… how faint the tune… somewhere there’s heaven… how high the moon” How High The Moon is one of those songs that plays off and on in my head over time. Usually when I’m trying to work things out for myself. Not always, but often, I can be found humming it on my morning walks. Sometimes it is a frenetic “jump” arrangement and at other times something more “ballady”… depending on what I’m trying to …
Eleven years… eleven years, I tell ya! Yep, that’s how long I’ve had a presence on the interwebs… at least via this blog. You may ask (and why shouldn’t you?) if some kind of commemoration will be exploding forth… some sort of celebratory mayhem involving food, drink, explosives and a naked parade, perhaps? Not likely. Sorry. This day will come and go like many others before… as it should. About the only thing commemorating this …
I mowed the back yard today. More importantly… I mowed the back yard today with my new mower. It’s the one on the left in the pic. Pretty, ain’t it? And it’s got plenty of ompf too. Took care of the two foot long grass like a champ. The one on the right… that’s my old mower. I decided about a month and a half ago that it needed to be retired. Truth be told, …
That simply means bouncing from show to show at the annual Rogue Festival purely on whim. As I told someone this morning, “This provides much more adventure for your entertainment buck.” It is the one time of year in Fresno you can actually do that. You never know if you’ll be experiencing a stinker or something exquisite using this tactic. Sure, lots of folk meticulously plan their fest experience with Rogue Map in hand like …
… the calm before the storm as it were. The Rogue is just around the corner… and just before that… Mardi Gras. Last year was a busy one for me as I was involved in both. In fact, this time last year, I had just gotten back from Seattle and was furiously doing rewrites and clean-up on my new play before it premiered at the fest. Added to that… I was also King of Mardi …
The Manglish flew fast and thick all weekend. Colloquialisms I hadn’t used in ages, turns of phrases, jumbled up with substitutions from Malay, Chinese, Tamil… and a few Kristang words were firing off in a frenzy the moment I stepped into my cousin’s hotel room. There was no transitional period of adjustment… just a straight on dive into a place of origin. It’s a good thing that I’ve always had a good ear for language …
… when I heard, “Ay, Baba…” yesterday during a short video call. It wasn’t just the words… it wasn’t just the voice… it wasn’t just the brief flash of who said it. It was the combination of all three… and more. And the “more” wasn’t just an attachment to fond memories from so long ago. Those two words… ordinarily a toss away line, were wrapped in the embrace of familiarity and affection. With those two …
I am one… in more ways than you can imagine. I was born one and grew up as one in the country of my birth – a minority. Now that I live on the other side of the world that status hasn’t changed. At the age of 4 months, after contracting polio that left a physical defect, my fate as “other” was sealed for life. The fact that I chose a life in the arts …
… and it is a true wonder that I’m even around. Only saying that because of all the close shaves I’ve experienced over time… especially my somewhat sickly childhood. If there was only one thing I’ve learned it would be how delicate our existence really is. But that is NOT the ONLY thing I’ve learned… and that learning continues. My attitude toward learning made a major shift after I left the institutional halls of study. …
