Wow ... it's been just slightly more then a month since my last post; I must be getting sloppy! But then again, I have good reason: I've been quite literally buried under this vast sea of information that I have successfully bombarded my brain with. Ah ... it's that time of the year again, boys and girls: End-Of-Year Examinations.

<shudder>

Actually, that might be a slight bit dramatic. This semester actually went quite well to be honest, though I think maybe a slight touch too fast. The creative writing class is most definitely a highlight for me, and paired with the film analysis class last semester, I'm thinking this is probably going to be the best year in Auckland Uni for me. But, alas, wielding the power of procrastination in my hand, I've ... err ... pretty much left everything to read/see/watch/study for until pretty much the last minute. But hey, what's a guy to do when he's having fun cracking childish jokes in a creative writing tutorial that is advocating the consumption of mind-altering materials as 'radical' writing revision techniques?

And no, I'm totally serious. We actually suggest that as 'option 1', and the tutor went: "Well .. uh ... ok ... hmm. Err ... even though the university isn't really 'advocating' you to do so, I'd think it'd be a worthwhile exercise to undertake just to see the effects ... " <snicker> Yea right! Trust me when I say my tutorials are a lot more fun than other people's. Still, that isn't much of an excuse to not study. Therefore, it led to me quite literally leading a monotonous geekish existence, etched out in the form of empty takeaway food boxes and copious amounts of empty Smirnoff bottles. Oh, and a computer that hasn't been turned off for the last 2 weeks, at all.

Add to that movie-watching-marathons (they were prescribed 'texts'), blood-shot eyes, and a now found appreciation for the true scholars out there, I am both quite confident, and quite safe to say that I have survived the experience, and came out the other side relatively unharmed. Well, besides the sort of 'callous bruise' that's on my right middle finger. I should reveal that I have a fairly bad habit of gripping my pen too hard, especially when I'm squeezing in a short-essay in 20 minutes, literally, and indeed I have damaged my finger. It's kind'a deformed, to be honest, and it freaks me out slightly. But, nonetheless, I finished on Wednesday past, what with the film paper being completely uneventful although slightly worrying, considering I had to bullshit my way through at least 1/2 of the paper. Still, I have great hopes for my marks, since I think I'm a pretty good bullshitter.

Anyhow, tomorrow ... nay, today I will be heading off to Tawharanui, which for those non-NZers is a regional park within the greater Auckland region, and going there to do some camping, relaxing, and most importantly: drinking. I shall inebriate myself into a state of blissful happiness, to celebrate the end of university for the year along with some of my good friends. That sounded so cheesy, but I guess when it's almost 20 to 3 (am) and after 3 and 1/2 bottles of Smirnoff, I'm allowed to be cheesy. Meh.

Though with that said, I'm going to bed. I'm suppose to be getting picked up at 11:30~12ish, so I need to go hibernate. Yes, I am using the right terminology, though those who have never gone to high school with me won't understand it.

Hmm ... and I need to find my togs too ...

Here I am. 20 years old. Officially. Finally.

Twenty years ago this day I heaved myself upon this shameless world and with smack to the arse, begun to populate and let notice my existence to the rest of humanity. It's somehow comforting to know that these days I talk less and listen more; that I'm more willing to accommodate the thoughts and ideals of others, and more willing to suppress my own inadequate ramblings. It's an improvement, I'm sure.

Yet, in all this time, I have yet to grow none the wiser the intricacies of this world; the plight of the human conciousness, or the simple matter of life and death. The more I read, and the more knowledge I gain the more I realize how little do I truly know. Thankfully, there has been one thing made clear to me: there is never an end to what we gain, and never an ending to what we begin.

This sounds all very philosophical and all, but I do have to confess this is all rubbish; junk that is quite literally pouring out of mind, through my fingers and onto the keyboard as I sit in the middle of the university common room amongst a whole heap of other students. I'm staring out the massive windows to look up and see strangers; randoms that walk past quickly, slowly, skipping, drinking, eating. Most of them I will never see again in this lifetime. But all these revelations are all to do with quite a simple matter - how death affects the people involved and surrounding the person who has died.

It is ironic, is it not, that on this day I'm suppose to be celebrating the creation of my life, when I came to this world that I am instead talking about death? Yet think carefully, as in a weird twist of dark comedy, one realizes that the celebration of a birthday is in-fact the celebration instead of one's death day. As each year passes, I age, and eventually, I will die. And it is through this sudden revelation to death and life do I suddenly see that everything in this world is relative; my moods and my experiences may make me the person I am, yet it should not dictate me to the point of exhaustion, whether it be mental or physical. I say this with a new-found life experience: friends.

I will be blunt - I have never been good at making friends. When I was younger, I was much of an introvert; years of being conditioned into a bookworm by way of being a social outcast means that I am not good with dealing with others. It takes time to get to know me, and it takes a lot of time for me to accept others. As a non- English-speaking New Zealander, I have always been handed the sharp end of the stick, and my natural fear of backstabbers and excessive paranoia of the intent of others have not only fueled, but also aroused great hatred.

Coincidentally, this semester at university I have manage to gather around myself a remarkable group of dear friends, the likes of which I have not had the possibilities of enjoying before. Some are quirky, some are strange, some are musical, another an artist. Yet what remains is the fact they like me, of their own volition, supposed qualities that even I have yet to discover myself.

There remains a lot to be said, but it nonetheless remains true that my previous notion of the world being populated by apathy and sin is unjustified - there is plenty of good people out there, I just have to find ones that fit to me. And indeed, this brings me back to the point made previous - the more I learn, the more I realize how little I know. The death of a friend's friend has pushed my buttons even more, as I observe the profound effect it had on my friend, and even more so the profound effect it had on me. Even before learning of the death itself, my friend turned to me and said - "you know that I love you, right?". It not only took me by surprise, but also a realization of how much I mean to another outside of immediate family. The relationship is strong enough for that statement, and I am both honored, and humbled.

To this end, though I have always held the notion previously to my God, I shall repeat it on this post as a declaration. It is a quote, something not only insightful but also inspiring, and it is one that I hold very close to my existence.

"When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, 'I used everything you gave me'."   ~Erma Bombeck

More random stuffs ...

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Of peace, and happiness - when one's world is composed of grief and strife, all one should do is laugh. Really? yes. Something.

Un-intentioned, unknown, chilling and sadistic pleasures courses through the veins of the unwilling, subject only to the grip of life. What is it, where is it, who is it? Questions upon myriads of questions of unsolvable labyrinths which lie deep deep in the dark hearts of men. Tainted, of what once was, of what is, and of what will be, if nothing is done. May God forgive and have mercy.

Jokes; hilarity ensues, of ignorant and unencumbered minds that feels no shame nor dishonor. My entertainment: laughs, shits and giggles in the highest forms. My days need not to be filled with empty boring normality. Excitement comes, with a mask of evil and wild unkempt form, flailing arms and keen with sadism, twisted, the joker-like smile. 'Slay the beast', they cry, with thousand pointed blades, aimed at its head and heart. With words our great bastard swords!

Gah! Haha ... amusement at its finest!? Awesome, my goodness, awesome! There is nothing better than watching the deluded delude themselves. There is nothing better.

I am. I am ...

Nothing.

Hmm ...

Been a while since I last updated this thing, considering the fact that everything I've written or thought of writing between the last post and now are either a) too personal, or b) too boring. I'm a boring guy, unfortunately. It's the story of my life to have nothing exciting ever happen, beyond the occasional "ooh" and "ahh" that comes along with being a (part-time) cynic that likes to take the piss out of everything, and everyone. Meh.

Of course, updating now doesn't really mean either that I have anything relevant to say, but much more the simple fact that I feel obliged to update this space considering the last couple of posts I got some wonderful responses from readers across the other side of the big, big ocean - which puts quite a spin on things, I must say. Like I had said to a poster, I never realized that anyone would ever read my writing, as to me it's completely incompetent and utter shite. But then again, that's just being melodramatic.

Now, on to recent events ... err, pause that thought ... recent hellish events, rather. As the story goes, I was suppose to have moved out of my place and into a wonderful apartment in the city, with it being all pretty and sparkly. Alas, my best mate, who was also suppose to turn into my flatmate, ditched me at the last second. Bastard.

Anyhow, in the interim, mom had decided that because I was going to move out, she'll go back to Taiwan to be with dad, and our place will be rented out to a family friend and her kid. But, I never left because I can't find neither a second flatmate, nor a flat that suited me. Just so you know, I have high expectations. Which is bad for flatting. (<--- Understatment).

I digress. In the end, everything happened as they should have, except with me not having moved out, which then thus meant that I have to share my place with our family friend and her kid, which my friends and I have officially nicknamed: EBOC. And yes, it does mean something - energizer bunny on crack. Which is exactly what he is, of course, but I have yet to raise my manly balls and tell that to his face, 'cause he's a spoiled little brat that likes to throw fits. And I can assure you, when he throws a fit, it feels like the house is tearing it self apart.

I want to shoot him. Rubber bullets though, honest!

But yes, that's not much fun. So, that was that. I'm not even going to talk about the other horrendous things that have happened, as I have neither the courage, nor the stomach. Still very, very sad.

Okay, that just sounded like Bridget Jones and her bloody diary, which is not how I talk, by the way. I think I'm not making too much sense anymore, since I seem to be blubbering. Two shots of 40% rum would do that to you, I'd think.

I'm going to bed.

<sigh>

This was a writing exercise that I did for my Creative Writing class. Earlier in the day, I had gone to the gym and worked myself pretty hard, and my arms were hurting like shite by the time the tutorial rolled 'round. We were asked to do free writing, without thought, and I just focused on the pain in my arms and let my hand wonder. Putting it on here is the first time I've seen this piece of writing as well, after having written it ... scary thought, huh!

===================================

    My arm's sore. Dead-weights. It seems like my normal physical prowess has all but entirely left me - for I can still feel tingles as I exert. At the very least, I can pick up my pen.

    The weariness isn't new, no. It is something that has been apart of me for many a long ages. It is of the past, of things undone and unsaid. It is of the present, of the thoughts made and words written. But, it seems, it is not of the future. Strange though, as this weariness is not, for most certainly I will be weary, burdened, driven like a mere slave in the coming.

    Yet, I am no slave, except to myself. I am no taskmaster either, except to my will. So then, where did the dead-weights arise? It cannot be of physical weakness, for my Lord has made me strong.

    No. It is not of this world. Something far deeper, far darker than any mortal imagery. Emotions, thoughts, sounds - they all bind me to it, yet I am unawares. Long in this dungeon of fatigue have I sat, but I know neither day nor hour. It is but a thing, that runs along my veins and into my heart. I cannot close my fists; my flesh shudders with effort. For I am weary ...

Hoots ... honks ... beeps.

Horns of various kinds playing tag with each other, making a ruckus symphony that is joined by the rumbling hum of the old bus engine. The passengers are silent. Yet, it is not one filled with awkwardness, nor a downtrodden and sinking silence; much rather a fragile but tranquil peace; the silence un-tells of long days working, hours gone for people in pursuit of frivolities. Or maybe not, as students get on, full from a day's worth of knowledge.

A turn, a screech, stop. Passengers get on. Faceless, all of them, except for one. Her laugh gay, face lit, and eyes sparkling. A soft, silky voice emerges, as she speaks into her cellphone, carrying muted voices that float pass my head, bouncing on the back wall. The call is finished, and she sits. Fully absorbed into looking out the bus window, she becomes faceless, just like the others. She fades.

Next stop. More passengers ... yet somehow no longer faceless. Some are bedraggled, some are contemplative, and some are unkempt. A striking blond steps up, hair pulled back and tied. She stares at me writing, questioning with curiosity written all over her face. What am I writing? What am I seeing? What, am I dreaming?

She sits beside me, book in hand, attention shifted. No longer rapt with my mundane, illiterate hand. She sighs. A heavy weight shifts, sliding down her shoulders. A glorious smile lightens her face, first at the book, than me, than returns to the book. I smile in return, unsure if it was caught. I peek. A love story - though the words are unfamiliar, a love story nonetheless.

I drift. I dream. The steady rumble of the bus engine lulls me, the lids of my eyes are heavy, and I struggle as I loose my grasp on my mind. The soft perfume from her, the steady hum of the engine, the ever-shifting motion. Peaceful silence. I drift. I dream.

Right, as I promised, the "proper" edition of the assignment that I had worked on last semester. Had to take it off due to the University having not have had it go through the plagiarism system, and I almost got caught out :p

My marks are in, so here it is, once again:

================================

The films ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’ and ‘Memento’, by Charlie Kaufman and Christopher Nolan respectively, deal with memory or more specifically, the loss of memory. The films hypothesize that when our memories have been taken away from us such as in ‘Eternal Sunshine’, or we are unable to make new memories as in ‘Memento’, there is a part of us that has been destroyed, along with our ability to define the line between fantasy and reality. The definition of memory itself in the cognitive neurosciences memory is stated “…to be the psychological function most closely linked with one’s human uniqueness…they capture events in the world as personal experiences.”[1] The statement can be read as memory being the one thing that defines us and in-turn defining our reality. As a re-constructive mechanism memory allows the past to become a part of the present, and the experiences that we have had are ingrained into our future, thus defining our perception of this world and the things around us. When we have lost our past, or unable to make a new past and stuck in an ever-perpetual present, our future is denied and we are no longer able to associate to what is truthful, and what is not. Thus, when our memories are taken away from us the world as we know it ceases to exist and we are left with either a twisted and degraded version of it or nothingness, as depicted in ‘Eternal Sunshine’ and ‘Memento’.

 

‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’ tells of the romance between two lovers, Joel and Clementine, and their subsequent fall-out, and its effect upon Joel. Steven Johnson writes them as “…two star-crossed lovers whose stars have gotten so crossed that they decide to erase their memories of each other, using the services of a company called Lacuna Inc.”[2] The centre of the film (the memory deletion) revolves around Joel’s memories of his life with Clementine slowly being erased, and his in-ability to exist outside of some sort of mental emptiness after the procedure. The very first scenes of the film are near the “ending” of the timeline, after Joel has already removed the memory of Clementine and the better part of the last two years. It includes a narrative voice-over that seems as empty as the tone that he narrates in, carrying hints of his erased memories. “I ditched work today. Took a train out to Montauk,” he says in a flat, emotionless voice, “I don’t know why.” As Jason Sperb observes, Joel is unable to understand the “why” to everything, whether it be the emptiness that he feels, or things that he does.[3] Joel’s in-ability to understand is a result of his memory being deleted. Clementine, once the dominant element of his life for the last two years, is gone. Nothing remains of her (or so it seems), and he has little to no depth or substance to go on. His past is no longer recallable by his present, and thus his existence as a person is denied, which means that he can no longer define reality.

 

The majority of the film itself is actually grounded in what we can define as fantasy, as Joel struggles to salvage his memories of Clementine as his reaction towards the deletion procedure slowly changes over time. He eventually realizes that he does not want his memories deleted, or rather both his love for her and his notion of self. He realizes that there is a need for a past that although, un-claimable and un-shape-able, is also something that cannot and should not be taken from his existence, as Sperb states.[4] He tries to find Clementine, and when he does, tries to run away and hide her so that she can’t be taken away. This game of cat-and-mouse is futile, as he eventually realizes that she will fade to the procedure. Joel’s eventual acceptance of the loss of Clementine and the subsequent fading of the memory leads directly to the opening scene. Reality is no longer real, as even although those memories can be seen as fantasy, they no longer exist and cannot define what is truthful anymore. Joel’s perception is no longer objective – he cannot forcibly attain a truthful reading of his life and of his reality – instead his perception now is subjective to the things around him, whether they may seem real or not.

 

Yet according to Fredrika Shulman, memories are affected by the objects that they are associated with, as lieux de mémoire (memorial sites); through the preserving of these items can then memory be recollected regardless of temporal discourses.[5] The definition of reality is based upon these objects that remind ourselves of what we can remember, just as Dr. Howard Merzwiak gives Joel explicit instructions to remove everything he has that is associated with Clementine. They act as “memory markers”, as Merzwiak states – items of value that act as “…an emotional core to each of our memories.” As a result, when through a twist of fate both Joel and Clementine are informed that they use to be lovers and receive back all the items that they had taken to be disposed of by Lacuna Inc, they are almost instantly reminded of the connotations contained in the items themselves. Although they are unable to associate memories of words and images toward these items, they are nonetheless able to recognize emotions and the items as artifacts that transmit the past, even though it is a past they no longer know. So in a way, while our sense of reality may be lost through the removal of our past, so too is it regained through either making new memories or regaining items associated with the past that is erased. As Sperb argues “…the future – as in end of ‘Eternal Sunshine’ – becomes the past anyway.” He sees that it is not a “definitive linear history” that guides our understanding, but much rather that the “…temporal boundaries will simply reconstruct themselves in the absence of the possibility of a preserved past.”[6]

 

On the other hand, “Memento” deals with the ever-perpetual present. The protagonist, Leonard Shelby, suffers a peculiar form of anterograde amnesia in which he is unable to form new memories after a blow to the head. Two men had broken into his home and raped and murdered his wife; Leonard shot one intruder but the other attacked him from behind. His last permanent memory was of his wife dying on the bathroom floor. The entire film revolves around Leonard’s inability to form new memories – he is spatially and temporally dislocated and unable to relocate himself, stuck in a forever “now” moment, as though time goes on without him. His notion of “reality” is thus forever stuck at the moment of his wife’s death; although he is able to function semi-normally he lives in little pockets of reality – a few hours here, a few there. Yet, as the film goes on it is revealed to us that in actually fact his reality are all just self-contained fantasy narratives, manipulated by others around him due to his inability to form a coherent linear structure of the world.

 

Leonard is in a constant state of confusion and altered reality; he is unable to associate with anything around him, as shown in the first scenes of Leonard with him waking up in a non-descript black and white motel room. Leonard then tracks through the motions of the voiceover chronologically. Leonard: “So where are you? You’re in some motel room. You just, you just wake up and you’re in […] in a motel room. There’s the key. It feels like, maybe, it’s just the first time you’ve been there, but perhaps, you’ve been there for a week, three months. It’s kinda hard to say. I don’t know. It’s just an anonymous room.” Leonard’s inability to graft new memories into his mind forces him to graft it on to his body – an “…overlaid topography of tattoos, mnemonic traces carved and inked in Leonard’s flesh…”[7], as well as having numerous Polaroid’s dotted around of people and things as he progresses in his quest of vengeance. Furthermore, because of his inability to recall recent experiences it means that he misses the impact of traumatic events upon reality. As such, William G. Little critiques him as “…a character wracked by disappointment.”[8] All these elements mean that Leonard is unable to identify the world in a post-traumatic view; because of his inability to remember he is constantly forced to go through the pain of his wife’s passing, each time as if it had just happened although he might be months down the time-stream. His identity is limited to what he was pre-accident and his notion of truth and reality is focused on the very present. This presents a problem, as two characters that revolve around him, Ted and Natalie, are shown to manipulate him into doing certain things and him being absolutely unaware. His definition of reality is no longer his, but rather what other people tell him and the scatterings of notes that he gives himself.

 

This holds true even to the audience, as we are being constantly put under pressure to remember what happens before, as the film is edited in a regressive format. We are constantly sent through “before” sequences that “…swipes the board of the game and demands yet another futile strategy of sense and memory.”[9] In essence, we as the audiences are subjected to being Leonard; we are only ever allowed the knowledge of “now” – broken narratives that contradict the one before, which contradicted the one before that. We, just as Leonard is, are subjected to a constant revising of the present, of reality and what we perceive to be the real truth. Yet at the very end of the film, which is supposedly the earliest point in the time-stream, is of Leonard and Ted having an argument. Ted tells Leonard that he had already looked, found and killed the “John G.” that injured him and killed his wife. Ted shows Leonard a Polaroid of him after the murder, and then accuses him of “…having become a killer, of having begun to like to kill people, and even of needing to kill in order to give his life meaning.”[10] It seems that what both Leonard and the audiences have perceived as truth is not real, and in-turn our defined reality is shattered. The lack of memory of the “before” means that everything that we have held to be truthful so far is turned into fantasy, a narrative that should not have existed in the first place. As Clarke states, “…with the continual juxtaposition of contrary images, the aporias of truth and falsity in the present become more and more urgently revealed.”[11]

 

Because we are forced to adapt to Leonard’s view, we are then drawn in to his world where truthful definitions are made, in reality, non truthful. Indeed, if everything that we have held to be “true” and “real” has been presented as false, than what about Leonard himself? Is his story of his wife and his amnesia truthful and a truthful definition of reality, or is it all a part of a made-up fantasy by Leonard himself? As we have not experienced the before and the after, merely the ever-perpetual present, we have no memories of these events. Thus, we are unable to form coherent judgement upon this matter, and we can gain no clear definition of reality and a truthful modal propriety.

 

Reality, as observed by viewing both Joel and Leonard, is really a sense of self and character being reflected on to the world as we dictate. It is a concept, which albeit vague, is something that centres itself on one’s notion of the world as one perceives it, through the experiences they have had that influenced and shaped them in the past.  It is a notion of relativity and deduction: when something is not one thing, than what we are left with is its absolute definition. As such, our experiences, or memories to be more exact, shape our perception, our notion of self and the relation to the world around us. When our experiences and memories, of which that define “us” of whom and what we are, are deleted, lost or disabled than our “reality” is altered and is thus no longer true. While Joel and Leonard suffer from different forms of memory deprivation, both remain the same in that they no longer exist in a reality defined by “truthful” values. What they are left with are empty realities that are not grounded and unacceptable, as they can no longer decide what reality is and what fantasy is. Both characters no longer have a reference point for their realities. Joel cannot remember his past, and so his present is also blank, just as his future will be, while Leonard cannot form new memories, and so is stuck in a time-less state in which his definition of “reality” is constantly effected by those around him, and the “Leonard” of a very distant past. For both men, reality is now either nothing, or perverted. Yet luckily for Joel, he might still have a chance to make a new reality.

 

Life, is a most hectic place.

I say that with the utmost conviction, as I quite literally plow through the mountain piles of notes, readings, secondary resources, and more notes. Indeed, welcome to Exam Month!

I've been quite busy since the my night out, which shockingly, is a fortnight ago. I haven't had the time, energy or even the attention span to last longer than 5 minutes out of my door; along with the dramatic sudden drop in temperature in the last two days, I have had to hunkered down before my desk and read. And read. Quite happily though to be honest, seeing as at the end of all these readings is a good three week break , of which I will be busy house hunting. I will be moving out. I need to be moving out. Heaven forbid a little 12 year old ADHD tyke that rampages through the house as I try to sleep in 'til 10.

Bad news: earlier this week was my second exam, with the first one on Thursday last week. They were alright, and most certainly went better than I had expected, but it got a bit painful towards the end of the second exam as I scribbled furiously, trying with my very hardest to fit numerous words on to a page. With a minute to go, no less. Alas, my hand became arthritic and I was unable to relax it by my own volition, since I had squeezed my pen too hard. Never-mind breaking the pen, I was going to be breaking my own fingers! There's even a stub near the tip of my middle finger where the skin is actually harder than the bottom of my foot. Dear God have mercy!! T.T

Good news: today was quite nice, as I took a long break eating - yes - eating! Mum had invited a whole bunch of people around and we had Chinese Hotpot, which is basically platters filled with ingredients of almost any kind you'd like, and you basically chuck it into a big pot of boiling water, wait a couple minutes, and take out. Traditionally, there are various skin-thin meats, tofu, veges, meatballs (of various kind), prawns, tempura, and rice noodles. There are also a series of sauces you mix together to add flavor such as peanut sauce, chilli satay, chilli oil, vinegar, soy sauce along with diced onions and various seasonings. Oh food, glorious food! Was at one point too full to stand. Heh. ^_^

Anyhow, that's pretty much it. I've still got an exam on the coming Tuesday and Friday, and they're the hardest out of all my courses. And the "all" includes pretty much every single course I've taken so far. Hip-pip hooray.

Sleep beckons, and I'm going to go play sexcapades with Morpheus' daughter. Read up on your Greek Myths, if you can't understand that.

Well, last night was certainly a very brilliant event, in which I had the chance to go and see the Auckland Philharmonic Orchestra (APO) play at the Aotea Centre. Having had a lot of fun all day long killing monsters, the undead, and a golden giantress with my fellow Tranq-ies, I was quite ready for a nice evening listening to some very, very good orchestral music.

I had been given the chance to go to the program through a friend of mine, who is a part of the New Zealand chapter of a Star Wars club. They had been roped into giving out flyers on Queen St. for the event, and were promised free tickets. My friend was talking about it with me, and seeing my over-exhuberant excitement, tried to get me a free ticket as well. Alas, she not only succeeded, but it was also with her and her family in the premier seats!! So basically I got up, close and personal to the whole orchestra :D

Our MC, and soloist (mezzo-soprano) was an absolutely astounding show-woman, and wooed the crowd into a right ruckus, what with her downright blatant drooling dialogue aimed at the male stars, especially focusing on good ol' Sean Connery, Rodger Moore and a few others. Innuendo driven indeed! But, what was the best about her performance was the renditions of Goldfinger, Diamonds are Forever, and Nobody does it better for the James Bond 007 portions of the evening. Absolutely astounding vocalist, especially the last notes at the very end of Nobody.

The show began with an overture of North by NorthWest, prelude from Vertigo, and the Psycho suite; all bloody famous films of Alfred Hitchcock - definitive filmmaker of Western cinema! This was followed by the La Strada Suite, by French composer Rota. Beautiful and haunting, the music was a perfect reflection of the narrative, as well as that of the title - "The Road". The theme from 007 along with the 3 major sung songs, and the first half ended with the Mission Impossible Theme.

The second half begin with Hedwig's Theme from Harry Potter, and than a Gladiator Suite. Next was the Spiderman Suite, with excerpts from even the very original Spiderman song! The night's last official piece was a 17minute rendition of the Star Wars Suite, with excerpts from the opening themes of all 3 of the original, the love theme, the Emperial theme, as well as the ROTJ theme. I almost got a little emotional when they played the ROTJ theme, as the music surrounded the entire auditorium and you could literally feel the music vibrate against your bones. I was living in Paradise, removed far from my physical self. The night ended with an encore performance of the Raiders of the Lost Ark theme, which was also astounding.

Like I said, last night was the best night I had ever had, in a very very long while. The last time I got to dress up and go to a good orchestral concert was a few years ago, since the APO hasn't really put on any really good shows in-between. Hopefully, like my friend had told me of the possibility of it becoming a yearly occurance, I'll have the pleasure of hearing all this lovely music again next year!!

I just realised that I had to delete the previous post, due to plagiarism issues that might pop up.

I'll have the final copy of it up again in a couple weeks time, since that's how long it'll take for the authentication system for UoA to check it through. Unfortunately. :P

But yea....really shouldn't have uploaded that essay *before* I handed it in to my course admins. heh...