Have you ever been moved to tears from a single artistic source?

I ask this because I was seeing an episode of The L Word, and saw a scene where one of the character sees a photograph from an artist. She is so moved by the artwork, that tears flow from her eyes, and she is speechless for several minutes, which seemed an eternity, for the short-attention-spanned viewers (i.e. me). At first, it seemed queer (and not in the colloquial sense) but I got to thinking, was I ever that moved by art?

The answer is, of course, I have.

There was this guy in high school, on whom I had a lovely crush. He was a senior, and I was a freshman, and it was never in the stars for us. Of course, he hardly took notice of me, but that's beside the point. The first time I actually collapsed into the abyss of puppy love was when I saw him, or rather, heard him play the piano. We shared an orchestra class, in which we were violinists. I first started the high school orchestra when I was in the 8th grade -- I was specially invited by the teacher, who taught both the middle school and high school orchestra classes (the high school was directly across the street from the middle school).

I knew no one there -- all the high schoolers were well acquainted with each other, even though it was a fairly large bunch, of probably 70-80 members. Just violinists accounted for at least 25 bodies. I sat waaaay in the back, unnoticed. During the break hour, I was just looking around by myself, when I saw him, on the piano, playing something by Chopin. I believe it was the Fantasie Impromptu, but I can't be sure. I was just so moved -- it was like little rays of heaven scattered around the piano. He was great. It was the most beautiful music I had ever heard. Could Chopin himself played the piece better? I can't say.

When I finally entered high school, I practiced very hard to reach the first violinists' section, where he sat, and eventually, we became stand partners (we shared a music stand, thereby sitting adjacent to each other). He was definitely a better pianist than a violinist, but he was proficient on both. At one of the concerts, he played Chopin's Revolutionary Etude on the piano as a solo (he was the best pianist in the whole school, hands down). That concert, thankfully, was recorded on tape, to be sold as part of the fundraiser to keep the music program open. I have two copies of that tape -- one is opened, and I listen to it frequently, even until this day, and the other is still in its original shrink-wrapping. I am preserving it, just in case. I can still see him, hear him play that piece, and if you know the piece, you understand. It's an extremely moving piece, and when it ended, I couldn't even pick my jaw off the floor, because I was so in awe. He eventually left for college that year, was crowned valedictorian, and went off to UC Berkeley. This probably explains why I wanted to go to UC Berkeley badly and why my favorite composer is Chopin.

I think these days it is harder for people to get this kind of exhiliarating sensation, mostly because of TV, and technology. Movies are great, but it's so easy to cry at the movies, because they are overwhelming your senses. Say the main character dies, as did in Titanic. First, a fairly good looking guy is dead. The images are sad, the music is depressing, Kate Winslet is crying, it's freakin' cold and dark. You see and hear the movie tell you, "this is the sad part, get the waterworks ready and keep a tissue handy."

I've choked up with tears frequently with music. As a violinist, I played a lot of music. When I play a piece, the notes become words. Each measures become phrases, each section is a sentence. Each movement is like a chapter; there is a story. Some composers incorporate a thrilling story to be unveiled by the musician. I am gifted and blessed, because I can feel that. I've gotten to be a pretty good player, and had all sorts of music teachers pulling my leg to be a music major, but that ability, that almost innate ability is one gift that I've utilized through the years.

Some composers are not too well-known by the lay-people. Aaron Copland is one. I know somebody's going to read this, and think that Copland is such a great sensation and of course, everyone must know him, but sadly, not many do. Call it ignorance or lacking class, but the mass knows not the gift that Copland had exploded onto the world. His Applachian Springs is one piece I have to recommend. I know what it feels like to greet the sunrise on the Applachia mountains, because of that music. It's fullfilling in so many ways, and a good piece would do that. It is engaging -- although all you are doing is listening to the music, all your senses are engaged. The notes awaken your body to smell the woods, feel the breeze and the warmth of the sunlight.

I am sure that artistic works do that as well. I've caught myself drooling to the Guernica once. There is a lot to see on that piece, and although I've never taken an art cource or read much about the piece, the notion of war comes to mind. Obviously it is more than just a collage of meaningless symbols. There is a sculpture, I believe it is from the Renaissance -- it is of Hades, as he kidnaps Persephone to his underworld. That sculpture is stunning. So life-like and yet so still and white. As I have said, I am not trained in the arts (in the sense of paintings, sculptures, etc.) well enough to comment in details -- my senses are raw, and it is hard to collect it into words.

When was the last time you were so enthused and immersed in something that you feel passionate about? It doesn't have to be something so formidable, as classical music or the Guernica, but maybe the words of the Dalai Lama, or Hemingway, Poetry, or just whatevers. My cat is so exquisite that although she may not move me to tears, she fills my heart with such mushi-ness (oh, damn my lack of vocabulary! My descriptions are so impotent -- so inadequate.). The sunshine that floods my window and bed at about 10:30AM is divine. To bask in that, is like a giant orgasm. I don't know how to describe it, but this is something that I find that many people lack. It doesn't have to be grand, it could be diurnal. But to have it, is to live life as it was meant to be lived -- even with all the words, I wouldn't be able to describe it. If you were blessed with this gift -- I'll just say this: Someone up there must really adore you.

Check out my Archives Page!

Thanks to a leisurely workday, I edited my archives page (which actually is more than just the archives) from its previous ultra-tacky template. I didn't previously link it on this page, because... well... it was embarrassingly tacky. It's not uber-fantastic currently either, but it's neat, it's clean, and it's simple. And it loads up well on IE, Netscape, and Mozilla. I still don't know why this page isn't, but it might be some sort of error -- rather than going through everything character by character, letter by letter, I will just re-do the whole thing. Sometimes it is less costly to start from scratch than try to fix something that's seriously broken.

Princess Diana: The Secret Tapes

Now, I'm absolutely against tabloids or intrusions of privacy, and I really wanted myself to refrain from watching this show, but it came so smoothly, right after The Apprentice that I couldn't remove myself from the couch in time.

In my opinion, Princess Di was one of the most beautiful creatures of our time. There is a Korean saying that beautiful people die young, and that is so true to many beautiful people: Elvis, Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, and of course, Diana. Perhaps because she died so prematurely, we will always remember her in her prime.

So much Irony. So much of her was made public, but so much went unknown, and when she died in that car crash, so many secrets went to the grave with her. I was shocked to find that she was so suicidal and bullimic. What a tragedy! I'm glad that at the very least, the public sided with her and adored her, and that she found work that she seemed to have enjoyed. And her children are so beautiful, especially William -- you can see so much of her in William.

Well, that is it for today. I should have something significant to write over the weekend about adventures in macroeconomics, the introductory course. Who would have thought that I could enjoy econ? Life never ceases to amaze me.

I heard this on the radio this morning: What does it mean when a woman tells her man, " Go have fun." (This would most likely be in the case where the man is leaving to spend some time with other people, namely, other men.) They interviewed several men and women to elaborate on the essense of that phrase. The men interpreted it to literally mean, Have a good time honey, and be safe, while women interpreted it as When you come back, I won't be here and the like.

Why is it that men and women speak different languages, although the words are in English?

Personally, I can't understand that. The words that come out of my mouth are pretty much literal. I don't mask an implied meaning, because I would much rather prefer to say what I mean, and also because it is too much work! Especially the most puzzling no-win questions like "do I look fat in this?" is something, even as a woman, is hard to explain. Growing up, for some odd reason, I've always had more male companions than women, and even to this day that is still the case. Now, that has some really good points, as well as some negatives.

I am more at ease around men. I find women too catty and negative -- many women impose a negative vibe to fellow women, even friendly acquaintances. With men, you don't have to try as hard -- men are much more accepting. I have many male friends who come to me for advice about women. They describe the symptoms and I interpret the cause. I give advice about what course of actions to take, what options are available, and what each outcome is for each option. Men are in awe of my abilities. They are also in awe, because I don't act like the women who give them troubles. I'm mild-mannered, never jealous, secure, and speak the same language as most men. But alas, being like "one of the guys" doesn't make me too appealing, it seems. Even men wonder why other men don't want to date me. But that is the case.

With women, it is different. I don't often get along with the species of my gender, often because of petty reasons. I don't conform. I am secure. I don't have mind-boggling questions like "why isn't he calling?" It is true, I did once spend a period of my life going through the common experiences of women. A lot of it is insecurities. As a result of my distance with my own kind, I lack a lot of the female bonding. I am foreign to such things as hugging. I like to shake hands. I don't say sorry. Things like that -- at times they are the things that make me feel more a crude human form than the average.

So I don't understand why the two different genders of one species speak a different language. My best friend is a very social person. She's lovely -- she floats like a butterfly amont people. If she lived in a larger city, I am sure that she would definitely have been a social butterfly. She is a people person, but above all, she is a girl's girl. She has many girlfriends. The things we discuss are very interesting because we see things in a very different light. Sometimes she enlightens me, perspective-wise. At those times, I truly see that she is 50 days older than I am for a reason: she is 50 days wiser. But inevidently, sometimes I question her views and she is dumbfounded. It is very strange that a single event can be seen from the opposite angle and give a completely different effect. The different perspectives we have continue to amaze each other, and that is why I truly think she completes me. She sees what I can't see, feels what I can't feel, and says what I can't put into words.

Sorry for going off topic. But in any case, such differences in languages have an effect. Men appear simple. They are satisfied by a naked body and a six-pack of beer, and possibly a game of sports aftewards. Women are viewed as being much complex with a different hierarchy of needs. But in actuality, women are much simpler. Instead of being direct and open, women beg the questions. They hide their motives behind a curtain of words, which is then behind their arms, prudently crossed across their chest.

Wouldn't it be marvelous if instead of "do I look fat in these pants" we got "I'm not feeling good about myself. Can you compliment me and boost my self confidence without making it seem too intentional?"

The bottom line is this: If you want to be heard, say what you mean. Of course, unless it is your intentions to torment your listener. But come on. Don't make life harder than it really is.

The Mafia's Back!

Thank goodness! The Sopranos is back! Just when the grief from the end of Sex and the City was settling in too...

I had a great day. Why didn't I realize how much fun school could be? I am currently taking English Literature (starting at the middle ages) and mythology, and art history. In an odd but pleasant coincidence, the historical time period of these three classes are overlapping, and it's creating an interesting kaleidoscopish effect. It's like a collage, really; A clear synthesis of different aspects of the time space continuum at a given point!

I was particularly inspired by my art history class today. I really should take the part 2 of this class, art history 102, because this is really interesting and inspiring and thought-provoking. I thought ancient art would be dull, because they seemed so primitive, but in fact, they are so much in tune with the whole human experience, which exists in modern time as well as the paleolithic era. I am extremely bothered by the fact that the instructor seems to be tardy frequently if not always -- I have paid a lot of money for the class and would really like to get my money's worth, especially since the subject is so fun, and the instructor is a great teacher.

I have always been the super-nerd of my generation, but this is probably the first time that I felt that an hour and half of class was just too short. And that's really something, coming from a person who gets squeamish after 1.5 hours at the movies. (Any movie over 2 hrs HAVE to be seen at home on the VCR or DVD with the pause button close at hand! Blame it on the short attention span/ADD!)

Well, now I have to pay the price of having such a dreamy day. Homework is inevitable, but for classes like these, I welcome the work!

I woke up fairly early this morning. Something in the vicinites of 6AM, in fact. But I had trouble falling asleep last night (no major tossing & turning, but a little restless) and didn't feel all sparkly enough to get up at that god-forsaken hour. But I did get up a good three hours later, and here I am, still in my PJs (my uniform on Sundays) and with a giant mug of coffee. Mmmm... coffee~ How I love thee.

I adore coffee. It is one of my few addiction, and in fact, my only food addiction, except possibly wasabi, which I am currently still determining. I don't go into a massive withdrawl-mode when I don't have coffee, but I do notice that I am less intelligent, less motivated, less myself, without the blessed nectar of the gods. I love everything that has to do with coffee -- the caffeine, the darkness, the aroma, and the entire coffee family, featured on a menuboard at Starbucks. I love Starbucks. There was once a time when I lived solely for their mocha fraps and cappucino fraps and caramel macchiatos (hot and cold). I loved the whip cream and the cocoa powders. I could still taste the sweetness against the sides of my tongue, slowly numbing, as the frozen drink slides on through.

I became almost suddenly lactose intolerant last fall, in 2003, and since had to say my goodbyes to my blended beverages, which, by the way, I dealt with bravely. In the most courageous manner. No stomping, no brawling, no kicking and screaming. But saying goodbye to Starbucks was even harder. Starbucks. How I miss thee. Starbucks has other things besides blended drinks, although that is their major. They do have regular coffee, which is always burnt and much too bitter for my palate. I don't like burned charred meat -- how can I drink burnt coffee that's been sitting on the machine too long? Some of their tea bags I can tolerate, and thankfully they are a lot easier on the wallet (a little more than a buck for a large cup'o'tea). Until last winter, I ordered chamomile tea, and found cinnamon in the tea. It was outrageous, and not in the Britney kind of way either. Atrocious! How there they try to spice up a tea that's supposed to be calming and soothing?

That was the last time I had been inside a Starbucks. I will miss it though, because Starbucks is not just about the drinks -- it's about the atmosphere. They play jazz. They play Elvis Costello. The beverage machines running produces a soft, low hum, like the way my mom does when she cooks. They have the most comfortable chairs, and it is the best place to study. Being inside the house of caffeinated products just boost my production level to a superior level. And that is what I had to say goodbye to. So now I sit here at my desk at home, with a mug of Yuban, without vanilla or hazelnut syrup, without whipped cream, and without milk.

True, I could start getting myself into soy, but SOY? It feels like I'd be bypassing something of great importance to get iced blended beverages with soy instead of milk. I love tofu and soy, but soy milk is just something that makes me feel... inept. Powerless. Weak. There are times I'd risk being terribly ill on Sunday for 6oz of Yoplait. But I still refuse to associate myself with soy. No Soy!