January 29, 2002
The hammering of time

I feel strange, singing along to songs by "The Carpenters", actually knowing the words. This is the kind of stuff my father used to play. Possibly on vinyl, but I don't really remember. At least, this is a CD of covers.

We were talking about how you'd start feeling old when the songs you enjoyed in your high school days appear on the Golden Oldies radio station, when "Yesterday Once More" began piping through my earphones.

(Btw, Antipasto's front page now looks a little different. :))

Posted by sniffles at 03:26 PM | Comments (0)

January 27, 2002
Wind-up weather

New Antipasto entry: Wind-up Weather.

It's not particularly hot today, but it's difficult to be motivated. For one thing, I should start the packing process. I managed to half-sort the contents of a box that has been sitting on my floor for far too long, at least.

Posted by sniffles at 07:17 PM | Comments (0)

January 25, 2002
Leaf

I'm awfully tired. It's not just physical weariness anymore. I might have been working too hard, but it never feels as if I do enough. Fortunately though, I go away on holiday in a week, so I might be even more silent than I have been lately. :)

Tonight's plan is to find dinner at some place cosy and catch "Monsoon Wedding" at one of my favourite little cinemas.

This might be a laugh if you're familiar with Australian culture and happenings - ta to Leon, who got it from Pete, who got it from Lugnet's mailing list. Don't you feel connected? I do.

Posted by sniffles at 04:39 PM | Comments (0)

January 24, 2002
Oh refuge of my hardened heart

I'm so very disappointed that the Jars of Clay website (used to be one of my favs) has degenerated into this. I mean, it's all obviously very pretty, but what if you're visually impaired? And even if you're an expert Web user, I'll bet that you will have difficulty finding the tour dates and the lyrics. Oh yes, they are both on there.

(So, how long did it take you?)

I bloopered it.

Posted by sniffles at 11:51 AM | Comments (1)

January 23, 2002
Toiling

Working from home seemed by far the better option than tripping an hour into work, and then all the way back again 8 hours later - especially since everything I had planned to get done today could be done over the modem. I needed the change of environment.

The window that looks out from the dining room to the backyard is a little murky from all the dust and dirt that the wind blows onto it, but I had a lovely view of the ferns, the flowers (my flowers), the recently mowed grass and the lemon tree that constantly explodes with yellow fruit.

I have been getting stressed too often and too easily lately, so I told myself that any time I felt an inkling of panic today, it will be swiftly dealt with a Hanon drill. But my day turned out productive and lovely. And only the Schumann Romance, albeit three times.

Posted by sniffles at 10:38 PM | Comments (0)

The truth, even more so

"So what are you hiding?" she asked.

I said, "Nothing. I just distill things which have happened into a small frame of emotions and impressions."

Posted by sniffles at 10:34 AM | Comments (0)

January 22, 2002
The truth

"You're not one for brutally honest posts," he commented.

Well, heck, no. I'll be honest about that.

Posted by sniffles at 11:12 PM | Comments (0)

Rain

Walking through rain which fall soft like silk, the kind of rain which seem pretty and harmless until you wander through it without an umbrella. Then you notice that small, fine droplets are very good at making one very, very wet.

I recall the same paths, the same thoughts. The same flowers, the same grass, the same trees, the same metaphors. I listened to his words, her words. His words of her words. Their words. Words which soak my soul, as does the delicate summer rain.

I rediscovered a means of breaking my nails, otherwise long forgotten. It's the "Corrente" from Bach's Partita No. 1.

Posted by sniffles at 10:50 PM | Comments (0)

January 21, 2002
Generally

If you'd asked me what I've been doing lately, I wouldn't have a clue. I've been living today for today, yesterday for yesterday and tomorrow for tomorrow, and so far it seems to have worked okay.

I have words, if harboured. Time I normally spend writing have been taken up with reading. I have many untended gardens, overgrowing with weeds; projects to be finished or made better. Promises to be kept, piano drills to be tamed.

There has been a little too much cricket on TV. And it takes time and love to be a friend.

Posted by sniffles at 09:06 PM | Comments (0)

January 16, 2002
On the road

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

-- Robert Frost

We couldn't decide where to go.

Briefly, we stopped by the supermarket for something he needed, then elected a direction and simply walked. It occurred to me that there was a place that we kept meaning to visit, but previously have only been reminded whenever we zip past its door on a rumbling tram, and I said so.

So that was how we ended up winding our way through quiet streets with dear little houses and dear little gardens for some time. I reached out and placed my hand on walls and fences that we passed, touched my fingers on leaves of trees and plants stretching up to the day. Feeling the warmth of the sun on the bricks, listening to the tales they hide.

Posted by sniffles at 09:47 PM | Comments (0)

January 15, 2002
A summer evening

A surprise phone call in the early evening enticed me out into the night. I was supposed to have gone to see a movie, but decided by mid-afternoon that I was too tired and simply in the wrong mood.

So ... it was just going to be a quiet evening of very little. The luxury of unexpected free time. Perhaps an article for a friend, a logo for another, or a design or two for yet another.

"... But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep."

Instead, I ended up with friends I haven't seen for much too long, at a cafe that was much too populated, talking over, at any one time: peppermint tea, latte, hot chocolate with numerous marshmellows, OJ abundant with bits, a camera, or a twisted knot of straw. The lights in the cafe seemed to be dimmed every half hour, and by the time I left, the room was a murky dark brown orange.

It's amazing how much can be said within a short time. It's not so amazing how much is not said. Stories to be peeled by the layer. I felt occasionally not myself. We promised to see each other again soon, and perhaps that was why the evening felt like it ended abruptly and without closure.

Posted by sniffles at 11:36 PM | Comments (0)

Magnifying Glass

If you read Waferbaby, you would have probably seen the rather skewed opinions on a review of the site, courtesy of The Weblog Review.

~~

It intrigues me that a weblog should be critiqued. There has been much discussion on what a weblog/blog actually is, what qualifies as a blog and what doesn't and so forth. (Rebecca Blood's essay: weblog: a history and perspective, a brief discussion on spirolattic, amongst others.)

Regardless of various conclusions which can be drawn, a personal weblog is an individual creation and expression, rather like what clothes one choses to wear, which colours one might favour, whether one prefers their coffee with milk or without. So, on what basis can we say what is good, what is bad, and what can be better, apart from truly technical things like incorrect spellings, layout bugs and unreadable font-sizes *?

The very act of reviewing implies that there is a subjective assumption about what your average reader might enjoy or find pleasure in. I don't think a notion such as an 'average weblog reader' truly exists. For one thing, I doubt there is an 'average weblogger'. Readers come as individual as writers do.

(* afterthought: perhaps unless we know specifically the writer's purpose?)

Posted by sniffles at 12:41 PM | Comments (5)

January 14, 2002
Away

New Antipasto entry: Away.

On Saturday, we drove to a town three hours away, and then we came all the way back again on Sunday.

Tara reckoned I have a standard BBC accent, and Romain told me I am a grown-up. Barnaby said I'm not old, which is always a nice thing to be reminded of.

Posted by sniffles at 10:27 PM | Comments (0)

January 11, 2002
Quack

Such a slow day, that even my duck couldn't take the boredom any longer.

Posted by sniffles at 02:34 PM | Comments (4)

January 09, 2002
Stripe

New Antipasto entry: Stripe.

It's okay, I'm okay. Shh. Don't you worry.

(The CD turned out to be a compilation of demo songs from little-known local bands.)

Posted by sniffles at 10:26 PM | Comments (1)

Hedgehogs and the cat in the mirror

What can you compare loss to? I struggle to think of parallels which could be drawn. The deep well of pain whence tears can be pulled up by the bucketful, seemingly the only thing that can come from the abyss of emptiness.

Perhaps it is only now, a year or so on, that I am finally allowing myself to grieve.

Posted by sniffles at 09:33 PM | Comments (2)

January 07, 2002
Some kind of flu

New Antipasto entry: Boxes.

I'm on paracetamol, horseradish and garlic, vitamin C and echinacea. I'm off the nasal spray because you aren't supposed to use that beyond a certain number of days. The worse part, as usual, is the motion sickness that goes with my sinuses being affected. It's hell for one who's not very good at sitting still.

My Apple manic friends have possibly been waiting for this. (tip: Waferbaby)

Amongst other things, following Karl's trail of links uncovered a good article on the accessibility of weblogs.

Posted by sniffles at 05:35 PM | Comments (1)

January 05, 2002
Abundant sweetness

I walked out of "Amelie" feeling as if I ought to have been riding on a high, that I ought to have fallen in love with it - its colours, its quirky camera angles, its textures, its cuteness, its cleverness. I loved all those aspects of the film, but at the same time, something about it nagged at me.

In my post-movie trance, the streets seemed too silent, the colours too dim, but I drank image after image - a closed window belonging to someone's room, a brick of the footpath that none passes with a second glance, a lamp mounted on a crevice of an age-old building, looking entirely out of place. I was tired and fatigued and the world seemed that little more surreal.

"Amelie" was a little too clever, a little too constructed, a little too smug. I loved it, yes I did, but I might as well have been spoon-fed candy floss, with all the sticky, all-too-sweet sensation you get in your mouth afterwards.

Posted by sniffles at 12:21 AM | Comments (5)

January 03, 2002
Sun, rain and winter.

New Antipasto entry: Sun and rain.

Very troubling news about the homeless in Moscow.

There are a few precious people who have been holding me up recently. You're all wonderful, you know who you are.

Posted by sniffles at 12:16 PM | Comments (1)

January 01, 2002
Fireworks

New Antipasto entry: Untold Flames.

It had been raining heavily. We didn't feel like going out to join the neighbours in the street, though we suspected they have probably taken shelter in someone's garage.

It was a while before midnight, but someone was letting off fireworks already. And finally when the inevitable came, the noise was deafening and the sky was showers and flowers of colour.

He wished he had somewhere to go for the evening. It would have been a welcome distraction from looking back on the year's failures at the year's end. Worn out and tired, I thought about fires.

Happy New Year.

Posted by sniffles at 11:21 PM | Comments (4)