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| The year that was
The songs that will always remind me of 2006
Glasgow Kiss, John Petrucci
Immigrant Song, Led Zeppelin
What I wish I'd done differently
More participating, less trying to chase after an idea.
The song line that sums up my year
It's my aeroplane that's spiked with pain
...Happy New Year everyone!
Butt-pats and love <3 | | |
| G3 2006
Was indescribable. I can only begin to tell you the level of emotion I felt just being there. Needless to say, I was crying half the time. Quite embarrassing, as I was sobbing in my seat with my face buried in my hands muttering things along the lines of, “Fuck, they’re fucking awesome. Fucking AWESOME” and several passionately malutong screams of “Putang ina. PUTANG INA,” which obviously no one could understand, tears streaming down my face.
Our four seats were a few degrees left of the centre, in the middle of the first chunk of seats behind the standing area. Goooooooooood seats. And we had no idea they were that good until we got there and sat in them. Except we were surrounded by middle-aged folk who took issue with our rowdiness and eager screams of YEEEEEAAAAHHH whenever the band playing did something cool.
We caught Petrucci first, and by the time we got to our seats it was the middle of the first song. Yes, John Petrucci is my real father. When Vai came on, I was pretty much having an orgasm. The set was so sexy, I swear I creamed my pants. And I was told later on that I looked like I was “getting fucked by the music.” Eek.
Of course in the middle of it all, we all took turns to buy drinks, and I think we spent a disturbing amount of money on several rounds of alcohol, and were pleasantly hammered (some more than others) by the end of Vai’s set. But I came to my senses when Satriani came on. For some reason I simply couldn’t have it sitting down anymore. So I abandoned the comfort of our centre seats, jumped the gate and dodged security and ran right to the front of the standing area facing the stage.
...
When I got right to the front I made sure to ask the people around if they minded that I just squeezed in front of them all of a sudden. Most of them said it was fine, and I’m guessing it’s because I was a whole two heads shorter than all of them anyway. Ah, the benefits of being small! Apparently, my friend Tony, upon seeing me jump that gate (or rather, slip under it), decided to do the same thing himself, but not without getting caught and having to make a run for it. What a lucky little fucker I must have been! Not only that, he found me in that sea of humanity! Again I thank my lucky stars for being the only one in white and pink in the middle of a crowd of tall people clad in black.
By the last set when all three guitarists had a jam, I was dancing happily but couldn’t help looking up in awe. But I was glad they ended when they did because I was so dehydrated and hot that I would have ran out of there had they played another song. Standing by the vending machine afterwards with a bottle of mineral water, I must have had a huge smile on my face. It was a beautiful night, and I was in love.
It was the best, best fucking thing I had ever gone to, to date, and the best thing to have blown my cash on. Being flat broke has never been this… worth it. For four sets worth of beautiful music played by beautiful people, with the concert running for four hours, and seeing it with three other idiots whom I love, no question about it. | | |
| A deviant art
I was walking home from the markets today and I happened to pass by a little fashion shoot. I don't know what it's called exactly, but I saw a model, a photographer and some fashion-discussing people.
Anyhoo. As I maneouvred my way along the sidewalk behind the guy taking the photos, stepped over bags and tools and squeezed past a few women, I started to think. This thought has actually crossed my mind several times before and I've mentioned this to a few people, but now seems like a good time to unveil to the world that aside from wanting to be a [insert my every possible occupation of interest here], I think it would be cool to be a make-up artist.
I know this sounds out of character, coming from the horrible little boy who, from childhood, could never stand lipstick and putting everything else on, starting several fights with her mother before formal occassions by stubbornly refusing to touch the stuff let alone 'wear' it. And it pretty much still applies, as it does happen until now, although I'd like to think I am much less difficult to deal with... just as long as (pore-clogging, Gar-Gar-esque) foundation and (slimy, cracking-when-dry) lipstick are not part of the equation. I admit, I really don't know much about make-up since I don't use it, and it seems so far off from what I'd most likely be doing—you know, being a homeless hippie living off my sister's kindness money—but I am very interested in learning more about that sort of thing.
Besides, the gunk's not really going on me, it's going on someone else. I just want to learn to put it on. Because it's an art! How cool are those people who can do all these amazing things with pigment?? As make-up or face paint, from simply 'dressing up' to enhancing someone's features to creating a 'look' to recreating a 'look' to making a character for a shoot to turning someone into another person (here I mean movie/costume make-up)?? Groovy, baby.
But no matter what project I undertake, really I want to be a behind-the-scenes person. I'd want to be involved in making things happen, in this case as the make-up artist or the layout person or the photographer or the concept come-upper or the crew coffee-purchaser. Rawr rawr rawr! Oh dear, all this rambling! To end this entry, I say: kudos to you, make-up artists of the world!
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| Live in exile
Among the ruins of a past
And no longer return
Transmission complete
Disconnected, disoriented and lost
Wander these streets in darkness
Day will never break, forever night
Transition failed.
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| Tranquil panic
I have 36 hours to churn out a major essay from scratch. And it so happens that this particular major essay happens to constitute 60% of my final grade in one of my major subjects. Ah! :3
Curiously enough, I am neither stressed nor freaking out about it at all. What I do feel is a sort of quiet calm, a good bit of nonchalance; I am totally relaxed but without ignoring the fact that I need to get this done. It's as though I have managed to situate myself in an isolated area of my mind that has managed to mute out and shield itself from the surrounding chaos. I am in a zone of tranquil panic.
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