catchmyfancy: Caroline Dhavernas as Jaye in Wonderfalls and the text "Clincally Unstable" (clinically unstable)
I will explain.

So There Was This Guy.  He was a nice guy.  He had a sense of humour.  Physically he was my Type.  He worked at my Yewni.  There was some mild flirtage at meetings.  There was him ringing me to ask me things he already knew the answer to.  There were long phone calls and eventually I would ask: "is there a student on the line?"  And he would say: "oh yeah. heh."  And the Daily Email which got longer and longer as we got busier and busier and eventually, you just hit send at the end of the day (only way to keep the threads under control).  Eventually there was lunch.  And a dinner.  Some hugs.  And then.....nuthin'.  Yeah, we were both insanely busy.....but that feeling of mutual exploration and connection....gone.

I may be a strong independent woman who earns a decent wage, can sing opera and also row a split time of 2 minutes 30....but the Excuses started about then.  Not from him.  Nope - from meFor him.   (Oh, if there was a way to insert a death-from-blushing icon here, I would).

But then I got chatting with one of his minions (usual deal with the phone calls which left the students languishing).  This was David, but I dubbed him Canadian Dave.  Canadian Dave asked me how I was one day, and decided that I sounded down, so he would send me some links to cheer me up.  Which he did.  Canadian Dave kept sending me emails and sillinesses to keep on cheering me up.  Intrigued, I made it a point to get to know Canadian Dave better.

Canadian Dave is, basically, adorable.  He is in LUUURVE with the lovely Arash, a persian australian boy, who he basically decided was the guy for him and pursued him and dragged him back into his lair until Arash agreed he was in love with him too, OKAY?  They are off to Canada next year to get married (at which point I apologised for our retarded government and its retarded laws, I mean HONESTLY, it's like a time warp back to the 50s).  He is finishing off a Master of Environment degree at the Yewni.   He likes the same dumbarse TV shows I like, and he is all about the youtubes, introducing me to the mystique and wonder that is The Lonely Island (it is quite something to have someone say about "Like A Boss" that "I bet that's what you're like as a boss, especially the bit with the vodka."  Oh Dave. You are simply too fabulous.)

But the best thing about Canadian Dave is that he helped me remember there is a natural rhythm to the building of a friendship, romantic or otherwise: when someone gets to know you and you cannot wait to find out their opinion on things, and you both like  to do small things for each other and he tells you you are quite fabulous and a great catch and asks you out for dinner (with Arash, yay!) and it's all fine and easy.  Against Canadian Dave's great good cheer, the pale meanderings of the Guy have dwindled into not much at all.

The best bit was when Dave thought the Guy (before he knew it was his boss, then he was even more determined, heh) had been breaking my heart (or giving me the runaround) and he wanted to me to know that he and Arash would sort them out.  He said Arash could look pretty scary, and of course, he was a Canadian.

Oh, Canadian Dave.  *smishes him*
catchmyfancy: (shout! weightlifter)
...and I don't mean as in "quiet happiness".

I have both (a) actual things to say and (b) BIG LOUD HAPPINESS: I have a gig!  With an orchestra!  Ha!

Okay YES, it's a community orchestra, and a community choir, and the gigs will be in the far-flung parts of Melbourne....but finally: I get to sing with an orchestra! 

It is (finally, after so many fits and starts of the last few years) a Place to Start Building Things Up Again.

It's Lobegesang (or the Hymn of Praise) by Mendelssohn and I have the 1st Soprano solos.

Which is brilliant, as I get to sing a duet with James, the adorable little (well, quite young, but still taller than I - and his voice is as big as a Very Big Thing) tenor.  But he's just so sweet and we get on well (this is 90% of being able to do duets).

They sent me my audition video.  OY.  Many many many things to work upon.



Sep. 26th, 2011 09:49 pm
catchmyfancy: (kitten chasing tail)

I had one of those moments where a random quote (or in this case a wall post on facebook O THE HUMANITY) dropped like a stone into my subconscious brane and set up some kind of perpetual-ripple effect:

Being a good writer is 3% talent and 97% not being distracted by the Internet.

I reposted. I quoted.  I kept on quoting. And then it was "being a good singer is" "being a good friend is" "being good at running my house is" and eventually I yelled back at my subconscious: OH RIGHT, THANK YOU CAPTAIN OBVIOUS.

Accordingly, I nailed my 95 Theses to the virtual church door this morning and declared the working week a Facebook Free Zone (FBFZ). 

According to a friend with whom I had a lovely long phone chat this evening (remember those?) apparently there is some doubt amongst my Feeples that I can refrain.  Which was quite the eye-opener: as Lovely Friend observed: "they obviously don't know you."   Nope, most of them clearly really really don't.

So DW, I'm back and blowing the dust off my cobwebbed memories of long-form communication and introspection. 
catchmyfancy: (Jayne unzips to be bad)
Melbourne peeps: you can book here
catchmyfancy: Caroline Dhavernas as Jaye in Wonderfalls and the text "I surrender to Destiny" (Destiny)
Concert on 21st August.


If you don't like hearing someone obsess about music and the correct pronunciation of the word "durch" (which is sort of "doo-oy-er-chhhhhh" but don't quote me) then - yeah. You're screwed.

catchmyfancy: (bunny?)
Part 1 of the set-up for this post: so last night at a partay, I spent some time chatting with a person who is in the early stages of transition from male to female (on hormones for some months, fretting about raising the frankly mind-spinning amount of cash needed for surgery &etc).  She was wearing a great corset which I was admiring slavishly, which is how we got talking.

Part 2: the latest Australian census is happening in about ten days.  I have a friend who's a census collector, so I've already had a look at the form.  [personal profile] lauredhel  has already posted on this today, but it bears repeating: there's no allowing anyone to be anything except male or female.  That is it.  Pick one, and shut the fuck up already.

The meat of this post: I was having brunch this morning with three people who I would consider intelligent, tolerant, giving, loving and au courant human beings. I was reporting on the party and asking them if the becorseted one might do okay in a particular choir and how I live in fear of using the wrong pronoun with transitioning/transitioned people.  This led into general talk of pronouns and, wow, can of worms-ish discussion ensued.  They were all kind of impatient with neutral pronouns (direct quote: "everyone else of my friends I don't have to think - but for that person I actually have to stop and think before I say anything." This was before food arrived, and we were all a little short-tempered. STILL.)

There was also some uncomfortable shifting in chairs when I said, that some people think of themselves as gender-neutral or androgynous, yes, but some consider themselves genderqueer.

Blank looks.  All round.  Then peevedness. Narrowed eyes. Then upset at this word none of them had heard before.  There was squinting at me.  I waited  while they talked around it a bit more and then I said "...or you could use the correct term, which is genderqueer."

If it wasn't so bizarre to watch intelligent people actually pause in eating food as a new thing enters their consciousness it would be almost amusing.  ALMOST.

Again: I'm looking at YOU Dreamwidth, that I can be doing that before my first coffee on a Sunday after getting to bed at 3am the night before.

catchmyfancy: (banana)

Much to my atheistic horror, in general, harmless, sweet semi-flirty-soprano-gayboy-chit-chat.....I managed to convince Adorable New Tangential Co-Worker that I am psychic.




I made three educated guesses about him during said Chit-Chat-of-DUME and sadly, they were all spot-on*.


Oh but it didn’t stop there - Polite Demurral followed by Ever-More-Frantic Denial apparently means one is, simply, being modest about one's (oh gag me with a SPOON) "gifts".


There isn't a facepalm or a headdesk big enough for this.



*For those of you who are wondering the guesses were:

1. That he was a smoker** who

2. Had recently quit (wasn't too hard: he didn't smell like one!) and

3. He barracked for a certain football team (okay, a one in seventeen hit by chance is amusing.  But it doesn’t mean anything)


**and I picked he was asthmatic*** from that

***bonus extra guess: because he was wearing an incredibly heavy chain around his neck that he never took off therefore he was not (a) as an asthmatic going to be bothered by smoking if he could cope with that much weight around his neck and throat and (b) he found it comforting which made me hint at Slight BDSM and his eyes widened again****.


****argh.  I’m looking at YOU Dreamwidth with all yer kink bingo and sensible discussion of the myriad hues of human sexual/emotional proclivities.  Like I would have noticed or even known two years ago!

catchmyfancy: (GIANT BUNNY)
Dear lovely geeky book-obsessed peeps of DW-and-environs

One's birthday approaches.  

One has a teensy bit of spare cash.

One has finally come around to the idea of an e-book/e-reader/e-word/ipod-for-books-or-what-have-you thing to take out and about with one.

And one has learned over the years that picking the brains of the one's more techy/geeky/savvy acquaintance to be the quickest way to get a shortlist for new purchases. 

So, bearing in mind that I am  (a) undecided about iPads and (b) in a perfect world would be able to view printed music on said device but this is not a deal-breaker:

(i) if you got one, which one is it?
(ii) is it tied to a particular e-book provider?  If so, are there *ahem* workarounds? (*thinks* actually perhaps a better way to put that would be: have you all sorted out which one is the best workaround?)
(iii) What do you love about it?
(iv) what is the thing/things that make you go "fnerggrargle" about it every.single.time. you bump up against it?

O tell me things O lazywebs. 

Or it's the gay astronauts next once the bunny is done with that planet...

catchmyfancy: graffiti of the word "verb" on the side of a building in Fitzroy, Melbourne, Australia (doing word)
Just put Sad Bottom-of-the-Fridge Leftover Vegetables into a pan to roast (okay, so the onions and garlic were neither sad nor leftover, but I do love a roast onion).

PLN continues.

I know it is sort of working because I have a cold and I look like a reanimated zombie.

Tomorrow: six hours of Wagner.  That should clear out the sinuses.


Jul. 7th, 2011 07:58 pm
catchmyfancy: (dancer flexing)
Did the gym today.

Did not want to.  But I felt I MUST.

And the endorphin buzz got me through the afternoon.  (We will draw a discreet veil over the fact that I got the sniffles about 4pm and my head feels funny.  It's just some toxins making their way out of my body.  And that's my story and I'm sticking to it.)
catchmyfancy: (beach weightlifter)
....not long back from the gym.

Mike the Personal Trainer is concerned about my core muscles, apparently.  He wants to make sure I Know They Are There.

Hey Mike, with the new program (which I finally did all the way through tonight): NOT GONNA BE A PROBLEM.


Currently enjoying two sensations not felt for a long time:

1. having changed, fabric sliding over my muscles
2. genuinely hungry.


Jul. 5th, 2011 10:03 pm
catchmyfancy: (Jayne unzips to be bad)
I have a Plan.  A PLN, if you want to get Pratchettian about it (which I quite often do).

I'm not saying what it is, because in the past when I have, it all starts out rainbows and kittens, but then I eventually go into a blue funk and it all goes to heck pretty quickly.

But I have a PLN and it involves things like strawberries and Depeche Mode: believe me when I say that this is an EXCELLENT PLN.

More later if it gets to a bit where even I can't screw it up.

catchmyfancy: text: "English: a language that lurks in dark alleys, beats up other languages & rifles through their pockets for spare  (english)
hee hee hee


Jun. 29th, 2011 11:18 pm
catchmyfancy: (dear buddha)
For a stone-cold atheist, I've been quite the churchy tart this week.

First up, I went off to see Miss Zoe, the adorable daughter of my dear friend Melda get confirmed.  BIG Catholic church out in the suburbs.  Approx one gazillion rug rats (family-heavy congregation).  No smells or bells, but there was holy oil and anointing and a Bishop with full on mitre and crook and what is charmingly summed up as Full Popish Frumpery.

And I thought that was all pretty interesting and a bit high-end and look at me all chatting to a bishop (although I copped out when I was taking photos of him with Zoe and said I was a presbyterian, instead of an atheist....on the other hand, everyone was so happy and bouncy, why throw an odd note in there just to be pernickety?  Presbyterians are religious hernias waiting to happen in any case, so I wasn't that far gone in my faffery.  One can, as it were, feel the atheistic bulge through the abdominal wall).

And then this evening I went off to hear my friends who sing in the St Peter's Eastern Hill choir do the Martin Mass for Double Choir (one of my VERY choral faves).


Turns out it was their patronal feastday wotsit.  And this church is high, high Anglican (possibly because of all the incense). (Also a large gay element to the congregation.  Not seen that many gay anglicans together, ever).

Not only was there incense (and now I know why "incensed" means "raging mad" - the dickhead swinging  the censer was doing everything short of 360 degree spins with a half-pike into the dismount to get the place fogged up and did not seem to be happy until everyone was coughing and THEN we had to sing a hymn) there were people carrying banners, people carrying crosses, people carrying very tall candles on very tall sticks, and marching sort of randomly in procession around the church, and people reading from Very Large Books Which Had to Be Held By Other People.

And there were THREE (3) Bishops (also the Governor of the State, but meh x 1: he was only in a suit; and meh x 2: he is the former Chancellor of my Yewni and I know him to chat to, so you know: apart from fighting down a terrible urge to salute when he walked past: whatevs). 

Anyways, of the three Bishops, only one of them got to do any Bishing.  The others stood there and looked Resplendent.  Which leads me to:

The FROCKAGE.  Oh, the frocks.  There were surplices (one with extra-elaborate lace on it because dude made it himself - standard issue surplice did not have lace deep enough for him, apparently) and ever-more-elaborate outfits (I believe tabards may have been in play) for the Spear (well, crosses and books and banners and candles) Carriers. 

(The guy invited to do the sermon (which was a hoot, he could sell a speech) was actually a baptist.  Baptists do not do well with the idea of saints, apparently.  Nevertheless, he was invited to sermonise for a saint's feast day.  Baptists also don't hold much with frockage.  He looked like a sparrow that had wandered into the parrot enclosure.)

And thus we get to the two non-Bishing bishops.  Both of them were in what we decided was Bishop Casual, but Competitive Bishop Casual, ie, "if I don't get to wear the hat, I shall have the prettiest frock"...and one of them was in the must luxuriously gorgeous silk brocade robe, that I just had to gaze and gaze and could not stop gazing; and someone mentioned that some of the robes were worth $20K and my first thought was "wow - only that much?"  The fabric was gorgeous; the cut was sublime, and the extra brocade in a sort of sash-drapage-arrangement would have made Yves St Laurent twist his sketchpad feverishly between his despairing hands.

Also there was the Martin mass for double choir (divine apart from one of the sopranos); a very VERY good baroque trumpeter (huzzah!) and a lot of standing and kneeling (Anglicans don't seem to do much sitting) so I was able to check out all the embroidered hassocks.  Or is it cassocks?  Something with ocks in it anyway - the kneeling pads.  You need to protect your knees if you're gonna be a High Anglican (the incense helps though)(no that joke is not EVER going to get old).

And that is how an atheist was able to collect four bishops in one week.  I'll just be impossible to live with after this.
catchmyfancy: (foxtrot.uniform.charlie.kilo) a pair of leaky bellows; or a ball sort of nearish a hand holding a pin, which, having pricked, now moves on to be a prick elsewhere as air leaks slowly and inexorably from WHERE IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE.

And that little flight o' fancy should tell you I am so very, worribly (that's my portmanteau word for "worriedly horribly") asthmatic right now.   Any kind of anxiety has my airways starting emergency shutdown; I can't walk and talk at the same time; there's been a bout or six of the most wretched dry coughing; and it's 9.45pm and I am about to go and burrow into my bed and sleep the bad sleep of the slightly blue-tinged (non-pictish). 

Still, breathless is as breathless does; and, as ever, hitting the gym (in a somewhat soggy manner until the endorphins kicked in; then in a giggly, somewhat soggy manner) helped to stabilise things for a couple of hours. 

I'll go again tomorrow.  And all the days thereafter till I start slowly getting back up the hill back towards more my usual self.
catchmyfancy: (sam & asgard squishy)
Dear DW and associated lovely sweet Dwenizens

I haven't posted since early May.  

There has been Stuff.  And Things.  Also more Stuff.    (Up to and including a bathroom renovation where I had to move out; singing comps where I should have handed their arses to the twinkly little divaettes I was up against but I just Couldn't Make it So; being ill; being Ill AGAIN; dealing with Someone Else's Problems (do NOT ask) and oh, many other things too tedious to mention, work amongst them, plus, you know, Winter, BLEG.)

I did not wish to post. I couldn't even start. It is possible that the Black Dog came snuffling around for a bit.  It is possible I was a couple of Sparkles short of a Twinkle.  It is possible I considered facebooking was about my limit (it was a very speshull time).

And yet, all the lovely Dwenizens continued to make my day, by giving me steaming big plates piled high with nourishing, tasty Content every single day when I logged in.  I will not be coy: I devoured it all: fic-fic-and-more-fic, showy-off photos of gorgeous creations, recipes and other droolsome endeavours, people checking in from all over with thinky thoughts, lovely long rants (I adore a decent rant; do a techno-rant and I literally get goosebumps), meta, critiques, linkspams, picspams, and tales hilarious and harrowing from your lives.  I read every.single.word.

It kept me in the world, it made me feel I could coast for a bit, it gave me the message: hey, we're all here, doing our stuff, just join in when you feel like it.

It surrounded me with community.

Thanks guys.

Hugs and cookie recipes


catchmyfancy: (i can. i totally can.)
I sang Let the Bright Seraphim (that's the one sung at the Other Royal Wedding) this morning in my lesson, and suddenly transformed into Someone Who Can do Twiddly High Bits.

I don't know where it came from either. I've basically been sulking for the last two weeks and doing bugger-all practice. I would not recommend this as a way to add a new skill to one's basic technique.

So for homework this week, my teacher gave me Una Voce poco fa from the Barber of Seville only one of the most cadenzariffic arias in the history of EVER.

Bizarrely enough I have the sheet music - every so often my Dad buys me odd things like a book of Coloratura arias - either he's completely deluded or bizarrely prescient. Or a little from column A and column B. Anyway.

I tried it out.

And for starters: it's in the "low" key (only goes up to a top C or so - meep!) and it's boring.

So I went looking online. And now I'm like a kid in a sweetie shop. Which cadenzas shall I learn?

The cheeky gloriousness of Beverly Sills?

The even cheekier gloriousness of Diana Damrau?

The scary of Maria Callas?

Anybody got an absolute fave??
catchmyfancy: (the compass rose)
I was up on a very high hill this morning at 6.30am, waiting for the dawn.

In order to make sure there was one, that the sun came up, and that the seasons turned, the Brandragon Morris side was there too.

They danced, and the cloudy overcast pre-dawn was illuminated brilliant orange and red.

I am not sure which dance was the Other Morris, but we're Australian, we don't do Showy, and Morris people especially don't do Showy, which is something of an achievement for people with bells strapped to their body, wreaths of flowers on their heads, and very large hankies, waving, for the use of.

And the sun came grudgingly up, and we accordingly moved into Autumn.  

Expect spring to be wandering in any day now in your hemisphere.

Then (because  May Day is basically the Morris Christmas-and-New-Year) there was Advanced Picnicking, with tea and porridge and egg-and-bacon sandwiches (cooked on site), and fruit and brownies and home-cooked biscuits, and salmon, cream cheese and dill blinis, and scones, and any number of lovely savoury tartlets, and doughnuts and juice and coffee.  And tea.

Nicest season-turn I ever went to.


catchmyfancy: (Default)

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