Following some minor scandal, our beloved piano teacher resigned from the music school and so we were relegated to solo lessons, in smaller rooms and more individually-attentive instructors. I was not a fan. As far as I remember, the trips to the music school ended shortly after that. I don’t know how or why, but they resumed in a little stand-alone building close to the small cluster of Camira Shops (as they were back then, at least) with an old, highly-eccentric - and now that I look back on it with some slight objectivity, perhaps a little scary - man by the name of Mr Zimmer. He loved jazz, which was fortunate for me, because I also loved jazz. I remember looking with wonder at his aged, almost emaciated fingers as they flew across the cheap electronic piano’s keys, striking each note with perfect judgement of what was needed to bring a piece together.

At some point, and it embarasses me that I don’t remember when, my parents purchased a real upright piano. It’s followed me everywhere. It’s been tuned a few times, though I never really thought much of getting back into it, until relatively recently.

Sadly, it’s film soundtracks, anime BGM and ending songs to ludicrously popular games that have tempted me back into the world of piano. I say sadly, because it would seem so much more cultured to be inspired by a recent performance by Rogé at the Queensland Performing Arts Centre - but I’m glad to be back, whatever the reason. It provides a welcome break from study, from television, gaming - it’s a relief to engage some other part of my mind for those few minutes I’m submerged in a piece. Hearing the notes come together is a very pleasurable experience.

I understand it won’t happen in a few weeks, or even a few months. Apparently it takes 10 years to properly learn a skill. I look forward to a recital in 2018.

From my post at Vimeo:

I can make a few things really well. They turn out a little differently each time I cook them; whether that’s due to variation in available ingredients, my mood, or something lent by the time and place in which I perform the act of creation, each instance, each iteration, allows for a slightly different and so wholly new experience.

There’s no killer secret to a great bolognaise sauce. However, I do find that carrots (to offset the acidity of tomatoes), good quality (that is, non-supermarket) mince, and at least half an hour to simmer down from ‘oh man I added way too much liquid’ to a rich, thick sauce all improve the flavour.

If you’re willing to eat nutmince (the texture is similar, but the taste is not really my thing), you may use that instead of meat mince. Alternatively, I’ve found adding a can of cannelli beans and a can of kidney beans and a can of corn kernels also work pretty well.

Ingredients used in this particular iteration of spaghetti bolognaise:

• 4 cloves garlic, chopped
• 2 onions, diced
• 2 carrots, grated
• ~400g beef mince
• 2 birds-eye chillis
• 1 tablespoon each of dried oregano, thyme and basil (fresh is better!)
• generous turns of pepper grinder, big pinches of salt
• one ripe tomato, roughly diced
• 1 can tomatoes
• 2 cups beef stock
• splash of red wine
• lots of olive oil

Best with thicker pasta. Freezes like Arnold Schwarznegger in that terrible terrible Batman movie that they killed Alfred in - by which I mean well. It freezes well.

Requirement to hold Semester 1 examinations on Monday 9 June Queen’s Birthday public holiday

Dear Student

I am writing to advise you of a recent decision taken by the University to use the Queen’s Birthday Public Holiday on Monday 9 June, 2008 as part of the Semester 1 central examinations period.  The purpose of this email is to give you as much advanced notice as possible that you may be required to sit examinations on Monday 9 June.

This unusual situation has arisen because the UQ Union (ie the Student Union) had decided to hire out one of the large venues usually used for examinations for private functions on two Saturdays in the end of Semester 1 examination period.  This will affect access to the function venue as well as two other adjoining Union venues usually used for examinations that are likely to be disturbed by noise and other activity associated with the private functions.  As a result a significant number of examinations need to be re-located to other suitable examination rooms during the central examination period from Saturday 7 to Saturday 21 June.

The University considered carefully, a number of options for compensating for this loss of scarce examination space, and a decision to schedule examinations on the Queen’s Birthday public holiday (Monday 9 June) has now been made.  This was considered to be the best option available to ensure examinations are held in the most suitable venues, students would benefit from fewer examinations being scheduled for consecutive sessions across consecutive days and to avoid scheduling examinations during the final session on Saturday nights when public transport is limited.  The University’s aim is to schedule only two sessions on Monday 9 June, thereby reducing as much as possible, the potential negative impact on students and staff.

The examinations timetable is in the final stages of preparation and will be released to students via mySI-net not later than 4 weeks prior to the start of the examination period, that is, by 9 May.

The University regrets any inconvenience this situation may cause you.

Linda Bird

Academic Registrar

I’m really not sure how I’m supposed to respond to this. Woe as I am to leave issues of incorrect word usage (advanced instead of advance notice), grammar (’had decided to hire out’ instead of ‘has hired out’), or even punctuation (one hundred million unnecessary commas), the subtext (which is so overt I may be tempted to call it ’supertext’ if it didn’t so neatly undermine my previous asides regarding writing style) is clearly one of blame towards the union.

Blow-by-surreptitious-blow:

1. UQ Union (ie the Student Union)
   Not our fault. It’s the union’s fault. In fact, it’s not only the union’s fault, it’s the student union’s fault. That’s like the most belligerent, unreasonable and useless anyone can be. How can you put students and unions together and expect anything other than misery, heartache and scheduling hassles to come of it? I ask you, how?
2. has decided to hire out
   Didn’t even run it past us first. Us, the Academic Registrar! And not only did they do it without asking, they did it in a such a way that we were completely excluded of any hope of giving our valuable input until after the fact.
3. likely to be disturbed by noise and other activity
   Even though it’s possibly not the Union itself attending the function, it’s a pretty safe bet that anything even mentioned in the same sentence as the Union is guaranteed to be wildly out of control. Also, all students know that we would certainly never provide anything less than ideal exam conditions, such as giving students 25cmx40cm in which to work, or sitting you so close to each other it’s easier to read your neighbour’s exam paper than it is your own OH WAIT HAHAHAH
4. compensating for this loss of scarce examination space
   Dodos are scarce. Brilliant, musical, argumentative, self-aware-postironic-sort-of-slightly-alternative-indie-dressing short-haired glasses-wearing women are scarce. 1.1km² of campus means examination space is not scarce. Put the engineering students in the gym! They won’t complain (don’t have the social equipment to know how) and I won’t have to see them where I take my examinations. Sorry, I’m supposed to be writing this from the uni’s point of view, aren’t I? Ahem: they stole it, the precious, it’s ours, we wants it back, gollum, gollum.
5. reducing as much as possible, the potential negative impact
   I can’t believe we have to step in and make this right, when it’s the union’s fault (UNION’S FAULT) that this happened - but we will, because we’re better than them, we’ll fix this mess they’ve made, not to worry, we’ll make it all right. Good thing we’re here, huh?

Employ me as Registrar. Hell, employ me as Email Writer For Academic Registrar. I’ll do it for free. Sending out an email as above is not only unprofessional, it’s undignified (almost worse, really) and unsightly. Unacceptable.

The aforementioned happened at Taringa this evening, just one station from my destination of Indooroopilly. As I struggled to gather my thoughts and decide what to eat for dinner, salmon attacked - not grilled or fried, but perched atop ribbons of pasta with fresh basil. Inspired, I set off to Coles.

Ingredients:

• 200-300g salmon fillet (preferably not actually from Coles)
• 300g or 5 small or 3 big tomatoes
• 3 fresh basil sprigs
• 200g linguine
• 3 garlic cloves
• sea salt & cracked pepper
• olive oil

And so:

1. Set 2-3L of water to boil. Add linguine, stir briskly and cover until water reboils. Cook for the rest of the time uncovered, around 10 minutes. If you bite a strand and it’s the same colour all the way through, it’s ready. Tip some of the water off to a spare pot. Drain pasta in a colander, toss with a little olive oil to prevent sticking. Return the saved water to the main pot, set the colander in the pot and cover until you’re ready to serve.
2. Finely chop garlic, dice tomatoes and wash basil. Add garlic, salt & pepper to 2-3 tablespoons olive oil over high heat. As the garlic starts to sizzle, turn the heat down to medium and add tomatoes. Cover and simmer for until the tomatoes have softened and there is some liquid in the pan.
3. Cube the salmon not smaller than 2cm a side. Lower the heat and evenly space the salmon pieces in the pan - there should be enough liquid that they’re not frying. Scatter basil leaves over the mix and cover for 2 minutes. Very gently stir, turning the salmon over and mixing the basil into the sauce. Cover for another 2 minutes.
4. Serve immediately.

It’s a pleasant change from going on 5 years of depressingly sameish office toilets, all grey 35cm-from-the-ground stalls with the only variety lent by the toilet paper dispenser, whether the hand dryer is one of those ones with the sign on it that became so popular in certain circles, or which extremely implausible colour the soap is.

Some months later, I happened upon her latest album, Dreaming Through the Noise, and commuted to it for a week straight. The style of the music is as eclectic as a genre that describes itself as ’singer-songwriter’ can be, and there are two pieces in particular that fit my mood of an evening pressed up against the glass on a crowded, silent train.

Vienna Teng - Transcontinental, 1:30 A.M.

wait
don’t let this line go slack
don’t go alone into the cold
wait
don’t give up on this yet
I know that there’s more you haven’t told
wait my love, just one more thought
wait my love, I haven’t got time in my life
to watch you drift out to sea

so please
wait
don’t let this line go slack
I want to bring you back to where I know you
wait
don’t give up on this yet
I just want you to let you let me hold you

wait my love, just one more thought
wait my love, I haven’t got time in my life
to watch you drift away
but I’ve all kinds of time if you’ll stay

I know we’re transcontinental, 1:30 a.m.
and there’s not even a wire
just a whispering in air
I know we’re transcontinental, 1:30 a.m.
but I’m here

What’s she asking for? The futile extension of an inevitably-doomed long-distance relationship? I can see the partner fielding a range of responses: faux resoluteness, circular pleading, distancing - it works with his clients but they’re rational and tend to do what they’re told if they see the logic behind it. She thinks she understands but wonders if perhaps she just hasn’t hit on the right trigger, revealing her true lack of grasp of the situation. She tells him, “I know we’re transcontinental”. His reply is whispered, she doesn’t need to hear it, she knows the sort of thing he’d say, all calm, all rational, too rational: “Yes, we are.” Her final plea: “But I’m here.”

Vienna Teng - Transcontinental, 1:30 A.M. [mp3, 5.2MiB]

Unable to depend on each other to signal the bus down, they squint at the yellow-and-ads coloured shapes as they hiss by, each arrogantly displaying the wrong destination. When they finally recognise ‘their’ bus as it turns the bend, the matadors’ bodies tense in anticipation of the urgent (yet modest) flicks they’ll make to entice the driver to halt - some using a sodden newspaper, for others their pale hand, with a half-wave or as though they’ve a question to ask in class.

“Well why in the Hell not?” he demanded, raising his hand to slap the reticence from the man. The gesture had its intended effect: the wretch bent lower to the ground, speaking to the inexplicable paisley designs woven into the sumptuous carpet.

“If it pleases, Mr Smith, I do not wish to tire his Eloquence with boring tales of what’s beyond-”

“You consider my interests boring, lout?”

“Not at all, sir, my most humble and millenial apologies to your Graciousness-”

“Spit it out or you’ll spit teeth!”

“Of course, my most favourably-disposed lord. I scoured every larder in the fiefdom for any trace of smoked cheese but there was not the merest morsel to be had for any price or show of arms - and little else left in those larders besides that, your Wondrousness,” the fool babbled, words spilling out in his eagerness to quit the conversation & Smith’s audience.

“The contents of a commonsfolkian larder are exactly what do bore me. And so what did those filthy little people say when you demanded a reason for my cheese’s absence, you guano-mongerer?”

“They’d eaten it all, your Excellency.”

“Nyoro~n”

Ally Kerr - The Sore Feet Song

I walked ten thousand miles, ten thousand miles to see you
And every gasp of breath I grabbed it just to find you
I climbed up every hill to get to you
I wandered ancient lands to hold just you

And every single step of the way, I paid
Every single night and day
I searched for you
Through sandstorms and hazy dawns I reached for you

I stole ten thousand pounds, ten thousand pounds to see you
I robbed convenience stores ’cause I thought they’d make it easier
I lived off rats and toads and I starved for you
I fought off giant bears and I killed them too

And every single step of the way, I paid
Every single night and day
I searched for you
Through sandstorms and hazy dawns I reached for you

I’m tired and I’m weak but I’m strong for you
I want to go home but my love gets me through

As I’m a horrible weeaboo, I was introduced to this piece through its inclusion as the opening song of the anime series Mushi-shi. In the series, a man wanders Japan as a mystic of sorts, helping people with problems resulting from Mushi, best described as something like pre-karyote life. The wonderful art direction in this series is done credit with long, contemplative shots of the man hiking his way through snow, across mountains or into deep forest.

Of the song itself - one could easily draw the conclusion that the artist intended to create a slightly whimsical if reasonably poetic one-man-and-a-guitar ballad, in a similar soothingly mournful vein as the Iron & Wine cover of Such Great Heights.

However, the simple pathos of I want to go home but my love gets me through reveals a different way of interpreting the piece. Consider, if you will, that the protagonist isn’t simply lamenting that he hasn’t found what he’s been seeking; instead, he’s expressing his own bewilderment at being unable to break off the fruitless pursuit.

Straight sprints of highways, motorways, freeways, ever-throbbing with the sound of transit. Too fast to see the shredded tire, the lonely hubcap, a highway flower growing from the asphalt; too slow to make it for lunch, before the shops close, to keep an appointment.

Coffee, wood, television. We sat and drank the best coffee in the world with our eyes glued to the screen. Was it so hard to look down, to enjoy the lingering delight of consumption rather than the quickly-forgotten splash of taste?

Music, memories, realisation. The music is always beautiful. Memories, idyll vignettes spinning in the quiet of years removed. Don’t try and remember, they’re the good china, the one your parents gave you. If they break, what will you do then?