mental indigestion

Miss Kooky Cloud February 27, 2011

Filed under: Inspiration — mel @ 9:54 pm

Kooky Cloud by Dash

Miss Kooky Cloud wakes up today and knows that it could either be a sunny day or a cloudy day.

For the past few days, she’s been raining pretty hard – which is neither a good or a bad thing; just wet.

But today, she tells Mr Sky – I think I might be able to make funny shapes. Don’t you think I look like a diseased alien spaceship now?

Mr Sky laughs out a lovely azure blue. And Miss Kooky Cloud is pleased.

 

How strange February 20, 2011

Filed under: Life in general — mel @ 9:58 am

Perhaps it’s because I have more time in my hands, but I do think that I’ve been incredibly (for lack of better word) fortunate these past few weeks.

– When I thought that ends wouldn’t be met, opportunities open up, even within the very things that are causing me to not make ends meet (yes, yes very cryptic).

-When I do silly, random things just for the fun of it, I get unexpected props.

-New music from new blog friend – awesome!

-When I was seeking spiritual direction but kept falling asleep during real-life church services, a friend recommended me to listen to her church’s online sermons and I’ve gained so many insights from them.

– Kind, wise advice from strangers/acquaintances whom I never thought my paths would ever cross so closely with.

And while life still has its poopie stuff  and I still very much am able to bawl on demand, overall my gut feel is that Life Can Be Good.

(I’m wondering if I’ve missed out on recognising lucky breaks in the past because I was too cranky or demanding to see them for what they were.)

 

One For My Baby February 10, 2011

While researching on American Bar at The Savoy in London for a writing assignment, I became intruiged by its glittery, jazzy past. It’s no wonder that its current head bartender, Erik Lorincz, whom I interviewed a few weeks back kept talking about how he felt so privileged to be part of that legacy. In particular, I liked the stories from past head bartender Joe Gilmore, who has served up cocktails to Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Judy Garland, Julie Andrews, Ingrid Bergman, Neil Armstrong, Ernest Hemingway and Charlie Chaplin. I was equally stoked to learn that the “Joe”  in one of my favourite Johnny Mercer jazz songs, “One For My Baby” is that very same Joe Gilmore himself.

Frank Sinatra captures the romantic nostalgia of being a bartender perfectly with this live performance of One For My Baby. His preamble is just as poetic as his rendition.

“Some of the songs are songs of sadness, basically – unrequited love and loneliness. This is a perfect one representing that kind of description. A man in this case, a guy whose lady is gone and he’s been hurting for about a week and a half, sitting in a small room, never venturing outside, drinking up some bad booze. Then one day he says, “I’ve got enough.” He takes a walk, a stroll, about say around midnight or a little later, and he falls into a small bar, where only the barman is there. He’s just looking for somebody to talk to. By the way, he’s slightly bummed, didja ever get that way? No? Nobody? Aw, c’mon now.”

It’s quarter to three,
There’s no one in the place ‘cept you and me
So set ’em up Joe
I got a little story I think you oughtta know

We’re drinking my friend
To the end of a brief episode
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road

I know the routine
Put another quarter in that machine
I’m feeling kind of bad
Won’t you make the music easy and sad

I could tell you a lot
But it’s not in a gentleman’s code
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road

You’d never know it
But buddy I’m a kind of poet
And I’ve got a lot of things I wanna say
And if I become gloomy, please listen to me
Till it’s all, all talked away

Well, that’s how it goes
And Joe I know you’re gettin’ anxious to close
So thanks for the cheer
I hope you didn’t mind
My bending your ear

But this torch that I found
It’s gotta be drowned
Or it soon might explode
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road

 

Pandora February 7, 2011

Filed under: Life in general — mel @ 5:49 pm
Tags: , , ,

In the middle of a spongy, mossy forest high up in the mountains, where your sneaker is stuck deep in the mud and you are losing balance, the only thing you hear is deep, laboured breathing. Your unconditioned lungs are working hard to take in the air – dewy oxygen so pristine that your guide says you will live a long life with just one visit here but all you can think about now is if you are really able to get through the next step up. You look like a greedy child covered in chocolate cake when really it comes from the clumsy meanderings of a city dweller grasping desperately for drippy twines and crackly branches to hold onto for all the times you almost slip on that brown, fudgey ground.

And during these struggles, what is on your mind? How far away your body has deviated from nature – this broken relationship that has made your arms and limbs so unresponsive to soil and rocks and twigs and logs, that makes your ears so suspicious to mating cicadas, to laughing monkeys, to crunchy dead leaves, to the squishy squelches of uncivilised mud. And it’s only after several hours that some kind of adaptation occurs – you become a little more agile jumping from rock to rock, you don’t really care that your designer shoes have become totally encased in mud and you wipe your face with your grubby hands, your sweat mixing with the mould and dew and crushed bits of leaves. During a rest stop, you take a deep breath and suddenly, you feel that you can hear the pulse of this magical forest, so powerful and so alive.

And then of course, it’s at that very moment, you decide to take out your iPhone and snap some photographs.

(This is what happens when you decide to go on a mountain trail with antibiotics and assorted flu drugs.)