Monthly Archives: June 2002

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Enough. I practiced for two hours, my fingers hurt. So I’m playing around with the colours on my template now. “View Source” is my best friend when I find a site I like; I discover terrific colours that way, like the sage green I’m trying out here. After loading it to check it out, I have dubbed this colour scheme “Chocolate Mint”, which amuses me no end. Feedback is welcome. We’ll see how long it lasts. This page is always a work in progress.

Dinner was lovely, and so welcome – I was more than ready to escape the workplace. MLG and I spent a lot of time people-watching through our window at Hurley’s, as it’s Grand Prix weekend and there are many, many Beautiful People wandering about our fair city. (Beautiful People are those persons who sail down the street inviting you to look at them. They know that they’re on display, and they’ve dressed to make A Statement. Some of the statements were laughable, such as the woman we passed wearing a pink sequinned butterfly tied onto on her torso, with a pair of jeans. I giggled for half a block.) We talked of cabbages, kings, invasionary forces, having babies, and politics. Dinner with MLG exercises the mind and relaxes me at the same time.

In the pub I ran into an old customer from the F/SF shop who I still keep in touch with, and we mourned the loss of the shop again. Two years. It’s been two years (minus three weeks) short of two years since the doors closed due to poor sales, a direct result of the big box stores opening up five minutes down the road. The concept of time becomes so surreal as you get older. When you’re a kid, summer lasts forever. When you’re an adult, it’s more like, “Summer? When? What – wait, was that it? I must have blinked, because it’s October all of a sudden.” It seems like only yesterday that we put the new calendar up at work. (Actually, it seems like only yesterday that we turned the calendar page to February 2001. That’s how wonky time has become.)

I read another book when you weren’t looking: The Beekeeper’s Apprentice by Laurie R. King. Delicious. A Holmes story after his retirement, when he meets a young lady whose mind is as sharp as his, and he informally apprentices her. Good enough to keep an eye out for the rest of the series. Wonderful summer reading.

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I have a bad feeling that this is going to be a less than fun day. The past three have been unfairly long and slow. Someone inserted more minutes into each hour, I’m certain of it, and neglected to warn me. It’s also been grumpy – everyone’s been growly and lethargic and generally vaguely unhappy. I worked in the store on Tuesday, which I usually work at home, so by last night I’d used up my working-with-customers patience, and I still have another whole day to get through. The good thing is I will be dining with MLG afterwards, which will cheer me up to no end. It will also officially launch my weekend. I’m covering for someone else on Monday, however, so it will be the shortest weekend I’ve had in a while. I’m being generous in the covering for others department, though, becaue hey, as of the beginning of July, I won’t be worrying about that for a while, will I?

Ceri, evil woman that she is, sent me links to new costume patterns, and voila, a whole new Hallowe’en concept unrolled itself in my mind. I called my husband in to share and showed him all the pictures and detailed the idea with some excitement. He put his hands on my shoulders and said, “It’s a wonderful idea, and yes, you’d look perfectly stunning, but you made me promise to remind you of something: You hate costume parties.”

Damn. I did, too. I do hate them. I’m a perfectionist, and obssessive, and I dislike large gatherings of people. My record for the past four years: an hour at the party; half an hour; skipped; hid far away in the hotel.

This would be so good though! I have plenty of time, too – all summer, in fact. I have excellent photo references! I have a pattern to base it on (although I’m already modifying it and adding things mentally, oh dear)! I just need to find material… I sense a trip to St Hubert street in my future.

Ceri asks, “Are you going to get a new sewing machine?” I answer, “No, just a new needle. Plus extras.” I intend this costume to be as light as possible (enough with the gold lycra and the heavy tapestry!), so a sturdier machine won’t be necessary (you hear that, Easy-Bake Oven of Sewing Machines? Don’t let me down!). Besides… my birthday treat is to be a beautiful wooden recurve bow, and I want to buy the extras like the armguard and fingertab and arrows are sort of important too. This summer is going to be lean, and a new sewing machine is not in my long-term budget.

Curse you, Ceri! In the nicest way possible, of course.

Blogger Insider

Kate sent me her Blogger Insider questions, and I actually answered them the day I got them. All but the last one, that is, which I’ve been mulling over. In true Autumn fashion, I’ve not directly answered it, but sort of answered beside it. Here you are:

1. What’s the most bizarre instrument you can play (e.g. musical saw, noseflute, etc.)?

Caveat Number One: I’m boring. Caveat Number Two: I rarely have the urge to try something unconventional. Hence, I think the most exotic instrument I play is the harp. And I certainly don’t play it often or well. It’s big, heavy, and hurts my back.

I bought a tambourine recently; that’s a bit odd. Isn’t it?

2. What’s your favorite spot in Canada?

Sigh. Prince Edward Island. It’s so tiny I thought I might be able to get away with saying the whole province, but if I have to be more specific, Cavendish Beach. But it has to be deserted. Just me, sun, red sand, waves, and a good book. Sigh once more.

3. What’s your favorite comic book and why?

Argh. Tell me to pick a favourite child, why don’t you. Currently: Promethea. Overall? Dunno. Depends on my mood.

4. Who’s your favorite fiction author and comic book author?

Why are you making me do this? Fiction. Hmm. Who do I buy instantly in hardcover? Connie Willis, Neil Gaiman, Timothy Findley. Dead people who don’t have anything new coming out but I’d buy in hardcover if they were still publishing: Robertson Davies, Charlotte Bronte.

Comic books? A tie between Neil Gaiman and Alan Moore. (According to my shelf of graphic novels.)

5. What’s your favorite song in “Once More With Feeling,” the “Buffy” musical episode?

“R.I.P” stuck in my head the first time I saw it, but upon listening to it over and over, I find Xander and Anya’s song “I’ll Never Tell” is really quite well-written and performed, and is the one that keeps popping up in my brain when I’m distracted.

6. What’s your favorite opera?

Mozart’s Don Giovanni. Followed by a three-way-tie between Donizetti’s La Fille du Regiment, Rossini’s La Cenerentola, and Il Barbiere di Siviglia. (The latter for its delicious mezzo-soprano role, and for the act one finale, if nothing else!)

7. If you could move anywhere in the world, where would it be?

The Borderlands, Scotland.

8. Who’s the one character you can’t stand to see when watching a “Star Wars” movie?

Old series or new series?

New series: Threepio is rapidly rising up the list in the new series. Jar-Jar, of course.
Old series: Boba Fett. Honestly. He’s so overrated. Ep2 sort of redeemed him for me, though. His dad was at least cool. (His action figure is certainly the best one. Is it just me or are the SW:Ep2 figures below standard?)

9. What are your top three totally irrational pet peeves?

Firstly, someone who shall remain nameless putting a margarine container, with the barest sheen of margarine along the bottom of it, back into the fridge. (“I didn’t finish it!”) Actually, that nameless someone putting anything back in the fridge or cupboard with only crumbs or drops left in it.

Secondly, not writing something down on the shopping list if you’ve finished it (or, all right, almost finished it). I don’t eat often, but when I do, I like to have all the fixings there. This will drive me directly to Axe-Murderer status, do not pass Go, do not collect $200.

Thirdly, people standing behind me. In a related vein, people reading over my shoulder. Or, people standing in front of me and conversing with sunglasses on. I hate not being able to see people, and if I can see them, I have to be able to see their eyes.

I have more, if you’d like them. Such as bad editing in a published book. Stupid spelling mistakes. (Especially in my own work, when I’ve proof-read and run a spell-check.) People adopting American short-cut spelling such as lite and donut, and believing that it’s the right way to spell something. Shall I go on?

10. If you could perform any piece of music to a large audience by yourself, what piece would it be?

Ha! Assuming I could perform it with any sort of technical capability and emotional interpretation, pretty much anything by Bach. I remind you all of Caveat Number One (I’m boring), and add the following footnote: as much as I adore performing, I prefer chamber work with a few others. Solo is so… alone. You have nothing to interact with. So actually, my dream would be playing cello in a string quartet program of Beethoven’s String Quartet opus 132 in A minor, followed by Ravel’s String Quartet in F. Rather than performing solo, I enjoy hearing how my line intertwines with a few others. I also enjoy singing quartets or trios more than I enjoy singing alone.

There you have it.

Jean, darling that she is, brought me a whole new bottle of my Secret Weapon from her trip to Plattsburg last weekend. Now I have a bottle for home, and a bottle with a few left to keep at work. No Vanilla Coke, though. She says she’ll try again next trip. Curses! Foiled!

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We did it! We did it!

We found the deleted scenes on the new Harry Potter DVD! No cheating, or checking web sites, or anything!

Only took us another hour tonight, after discovering that they were nowhere to be found during our casual exploration before watching the movie on Sunday. It was actually quite a challenge, until we figured out what we needed to do. I was the brains; my husband clicked buttons. (Remotes defy me; it’s that technology/witch thing again.)

No, I’m not going to give the secret away. Suffice it to say that about half the deleted scenes should have been left in, in my opinion, including the one where Harry actually speaks Hedwig’s name. Then at least it would have been said at least once in the movie.

Watching the film again has reminded me of how much I want Dame Maggie Smith’s wardrobe. Especially that lovely hat with the pheasant feather, and the emerald velvet robes with the triskeles on them!

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The bicycle has been road tested.

I am not dead.

I do, however, remember why I stopped cycling as I got older. People who drive cars are self-absorbed and rude. I jammed on my brakes for an idiot who ran a stop sign because he didn’t see another car coming (I didn’t count, apparently); I jammed on my brakes because someone opened a car door in front of me; and I jammed on my brakes because someone pulled away from the curb in front of me. All this from going around the block after I filled the tyres with air. (Twenty-five cents! They charged me twenty-five cents to put air in my tyres!)

My back brakes are working. There are a few whirrs and clicks, and the gears change when they’ve given my gear shift a bit of consideration, and I have to secure the rear reflector properly, but I have a functional bicycle. Hurrah!

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Back. Back hurts. Secret weapon not kicking in.

I spent yesterday afternoon cleaning up that 25$ rusty thing that if you squinted and were feeling kind, you could call a bicycle. Three hours. Three hours of applying chrome cleaner with a toothbrush, and scrubbing as hard as I could with a scrubby sponge. Being there as a task is slowly accomplished doesn�t have the same power as seeing it �before� and �after�, as my husband did when he walked in at the end of the day. �Hey!� he said. �That�s terrific! I didn�t think you�d get it that clean!�

Get it that clean? There�s still rust all over it! Okay, so the chain doesn�t flake any more when you touch it, you can see the rims again, and the fenders only have a few dull spots, but it�s still a mess. Just not as much of a mess as before. I wouldn�t be embarrassed to be seen with it in public, now.

I will, however, be embarrassed after coming to a sudden stop if I don�t get the back brake calibrated correctly. Front brake � fine. Back brake � not fine. It’s still stiff, although I’ve tried everything I can remember about brakes. A sudden stop on my head would be bad. Even though I still have a helmet (around somewhere). I�ll walk it over to the gas station down the road this afternoon and fill the tyres to see if they actually hold air. Maybe I�ll try to ride it back. Slowly.

MIA

I discovered something bad yesterday.

I packed up my cello and my music bag to go over to a friend’s house, and my music folder was missing. My beautiful, new, black leather music folder. With my favourite pencil. Oh yes, and all my music with my notes all over it.

Gone.

I had a sinking feeling that was oddly juxtaposed with rising panic. I must have closed it at that horrible rehearsal, then left it on the music stand. I remembered the wooden blocks I put under the back legs of the chair to tilt the seat (thereby reducing the stress on my lower back), which I usually almost forget, but I was so rattled that I forgot my music folder and walked out.

This is bad: I like that new music folder. It was my “I’m a serious musician” folder. Sure, I could go buy another one for 17$, but it’s the principle of the thing. I’ve lost all my music, my fingerings, my bowings, my highlighted key changes.

I do still have the originals (thank the gods!). As soon as I get new music, I photocopy it and use the copies as practice music. I cannot bring myself to scribble on originals, even in pencil. We sign out the music, and have to sign it back in at the end of the season, so it’s good that I stored them in a seperate folder. I can always make more copies, trim them, paste them back to back, and try to recreate my fingerings, and bowings� gods, I want to cry just thinking about it. There was over three months of work in those copies.

Now. We rehearse in an auditorium in a high school. There’s always a chance that someone found my folder the next day and gave it in to the teacher who also just happens to be my conductor after hours. There’s also the chance that some kid found it, kept the folder and tossed the music, or mutilated it in some way then handed it in, or just had fun destroying it all and I’ll never see it again.

The orchestra has this week off, though. I won�t know until next week if someone found it.

In the meantime, I have the originals, and I might as well devote a couple of hours to standing at the copy machines in the library down the street, staring at the wall as the harsh light rolls back and forth, and copy them all again. Which is technically against the law, I suppose, although they’re for private research/rehearsal purposes. It could also be argued that one cello part is nowhere near the full work. In fact, it�s only, what, approximately 1/12th, I think, which hardly qualifies as a major portion of a total full orchestral score.

Does life ever seem futile to you sometimes? You try and try and try, and you never seem to get anywhere?