” Quintet score as well as a book of Schumann’s piano works; I’m choosing pieces to orchestrate. Besides these two I pick out a book of Chinese tribal folk songs, and a CD of Janacek’s stage music.
At the same time there is a talk given by the Singapore Symphony Orchestra (SSO) with regards to its 25th anniversary. It’s a conversation between Dr Chang Tou Liang and composer and physics lecturer Professor Bernard Tan. I can vaguely remember the conversation, because it’s been ages since I write this, but Prof Tan made some snipe comments about the orchestra “over there”, thumbing in the direction of the north. Obviously it meant Malaysia and the Malaysian Philharmonic Orchestra. It brought a few sniggers in the crowd. Prof Tan was saying that the Malaysians needed a foreign management team to build up their orchestra, while the Singapore one relied on locals to sit on the directorial board. Also, Dr Chang made an ironic statement: “Thank you for supporting the SSO, even though we play badly AT TIMES [author’s own capitalisation]”. Hello, I think it’s most of the time, especially in the familiar works. I think I have recounted the instance when they played Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony to widespread cringing from the audience, and when they messed up my favourite Brahms and made a requiem out of it (see the entry on 28 November 2003). Okay, they do play well, like the Sibelius Symphony Number 2, which I still count as among one of the best versions I’ve ever heard (even better than the CD that I bought).
I’ve discovered two interesting things from the talk. One is that our National Anthem used to be much longer. After the part “Berjaya, Singapura”, there used to be another eight bars of music, before the chorus. It was taken out during the adoption of the Anthem because it was deemed too long. Ever since, the Anthem sounds imbalanced. The first verse seems to end too quickly, while the chorus are played twice. Prof Tan said he had kept a recording of the full-length version played by the SSO during their inaugural concert, but I had no chance to ask him for access to it after the talk.
Another thing is that the “Red Hot” that Bond has been playing is really the theme from the Overture to the “Barber of Seville” by Rossini. Prof Tan was mentioning about the repertoire of the inaugural concert. When he came to the part about the Overture, he pointed towards the ceiling (at some invisible PA): “Ah, this is what we played. The very piece you’re hearing now.”) Then I recognised the tune. After the talk I went to pick up the “Barber” score and realised that the theme WAS from that opera. Fuck those stupid pop groups who call themselves “exponents of classical music – to bring them to a wider audience” for sexing up that theme – it is blatant disrespect for the great masters. In revenge I shall probably take one or two pop songs and deface them, using my metamorphosis and motivic variation techniques. I leave the library with even greater hatred for Bond. ¶ 1/09/2004 10:30:00 pm 0 comments
It’s becoming terribly hard to compose any music, ever since I became stuck with sequencing the musical (God bless, I’m only still at the opening of Act I Scene 1!). I have just composed the confirmed version of the Entr’acte of this section of the musical having written and abandoned God knows how many versions. Now I’m worried about how the orchestration will sound, because I only wrote the melody line on paper and orchestrated directly on the computer. As usual it has my trademark shift of modes and unexpected and twisting harmonic changes. I fear it might become too autobiographical… because I have been feeling exactly the same way my music feels for the past few days.
* * *
I go to the Esplanade library in the evening; it’s been a while since I went there, and I sorely miss it. I’m going to get the “Trout” Quintet score as well as a book of Schumann’s piano works; I’m choosing pieces to orchestrate. Besides these two I pick out a book of Chinese tribal folk songs, and a CD of Janacek’s stage music.
At the same time there is a talk given by the Singapore Symphony Orchestra (SSO) with regards to its 25th anniversary. It’s a conversation between Dr Chang Tou Liang and composer and physics lecturer Professor Bernard Tan. I can vaguely remember the conversation, because it’s been ages since I write this, but Prof Tan made some snipe comments about the orchestra “over there”, thumbing in the direction of the north. Obviously it meant Malaysia and the Malaysian Philharmonic Orchestra. It brought a few sniggers in the crowd. Prof Tan was saying that the Malaysians needed a foreign management team to build up their orchestra, while the Singapore one relied on locals to sit on the directorial board. Also, Dr Chang made an ironic statement: “Thank you for supporting the SSO, even though we play badly AT TIMES [author’s own capitalisation]”. Hello, I think it’s most of the time, especially in the familiar works. I think I have recounted the instance when they played Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony to widespread cringing from the audience, and when they messed up my favourite Brahms and made a requiem out of it (see the entry on 28 November 2003). Okay, they do play well, like the Sibelius Symphony Number 2, which I still count as among one of the best versions I’ve ever heard (even better than the CD that I bought).
I’ve discovered two interesting things from the talk. One is that our National Anthem used to be much longer. After the part “Berjaya, Singapura”, there used to be another eight bars of music, before the chorus. It was taken out during the adoption of the Anthem because it was deemed too long. Ever since, the Anthem sounds imbalanced. The first verse seems to end too quickly, while the chorus are played twice. Prof Tan said he had kept a recording of the full-length version played by the SSO during their inaugural concert, but I had no chance to ask him for access to it after the talk.
Another thing is that the “Red Hot” that Bond has been playing is really the theme from the Overture to the “Barber of Seville” by Rossini. Prof Tan was mentioning about the repertoire of the inaugural concert. When he came to the part about the Overture, he pointed towards the ceiling (at some invisible PA): “Ah, this is what we played. The very piece you’re hearing now.”) Then I recognised the tune. After the talk I went to pick up the “Barber” score and realised that the theme WAS from that opera. Fuck those stupid pop groups who call themselves “exponents of classical music – to bring them to a wider audience” for sexing up that theme – it is blatant disrespect for the great masters. In revenge I shall probably take one or two pop songs and deface them, using my metamorphosis and motivic variation techniques. I leave the library with even greater hatred for Bond. ¶ 1/09/2004 10:30:00 pm 0 comments
Thursday, January 08, 2004
Agitato
Prokofiev started swearing about his old school, because his principal had taken drastic measures to eradicate the school’s four decades long history. I have never seen Proko so violent in his language before.
At the same time I saw this link to a quiz in Quizilla and tried it. It was titled “What Musical Instrument Are You?”, and here’s my result:
“Ahh...the melodious sounds of the French horn. You certainly know how to charm the wood-land creatures out of their homes. You lavish in big beautiful circumstances, and love anything that’s decorative and royal. Everything has got to be perfect, and don't deny it; we KNOW you’re the person in your band that ended up in a school of music”
I gave Proko high-five: he and I are the same instruments. I think most of the results are pretty true. I’m quite a melodious creature, although sometimes I like to destroy the melody and work out the fragments within. Charming, I doubt so. More like offensive… perhaps I should be the cymbals? Big, beautiful circumstances: yes, I used to adore large, rich and dense sounds from the orchestra and the piano. No wonder I love Brahms (his music’s like thick chocolate fudge – whenever I eat that I think of him). Yes, I am a demanding perfectionist: I can write and rewrite a composition or arrangement till more ten versions until I am finally happy with it.
Before I went online I watched “Who Wants To Steal A Million?”, about this contestant who cheated his way through the fifteen questions on the game show “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire”. And goddamn it: he’s a major. What kind of fucking people the army produce? He may cheat on this show: one day he’s going to cheat on his country. It was very obvious he should have just lost graciously: he kept mouthing variations of “I don’t know” during the game, and wasting everybody’s time. I could see the host getting frustrated that the asshole kept changing his answers so many times. And then strangely he always seemed to get the correct answer even when he knows nuts about the question, or to quote his words in one of the questions: “Craig David… I’ve never heard of Craig David before…”, before he finally chooses Craig David as his answer, which was correct.
I’m sure it was greed. They are greedy for the million dollars. The Major wants to buy his children each a pony. He’s trying to spoil those little brats. Before he knows it he’ll be cajoled into joining “Survivor” or “Fear Factor” so that each of his little brats can get a Mercedes or a BMW each. It’s not that they are poor and desperate or whatsoever. He’s a fucking major, and a major earns God knows how much by serving in the military. Furthermore he served on some outpost in Bosnia. Well, you could also say it was the wife’s and brother-in-law’s revenge as well: both had participated in the game and only won $320,000. Clearly for them that was insufficient, and now they’re pining their hopes on their pride and joy of the army to finish off the million dollars. Then the family can own horses and ponies. ¶ 1/08/2004 10:13:00 pm 0 comments
Prokofiev started swearing about his old school, because his principal had taken drastic measures to eradicate the school’s four decades long history. I have never seen Proko so violent in his language before.
At the same time I saw this link to a quiz in Quizilla and tried it. It was titled “What Musical Instrument Are You?”, and here’s my result:
“Ahh...the melodious sounds of the French horn. You certainly know how to charm the wood-land creatures out of their homes. You lavish in big beautiful circumstances, and love anything that’s decorative and royal. Everything has got to be perfect, and don't deny it; we KNOW you’re the person in your band that ended up in a school of music”
I gave Proko high-five: he and I are the same instruments. I think most of the results are pretty true. I’m quite a melodious creature, although sometimes I like to destroy the melody and work out the fragments within. Charming, I doubt so. More like offensive… perhaps I should be the cymbals? Big, beautiful circumstances: yes, I used to adore large, rich and dense sounds from the orchestra and the piano. No wonder I love Brahms (his music’s like thick chocolate fudge – whenever I eat that I think of him). Yes, I am a demanding perfectionist: I can write and rewrite a composition or arrangement till more ten versions until I am finally happy with it.
Before I went online I watched “Who Wants To Steal A Million?”, about this contestant who cheated his way through the fifteen questions on the game show “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire”. And goddamn it: he’s a major. What kind of fucking people the army produce? He may cheat on this show: one day he’s going to cheat on his country. It was very obvious he should have just lost graciously: he kept mouthing variations of “I don’t know” during the game, and wasting everybody’s time. I could see the host getting frustrated that the asshole kept changing his answers so many times. And then strangely he always seemed to get the correct answer even when he knows nuts about the question, or to quote his words in one of the questions: “Craig David… I’ve never heard of Craig David before…”, before he finally chooses Craig David as his answer, which was correct.
I’m sure it was greed. They are greedy for the million dollars. The Major wants to buy his children each a pony. He’s trying to spoil those little brats. Before he knows it he’ll be cajoled into joining “Survivor” or “Fear Factor” so that each of his little brats can get a Mercedes or a BMW each. It’s not that they are poor and desperate or whatsoever. He’s a fucking major, and a major earns God knows how much by serving in the military. Furthermore he served on some outpost in Bosnia. Well, you could also say it was the wife’s and brother-in-law’s revenge as well: both had participated in the game and only won $320,000. Clearly for them that was insufficient, and now they’re pining their hopes on their pride and joy of the army to finish off the million dollars. Then the family can own horses and ponies. ¶ 1/08/2004 10:13:00 pm 0 comments
Monday, January 05, 2004
Marcato
This is the day that I have the other two teeth extracted. Last Tuesday I plucked out those two on the right. Today is the left.
Things didn’t go that well this morning. Firstly I was made to wait for forty-five minutes; upon enquiring I discovered that none of the doctors had my folder. So the nurse I was sent to look for had to go up to the fourth floor (where the orthodontic clinic I go to is located) to pick up the folder and return with it. Thereafter I was called to Operating Room Number 3 (actually it’s cubicles, to be exact, but room has more class. Asians generally want face you know).
The doctor didn’t seem as jovial as the one last week. He beckoned me to the chair, then very business-like: “You know the procedure right?” Then the needle came. Somehow this week it seemed more painful than last; I found myself breathing very hard and rapidly that tears started to well up in my eyes. The doctor was coaxing, “Don’t breathe so hard…” The nurse: “Are you okay…?”
This time he didn’t massage my mouth to let the anaesthesia flow through effectively. I asked him this, and he said, “No, not necessary.” Then he went elsewhere for a long while as my mouth gradually became numb. When he returned he inquired, “Is you mouth numb?” “I don’t know if it’s numb enough for you to start pulling.”
Whatever. I laid back on the chair and closed my eyes like the last time. The doctor inserted the pliers and started to pull the teeth out forcefully. I thought I heard the veins crackle and pop and feared my whole gum being pulled out together. The left-side teeth seemed harder to pluck than the right: it took ages before the old molars finally relented and came out. As usual I requested the tooth be packed up for memory’s sake. It looked pretty bloody this time round. And I mean real red.
Dinner was terrific. Went to Yong He for Xiao Long Bao (steamed dumplings), You Tiao (Fried Dough Fritters) and Tao Huay (Bean Curd). The most pissing thing is that they charged us for the napkins even though we did not use it. When we demanded about this to the cashier, she mockingly replied, “You all should have asked them earlier not to give you the napkins what!” What the fucking hell is this policy? Even other restaurants don’t charge you unless you use it! They’d be more than happy to take back the napkin and reuse it. This is daylight… no, night time robbery! Stupid napkins cost S$0.30 each.
This morning I read about the bogus marriage between Britney Spears and her childhood friend Jason Alexander. I think she should quit music and go and join the Hit Squad or maybe Gotcha: “Jokers get hitched and separated as fast as a blink of the eye”. It’ll keep the Marriage Registrar busy, and they’d get a double pay rise because they not only handle wedding cases in one day, but also divorces on the same. Then we end the old age custom of keeping mistresses. There’s no need, because you take the girl for a few hours, throw her away and take a new one. Think the 1001 Arabian Nights, but with less gore. It’ll take a girl as smart (and talkative) as Scheherazade to save their marriage by telling story after story. “And so…” she stops at the most climatic part of the story.
“What happens next?” the eager husband cries.
“It is late now; you must go to work early in the morning. Tomorrow I shall tell you how…” and the husband postpones the divorce. So this continues for 1001 nights and the rate of divorces will eventually decrease. Maybe Jason should spin off his own tale: “There’s this story about this country boy in this small country town. One day…” At the end of 1001 nights Britney will change her surname to “Spearherazade”, and she’ll be “Woman of the Year” for saving marriages. And if she ever gets booed for her singing she can start a company spinning stories for women who want to preserve or save their marriages.
You just wonder how people can be so fickle even in love. They get themselves drunk silly, say “I do” and next thing they know: “Shit, why did I do it? How the fucking hell do I get out of this?” Don’t just poke it at Spears and her boy: true they lasted hours but there are tons of other marriages out there that simply cannot keep the promise of “till death do us apart”. Rather, they were “did apart” by the marriage. Mostly the paradigms are the celebrities: so-and-so breaking up with this-and-that, which the newspapers, especially the gossipy ones, find very lucrative for their sales. Of course the hoi polloi are not left out either: ordinary couples can’t get along well too and quote Irving Berlin: “Let’s do it, let’s break up now.” Because…
Spears did it, Willis did it
Justin Timberlake and Fred Durst all did it
Let’s Do It
Let’s break up now!
Since Singapore is a Fine City, we should slap those who break up their marriages with fines, and confiscate their HDB apartment, besides the legal administration. The husband and wife should go for CMO (Corrective Marriage Order) and learn how to preserve their relationship when they marry again the next time. It’s so awful seeing children being tossed around as parents squabble; when they grow up they’d probably have the same experiences, because “Mummy and Daddy did it, so why can’t I do it too?” Then it brings psychological stress to those involved in the split. Forget about TV drama serials; they tend to exaggerate, but then a divorce breaks people’s hearts. But now Jason might get some publicity – and cash – out of this whole episode, so maybe it’s not a bad thing after all. ¶ 1/05/2004 10:12:00 pm 0 comments
This is the day that I have the other two teeth extracted. Last Tuesday I plucked out those two on the right. Today is the left.
Things didn’t go that well this morning. Firstly I was made to wait for forty-five minutes; upon enquiring I discovered that none of the doctors had my folder. So the nurse I was sent to look for had to go up to the fourth floor (where the orthodontic clinic I go to is located) to pick up the folder and return with it. Thereafter I was called to Operating Room Number 3 (actually it’s cubicles, to be exact, but room has more class. Asians generally want face you know).
The doctor didn’t seem as jovial as the one last week. He beckoned me to the chair, then very business-like: “You know the procedure right?” Then the needle came. Somehow this week it seemed more painful than last; I found myself breathing very hard and rapidly that tears started to well up in my eyes. The doctor was coaxing, “Don’t breathe so hard…” The nurse: “Are you okay…?”
This time he didn’t massage my mouth to let the anaesthesia flow through effectively. I asked him this, and he said, “No, not necessary.” Then he went elsewhere for a long while as my mouth gradually became numb. When he returned he inquired, “Is you mouth numb?” “I don’t know if it’s numb enough for you to start pulling.”
Whatever. I laid back on the chair and closed my eyes like the last time. The doctor inserted the pliers and started to pull the teeth out forcefully. I thought I heard the veins crackle and pop and feared my whole gum being pulled out together. The left-side teeth seemed harder to pluck than the right: it took ages before the old molars finally relented and came out. As usual I requested the tooth be packed up for memory’s sake. It looked pretty bloody this time round. And I mean real red.
Dinner was terrific. Went to Yong He for Xiao Long Bao (steamed dumplings), You Tiao (Fried Dough Fritters) and Tao Huay (Bean Curd). The most pissing thing is that they charged us for the napkins even though we did not use it. When we demanded about this to the cashier, she mockingly replied, “You all should have asked them earlier not to give you the napkins what!” What the fucking hell is this policy? Even other restaurants don’t charge you unless you use it! They’d be more than happy to take back the napkin and reuse it. This is daylight… no, night time robbery! Stupid napkins cost S$0.30 each.
This morning I read about the bogus marriage between Britney Spears and her childhood friend Jason Alexander. I think she should quit music and go and join the Hit Squad or maybe Gotcha: “Jokers get hitched and separated as fast as a blink of the eye”. It’ll keep the Marriage Registrar busy, and they’d get a double pay rise because they not only handle wedding cases in one day, but also divorces on the same. Then we end the old age custom of keeping mistresses. There’s no need, because you take the girl for a few hours, throw her away and take a new one. Think the 1001 Arabian Nights, but with less gore. It’ll take a girl as smart (and talkative) as Scheherazade to save their marriage by telling story after story. “And so…” she stops at the most climatic part of the story.
“What happens next?” the eager husband cries.
“It is late now; you must go to work early in the morning. Tomorrow I shall tell you how…” and the husband postpones the divorce. So this continues for 1001 nights and the rate of divorces will eventually decrease. Maybe Jason should spin off his own tale: “There’s this story about this country boy in this small country town. One day…” At the end of 1001 nights Britney will change her surname to “Spearherazade”, and she’ll be “Woman of the Year” for saving marriages. And if she ever gets booed for her singing she can start a company spinning stories for women who want to preserve or save their marriages.
You just wonder how people can be so fickle even in love. They get themselves drunk silly, say “I do” and next thing they know: “Shit, why did I do it? How the fucking hell do I get out of this?” Don’t just poke it at Spears and her boy: true they lasted hours but there are tons of other marriages out there that simply cannot keep the promise of “till death do us apart”. Rather, they were “did apart” by the marriage. Mostly the paradigms are the celebrities: so-and-so breaking up with this-and-that, which the newspapers, especially the gossipy ones, find very lucrative for their sales. Of course the hoi polloi are not left out either: ordinary couples can’t get along well too and quote Irving Berlin: “Let’s do it, let’s break up now.” Because…
Spears did it, Willis did it
Justin Timberlake and Fred Durst all did it
Let’s Do It
Let’s break up now!
Since Singapore is a Fine City, we should slap those who break up their marriages with fines, and confiscate their HDB apartment, besides the legal administration. The husband and wife should go for CMO (Corrective Marriage Order) and learn how to preserve their relationship when they marry again the next time. It’s so awful seeing children being tossed around as parents squabble; when they grow up they’d probably have the same experiences, because “Mummy and Daddy did it, so why can’t I do it too?” Then it brings psychological stress to those involved in the split. Forget about TV drama serials; they tend to exaggerate, but then a divorce breaks people’s hearts. But now Jason might get some publicity – and cash – out of this whole episode, so maybe it’s not a bad thing after all. ¶ 1/05/2004 10:12:00 pm 0 comments
Sunday, January 04, 2004
Energico
Morning! 2a.m. and I was still up. I discovered this English translation of “Lady White Snake” and picked it up to read. I am planning a series of tone poems on Chinese legends and classics. I actually started on the tone poem about the legend of Pan Gu the Creator but sort of abandoned it for now because of the lack of study materials, or rather, too many differing sources about the events. I finished the book in about an hour; thereafter I went to write down how I would divide the sections. I thought of using leitmotifs for this composition, so I sketched out themes for the four main characters: Xu Xian, Lady White, Little Green and Fa Hai. Later in the day, when I took out my sketchbook to play the themes I had written at the piano, I was completely appalled with what I had done.
I hadn’t watched the television serial of this classic starring Christopher Lee and Fann Wong. Thank god for that; they didn’t come into the picture while I read the book. Rather I visualised a Chinese opera about the story taking place! For those who don’t know about the story, it’s about this pair of star-crossed lovers… I won’t go further because I’m not doing a book review here. But the appalling thing is that those people (Xu Xian, Lady White herself and Xu Xian’s sister) were so overtly virtuous that they kept begging – going down on their knees and kowtowing and using their mouth – Fa Hai not to harm Lady White near the end of the story. Obviously the bastard didn’t give a shit about them. The recommended course of action in today’s context would be: “Get your fucking hands off her, you stupid son of a bitch!” followed by a punch across the face. This proves that actions are stronger than words.
I started work on the first movement of my String Quartet when I woke up. I’ve written a string quartet before: the Toccata, but this will be a real piece in the genre, with three different movements. It’s a unique work. I won’t dawdle about this here; rather it’s on my programme note which I’ve specially reserved to go into great detail about my new work.
Finally the comfortable feeling while writing music has returned. I find that I write better when I draft on paper first, rather than writing the music straight into the computer. I started out writing the melody line, and where possible and necessary, the dialogue parts. Then I wrote out the entire first movement (i.e. the full score) on paper before keying it into the computer. Another achievement here: the orchestration which I planned out in my head without the help of audio aids worked! Ha, ha, I’m so happy! Of course, there are the usual careless mistakes of missing accidentals, bad handwriting… anyway it’s good to be writing serious works, because I’m completely free to decide what I want to write and what I don’t want to. Too bad if the audience thinks that my idea here stinks and that they cry that my music is inaccessible or what: that’s their problem. That’s different from writing music for the masses. Here you have to pander to their tastes. Even if they like the sound of stinking shit you’ve got to write the stinking shit for them, otherwise you loose out. It’s a very tough job, although people tell me that writing pop songs is easy compared to serious works like mine. The thing about pop songs is that you’ve got to write a great, memorable tune that everybody will hum and whose ringtone will be found in many a handphone.
An article in appeared in the Sunday Times, regarding the Shankar case, where men said that they would be more wary of the women when they go for parties lest they get accused with another court case (and make the lawyers rich again). I wonder, is this feminism thing going too far, such that now men can be victimised and prevented from saving themselves due to the women’s cause? Now we should have malinism – protection of men rights in an increasingly unfair world, especially between sexes. So what? A man on the MRT train bumps into a lady and before he knows it, he’s right in court? A lady on the MRT bumps into a man and there’s nothing wrong? So a lady can assault a man and get away scot-free? Why not let NASA discover Mars a suitable place for humans to live and then one of the sexes move out and shift to the planet? Then the women can touch other women all they want and men can do the same thing with nobody getting into trouble anywhere either (too bad if it’s theft; people can be so fickle when it comes to cash). Me, I don’t go for parties, so I’m safe I think. ¶ 1/04/2004 11:09:00 pm 0 comments
Morning! 2a.m. and I was still up. I discovered this English translation of “Lady White Snake” and picked it up to read. I am planning a series of tone poems on Chinese legends and classics. I actually started on the tone poem about the legend of Pan Gu the Creator but sort of abandoned it for now because of the lack of study materials, or rather, too many differing sources about the events. I finished the book in about an hour; thereafter I went to write down how I would divide the sections. I thought of using leitmotifs for this composition, so I sketched out themes for the four main characters: Xu Xian, Lady White, Little Green and Fa Hai. Later in the day, when I took out my sketchbook to play the themes I had written at the piano, I was completely appalled with what I had done.
I hadn’t watched the television serial of this classic starring Christopher Lee and Fann Wong. Thank god for that; they didn’t come into the picture while I read the book. Rather I visualised a Chinese opera about the story taking place! For those who don’t know about the story, it’s about this pair of star-crossed lovers… I won’t go further because I’m not doing a book review here. But the appalling thing is that those people (Xu Xian, Lady White herself and Xu Xian’s sister) were so overtly virtuous that they kept begging – going down on their knees and kowtowing and using their mouth – Fa Hai not to harm Lady White near the end of the story. Obviously the bastard didn’t give a shit about them. The recommended course of action in today’s context would be: “Get your fucking hands off her, you stupid son of a bitch!” followed by a punch across the face. This proves that actions are stronger than words.
I started work on the first movement of my String Quartet when I woke up. I’ve written a string quartet before: the Toccata, but this will be a real piece in the genre, with three different movements. It’s a unique work. I won’t dawdle about this here; rather it’s on my programme note which I’ve specially reserved to go into great detail about my new work.
Finally the comfortable feeling while writing music has returned. I find that I write better when I draft on paper first, rather than writing the music straight into the computer. I started out writing the melody line, and where possible and necessary, the dialogue parts. Then I wrote out the entire first movement (i.e. the full score) on paper before keying it into the computer. Another achievement here: the orchestration which I planned out in my head without the help of audio aids worked! Ha, ha, I’m so happy! Of course, there are the usual careless mistakes of missing accidentals, bad handwriting… anyway it’s good to be writing serious works, because I’m completely free to decide what I want to write and what I don’t want to. Too bad if the audience thinks that my idea here stinks and that they cry that my music is inaccessible or what: that’s their problem. That’s different from writing music for the masses. Here you have to pander to their tastes. Even if they like the sound of stinking shit you’ve got to write the stinking shit for them, otherwise you loose out. It’s a very tough job, although people tell me that writing pop songs is easy compared to serious works like mine. The thing about pop songs is that you’ve got to write a great, memorable tune that everybody will hum and whose ringtone will be found in many a handphone.
An article in appeared in the Sunday Times, regarding the Shankar case, where men said that they would be more wary of the women when they go for parties lest they get accused with another court case (and make the lawyers rich again). I wonder, is this feminism thing going too far, such that now men can be victimised and prevented from saving themselves due to the women’s cause? Now we should have malinism – protection of men rights in an increasingly unfair world, especially between sexes. So what? A man on the MRT train bumps into a lady and before he knows it, he’s right in court? A lady on the MRT bumps into a man and there’s nothing wrong? So a lady can assault a man and get away scot-free? Why not let NASA discover Mars a suitable place for humans to live and then one of the sexes move out and shift to the planet? Then the women can touch other women all they want and men can do the same thing with nobody getting into trouble anywhere either (too bad if it’s theft; people can be so fickle when it comes to cash). Me, I don’t go for parties, so I’m safe I think. ¶ 1/04/2004 11:09:00 pm 0 comments
Energico
Morning! 2a.m. and I am still up. I discover this English translation of “Lady White Snake” and pick it up to read. I am planning a series of tone poems on Chinese legends and classics. I actually started on the tone poem about the legend of Pan Gu the Creator but sort of abandoned it for now because of the lack of study materials, or rather, too many differing sources about the events. I finished the book in about an hour; thereafter I went to write down how I would divide the sections. I thought of using leitmotifs for this composition, so I sketched out themes for the four main characters: Xu Xian, Lady White, Little Green and Fa Hai. Later in the day, when I took out my sketchbook to play the themes I had written at the piano, I was completely appalled with what I had done.
I hadn’t watched the television serial of this classic starring Christopher Lee and Fann Wong. Thank god for that; they didn’t come into the picture while I read the book. Rather I visualised a Chinese opera about the story taking place! For those who don’t know about the story, it’s about this pair of star-crossed lovers… I won’t go further because I’m not doing a book review here. But the appalling thing is that those people (Xu Xian, Lady White herself and Xu Xian’s sister) were so overtly virtuous that they kept begging – going down on their knees and kowtowing and using their mouth – Fa Hai not to harm Lady White near the end of the story. Obviously the bastard didn’t give a shit about them. The recommended course of action in today’s context would be: “Get your fucking hands off her, you stupid son of a bitch!” followed by a punch across the face. This proves that actions are stronger than words.
I started work on the first movement of my String Quartet when I woke up. I’ve written a string quartet before: the Toccata, but this will be a real piece in the genre, with three different movements. It’s a unique work. I won’t dawdle about this here; rather it’s on my programme note which I’ve specially reserved to go into great detail about my new work.
Finally the comfortable feeling while writing music has returned. I find that I write better when I draft on paper first, rather than writing the music straight into the computer. I started out writing the melody line, and where possible and necessary, the dialogue parts. Then I wrote out the entire first movement (i.e. the full score) on paper before keying it into the computer. Another achievement here: the orchestration which I planned out in my head without the help of audio aids worked! Ha, ha, I’m so happy! Of course, there are the usual careless mistakes of missing accidentals, bad handwriting… anyway it’s good to be writing serious works, because I’m completely free to decide what I want to write and what I don’t want to. Too bad if the audience thinks that my idea here stinks and that they cry that my music is inaccessible or what: that’s their problem. That’s different from writing music for the masses. Here you have to pander to their tastes. Even if they like the sound of stinking shit you’ve got to write the stinking shit for them, otherwise you loose out. It’s a very tough job, although people tell me that writing pop songs is easy compared to serious works like mine. The thing about pop songs is that you’ve got to write a great, memorable tune that everybody will hum and whose ringtone will be found in many a handphone.
An article in appeared in the Sunday Times, regarding the Shankar case, where men said that they would be more wary of the women when they go for parties lest they get accused with another court case (and make the lawyers rich again). I wonder, is this feminism thing going too far, such that now men can be victimised and prevented from saving themselves due to the women’s cause? Now we should have malinism – protection of men rights in an increasingly unfair world, especially between sexes. So what? A man on the MRT train bumps into a lady and before he knows it, he’s right in court? A lady on the MRT bumps into a man and there’s nothing wrong? So a lady can assault a man and get away scot-free? Why not let NASA discover Mars a suitable place for humans to live and then one of the sexes move out and shift to the planet? Then the women can touch other women all they want and men can do the same thing with nobody getting into trouble anywhere either (too bad if it’s theft; people can be so fickle when it comes to cash). Me, I don’t go for parties, so I’m safe I think. ¶ 1/04/2004 11:09:00 pm 0 comments
Morning! 2a.m. and I am still up. I discover this English translation of “Lady White Snake” and pick it up to read. I am planning a series of tone poems on Chinese legends and classics. I actually started on the tone poem about the legend of Pan Gu the Creator but sort of abandoned it for now because of the lack of study materials, or rather, too many differing sources about the events. I finished the book in about an hour; thereafter I went to write down how I would divide the sections. I thought of using leitmotifs for this composition, so I sketched out themes for the four main characters: Xu Xian, Lady White, Little Green and Fa Hai. Later in the day, when I took out my sketchbook to play the themes I had written at the piano, I was completely appalled with what I had done.
I hadn’t watched the television serial of this classic starring Christopher Lee and Fann Wong. Thank god for that; they didn’t come into the picture while I read the book. Rather I visualised a Chinese opera about the story taking place! For those who don’t know about the story, it’s about this pair of star-crossed lovers… I won’t go further because I’m not doing a book review here. But the appalling thing is that those people (Xu Xian, Lady White herself and Xu Xian’s sister) were so overtly virtuous that they kept begging – going down on their knees and kowtowing and using their mouth – Fa Hai not to harm Lady White near the end of the story. Obviously the bastard didn’t give a shit about them. The recommended course of action in today’s context would be: “Get your fucking hands off her, you stupid son of a bitch!” followed by a punch across the face. This proves that actions are stronger than words.
I started work on the first movement of my String Quartet when I woke up. I’ve written a string quartet before: the Toccata, but this will be a real piece in the genre, with three different movements. It’s a unique work. I won’t dawdle about this here; rather it’s on my programme note which I’ve specially reserved to go into great detail about my new work.
Finally the comfortable feeling while writing music has returned. I find that I write better when I draft on paper first, rather than writing the music straight into the computer. I started out writing the melody line, and where possible and necessary, the dialogue parts. Then I wrote out the entire first movement (i.e. the full score) on paper before keying it into the computer. Another achievement here: the orchestration which I planned out in my head without the help of audio aids worked! Ha, ha, I’m so happy! Of course, there are the usual careless mistakes of missing accidentals, bad handwriting… anyway it’s good to be writing serious works, because I’m completely free to decide what I want to write and what I don’t want to. Too bad if the audience thinks that my idea here stinks and that they cry that my music is inaccessible or what: that’s their problem. That’s different from writing music for the masses. Here you have to pander to their tastes. Even if they like the sound of stinking shit you’ve got to write the stinking shit for them, otherwise you loose out. It’s a very tough job, although people tell me that writing pop songs is easy compared to serious works like mine. The thing about pop songs is that you’ve got to write a great, memorable tune that everybody will hum and whose ringtone will be found in many a handphone.
An article in appeared in the Sunday Times, regarding the Shankar case, where men said that they would be more wary of the women when they go for parties lest they get accused with another court case (and make the lawyers rich again). I wonder, is this feminism thing going too far, such that now men can be victimised and prevented from saving themselves due to the women’s cause? Now we should have malinism – protection of men rights in an increasingly unfair world, especially between sexes. So what? A man on the MRT train bumps into a lady and before he knows it, he’s right in court? A lady on the MRT bumps into a man and there’s nothing wrong? So a lady can assault a man and get away scot-free? Why not let NASA discover Mars a suitable place for humans to live and then one of the sexes move out and shift to the planet? Then the women can touch other women all they want and men can do the same thing with nobody getting into trouble anywhere either (too bad if it’s theft; people can be so fickle when it comes to cash). Me, I don’t go for parties, so I’m safe I think. ¶ 1/04/2004 11:09:00 pm 0 comments
Saturday, January 03, 2004
Allegretto
I went for the Chung Cheng Ruan (a kind of Chinese guitar) gathering today at Orchard. 1:30pm I was at the basement of Wisma Atria, clutching a cup of coke, walking towards Orchard MRT station to meet the others…
Wow… what a crowd.
So they said to meet at Orchard MRT station, but where? This is chaos, before Pan Gu was born out of it and brought order to the world. Looks like nobody will bring order to this place. That’s the thing I don’t like about Orchard Road. It’s a place best avoided if possible. I come here, I want to faint. I always avoid the underpass if possible. You could go in there, die and nobody would find you until your body rotted and the stench attracted attention.
I thought I was late; everybody was to meet 1:30, so I looked out for a big group. Suddenly I heard someone calling my name; I turned around and found Ruijun. “Where’s everybody?” I asked. “No one’s here yet… Jie Ying’s gone to the toilet; Eliza’s on the way; the rest coming later…”
Okay, fast forward… Eliza arrived, and Jie Ying shocked Ruijun by appearing from the opposite direction.
Ruijun: “Okay, so what you all want to do?”
Eliza: “I dunno… I thought you planned something…”
Ruijun: “I never planned anything… you people tell me anywhere so I pick here lol…”
Me: “Okay, so what should we do now?”
Ruijun: “Eh you all eat already or not?”
Me, Eliza: “Eat already.”
Ruijun: “Okay… maybe we go somewhere and sit down and wait for the rest to come…”
Suddenly I recalled I needed to buy a CD. “Is Heeren too far?” “I think can walk lah…” “Okay, let’s go.”
We walked up to the Heeren and HMV. I bought my CD, then we milled about there, waiting for Huiyi to arrive. Then all of us go down to the fountain on the ground floor and sit there. Ruijun has brought her comics to show us. It’s titled “Ai Leen” (after our senior).
The first page is the list of characters. There’s Ai Leen (of course), Xiaojie, Anqi, Huiyi, Minzhi, Carol, Sylvia, Mr Yeo (our ex-teacher) and me. It guest-starred Wang Jianming, the erhu/basketball guy. Since I’m the only guy in the group (besides Mr Yeo) I was, obviously, the protagonist, the victim of a love-square. Think “The Bachelor” where three girls compete against one another for the guy. In the end I follow my chosen path: bachelorhood. Fictionally I get dumped by all three ladies. What a bad dismissal. I prefer to be single naturally.
We accompany Huiyi back to her workplace at Wisma, and went to Lucky Plaza to play pool to pass the time before the others arrived. We got a crash course from Ruijun, and the game went off. Once I got the hang it was a breeze. It was a matter of aiming in a straight line towards the ball (and if possible, the goal as well). Perhaps it’s a blessing I hunch often, because when I bent down frequently to study the ball’s projected path and to take a shot, I didn’t feel any strain on the spine. We played three rounds… the last round looked as if it wouldn’t end. There was one black ball and three striped balls. We kept hitting and hitting; none went into the goal for a very long time.
The others arrived during our third game. They read through Ruijun’s comic and had a great time laughing over about it. After the game we went to meet Xuefen, another senior, and then on to “disturb” Huiyi during her work; the ladies would enter the store pretending to be customers and ask her to serve them. It was a little odd for a guy to be in the women’s section.
We sat down at the MOS Burger store at Ngee Ann City to wait for Huiyi to finish work and to have dinner. I got down to serious business, discussing the projected composition with Ai Leen for her plucked-instrument ensemble. There was a lot of difficulty in writing a piece, because I had no idea what Ai Leen wanted, and I was afraid that what I wrote might not be suitable. There was a necessity to discuss about the piece. I was to write a piece about love, with Leslie Tong as the case study (I’m sorry it sounds scientific, but that’s the way I put it down in my notebook for my own understanding). The next step would be to do research on the topic of Leslie Tong and to listen to his music.
Oh, I might have earned myself another engagement: to do the arrangements of the songs that Jie Ying’s friend wrote. Golly, I’m really getting busy these days.
* * *
Today’s news reported about the detonation of firecrackers at Chinatown. I myself had witnessed firecrackers while visiting the Chinese countryside. Such wildly differing arrangements! Here, the firecrackers are treated as if they were bombs and people were made barricaded away from it. In China we stood a tolerable distance away from the crackers. The Singapore crackers were lit electronically and suspended on 10-metre high metal towers to prevent any accidents from happening. Workers were even stationed on the road below the overhead bridge in Chinatown to pick up the unexploded firecrackers. In China the crackers were suspended off the building by a simple wooden stick. One of the men lit a match, placed the flame on the wire and ran like hell before the crackers went off.
How bureaucratic they do things in Singapore! You need the police, fire department, government officials, workers, guest of honour just to enjoy a firecracker show. In China nobody gives the shit and blows the crackers like they care. Of course there’s nothing like the Philippines, where one cracker blew the entire arses of the other fireworks at a market and killed people. In Singapore, you screw up the show, you’ve earned a trip to court. Singaporeans are great at suing – law creates rich men – and then the government will make sure you never put up another show again. In other words, you’re FINISHED. ¶ 1/03/2004 10:23:00 pm 0 comments
I went for the Chung Cheng Ruan (a kind of Chinese guitar) gathering today at Orchard. 1:30pm I was at the basement of Wisma Atria, clutching a cup of coke, walking towards Orchard MRT station to meet the others…
Wow… what a crowd.
So they said to meet at Orchard MRT station, but where? This is chaos, before Pan Gu was born out of it and brought order to the world. Looks like nobody will bring order to this place. That’s the thing I don’t like about Orchard Road. It’s a place best avoided if possible. I come here, I want to faint. I always avoid the underpass if possible. You could go in there, die and nobody would find you until your body rotted and the stench attracted attention.
I thought I was late; everybody was to meet 1:30, so I looked out for a big group. Suddenly I heard someone calling my name; I turned around and found Ruijun. “Where’s everybody?” I asked. “No one’s here yet… Jie Ying’s gone to the toilet; Eliza’s on the way; the rest coming later…”
Okay, fast forward… Eliza arrived, and Jie Ying shocked Ruijun by appearing from the opposite direction.
Ruijun: “Okay, so what you all want to do?”
Eliza: “I dunno… I thought you planned something…”
Ruijun: “I never planned anything… you people tell me anywhere so I pick here lol…”
Me: “Okay, so what should we do now?”
Ruijun: “Eh you all eat already or not?”
Me, Eliza: “Eat already.”
Ruijun: “Okay… maybe we go somewhere and sit down and wait for the rest to come…”
Suddenly I recalled I needed to buy a CD. “Is Heeren too far?” “I think can walk lah…” “Okay, let’s go.”
We walked up to the Heeren and HMV. I bought my CD, then we milled about there, waiting for Huiyi to arrive. Then all of us go down to the fountain on the ground floor and sit there. Ruijun has brought her comics to show us. It’s titled “Ai Leen” (after our senior).
The first page is the list of characters. There’s Ai Leen (of course), Xiaojie, Anqi, Huiyi, Minzhi, Carol, Sylvia, Mr Yeo (our ex-teacher) and me. It guest-starred Wang Jianming, the erhu/basketball guy. Since I’m the only guy in the group (besides Mr Yeo) I was, obviously, the protagonist, the victim of a love-square. Think “The Bachelor” where three girls compete against one another for the guy. In the end I follow my chosen path: bachelorhood. Fictionally I get dumped by all three ladies. What a bad dismissal. I prefer to be single naturally.
We accompany Huiyi back to her workplace at Wisma, and went to Lucky Plaza to play pool to pass the time before the others arrived. We got a crash course from Ruijun, and the game went off. Once I got the hang it was a breeze. It was a matter of aiming in a straight line towards the ball (and if possible, the goal as well). Perhaps it’s a blessing I hunch often, because when I bent down frequently to study the ball’s projected path and to take a shot, I didn’t feel any strain on the spine. We played three rounds… the last round looked as if it wouldn’t end. There was one black ball and three striped balls. We kept hitting and hitting; none went into the goal for a very long time.
The others arrived during our third game. They read through Ruijun’s comic and had a great time laughing over about it. After the game we went to meet Xuefen, another senior, and then on to “disturb” Huiyi during her work; the ladies would enter the store pretending to be customers and ask her to serve them. It was a little odd for a guy to be in the women’s section.
We sat down at the MOS Burger store at Ngee Ann City to wait for Huiyi to finish work and to have dinner. I got down to serious business, discussing the projected composition with Ai Leen for her plucked-instrument ensemble. There was a lot of difficulty in writing a piece, because I had no idea what Ai Leen wanted, and I was afraid that what I wrote might not be suitable. There was a necessity to discuss about the piece. I was to write a piece about love, with Leslie Tong as the case study (I’m sorry it sounds scientific, but that’s the way I put it down in my notebook for my own understanding). The next step would be to do research on the topic of Leslie Tong and to listen to his music.
Oh, I might have earned myself another engagement: to do the arrangements of the songs that Jie Ying’s friend wrote. Golly, I’m really getting busy these days.
* * *
Today’s news reported about the detonation of firecrackers at Chinatown. I myself had witnessed firecrackers while visiting the Chinese countryside. Such wildly differing arrangements! Here, the firecrackers are treated as if they were bombs and people were made barricaded away from it. In China we stood a tolerable distance away from the crackers. The Singapore crackers were lit electronically and suspended on 10-metre high metal towers to prevent any accidents from happening. Workers were even stationed on the road below the overhead bridge in Chinatown to pick up the unexploded firecrackers. In China the crackers were suspended off the building by a simple wooden stick. One of the men lit a match, placed the flame on the wire and ran like hell before the crackers went off.
How bureaucratic they do things in Singapore! You need the police, fire department, government officials, workers, guest of honour just to enjoy a firecracker show. In China nobody gives the shit and blows the crackers like they care. Of course there’s nothing like the Philippines, where one cracker blew the entire arses of the other fireworks at a market and killed people. In Singapore, you screw up the show, you’ve earned a trip to court. Singaporeans are great at suing – law creates rich men – and then the government will make sure you never put up another show again. In other words, you’re FINISHED. ¶ 1/03/2004 10:23:00 pm 0 comments
Friday, January 02, 2004
Presto
Today is a fast-paced day. I was scheduled for a job orientation for John Little at Specialists’ Shopping Centre, 2pm today.
I think many details were omitted when I went for my application, because nobody told me I was to dress (like everybody else) in white polo tee-shirt and long dark pants. Of course I know that this is applicable for the working days themselves, but nobody told me I had to dress like that for the orientation.
Two o’clock and we were led into the designated training room. There were three tables of cashiers; the logistics people took up one table. There were four basket collectors and two outports: me and a University graduate, Lawrence. The basket collectors were tasked to collect empty plastic bags and distribute them to the customers at the entrance of the hall. Lawrence and I, as outports, were to ship the goods about the exhibition hall, so it’s lots of physical action; great training for NS.
The orientation basically comprised of some administrative work. Whatever we had to know was explained. The best part: we’re being paid for going there to sit around and listen to the talk. ¶ 1/02/2004 11:09:00 pm 0 comments
Today is a fast-paced day. I was scheduled for a job orientation for John Little at Specialists’ Shopping Centre, 2pm today.
I think many details were omitted when I went for my application, because nobody told me I was to dress (like everybody else) in white polo tee-shirt and long dark pants. Of course I know that this is applicable for the working days themselves, but nobody told me I had to dress like that for the orientation.
Two o’clock and we were led into the designated training room. There were three tables of cashiers; the logistics people took up one table. There were four basket collectors and two outports: me and a University graduate, Lawrence. The basket collectors were tasked to collect empty plastic bags and distribute them to the customers at the entrance of the hall. Lawrence and I, as outports, were to ship the goods about the exhibition hall, so it’s lots of physical action; great training for NS.
The orientation basically comprised of some administrative work. Whatever we had to know was explained. The best part: we’re being paid for going there to sit around and listen to the talk. ¶ 1/02/2004 11:09:00 pm 0 comments
OVERTURE
I'll start writing from 28/12/2003, there's quite an event on that day. Of course I'll write it on Microsoft Word first, otherwise I'd be killed over the Internet bills. Who wants to waste Internet money when the government's upped the GST? Look at the electricity bills, going up as well! Terrifically terrible...
Okay... I'm off to start typing now... ¶ 1/02/2004 06:04:00 pm 0 comments
I'll start writing from 28/12/2003, there's quite an event on that day. Of course I'll write it on Microsoft Word first, otherwise I'd be killed over the Internet bills. Who wants to waste Internet money when the government's upped the GST? Look at the electricity bills, going up as well! Terrifically terrible...
Okay... I'm off to start typing now... ¶ 1/02/2004 06:04:00 pm 0 comments
Thursday, January 01, 2004
Tempo alla Marcia
Happy New Year!
I don’t have any resolutions, because I don’t make resolutions, and because I can’t and don’t make an effort to fulfil them. I can’t even handle an examination preparation timetable. My father keeps telling me to write one, but when I write I experience great difficulty in coming up with the schedule, and even if I manage to finish it I hardly ever steal a glance at it, let alone bother to stick by what I have written. So it is most likely that if I ever have a New Year’s resolution, you can bet that by 2005 or 2006 it’s unfulfilled or even better, forgotten.
I had the hell of a time sniggering to myself the poor fates of my brother who has to go to school tomorrow. For the first time in twelve years I don’t have the New School Day blues. But I lament at the loss of student’s concession for public transport. Damn! I should have joined in the opposition! Anyway in the army they’ll give us back our concession; how much I don’t know. Now I must remember to tap my card at the reader when I alight; I have the habit of conveniently forgetting to tap my card because students are not penalised as their fares are all fixed.
So we usher in the new year with the government happily grinning away with their forecast of a recovery in the economy and that Singaporeans are now expected to be able to handle the 5% GST in return. ¶ 1/01/2004 01:07:00 am 0 comments
Happy New Year!
I don’t have any resolutions, because I don’t make resolutions, and because I can’t and don’t make an effort to fulfil them. I can’t even handle an examination preparation timetable. My father keeps telling me to write one, but when I write I experience great difficulty in coming up with the schedule, and even if I manage to finish it I hardly ever steal a glance at it, let alone bother to stick by what I have written. So it is most likely that if I ever have a New Year’s resolution, you can bet that by 2005 or 2006 it’s unfulfilled or even better, forgotten.
I had the hell of a time sniggering to myself the poor fates of my brother who has to go to school tomorrow. For the first time in twelve years I don’t have the New School Day blues. But I lament at the loss of student’s concession for public transport. Damn! I should have joined in the opposition! Anyway in the army they’ll give us back our concession; how much I don’t know. Now I must remember to tap my card at the reader when I alight; I have the habit of conveniently forgetting to tap my card because students are not penalised as their fares are all fixed.
So we usher in the new year with the government happily grinning away with their forecast of a recovery in the economy and that Singaporeans are now expected to be able to handle the 5% GST in return. ¶ 1/01/2004 01:07:00 am 0 comments
Guisto
Happy New Year!
I don’t have any resolutions, because I don’t make resolutions, and because I can’t and don’t make an effort to fulfil them. I can’t even handle an examination preparation timetable. My father keeps telling me to write one, but when I write I experience great difficulty in coming up with the schedule, and even if I manage to finish it I hardly ever steal a glance at it, let alone bother to stick by what I have written. So it is most likely that if I ever have a New Year’s resolution, you can bet that by 2005 or 2006 it’s unfulfilled or even better, forgotten.
I had the hell of a time sniggering to myself the poor fates of my brother who has to go to school tomorrow. For the first time in twelve years I don’t have the New School Day blues. But I lament at the loss of student’s concession for public transport. Damn! I should have joined in the opposition! Anyway in the army they’ll give us back our concession; how much I don’t know. Now I must remember to tap my card at the reader when I alight; I have the habit of conveniently forgetting to tap my card because students are not penalised as their fares are all fixed.
So we usher in the new year with the government happily grinning away with their forecast of a recovery in the economy and that Singaporeans are now expected to be able to handle the 5% GST in return. ¶ 1/01/2004 01:06:00 am 0 comments
Happy New Year!
I don’t have any resolutions, because I don’t make resolutions, and because I can’t and don’t make an effort to fulfil them. I can’t even handle an examination preparation timetable. My father keeps telling me to write one, but when I write I experience great difficulty in coming up with the schedule, and even if I manage to finish it I hardly ever steal a glance at it, let alone bother to stick by what I have written. So it is most likely that if I ever have a New Year’s resolution, you can bet that by 2005 or 2006 it’s unfulfilled or even better, forgotten.
I had the hell of a time sniggering to myself the poor fates of my brother who has to go to school tomorrow. For the first time in twelve years I don’t have the New School Day blues. But I lament at the loss of student’s concession for public transport. Damn! I should have joined in the opposition! Anyway in the army they’ll give us back our concession; how much I don’t know. Now I must remember to tap my card at the reader when I alight; I have the habit of conveniently forgetting to tap my card because students are not penalised as their fares are all fixed.
So we usher in the new year with the government happily grinning away with their forecast of a recovery in the economy and that Singaporeans are now expected to be able to handle the 5% GST in return. ¶ 1/01/2004 01:06:00 am 0 comments
