Just when I thought Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture was epic enough (cannon balls!), Mahler’s Symphony No. 8 is also dubbed as the “Symphony of a Thousand”, premiering in Munich with a chorus of about 850 accompanying an orchestra of 171 musicians.

1st Movement:

2nd Movement:

Just when you thought quantity and quality were irreconcilable. Are you hardcore enough to sit through the entire piece? Notice the instant standing ovation the crowd gave!

yam.

Changing of the Seasons
by Ane Brun

He falls asleep on her chest
The best sleep he´d ever met
Nevertheless he dreams of some stranger´s caress

So he awakes and he knows
Maybe someone else is supposed
To meet his hazy anticipating eyes

He draws the curtains aside
Unfolding the first morning light
He glances at his disenchanted life

Restlessness is me, you see
It’s hard to be safe
It’s difficult to be happy

It’s the changing of the seasons
He says, “I need them”
I guess I’m too Scandinavian

The relief of spring
Intoxication of summer rain
The clearness of fall
How winter makes me reconsider it all

Restlessness is me, you see
It’s hard to be safe
It’s difficult to be happy

And then she awakes
Reaches for the embrace
He decides not to worry about seasons again

*

Probably one of the most beautifully-written songs I’ve seen in a long time. Not to mention that her voice has this special twangy (I can’t think of a better word, sigh) quality to it that complements the acoustics in the track.

All thanks to Untitled Records, a very lovely website filled with indie and alternative music I’d personally recommend.

Since we’re still on the topic of music, this week’s episode of Grey’s Anatomy featured several greatly-placed tracks, and the storylines are certainly shaping up to be pretty decent this season. The last montage with the Chief, the soda-that-was-actually-vodka, and his continuous flashbacks (especially the one with Izzie crying in his office) tore my heart to shreds.

I love Kim Raver, starrring as Teddy Altman, by the way. I’d totally give her permission to stir things up between Owen and Cristina.

I was also toying with oneword.com today. The word of the day was ‘virtual’, and I managed to crap out something within forty seconds:

I was never ‘virtually’ happy. You said that was the case, but what does ‘virtually’ mean anyway? I could be ‘technically’ happy, ‘literally’ happy, ‘figuratively’ happy. ‘Mindfuckingly’ happy will do too, I suppose.

To be virtually anything is to be virtually dead.

Give it a shot!

yam.

P.S. Yesterday was spent with the triumivirate at Vivo City, where we lunched at Food Republic, flirted with our Barbie and Ken side (don’t ask), and caught Neil Gaiman’s Coraline in 3D yesterday. It was so pretty and so dream-like, post-movie travelling was spent in a similarly hypnotic daze-like state. Symptom: playing sudoku on the Northeast Line until it reached BUANGKOK STATION

P.P.S. In the true celebrated spirit of spontaneity I went out to City Hall and invited Kah Wei to come shop with me. No, it is not retail therapy, but simply a way of wasting the time away.

P.P.P.S. HAPPY 18TH, LLOYD I HAVEN’T MADE YOUR COUPON/VOUCHER YET SORRY

A good name is better than fine perfume,
and the day of death better than the day of birth.

It is better to go to a house of mourning
than to go to a house of feasting,
for death is the destiny of every man;
the living should take this to heart.

Sorrow is better than laughter,
because a sad face is good for the heart.

The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning,
but the heart of fools is in the house of pleasure.

It is better to heed a wise man’s rebuke
than to listen to the song of fools.

Like the crackling of thorns under the pot,
so is the laughter of fools.
This too is meaningless.

*

One thing that has sustained me every night of IB was the reading of all twenty-nine verses of Ecclesiastes 7. Thank God it’s over.

Quite some time back, cinema-goers and film buffs were treated to the delightful purr of Hugo Weaving’s voice, under a Guy Fawkes mask, crooning:

Remember, remember, the fifth TWELFTH of November!

*

Tuesday (03/11): 1300-1345: Chemistry SL (P1: MCQ)
Tuesday (03/11): 1500-1615: Chemistry SL (P2: FRQ)

Wednesday (04/11): 0800-0900: Chemistry SL (P3: Options)

Thursday (05/11): 1300-1430: Math Studies SL (P1: Short)

Friday (06/11): 0800-0930: Math Studies SL (P2: Long)
Friday (06/11): 1300-1400: Economics HL (P1: Essay)
Friday (06/11): 1500-1600: Economics HL (P2: SAQ)

Monday (09/11): 0800-1000: Economics HL (P3: DRQ)
Monday (09/11): 1300-1400: History HL (P1: DBQ)
Monday (09/11): 1500-1630: History HL (P2: Wars + SPS)

Tuesday (10/11): 0800-1030: History HL (P3: China)

Wednesday (11/11): 1300-1500: English HL (P1: Unseen)

Thursday (12/11): 0800-1000: English HL (P2: Novels)

*

My weekend will not be fun. I wonder if my parents are willing to become my coffee/tea/coffee-and-tea slaves for those 3-5 days. I also wonder if the inglorious notion of me, whipping my family into abject slavehood, is another sign that the Moment We Have All Been Waiting For has finally dawned upon us. The two words running through my mind right now are:

International Baccalaureate Insane Bloodlust.

I’ll just leave everything in God’s hands: there’s no better way to do it, I suppose.

yam.

It is currently 7.06pm, and it is raining cats and dogs – along with the rest of the zoo. Half an hour ago, I noticed that dinner was ready but not served on the table, so I searched around the house for my maid; when my mother called, she asked where my two brothers were, and I had no idea. As the clouds turned the night from indigo to a literal inky black, I noticed how quiet the house once, until I parted the curtains in my brother’s room and noticed my maid and my two brothers on the edge of the near-flooding balcony, drenched like hell, looking like a trio of crazy people scooping up buckets of water and throwing it out. I imagined myself under an umbrella, walking by the house, looking up to realise with utter incredulity at the screaming occupants of 366 Lorong Chuan.

I spent a moment laughing at the insanity of it all. Then I found a bucket, ran back up to my brother’s room, and there they all were, soaked to the skin. I went, Am I too late? Are you guys done? Derek simply looked at me, smiled and nodded. For a moment they looked like heroes.