Pensavi che io fossi la donna della tua vita?
I was supposed to see La Boheme tomorrow at Syracuse opera.. but some people changed their minds. :( I really need to find someone to go with/drive me to musicky things here. there’s another evening recital at barnes tomorrow (faure, beethoven, debussy) – joel’s graduated (and went for rach 2 without me! gah!) and jing yee’s not really into music (well at least not the boring kind i listen to). maybe liangze (a fellow ravel fan) only he + his parents will have left for the falls by tomorrow. we’re going to see emily’s recital at IC next saturday though and that’s going to be exciting because emily is awesome at the trumpet. plus it’s a halloween recital. there’s also the annual halloween organ concert sam will be performing in (right before we both have to go play for the chimes halloween concert) which would be nice if i had company. at the organ concert last yr one of the organists had these glow in the dark finger bones taped to his fingers so it looked like floating hands playing the aeolian skinner which was just super cool.
but i can do solitude. after all it’s not like i talk to people during those performances, and it’s not like i expect any post-concert breakdown/commentary/critique when i go to concerts with non-mep people so. (haha that sounds really elitist but guess what, we are). my thoughts and my snarkiness are enough to occupy two of me, but i guess it’s just nice to snatch the post concert nightcap like we did all the time in singapore and chat until the night leaves us behind in a homogenous swirl of caffeine and camaraderie.
Forgot to say. it’s ze’s birthday today. guess what i got him! collected poems by… roger mcgough! that’s just the sort of present i’d kill to receive so i egotistically imputed my tastes onto his, the same way people get books from me that i’ve read and loved instead of books that they might possibly love. i hope he joins the cultic following of roger mcgough!
let there be no goodbyes
parting is such
let us holdhands
and think not of tomorrow
but of our dailyselves
for there’s love here
as makes unhappiness
appear to have mislaid our address