a day in the life of piano monkey

it is that time of the year again. yep, the sales pitch for christmas is hung everywhere with no shame (well except in the states, they will still be waving thanksgiving sales flags till 26 november 2010, the infamous black friday where people run others over to point of death for their once-in-lifetime chance to get cheap stuff) and all sorts of relationship thoughts are creeping up. possibly for everyone (!) the singles are starting to feel the pressure of RSVP parties, the doomed check-box for single attendee vs. double.  the newly attached people are starting to re-examine their partners with microscope: can i bring him/her home? is he/she fit for my contextual surrounding? am i fit for his/her surrounding? what of people returning to home- especially college kids, the new fragile affection vs. the homey historical artifact gf/bf? the list goes on and on. couple days ago, i ran into an article by one of my favorite journalist, david mccandless.  his mash up of datase...

in case i havent mumbled about it, i have workaholic parents. yes. they do live like a proper first-generation immigrants.  i feel badly at times as my life is all about doing as less required things as possible so that just in case something interesting pops up, i could jump on at any point.  basically, i like being lazy.  they are the inverse, the anti-thesis of me: they work six and a half days a week (sunday is the catch up day where they tries to do whatever that got left during the weekdays), and yes, they do leave the house at 5am for about half-hour commute.  then it's worky-worky-worky, till they come home.  on the days i head home, i expect them well-after nine in the evening.  if not ten.  so that's about 16-17 hours of pure work.  i have no idea how they do it.  i really wish they could hire some helps, but it's difficult because it is rather far to commute.  and not to mention the fact that they often forget...

it is funny being back at the olde alma mater. till end of the spring semester 2010, monkey is wearing engineer hat (though most damage probably will involve fingers, either paper cuts or getting it jammed along the mic stands or something), recording student recitals. classical. jazz. undergrads. grads. ensembles. solos. etc etc. ive been back so often that it seems as if i never left sometimes, except for the faces- most of them arrived to campus long after i was gone. but with various spider webbing, there are some faces that i am always happy to see- like book bomber, mad soprano sax kid and fairy-kid-paternal-unit. and there are more that i get to know. there's something about being in the edward johnson building. some of the very familiar sights are now gone (the famous/infamous green couches that sucks your living will out of you; now it's kind of shiny brown), but mostly similar things- like the red couches on the spaceship 3rd floor student lounge. it makes me...

one lived in table. no expectations. no fuss. a slow shaving on the outer layer. one part at a time. by dustfuls. naked new skin of the wood and nourishment. a renewed table. a calmer monkey. took hours. with newly found surface, ready to be used, with a mind that is open and no longer desperate. time comes and time goes. and without shedding the old, there'll be no new. but the new already belongs to old. one ceases to exist in definitive terms, but of moving present perspective. many lives crossed in my mind while i stood there in the kitchen and cared for the table. love to you all. ...and i also made a tres leches cake. remembering all my great friends in lincoln, ne, especially! yum...