Scenes and Songs (o' Sicknasty Songs!)

As my blog is littered with Youtube videos, I suppose it’s no surprise when I admit I am something of a Youtube fiend. Youtube is my numero uno reference source, alongside the ubiquitous Wikipedia of course. I live on Youtube. I watch Jonathan Ross interviews, sing along to Estonian Lolita-Goths, and even watch some anime online.

Most of the time, I’m listening to music I don’t currently have—or more precisely, music I WANT but don’t have. Either I have yet to buy the CD, or…er…I haven’t bought the songs off iTunes. Just because I italicized it doesn’t mean I’m hinting at something. I just like italics sometimes…*shifty eyes*

I love music. I *heart heartiliciously heart* music. I am not a very religious person, but every time I hear an epic song, it’s like an intensely religious experience. It’s like having your senses heightened and then being elevated onto a higher plane. It’s through scores of notes that I feel closest to The Creator, and thank him for that profound experience. I am not usually a sensitive person—I don’t cry at sad scenes in a movie; I don’t cry even when girlfriends decide to pull a Mean Girl on me; but I can shed bucket loads of tears at the philharmonics orchestra—I even cry watching the Firebird Suite off of Youtube (that end bit always kills me!).

I suppose it’s no accident that 4 out of the 9 Greek muses happen to manipulate songs, and the ‘Chief Muse’, Calliope, is the Muse of Epic Song. How many of us have been inspired by the songs we hear? In my case, I ‘see’ the songs—I imagine scenes painted by the harmony of notes—I see adventures, I see life, I see wars, I see death (and all his friends), I get goosebumps. Imagine if I had synaesthesia! That would be awesome actually.

Thus, is it any surprise that the songs I love most (and inspires me most) are mostly classicals and movie theme songs? So here is an homage to my personal muses! (Prepare for onslaught of Youtube vids)

Arise: E.S. Posthumus: Deciphered [upcoming album]

[Also listen to: Unstoppable, Nara]


Firebird Suite: Igor Stravinsky: Disney's Fantasia 2000

Tell me your heart sang at 7:10!
[Also listen to: The Rite of Spring; Watch The Man conduct]

One of my most influential muses: Muse! (Band's name makes so much sense...)
Stockholm Syndrome: Muse: Absolution

That outro is siiiiick! Seriously, among the Things to do Before You Die: WATCH MUSE LIVE!
[Also listen to: Assassin, Hysteria, Muscle Museum, Newborn, Sunburn, Screenager, Falling Away With You, etc. etc.]

And finally, Sigur Ros!
Njosnavelin: Sigur Ros: The Brackets/Parentheses Album ()

See how everyone's all silent and transfixed? Oh my lord, this has to be one of the most ethereal/dreamy/unreal song in existence! I absolutely love the whole cello bow on guitar thing.
[Also listen to: Gobbledigook, Hoppipolla, Staralfur, etc. etc.]

Whoa. My posts are turning into novellas. Well, hope you peeps were inspired! I'm off to write battle scenes. Wop wop!

Go Fly, Go Fly...

If my posts on labour and deliveries didn't creep you out enough, here's a good dose of freaky that will remedy that.

Enter Kerli (Care-lee) Koiv-- the Lolita-Goth girl from Estonia. Love the song, love her style...I even love the video!

WATCH IT!!



Feel it, and breathe it, believe it, and you'll be walking on air...

Anybody notice how she sounded like Bjork in the bridge?

Also, did she say: go fry?

I was thinking of being all healthy today, Kerli...but if you insist, I will go fry some fish.

Ease into Midwifery

It began, as most adventures do, with an unassuming situation. The hospital my aunt was in didn’t allow members of the opposite sex to sleepover with the patient. You’d think since my aunt was tremendously pregnant and starting to have contractions they’d allow the husband to stay over—after all, they’ve already had that special hug. That’s why my aunt was in there in the first place!

But no, the hospital was adamant about their (outdated) policy, so my aunt asked me to accompany her in the hospital instead. I was the best person for this job, as I am, by most accounts, a glorified bum. My mum decided she’d go with me—I think she wasn’t confident that I would be able to handle an emergency situation. I concur.

As usual, I packed enough for a week-long camping trip. I’d like to think there was a good reason for it…

…Of course! I needed to exercise these biceps! Look at them guns…*flex flex*

Anyway, I worked out all the way to my aunt’s ward that by the time I reached it I was tired, sleepy and ready for bed. However, as usual, hospital wards resemble the Arctic, like they were actively trying to reinvent themselves as an Ice Wonderland. It made me regret not packing my winter coat. Mama and me camped out on a small strip of mat and tried to keep warm, but to no avail. (A/n: I know it’s ‘and I’, grouchy grammarians)

After a while, my aunt came to my rescue, because she scooted over and let me sleep with her on the bed, which was far warmer than the floor. Although really, she only did that because she wanted me to massage her back whenever she had a contraction. They were coming in quick and strong. It was 4am by this time, and the last time a nurse checked her dilation, it was 1230am. It was 2cm at the time—the same as it has been since 11am the previous day; the same, even though she had been given a shot to induce the labour. The nurse had given her a shot to ‘relax’ her after that—apparently so she could sleep. Obviously it didn’t work. It was 4am and her contractions were less than a minute apart. Like anyone could sleep through that.

My aunt became more restless. I soon became masseuse-cum-hot pack warmer. I think I was good at both. After a while, we called the nurse in—my mum was under the impression that such frequent contractions meant something. I wouldn’t know. I was expecting lots of screaming as a marker that delivery was on the way, and my aunt was definitely not doing that. When the nurse checked her dilation again (a procedure which got my aunt’s legs shaking), it was already 5cm. 2cm past the point where they can administer an epidural. 2cm more than my aunt bargained for. 2cm closer to panic.

My aunt tried to negotiate for the epidural, but the nurse laughed (kindly) and told her that by the time the anaesthetist arrived, she would have already given birth. She was wheeled into the labour room. 10-20 minutes later, she was already fully dilated and pushing. I was in there for a while, but as soon as her hubby showed up I was unceremoniously kicked out. Another one of those charming ‘hospital policy/procedure’. I opted to eavesdrop instead.

There were the sounds of the two nurses cheering her: ‘Push, push, very good, Lin…now a little more!’; there was the sound of the clanking of the bed rails; sometimes the approving grunts of the doctor. The only sound missing was my aunt screaming in agony. She didn’t even give a little groan, or so much as a whimper! Aiyo, no drama at all lah.

And then the doctor said, ‘Take the baby’. The baby screamed. My mother cried. The baby was born, alive and kicking and announcing it’s presence to the world.

Welcome baby Julia! We’ll hang out soon, my littlest cousin.

The Ex-Box

Interestingly, the only awkward breakup I ever had is with someone I never dated in the first place!

Now he wants to do the whole 'breakup box' thing. *sigh*

Also, we currently communicate with each other using backhanded insults and not-too-subtle sarcastic comments. A far cry from the days when he was the sweetest person ever and brought me lamb shank at midnight. Of course, at the time, he was trying to get into my pants. Or wanted a serious relationship with me, though what am I to make of his comments about wanting to impregnate me to have kids with me? He also kept telling me that he wanted to marry me. Are flings allowed to say that?

I think there needs to be a Rulebook for Flings. Iron-clad regulations that ensure flings don't transition into more serious territories-- like an actual relationship.

Mood: Resigned

Because Yesterday was Valentine's...

Here's my present to you! I give you...

The calf aptly named 'Heart'

Isn't it cute? How precious is it to have a calf marked with a heart? Actually, I feel a deep connection to anything with heart-shaped birthmarks, only because I have one on my calf. Wait, I just realised-- a calf called Heart, a heart on my calf. This is getting strange...

Anyway, just because baby animals (or really, baby anything) inspire 'awww', I will give you more! (Did that rhyme?) Here are some of my favourites:

What long legs you have Mooseys! (am jealous)

I'll take the flowers! And the red panda too!

Where did you get them ickle boots Piggy? You must tell me the name of the store!

Hope everyone had a lovely Valentine's!

xoxo

Work and Other Cheerier Subjects

I haven’t updated in a while, and I have a very good reason for it!

I’ve been sick of words.

Seriously. I started work last week, and it involved me reading up to fifty articles (that’s 5-0!) all in the same pompous academic tone, write the introductory chapter to the research paper in a similar manner (like an assignment, it’s upwards of 2500 words), and worse, editing a 10,000 word chapter written by somebody else.

Now, even though I am sort of a good editor (which is why I'm always made editor in college/ university), I actually hate it. I hate that people make grammar/ spelling/ punctuation mistakes, muck up their referencing, write non-cohesive paragraphs and/or incongruous content, and I am the one who has to straighten that mess out.

Let’s just say an editor is the equivalent of a cleaner/janitor in the supermarket. “Clean up in Paragraph 2, Sentence 3!”

The worst part? Right now I get sanitation engineer’s pay too. If I don’t get paid in the ballpark of the market value soon, imma find other clients—people who are a bit more generous to their employees.

That said, I hope my current employer is happy with my work. I worked hard. I don’t think people realise this about me, but I am sort of a perfectionist and/or obsessive when it comes to my work. It makes it a little harder and takes me a little longer than other people, I suppose, but I never really knew how to do a half-assed job. I tried several times to just let it go in university (when it came to assignments), but no matter how I whined and threatened to fail my course, I always ended up holing myself up in the room for upwards of three days, working feverishly from day to night to complete the (admittedly, one-month) assignment. So, I’m super happy to have completed this one, but…you know…it won’t be long till the next project comes in. I’m really gonna have a chat with that lecturer. Seriously. I know why other people charge 200 bucks per page.

In other news, I died watching Count of Monte Cristo. Having never read the book, the entire story was novel to me, and I enjoyed every moment, every plot twist, every deceit and syllable. Maybe I am too effusive with my praise—but really, it’s been a while since I watched an adventure like this one. I want more adventure! More tales with pirates and prisoners, swordfights and betrayals! Seriously, the way he went Black Ops is so freaking cool! And the scars on his back: jarring! And the last swordfight scene: wickedly epic! I really just needed to watch this kind of high fantasy storytelling.

Mood: Inspired
[Source: Anagram Bookshop Ad]

Blame it on the Estradiol

A study conducted by Dr. Kristina Durante and her team from the University of Texas at Austin found the following:

Women with high levels of an oestrogen known as estradiol:
1) look and feel prettier
2) dress more provocatively and engage in more thrill-seeking behaviour
3) reported a greater likelihood of flirting, kissing and having a serious affair with someone other than their primary partner
4) engage in opportunistic serial monogamy (i.e. open to affairs and moving on to a higher-quality mate should the opportunity arise)

Until I read that article, I had always blamed my inclination for having flings and jumping out of airplanes on increased testosterone levels…or maybe a lapse in sound mental judgement.

But now I can blame it on a female hormone—thereby making me feel less masculine and more in touch with my feminine side. My cleavage baring tops, my serial-dating…my vanity…I can blame it on Estradiol. Oh how I love new scapegoats!

Post-script:
Note to the boyfriend: Having done extensive research on the male population, I have concluded that you alone are the perfect one for me. So you can stop being jealous/upset/sad now! Mmmuahh!