The frustrating life of Walter Mitty

So, we went to the cinema* to watch The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. It was a really good, enjoyable film. It was fun, funny, clever, sweet. Many of the things I like in a film.

But the entire way through the film I found myself endlessly frustrated. It was so utterly and completely a knight’s quest, and I like a good quest, I do. And it was very pretty and made me want to go an explore the world and so on and so on. But. BUT. Lord a-live, this is 2014. Can the women not, perhaps, be doing something other than keeping house?

Jeeze.

I would have been adequately satisfied if the photographer turned out to be a woman; that would have been cool. No romantic interest. Just a woman, out on her own. Or the knight; if he could have been cast as a woman; which he could have been, you’d've barely even had to change the script.

*sigh*.

Hollywood; please join us in the 21st Century.

* Check us out, the cinema, all old-school, like.

Originally published at Mostly lemon based. You can comment here or there.

Trying out the Kintsugi

Today I finally tried out ‘New Kintsugi’ (which means ‘epoxy resin and gold dust’ rather than whatever the traditional substance was). I’ve been meaning to try it for a while; we’ve broken enough objects that have ended up going in the bin, but the lid to a jar and the rather nice possibly Victorian bowl being broken was a cause of disappointment; and so, when I came across the New Kintusgi stuff I thought ‘hey, it’s worth a try’.

So these are the preliminary results:

The glue needs to be allowed to dry properly, then you’re meant to ‘sponge off’ the extraneous gold dust (which is very dusty; incidentally). It’s not really a patch on proper kintsugi, but it might mean that I feel happy to return them to service in some form or another. The lid of the jar has a gap in it, which I need to fill with some sort of filly-gunk that they’ve supplied, but you’re meant to do that after the glue’s dried, which’ll be a tomorrow-at-least job.

Originally published at Mostly lemon based. You can comment here or there.

Murdering Bach, Maiming Grieg and Mortally Wounding Debussy.

I mentioned before that I’ve recently been abusing my poor piano horribly. Unlike previous abuse (storing in an unheated garage; standing in a flood; causing an anglepoise lamp to drop onto the keyboard; attempting to apply french polish to the front; leaving it untuned for years and years) this is through the medium of me attempting to play.

I am, in fact, attempting to locate some kind of musicality that is perhaps latent in my soul. Well, it’s doubtful that it’s latent musicality; because as a child despite reaching the heady heights of Grade 5 on the piano, and occasionally even getting the excitement of a merit or distinction in such exams, Grade 5 (well after grade 5, according to my teacher) is generally the point where you either have to have talent, or work hard, and I did neither.

At grade 5 I accepted my terrible inability to practice as simply being something that is and gave up. I could kind-of-play stuff that I wanted to; and imagined that without the necessity to practice I’d simply play when I wanted to and that would be sufficient to keep up my skills. Of course, soon after I: did my A-levels; spent my time going out with the newly made friends; and then went to Uni where I had no piano.

When the piano finally arrived in our house, I plunked myself down at the keyboard of its hideously mistuned and poorly adjusted self and discovered that I can’t really play anymore. Quelle Surprise! However, my vague attempts to bring back practice as an adult have been not entirely unsuccessful. It’s hardly a daily occurrence, but the frequency with which I assault the keyboard with my presence has increased somewhat. And occasionally something vaguely resembling music comes out.

But the whole thing is quite interesting, comparatively, because at the same time as I’m doing this, Kathryn bought me Guitar-Teaching-Software; and so I’m trying to learn a new instrument* too. But the experience of trying to do something new on an instrument that requires all my concentration to produce anything resembling, well, at the moment, a chromatic scale, compared to the muscle-memory-being-dragged-out-and-used of my playing the piano is quite fascinating. I can sit down at the piano with a piece of music I played a couple of decades ago (oh, there’s a scary phrase) and despite the years of neglect my fingers sort-of know where to go. Not exactly, but sort of. To an extent that when I’m sight-reading (which is somewhat like going ‘right, so that’s an F…so that must be a C? [plink] Oh errr, no…D. Yes’; anything that’s off the stave takes me quite some time to find) I can let the fingers do the work. They know where on the keyboard they need to be. The reading-bit is hideously brain intensive, but the actual playing, whilst it’s not terribly accurate (at least in terms of timing) is pretty reasonable.

But playing the guitar involves all of my brain, muscles and nerves in a fight of extreme multitasking concentration. There is no muscle memory. Despite me cycling to work with my left arm out in the air trying to practice my fingering. Despite the several abortive attempts at guitar playing. The whole thing has to be done with no automation and it’s a real struggle. If I’m looking in the wrong place I sometimes pluck the wrong string, and if I’m looking at my plucking hand then suddenly I find my fingers are wandering off on their own little explorations of the neck.

Anyhow, I’m basically posting this because I want to give myself a little pat on the back for actually practicing. I realise that I’m (allegedly) an adult and thus should be perfectly capable of practicing an instrument (or any other skill) but; well; frankly I’m not very good at such things and I’m quite pleased with myself for doing so. Yes. Well, that and I do actually find the whole experience of learning vs re-learning quite interesting. So there y’go.

* For, err, 10 year old definition of ‘New’. Yes, I’ve had a guitar 10 years and still can’t play it. I’m aware that I suck at this stuff.

Originally published at Mostly lemon based. You can comment here or there.