bright

Having a Cadenza

2009-08-22T05:19:00.000+02:00

Apart from the annoying little man, seated right in front of me, determined to demonstrate his musical knowledge by humming certain passages and vigorously waggling his head, Thursday Night’s August Symphony Season at the city hall was magnificent.

The programme featured soloist, Sasha Rozhdestvensky, who mightily performed Beethoven’s Violin Concerto in D major, Op 61. Now, what made it more remarkable, the cadenzas. No, not the one I had when I nearly brained the stiff little man who was now chatting to his lady friend!

For the undereducated amongst us, and yes, I fall squarely into that category, a cadenza refers to the portion of a violin concerto where the orchestra stops playing and the soloist has opportunity to show their mettle. Now this concerto was written rather hurriedly by ole Beethoven and the cadenzas were left unwritten, but over the years his charming piano cadenza version has become what’s widely accepted. Enter composer Alfred Schnittke.

Ooh baby! Think an insane jealous Beethoven, on acid, naked. Weave the popular symphonies of the last two centuries in a glorious energetic cocktail, shake it up with a virtuoso muso, thanks Sasha, and then cleverly knit back to the original concerto theme. It was a mind massage, brilliant, generous but at times discordant and difficult.

Listening to a familiar piece of music is much like visiting a dear old friend. When their brawling younger cousin decides to pop in for a visit it can be trying to say the least. It’s no longer sweet comfortable and familiar; in fact it can be decidedly uncomfortable! But don’t discount the cousin; youth still has something important to say even if it’s not always what we want to hear.

Check out http://www.cpo.org.za/calendar.q for more Cape Town Philharmonic Orchestra concerts.

Acutorture!

2009-08-19T15:30:00.000+02:00

There’s a distinct possibility I may have been very bad in a previous life. Someone has decided to voodoo me and stick me full of pins! Sheesh, I’m sure they were meant to stick em into the doll and not directly into me. Oh, right, it’s called acupuncture, and I’m the fool who’s submitted me for this cruel and unusual punishment. Go figure!

Oh yes, I think it might have been the chat with that overenthusiastic friend that did it. Why is it that in our infinite stupidity we all seem to follow our ‘dear’ friend’s advice? When they quite obviously have a degree in ‘I’ll try anything’, and just because they have done so, they now have a venomous need to subject you to some of whatever they choose, just to make sure they aren’t alone in the world. Ever been the victim of “Oh, you must go to my chiro, he’s fab.” ,or the more subtle but just as sneaky hairdresser routine? Ah, that one, you nod sagely. The one where your friend comes out looking like she’s stepped off a ‘Bond’ set. You on the other hand, a little more tight fisted, “Just a cut thanks.” look like you’re at the tail end of some strange emo right of passage. Of course she didn’t tell you that she opted for the deluxe’ rub-everything-you-got-onto-my-locks-I’ll-pay-it-off-the-rest-of-my-life’ routine, did she?

So I find myself in the middle of Brooklyn, freezing my tits off. Naked, but for a g-string, looking like an S&M fetishist, with a total of 10 ghastly long needles sticking out of my breasts, 1 in my stomach meridian, 2 damaging my ribcage, beestings in my toes, and ankles, and ouch-f----damn-it, 1 miserable mother in the excruciating arch of my foot, for my very obvious spleen issue. Apparently I need to yang my spleen, is she ‘yanging’ my chain?

Best of all, I’m grinning like a fool, making small talk about the weather. We’re discussing how for the first year of her training her teacher didn’t even talk to her. I glance down at my injured body and can see why.

She then decides it’s time to twist them in a bit more. For some reason pain seems to be the only way to simulate the flow of chi along my meridian lines. Chi? Meridian lines? I decide now’s not the best time to smirk and I offend my therapist. She, after all, is the one holding all the power!
Several twists later, relief...she tells me it’s time to take out the implements of torture. My sympathetic system has gone into overdrive, my heart rate is well above the norm and I’m lying in a pool of sweat. Pity her sympathetic system doesn’t react at all! My wounded flesh doesn’t want to release the needles, and so begins a humungous tug of war. Therapist, against my tortured body, and of course she wins!

I leap off her table hurriedly re-clothing myself and enthusiastically thank her for her time. Not so fast sunshine, there’s still the other side to do. Yeah baby! I sheepishly relinquish my garments and face down and submit my derriere for round 2. This time getting hammered by 7 pointed needles along my thighs until I bleed profusely and my skin is raised, red and angry, my temper too. And then the indignity of suction cup; watching my wobbly bits being pulled up into glass beakers. Apparently very in with the stars??? Thanks Gwyneth Paltrow!
Eventually my session is done and I’m released from my naked precarious position. A rigorous routine of 8 more treatments is prescribed and I, without the capacity to say no, am booked in again for Friday.

And the verdict: Despite friends claim that this particular brand of acutorture will ‘practically staple breasts to eyebrows’, they have determinedly clung to their original, um, sag. Apart from the large cupping bruises, I am none the worse for the ware, oh, accept for the large hole in my wallet but frankly, neither am I any the better for the ware. Although, maybe, my curiosity has been cured?

The Credit Crisis Demon

2009-08-19T13:44:00.000+02:00

The credit crisis; the demon of fear spinning terror and anxiety throughout the world. Don’t breathe; don’t look lest its evil eye finds you. No money, no job, no no no! Is it kind of strange that I am enjoying it then? Maybe a bit selfish? But the Terror demon has made me re-examine my life. So much waste! I throw away bin bags full of packaging –which I pay for. I love you woollies but your packaging sucks. I eat Thai one night, Indian the next and I have all the leftovers to prove it. Just quater packs mind you, not quite enough for a full meal. I buy fresh salad every day, and of course I need to fill my basket with something else, wouldn’t want a lettuce leaf to feel all wilted and alone.

Oh, and Vodacom, the big bully boy bastards who have convinced me that I must be connected 24/7. And I like the merry fool I am buy, buy, buy into it.

No more!

I have redone my budget. A process I thought I’d hate but actually found to be quite enjoyable. And I’ve found thousands to save! Damn if that doesn’t feel good!
I have a garden bursting forth salad, fresh, organic and bountiful.
And I’m going to commit to recycle, more than just the organic stuff which I currently do.
The credit crisis has forced me to re-examine my own wasteful attitudes, and to scale down my excess and conserve, for that I am grateful. Now i know that it sounds selfish, just how much saving would I be doing without a job?! Moreover, without a garden plot how would I even start planting, and with no money sheesh, I can’t even go there.

There is so much inequity. Reality check, I probably can’t save the world, not today anyhow. And lamenting about the economic situation is certainly not going to help either. All I can do is act as s responsible custodian and hope that by taking care of my little patch of planet things might just be a bit easier for someone else. I can’t solve the injustices all I can be is a loving human being and be grateful for the amazing life I lead.