Monthly Archives: February 2005

The Tricks Of Jungle Artists

I was lis­ten­ing to a jun­gle remix of The Perfect Drug by Nine Inch Nails, when I real­ized that jun­gle artists can car­ry phras­es with their beats instead of the sam­ples. Since most of the sound in drum and bass comes from the way the DJ plays with an alter­nat­ing kick drum/snare break­beat, the (more dis­cernible) empha­sis shifts to the style of the beat rather than the singer or melody. By syn­co­pat­ing the break­beat for a few bars in a row, the final bar can have no syn­co­pa­tion and give clo­sure to the phrase. Genius.

Everything Felt Different

Last morn­ing, the sky was a swirl of ash and dusty pink. The air was still, the breeze was warm, and every­thing felt dif­fer­ent. It was as if we lived in a snow­globe wrapped in tie-dyed tis­sue paper, trav­el­ling on our way to work, watch­ing the ear­ly morn­ing sun­light come up with the wan­ing of the win­ter days. The rays would pierce the clouds like a child pass­ing a flash­light through the thin spots in his blan­ket.

I can only hope for the same today.

The Next Level

I used to seethe, stew, and mar­i­nate. If I was in a bad mood, I want­ed to stay in a bad mood because, some­how, I would want to make it worth it. I fig­ure that if some­thing is bad enough to make me sour, I should­n’t be eas­i­ly tak­en out of that frame of mind. It’s the same with for­give­ness. I’m slow to anger, but once I’m there, I’m extreme­ly slow to for­give, for the exact same rea­son.

For years, I would lis­ten to music to help me wal­low in these emo­tions. It would cra­dle me, fuel me until the emo­tion burned out. Listening this way, with a surge of sen­ti­ment, would let me feel the notes, and I would savour every sec­ond, minute, and even­tu­al hour of it.

Lately, though, I hear music dif­fer­ent­ly. It inspires me. It moves me. It helps me out of an emo­tion, instead of into one. And it feels like this change is a reflec­tion of how much my life is chang­ing now, how I’m begin­ning to see the entire world around me in such a pro­found­ly dif­fer­ent way.

As if every­thing that’s past is pro­logue to this.

Miss You

I’m not usu­al­ly some­one who miss­es things. I miss my cat when I’m away for a few days, and occa­sion­al­ly I get a bit wist­ful because I miss being in Hong Kong, but that’s about it.

I’d miss hang­ing out with my friends on a day-to-day basis if I had­n’t already accept­ed the fact that they have lives of their own. I’d miss liv­ing in the social, relaxed, joc­u­lar envi­ron­ment of res­i­dence if I did­n’t already under­stand that uni­ver­si­ty is a part of my life that’s over, and that I most like­ly won’t being going back (it cer­tain­ly helps to know that liv­ing in res­i­dence is nowhere as nice as liv­ing in a com­fort­able apart­ment or house).

What I do miss though, is hav­ing a girl­friend who mois­tur­izes my back in the win­ter, when parts of my skin get uncom­fort­ably dry and irri­tat­ing. There are spots I just can’t reach, like between the shoul­der blades. It’s also nice to have some­one with warm hands who can stop the win­ter morn­ing shock of cold lotion.

Relevant Renaissance, Part 2

it’s dif­fi­cult to be upright and per­verse, emo­tion­al and intel­lec­tu­al, impen­e­tra­ble and vul­ner­a­ble, with­out sac­ri­fic­ing the integri­ty and val­ue of all of them.

—corus aqui­lo

This is the first time that a com­ment has been so good, it spawned anoth­er entry (although I fail to see how being a well-round­ed indi­vid­ual has any­thing to do with per­son­al iden­ti­ty, so I cut that part out).

In P.E. dur­ing high school, I learned that there’s no such thing as the per­fect ath­lete. If some­one builds up their speed, they lose endurance. If some­one works on their strength, they lose flex­i­bil­i­ty. To be a per­fect ath­lete is impos­si­ble, because there’s a very strict phys­i­cal lim­i­ta­tion involved.

To be well round­ed in a much more gen­er­al sense, to be a mod­ern day (non-ped­a­gog­i­cal­ly rel­e­vant) Renaissance Man, on the oth­er hand, is only lim­it­ed by the mind. This means that many qual­i­ties do not oppose each oth­er the way phys­i­cal qual­i­ties do. One can be cere­bral, intel­lec­tu­al, yet emo­tion­al at the same time. One can be firm and opin­ion­at­ed about recy­cling, yet open-mind­ed about god and reli­gion, all at once. One can appre­ci­ate fuck­ing hard and fuck­ing gen­tly, because one does not take away from the oth­er.

The key to this is a sep­a­ra­tion of self from bias. One has to be able to appre­ci­ate any­thing from any oth­er point of view. To do this requires an almost pure­ly sub­jec­tive mind­set, tear­ing one­self away of ones own bias. Only then can one improve in any aspect. The hard­est thing, as not­ed by corus aqui­lo, is keep­ing the integri­ty and val­ue of both, because appre­ci­a­tion, not enjoy­ment, is the true mea­sure of being round­ed. They may go hand-in-hand, as appre­ci­a­tion often leads to enjoy­ment, but it’s the basis of such that becomes impor­tant. There’s a fine line between those who enjoy a box of Kraft Dinner as much as 20 oz. New York steak, and those who can appre­ci­ate the two. The for­mer is con­sid­ered a per­son with no taste, the lat­ter can be con­sid­ered a cos­mopo­lite.

The Olympic decathlon record hold­er often holds the title of “the Worlds Greatest Athlete”. It’s the only objec­tive test of all around ath­let­ic abil­i­ty, mea­sured in speed, spring, strength, and sta­mi­na. To be a bet­ter per­son in the gen­er­al sense, is to be a round­ed in much the same man­ner. The mea­sure is any­thing from con­ver­sa­tion­al skills, to gen­eros­i­ty, to golf hand­i­cap, to patience, to aca­d­e­m­ic achieve­ments.

The only objec­tive test is life.