Our primary school class photos have started resurfacing recently on Facebook. Many of us are still in touch while others are reigniting old friendships after 30+ years. Most of the class photos were scanned by an old friend, Allie, and are tagged with captions along the lines of, "Gosh, we were so cute then!", "Whatever happened to so and so?" and "Phil, you don't look so happy. Was Murray punching you again?"
There have been lots of laughs and memories, along with several profile pic changes to our younger selves. Those who care to stalk me online will now see a shy, pig-tailed girl in a blue school uniform who bears a remarkable resemblance to my father. Another friend, Serena, cropped a class photo and used it as her profile pic. So did Allie, the instigator of all this.
Here's where it gets tricky. Serena and Allie have used the same cropped photo as their profile pics. Allie has noticed this and asked Serena why she's used her photo as her own. In the meantime, Serena has messaged me from the UK to ask, "who's this Allie person and why is she using my photo on Facebook?"
Although it was a long time since we were all in that photo, I know who is right. I just don't know how to tell Serena that she's not the little girl she thinks she is.
It was with nostalgic sadness that I learned about the death of jazz legend DaveBrubeck yesterday. Not only was Dave Brubeck an amazing musician, but he was a pianist – and it's rare for a keyboard player to headline a band in almost any genre. As a keyboard player, I know this!
Let me paint a little musical picture. I took School Certificate Music in fifth form when most 'bright' girls had long given up the subject. My school let me take performance music in sixth form, but then asked, "haven't you taken this music thing far enough?" when I wanted to take Bursary music. To this day, I am glad my mother took on the school principal by saying, "I don't think you understand: my family are musicians." It worked. Music went on to become a degree subject, a career and a lifelong passion.
'Classical' music was pretty new to me at school. A tiny part of the School Cert prescription (yes, they were prescriptions in those days) was about jazz music and the set piece was none other than the Dave Brubeck Quartet’s legendary Take Five. I didn't know much about jazz music either at the time, other than it was something my rock and pop music family were generally wary of. I remember listening to the crackly record player in the music room and was instantly caught out by the 5/4 rhythm. That was different. Challenging, almost.
Take Five became a suite of musical works whose every note is engrained into my memory all these years later. We had to listen repeatedly to the music we studied and analyse musical scores in great detail, but I don’t remember there being a score for Take Five. That's because it was made up of this thing called improvisation. I knew about jamming, but this took things to a whole new level. How can you improvise on a theme in 5/4 timing, playing 'freely' while concentrating so intently on such an unconventional time signature?
A few years later, I remember hearing Pink Floyd’s "Money" for the first time on the radio while driving home one night. I had to pull over and listen to the rest of the song at the side of the road. How can you drive to a song with 7/4 timing interspersed with 4/4? It took me right back to Take Five all over again.
RIP Dave Brubeck. You leave behind a lengthy back catalogue and an impressive contribution to music. I can't begin to thank you enough for introducing me to my love of jazz music and the world of polyrhythm.
I woke this morning to the news that musician Amy Winehousehad been found dead at her London home. I can't say I'm at all surprised but I am more than a little saddened at the loss of a great talent well before she should have hit her prime.
Amy Winehouse's lifestyle was truly a train wreck in progress; no-one really wanted to see the chaos she was creating, yet they also couldn't look away. Her battles with drug and alcohol addiction, along with those ridiculous eyelashes, were parodied by many, including our own Beatgirls. It's a real shame, as it totally overshadowed her musical talent while supplying the tabloids with endless fodder.
Right from the start, I could tell that Amy Winehouse was something different. She wasn't merely a singer; she was a very talented musician who acknowledged her musical influences by giving them a a contemporary twist. I eagerly awaited the follow-up album to Back to Black that never came.
So it looks like that 27 Club may have a new member. The 'Club' comprises a group of influential rock musicians who died at the age of 27 and its current members include Brian Jones, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix. Later, Kurt Cobain was added. I'm sure Amy will make it onto the list sometime soon; she would certainly qualify.
RIP Amy Winehouse. Hopefully you will find the peace in death that eluded you in life.
Amy Winehouse (1983-2011)
Image source: http://www.amywinehouse.com
Used without permission
This post is long overdue; so are a number of things with me at the moment, but that's another post in itself.
There are many curious characters who make up the fabric of the night life in Courtenay Place. You're likely to come across them at least every weekend and usually in the wee small hours. Some are more sociable that others, but all have their quirks. There's the infamous Blanket Man who is quick to abuse anyone who crosses his path, the guy who gets off a bus outside the Star Mart and asks for $2, the 'superstitious' guitarist, who plays Stevie Wonder's Superstition almost continuously outside the National Bank ... and then there was Kenny.
'Kenny', little known by his real name, John Adams, died of a brain tumour on 6 June. He was street performer with many strings to his entertaining bow, least of which was his musical ability, yet that is what he will most likely be remembered for. That, and his ongoing petitions to the Wellington City Council, appealing to Noise Control to have his impounded amp back. Yes, apparently the residents of Courtenay Place were not all Kenny fans.
Kenny petitions the WCC
to get his impounded amp back
I was beaten to the punch by Blog on the Tracks for already writing much (or much more) of what I might have written about Kenny myself. I didn't hear him recite Shakespeare, but I do recall catching snippets of Rudyard Kipling's If during late night jaunts down Courtenay Place during the mid-late 1990s. More commonly, I came across Kenny somewhere along the fence by the entrance to what is now Reading Courtenay (but was at the time under construction), a drunken crowd around him dancing and singing along to whatever he was trying to play at the time. One night, I wandered past to see a clearly tipsy woman with her around Kenny's shoulder and trying to get him to do the can-can with her; turns out it was my best friend at high school, who I hadn't seen for a few years but was not at all surprised by her efforts that night.
Word has it that in the early days, when asked to play The Gambler, he claimed to not know it, yet is what he is most commonly associated with. Whether he ever actually learned to play the song is questionable, but it quickly became part of a very limited repertoire for Kenny.
As a young musician, I think I was most offended by the terrible sound quality emanating from his microphone, which was gaffer taped inside his leather jacket and hooked up to a crummy 40W amp. His guitar wasn't much better. The fact that he barely knew how to play it was simply par for the course. And, yet, he had crowd-pulling power.
There was no sendoff for Kenny, although locals have called for a tribute. Kenny finally 'broke even' and is hopefully now entertaining the crowds in sky - if he ever managed to get his old amp back, that is. ;-)
I have recently joined the world of the public transport commuter, albeit temporarily, catching the bus after a few years of working from home and even more years driving to and from work each day. I'd forgotten just how much the wait at the bus stop could resemble Groundhog Day; after all, human beings are largely creatures of habit.
I am reminded of my years catching the bus to university. Each morning, the usual crowd would assemble, the bus would arrive, and the man whose house the bus stop was directly outside of would come running through his front door, clutching his wallet, looking for his bus pass, while simultaneously trying to put his jacket on and swallow the last of his breakfast. The driver would often wait for him, sometimes looking out the door and down his pathway for signs of life emerging from the front door. On the rare occasion he made it out before the bus arrived, we'd all quietly check our watches to see if the bus was late.
After only a few days at the bus stop, I have already begun to notice some patterns emerging and repeated behaviour. Here's what happens at my bus stop in the mornings:
The 7:31 am bus never comes before 7:40 am. However, when it does finally arrive, it takes a much faster route into the city (as I discovered this morning).
A police car pulls up parallel to the bus stop, then reverses into the adjacent driveway. I thought this was really strange the first time I saw it.
A man walks past the bus stop, looks at the people standing there, then continues down the street.
A teenage girl arrives, simultaneously glued to her cell phone and her iPod.
A woman arrives from the left as though she is entering a fashion show. She could easily have spent at least half an hour on her hair already.
Two women meet up from different directions and chat politely. They don't seem to know each other particularly well. Perhaps they work in the same building, and coincidentally catch the same bus there, so feel it necessary?
A middle-aged man drops off his wife and gives her a goodbye kiss.
A father drops off his teenage daughter, who has a cast on her broken leg and hobbles out of the car on crutches.
I first came across The Last Lecture some time ago. It was given by Randy Pausch (1960-2008), a former professor of computer science at Carnegie Mellon University, and became a YouTube hit with more than 11 million views. In it, Pausch, who knew he had terminal pancreatic cancer, talked about achieving your childhood dreams. This positive, upbeat lecture was his swansong at Carnegie Mellon University as he bowed out of academia and the workforce in order to prepare his young family for a life without him. I have watched it on a few of occasions and never fail to feel both inspired and amazed afterwards. There are new gems and pearls of wisdom that I pick up with each viewing, but the overarching message is the same: life is for living, now.
Yesterday, I finished reading The Last Lecture (2008), the follow-up book to Pausch's lecture. It encapsulates everything from the lecture and pads out some of the details, including the reasons why Pausch wanted to leave this particular legacy to his wife and young family. It's a very easy read, and you will find yourself nodding your head on more than one occasion. The advice is neither new nor preaching, and there's something for everyone.
Here is the video of The Last Lecture for you to watch. It is one of the most valuable things you can do for yourself in 1 hour and 16 minutes.
People are strange, weird, wonderful, and fascinating creatures. I love people watching. What are those people doing? Where are they from? What do they do for a job? Where are they going? What are they thinking? What made them dress like that today? (What were they thinking, lol?) As part of my 101 in 1001, I wanted to find a busy street corner or centrally located café and achieve #66 - Spend an hour people watching. Instead, we spent the weekend at the 2010 Wellington Sevens, the ultimate people watching experience.
The international rugby sevens tournament hits Wellington in the first weekend of February (although Auckland and Dunedin think they might have a shot for themselves - whatever!). Of all legs of this international tournament, the focus for Wellington is throwing the year's biggest costume party, and maybe watching the occasional game in the background. Anyone not dressed up sticks out like a sore thumb. Spending copious amounts of money on greasy stadium food and watery beer in plastic cups is par for the cause, especially on Saturday (Waitangi Day) when patrons were slapped with an additional 15% surcharge on top of the existing outrageous prices.
Think about a costume party you have been to, then multiply it by at least one thousand times. Ply those 35 000 people with copious amounts of alcohol, body paint, wigs, accessories, whistles and loud horns, then let them loose for two sunny days within a radius of just a few kilometres ... it is nothing short of madness. We saw costumes of every variety, including groups of Buzz Lightyears, Twister boards, traffic lights, Cookie Monsters, various members of the Munch Bunch, packets of Raro and Juicy Fruit ... check out some of the costumes here. Our theme was Jem and the Holograms. For everyone of a certain generation (ie, aged 28-35), this should hopefully sound familiar. The 23-year-old in our group had to watch some episodes on You Tube to know what we were talking about - she quickly got the idea.
Jem and the Holograms hit the town! "Truly outrageous!"
These Hannibal Lecters were quite taken with Jem and the Holograms
Some of the crowd along the waterfront
There were a couple dozen naughty oompa loompas running around. They were taller than I'd imagined!
iPods
As a non-drinker, the sevens makes for the ultimate in extreme people watching. Here's what I observed during my weekend of people watching at the sevens:
Cross-dressing is par for the course; at the sevens, it barely raises an eyebrow. This is probably the biggest event where you can expect to see hundreds of men dressed in women's lingerie and clothing. ;-)
What may seem like an outrageous idea at home will fit in perfectly (or possibly even look understated) amongst a crowd of 35 000 people.
Extreme is the name of the game: most people will either show lots of skin or none.
Beware walking past anyone covered in body paint; it will quickly become part of your costume if you get too close.
Costumes with a tail, fur, body paint, big masks, or big items to carry might seem like a good idea at the time, but think about doing it for two full days in the sun ...
The simplest costume ideas are sometimes the most effective, especially if there are a group of people following the same theme.
Anything goes. Just don't expect to be congratulated (or noticed) if you turn up in a Hawaiian shirt and lei.
At the sevens you can be anything or anyone you want to be, just as long as you're not yourself.
Like much of the Western world, I was both shocked and saddened to hear about the death of Michael Jackson yesterday. For me, his death will be one of those "where were you when you heard ..." moments, just like I remember the death of Diana, Princess of Wales, and others before me would remember when John F Kennedy was shot. FYI, I was standing in a registration queue for the upcoming Wellington Marathon on Sunday, having just listened to the news while driving there that Michael Jackson had been taken to hospital after suffering a cardiac arrest. There was a large TV screen abovve the registration desk and CNN news was broadcasting; someone next to me looked up and said, "what, Michael Jackson is dead?". We all looked to the scrolling headlines and then I got a txt from my sweetie: "Michael Jackson is dead". Just like that.
I immediately started planning a blog post in my mind. I've thought about it overnight and realise that everything has been said already. Simon Sweetman's blog post entitled Michael Jackson's music summed it all up for me; I'm not interested in the allegations, eccentricities, behaviours, or tabloid fodder either. I may post some bits and pieces over the next week or so; we'll see.
It angers me to hear artists like Jackson called "singers"; performers, musicians, and composers deserve far more credit than that, especially someone who has attained such outstanding musical heights. And it's not just about record sales, either. I have said for nearly 13 years now that Michael Jackson's 1996 History tour to Auckland is the best concert I have ever seen and the yardstick I measure every other event with; none have even come close and I can't imagine they ever will. Three hours of non-stop, high-energy entertainment with brilliant music and exceptional staging; I remember saying to the friends I went with that I'm not surprised he collapses after concerts after all the effort that goes into them. Just when we thought the show couldn't possibly get any better, it did.
I don't want to hear about Jackson's 'weird' life, his chequered history, and anything to do with kids being dangled over balconies or 'playing' at his ranch. Now is not the time. For all the people posting on tribute sites, "was never a fan, don't really care" etc, why bother? Please just stay quiet. I'm happy to indulge in a joke or two about his life and/or death, but my overall mood is sad. The world has truly lost a musical genius.
I don't know about you, but I can't help hearing the name Felix and thinking about a cat. ;-)
I had dinner with a friend tonight at Felix Café. This place has had its ups and downs over the years. Tonight was a great night. Our starter of bread and mixed dips (sundried tomato and pesto) was served quickly, along with our drinks orders. I had a yummy Moroccan-style lamb salad and my friend had a stack of huge corn fritters with salad. We finished it off by sharing a piece of the most divine chocolate cake in history - decadent, and unbelievably delicious when washed down with hot chocolate. With 25% off the bill thanks to our Entertainment Book voucher, it made for a great meal.
One thing I really enjoy about Felix Café is its location (corner of Cuba and Wakefield Streets in Wellington), along with its floor to ceiling windows. Sure, it gets cold and draughty, but it's a great venue for people watching. You never know who is going to walk past, what they will be wearing, what they'll be doing, and what they might be carrying on their way to wherever they're going. I was amazed to find several links to people watching cafés when I Googled the term. I'm not sure where they all are, or whether someone's thought to compile a New Zealand list, but I'd certainly add almost anywhere which has a good view of upper Cuba Street or Courtenay Place. There are enough colourful characters strolling by to guarantee hours of free entertainment each day. Watch this space ...
I love reading biographies and enjoy movies and documentaries based around people's lives. It doesn't matter to me whether they are 'famous' or not, or have changed the world. Sometimes it's the 'little' people whose stories touch you most. However, being trapped in a corner in a party while some drunken sod regales their life story is another matter entirely. ;-)
Biography.com is an interesting site, which I came across while I was looking for some information on Lena Horne. It has lots of search functions and you can also find out about people born on this day, see whose deathiversary it is, and see who is featured each day.
I got thinking about whose biographies (or autobiographies) have been most memorable for me, and these are the ones who first come to mind.
Here's where it gets tricky. Serena and Allie have used the same cropped photo as their profile pics. Allie has noticed this and asked Serena why she's used her photo as her own. In the meantime, Serena has messaged me from the UK to ask, "who's this Allie person and why is she using my photo on Facebook?" 
