[12:36:45 AM] Sefen.Hsu: Well, dad left to taiwan. Boy, I finally get to have a good sleep tonight. He was so loud last night when I went to bed. I don't think I get to really sleep for more than 3 hours.
:) Snoring...something to at least consider when choosing your life partner, eh?
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Thursday, September 13, 2012
?
If you set out to accomplish anything requiring a lot of effort against slim chances, there are two main things to consider: 1) do you have a natural ability for this activity, and 2) do you know how to work smart and work hard (in a way, also a natural ability)?
When I was young, I believed I had a natural affinity for music. During those shamefully boring home videos of my Suzuki concerts, among the auditorium packed with a hundred kids playing their violins, I'm the shortest, youngest one in the front row, moving her bow in the right direction at the right times with an effortless, relaxed smile on her face. Teachers' comments were always that I was a fast-learner. I didn't have to learn to be musical, to be affected by this harmony or that rhythm...it just happened, through no actual achievement of my own. To me, this isn't bragging--innate abilities like perfect pitch and muscle memory are nothing to be proud of; however, they are something to be cognizant of, to help one figure out his/her most beneficial path in life.
I got older and went out into the real world. I experienced the usual small-fish-in-a-big-pond phenomenon, realizing that there are some people out there with more natural ability than me. Not just some, but MANY...so, so many. It took a while to become accustomed to this, but eventually I adjusted my identity to being not the "talented" one, but the "hard-working" one. My idea was, if I can't be the fastest learner or the most natural musician, I can be the most diligent, prepared one. Even if I start out with a less stunning skills set, I can compensate by putting in that much extra effort. I learned how to (barely) hang on to the high level of achievement my peers attained with such ease...if they worked for three hours, I worked for five. If they prepared a week in advance, I gave myself a month. When we came out with the same result, I learned to be proud instead of bitter, and to value my hard work along with their talent.
Now at a new school and in the midst of a new communal personality, I feel like I'm experiencing a second small-fish-big-pond reality check. Not only are there people with more natural ability than me, but there are also people who work harder than me...MANY people, who work WAY harder. I generally took pride in my practicing methods and specific routines. In my old school, I'm pretty sure I was one of a tiny minority that practiced to this degree of thoroughness, bordering on ridiculousness. (Music can become a perfect activity for the OCD-inflicted, in many ways.) But now, I'm surrounded by people who all have this kind of work ethic as well. So what's left for me to cling onto? How do I compensate? I feel like I've reached something of a dead end, or like I'm a hamster on his mobile wheel. I'm running and running, but can I really get anywhere? What's left, besides natural ability and hard work? Luck? Confidence?
When I was young, I believed I had a natural affinity for music. During those shamefully boring home videos of my Suzuki concerts, among the auditorium packed with a hundred kids playing their violins, I'm the shortest, youngest one in the front row, moving her bow in the right direction at the right times with an effortless, relaxed smile on her face. Teachers' comments were always that I was a fast-learner. I didn't have to learn to be musical, to be affected by this harmony or that rhythm...it just happened, through no actual achievement of my own. To me, this isn't bragging--innate abilities like perfect pitch and muscle memory are nothing to be proud of; however, they are something to be cognizant of, to help one figure out his/her most beneficial path in life.
I got older and went out into the real world. I experienced the usual small-fish-in-a-big-pond phenomenon, realizing that there are some people out there with more natural ability than me. Not just some, but MANY...so, so many. It took a while to become accustomed to this, but eventually I adjusted my identity to being not the "talented" one, but the "hard-working" one. My idea was, if I can't be the fastest learner or the most natural musician, I can be the most diligent, prepared one. Even if I start out with a less stunning skills set, I can compensate by putting in that much extra effort. I learned how to (barely) hang on to the high level of achievement my peers attained with such ease...if they worked for three hours, I worked for five. If they prepared a week in advance, I gave myself a month. When we came out with the same result, I learned to be proud instead of bitter, and to value my hard work along with their talent.
Now at a new school and in the midst of a new communal personality, I feel like I'm experiencing a second small-fish-big-pond reality check. Not only are there people with more natural ability than me, but there are also people who work harder than me...MANY people, who work WAY harder. I generally took pride in my practicing methods and specific routines. In my old school, I'm pretty sure I was one of a tiny minority that practiced to this degree of thoroughness, bordering on ridiculousness. (Music can become a perfect activity for the OCD-inflicted, in many ways.) But now, I'm surrounded by people who all have this kind of work ethic as well. So what's left for me to cling onto? How do I compensate? I feel like I've reached something of a dead end, or like I'm a hamster on his mobile wheel. I'm running and running, but can I really get anywhere? What's left, besides natural ability and hard work? Luck? Confidence?
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
English
Apparently, a reasonable case could be made for spelling the word "fish" as "ghoti." GH from enouGH, O from wOmen, and TI from naTIon. Oh, English...
"The English language is a rich verbal tapestry woven together from the tongues of the Greeks, the Latins, the Angles, the Klaxtons, the Celtics, and many more other ancient peoples, all of whom had severe drinking problems." -Dave Barry
"The English language is a rich verbal tapestry woven together from the tongues of the Greeks, the Latins, the Angles, the Klaxtons, the Celtics, and many more other ancient peoples, all of whom had severe drinking problems." -Dave Barry
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Summer Love
(Inspired by one of my sister's essays from all her recent college application preparation.)
As with all matters of the heart, I could think of nothing else. On the plane ride home, his scent lingered on my clothes, and his deep green eyes seemed to stare at me from every window reflection...I kept glancing through the photos we'd taken together on my phone, feeling a tug of nostalgia as each memory reentered my mind. Good byes are never easy...
The beginning was tentative. I sought to protect myself from painful past experiences repeating themselves, and as he observed and evaluated me, I strove to maintain an aloof sort of apathy. When he brushed gently against my body as he walked by, I pretended not to notice. When he threw me sidelong glances, as if gazing deep into my soul, I hastily averted my eyes. Once or twice, I couldn't help myself...losing control, I submitted to my impatient desire and reached out to stroke his soft cheek, feeling tingles of satisfaction as his eyes closed with pleasure. These rare precious occasions turned into a daily routine, and soon, we were inseparable. We spent hours in the house alone, with only each other for company. He watched Olympics with me, listened to me practice, and sat at the table with me as I ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Though sweet, he was a complicated personality--he's the type that always wants to play a little hard-to-get. Snuggled up in my arms, just when I thought I'd won him over, he would pull himself out of my embrace and walk away, looking back at me as if to say, "You're great, but I've got better things to do." Usually I don't like to play such games...I like straight-up honesty, laying each other's emotional cards on the table. But with him, it was different. I was mesmerized--each time I earned his attention was a personal victory.
Before I knew it, our time together was over. Summer was coming to a close, and I had to go home...all good things must end. He was still sleeping when I left. I didn't want to wake him. I wanted my last image of him to be one of peace and pure happiness. Plus, farewells are a weakness of mine. Maybe it was best not to say good bye.
Often I think back to all our good times, the undeniable connection we shared...and though he never admitted it, I just know that deep down inside that complex soul of his, he loves me. Though we may be miles and oceans apart, Sirius will always be in my heart.
As with all matters of the heart, I could think of nothing else. On the plane ride home, his scent lingered on my clothes, and his deep green eyes seemed to stare at me from every window reflection...I kept glancing through the photos we'd taken together on my phone, feeling a tug of nostalgia as each memory reentered my mind. Good byes are never easy...
The beginning was tentative. I sought to protect myself from painful past experiences repeating themselves, and as he observed and evaluated me, I strove to maintain an aloof sort of apathy. When he brushed gently against my body as he walked by, I pretended not to notice. When he threw me sidelong glances, as if gazing deep into my soul, I hastily averted my eyes. Once or twice, I couldn't help myself...losing control, I submitted to my impatient desire and reached out to stroke his soft cheek, feeling tingles of satisfaction as his eyes closed with pleasure. These rare precious occasions turned into a daily routine, and soon, we were inseparable. We spent hours in the house alone, with only each other for company. He watched Olympics with me, listened to me practice, and sat at the table with me as I ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Though sweet, he was a complicated personality--he's the type that always wants to play a little hard-to-get. Snuggled up in my arms, just when I thought I'd won him over, he would pull himself out of my embrace and walk away, looking back at me as if to say, "You're great, but I've got better things to do." Usually I don't like to play such games...I like straight-up honesty, laying each other's emotional cards on the table. But with him, it was different. I was mesmerized--each time I earned his attention was a personal victory.
Before I knew it, our time together was over. Summer was coming to a close, and I had to go home...all good things must end. He was still sleeping when I left. I didn't want to wake him. I wanted my last image of him to be one of peace and pure happiness. Plus, farewells are a weakness of mine. Maybe it was best not to say good bye.
Often I think back to all our good times, the undeniable connection we shared...and though he never admitted it, I just know that deep down inside that complex soul of his, he loves me. Though we may be miles and oceans apart, Sirius will always be in my heart.
Hehe. Just kidding. :) But in all seriousness, I really do miss this cat. So surprised I wasn't allergic to him!
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Van Gogh
(Finally making an extra effort to write more entries.)
I visited the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam yesterday, and just wanted to do a little show-and-tell of the paintings most memorable to me, because I think they're worth sharing. Lately, I've been motivated to understand more about art--not just to learn about it, but to form opinions about it on my own, without reading the little placards and background information. So, going to an actual museum and witnessing the paintings firsthand is usually quite the workout for my brain.
This is the only painting of Van Gogh's that makes me feel calm. I guess I could be technical and say, it has less of those vigorous little brushstroke lines and dots that he's so famous for, but I'd rather say it's an intangible overall feeling of peace that he exudes through his drawing. Then I read the placard and found out that he drew this to depict that the bedroom is a place of peace and rest.
I didn't like this painting from the first moment I saw it on posters in the gift shop, and I couldn't figure out why. Later I realized that it made me feel lonely. I think proportions are a big thing to notice in Van Gogh, and it's interesting how he (intentionally or unintentionally) uses unusual proportions to exude emotion. This painting strikes me as...so so so lonely. Looking at it immediately saddened me. Especially that little red patch all by itself in the bottom middle. (Is it a coincidence that Van Gogh was a redhead? Hm.)
Maybe my favorite painting I saw yesterday, not only because irises are my favorite flower, but also because Van Gogh said that he wanted to demonstrate the way opposite colors strengthen each other when they are combined. So simple and wise. :)
My sister's favorite. :) I love the unabashedly bold signature in red.
Just an example of what is "typical" of Van Gogh's paintings...there is so much going on, it almost makes my head hurt. A lot of paint piled and squeezed right onto the surface, so that it's almost like half-sculpture, half-painting. A lot of MOVEMENT, and overwhelming feeling. There's an inhuman, tumultuous amount of emotion he's trying to express all at once. I really don't think a sane man could have created something like this.
I visited the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam yesterday, and just wanted to do a little show-and-tell of the paintings most memorable to me, because I think they're worth sharing. Lately, I've been motivated to understand more about art--not just to learn about it, but to form opinions about it on my own, without reading the little placards and background information. So, going to an actual museum and witnessing the paintings firsthand is usually quite the workout for my brain.
This is the only painting of Van Gogh's that makes me feel calm. I guess I could be technical and say, it has less of those vigorous little brushstroke lines and dots that he's so famous for, but I'd rather say it's an intangible overall feeling of peace that he exudes through his drawing. Then I read the placard and found out that he drew this to depict that the bedroom is a place of peace and rest.
I didn't like this painting from the first moment I saw it on posters in the gift shop, and I couldn't figure out why. Later I realized that it made me feel lonely. I think proportions are a big thing to notice in Van Gogh, and it's interesting how he (intentionally or unintentionally) uses unusual proportions to exude emotion. This painting strikes me as...so so so lonely. Looking at it immediately saddened me. Especially that little red patch all by itself in the bottom middle. (Is it a coincidence that Van Gogh was a redhead? Hm.)
Maybe my favorite painting I saw yesterday, not only because irises are my favorite flower, but also because Van Gogh said that he wanted to demonstrate the way opposite colors strengthen each other when they are combined. So simple and wise. :)
My sister's favorite. :) I love the unabashedly bold signature in red.
Just an example of what is "typical" of Van Gogh's paintings...there is so much going on, it almost makes my head hurt. A lot of paint piled and squeezed right onto the surface, so that it's almost like half-sculpture, half-painting. A lot of MOVEMENT, and overwhelming feeling. There's an inhuman, tumultuous amount of emotion he's trying to express all at once. I really don't think a sane man could have created something like this.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Anna Karenina
My favorite part:
"Wait," he said, sitting down at the table. "There's one thing I've long wanted to ask you."
He looked straight into her tender though frightened eyes.
"Please do."
"Here," he said, and wrote the initial letters: w, y, a, m: t, c, b, d, i, m, n, o, t? These letters meant: "When you answered me: 'that cannot be', did it mean never or then?" There was no likelihood that she would be able to understand this complex phrase, but he watched her with such a look as if his life depended on her understanding these words.
She glanced at him seriously, then leaned her knitted brow on her hand and began to read. Occasionally she glanced at him, asking with her glance: "Is this what I think?"
"I understand," she said, blushing.
"What is this word?" he said, pointing to the n that signified the word never.
"That means the word never," she said, "but it's not true!"
He quickly erased what was written, gave her the chalk and got up. She wrote: t, I, c, g, n, o, a.
...He suddenly beamed: he had understood. It meant: "Then I could give no other answer."
He glanced at her questioningly, timidly.
"Only then?"
"Yes," her smile replied.
"And n...And now?" he asked.
"Well, here, read this. I'll tell you what I would wish. Would wish very much!" She wrote the initial letters: t, y, c, f, a, f, w, h. It meant,: "that you could forgive and forget what happened."
He seized the chalk with his tense, trembling fingers and, breaking it, wrote the initial letters of the following: "I have nothing to forgive and forget, I have never stopped loving you."
She glanced at him, the smile staying on her lips.
"I understand," she said in a whisper.
"Wait," he said, sitting down at the table. "There's one thing I've long wanted to ask you."
He looked straight into her tender though frightened eyes.
"Please do."
"Here," he said, and wrote the initial letters: w, y, a, m: t, c, b, d, i, m, n, o, t? These letters meant: "When you answered me: 'that cannot be', did it mean never or then?" There was no likelihood that she would be able to understand this complex phrase, but he watched her with such a look as if his life depended on her understanding these words.
She glanced at him seriously, then leaned her knitted brow on her hand and began to read. Occasionally she glanced at him, asking with her glance: "Is this what I think?"
"I understand," she said, blushing.
"What is this word?" he said, pointing to the n that signified the word never.
"That means the word never," she said, "but it's not true!"
He quickly erased what was written, gave her the chalk and got up. She wrote: t, I, c, g, n, o, a.
...He suddenly beamed: he had understood. It meant: "Then I could give no other answer."
He glanced at her questioningly, timidly.
"Only then?"
"Yes," her smile replied.
"And n...And now?" he asked.
"Well, here, read this. I'll tell you what I would wish. Would wish very much!" She wrote the initial letters: t, y, c, f, a, f, w, h. It meant,: "that you could forgive and forget what happened."
He seized the chalk with his tense, trembling fingers and, breaking it, wrote the initial letters of the following: "I have nothing to forgive and forget, I have never stopped loving you."
She glanced at him, the smile staying on her lips.
"I understand," she said in a whisper.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Home Videos
I think everyone goes through two stages of puberty--the famous first being the teenage years of physical growth, emotional turmoil, and self-definition...and the less frequently mentioned but, in my opinion, just as significant, being these nebulous years between going off to college and becoming independently financially stable. Physically, you're in that weird transition between dealing with both pimples and wrinkles...wanting to celebrate your youth by pulling all-nighters, sky-diving, working out etc. but also feeling alarmingly sore after a simple airplane ride, getting creaky bones when it rains, forgetting basic things (like your dad's Chinese name, or your sister's age)... Socially, you're stuck between the Adult Table and Kiddie Table at family friend gatherings. Do you join the adults, who are talking about subjects with which you can keep up, but are unfortunately being discussed in Chinese? Or do you join the kids, exuding adolescence awkwardness brought on by high school stresses and middle school dramas? Financially, you're utterly confused. When you're at college, you make generally all decisions about where/how to spend your money--groceries, travel tickets, clothes--and finally with your own credit/debit card, you have the freedom to buy secret presents for your parents that really will be secret. At the same time, you can't fool anyone: it's still your parents' money, and will be for a while, until you've had a job long enough to fully support yourself. And until then, as much as you feel entitled to, you can't justifiably INSIST on anything from your parents...not really. And emotionally, it's just another ongoing stage of discovering that vaguely specific answer of who you want to be.
At least this is how I feel right now.
There's also a point that maybe everyone reaches at one time or another, when you're at home with your parents (maybe on a break from college), and you start thinking, this doesn't feel as "right" as it used to. Being nagged at about sleeping early enough, not talking on the phone for too long, and eating fruit just seems ridiculous at this age, especially after having survived out in the world (of college) on your own. I've started to experience little snatches of these moments, when I think I'd choose being on my own over being with my family. It's SO bizarre. At the same time, I also start feeling little snatches of moments where it's now my responsibility to take care of them, instead of the other way around. Roles are constantly being switched around, where one moment it's my mom or dad yelling at me to hurry up and take a shower before it's too late, and the next moment I'm lecturing them about keeping the kitchen area clean or whatever.
But then there are the days when things are back to normal. The last 2 days when I got home in the evening, my parents and sister were sitting in the family room around the TV, with miscellaneous snacks on the sofa, telling riddles, my dad trying to outsmart us with sadly unsuccessful trick questions, my mom in a hyper state of continual laughter, my sister propping her giant feet on the table and promptly knocking over 3 or 4 things. And though I had a bunch of things to do before I could relax for the night, all I wanted to do was plop down next to them and just...be with them.
I woke up at 3:50am today to take them to the airport. When I got home, I couldn't fall back asleep, so I dug out some old video tapes that my parents took from before I was born. It's amazing to watch my mom and dad before they had kids. There were also some scenes of my grandparents visiting when my parents got their house in San Jose. I think I got my habit of harboring and talking to a multitude of stuffed animal from my grandma. And I think I got my persistence and silent/constant interest in food from my grandpa.
So, so happy that we have these videos. I'm such a firm believer in keeping a record of everything, whether it's through words or pictures, audio or visual. Happy happy happy. :)
At least this is how I feel right now.
There's also a point that maybe everyone reaches at one time or another, when you're at home with your parents (maybe on a break from college), and you start thinking, this doesn't feel as "right" as it used to. Being nagged at about sleeping early enough, not talking on the phone for too long, and eating fruit just seems ridiculous at this age, especially after having survived out in the world (of college) on your own. I've started to experience little snatches of these moments, when I think I'd choose being on my own over being with my family. It's SO bizarre. At the same time, I also start feeling little snatches of moments where it's now my responsibility to take care of them, instead of the other way around. Roles are constantly being switched around, where one moment it's my mom or dad yelling at me to hurry up and take a shower before it's too late, and the next moment I'm lecturing them about keeping the kitchen area clean or whatever.
But then there are the days when things are back to normal. The last 2 days when I got home in the evening, my parents and sister were sitting in the family room around the TV, with miscellaneous snacks on the sofa, telling riddles, my dad trying to outsmart us with sadly unsuccessful trick questions, my mom in a hyper state of continual laughter, my sister propping her giant feet on the table and promptly knocking over 3 or 4 things. And though I had a bunch of things to do before I could relax for the night, all I wanted to do was plop down next to them and just...be with them.
I woke up at 3:50am today to take them to the airport. When I got home, I couldn't fall back asleep, so I dug out some old video tapes that my parents took from before I was born. It's amazing to watch my mom and dad before they had kids. There were also some scenes of my grandparents visiting when my parents got their house in San Jose. I think I got my habit of harboring and talking to a multitude of stuffed animal from my grandma. And I think I got my persistence and silent/constant interest in food from my grandpa.
So, so happy that we have these videos. I'm such a firm believer in keeping a record of everything, whether it's through words or pictures, audio or visual. Happy happy happy. :)
Monday, June 25, 2012
Wisdom
Middlemarch Quote #6: A true love for a good woman is a great thing...it shapes many a rough fellow.
Middlemarch Quote #7: ...after a little pause, she said, more gravely, bending her face before her father's, "If you are contented with Fred?"
Caleb screwed up his mouth and turned his head aside wisely.
"Now, father, you did praise him last Wednesday. You said he had an uncommon notion of stock, and a good eye for things."
"Did I?" said Caleb, rather slyly.
"Yes, I put it all down, and the date, anno Domini, and everything," said Mary. "You like things to be neatly booked. And then his behavior to you, father, is really good; he has a deep respect for you; and it is impossible to have a better temper than Fred has."
"Ay, ay; you want to coax me into thinking him a fine match."
"No, indeed, father. I don't love him because he is a fine match."
"What for, then?"
"Oh, dear, because I have always loved him. I should never like scolding any one else so well; and that is a point to be thought of in a husband."
Elinor Dashwood now has Mary Garth as a companion on my short but dear list of most beloved literary characters.
Middlemarch Quote #7: ...after a little pause, she said, more gravely, bending her face before her father's, "If you are contented with Fred?"
Caleb screwed up his mouth and turned his head aside wisely.
"Now, father, you did praise him last Wednesday. You said he had an uncommon notion of stock, and a good eye for things."
"Did I?" said Caleb, rather slyly.
"Yes, I put it all down, and the date, anno Domini, and everything," said Mary. "You like things to be neatly booked. And then his behavior to you, father, is really good; he has a deep respect for you; and it is impossible to have a better temper than Fred has."
"Ay, ay; you want to coax me into thinking him a fine match."
"No, indeed, father. I don't love him because he is a fine match."
"What for, then?"
"Oh, dear, because I have always loved him. I should never like scolding any one else so well; and that is a point to be thought of in a husband."
Elinor Dashwood now has Mary Garth as a companion on my short but dear list of most beloved literary characters.
Mood Swings
One of life's ever-fascinating entertainments (especially if you're female) is observing your own mood swings. Yesterday I had three very abrupt ones, each progressively more alarming/drastic. In the morning, I went to the farmer's market with my mom, and I guess eating all the free food samples put me in a really cheerful mood, because I suddenly got into one of those uncontrollable laughing fits, during which the fact that I have no idea why I'm laughing just propels me to even greater hysteria. Unfortunately, this happened while I was driving out of the parking lot, and my poor mom had to endure a probably terrifying ride home at the hands of a laughing maniac.
At the farmer's market, I convinced her to buy two pieces of cinnamon coffee cake. The samples were SO good, and I thought one piece MIGHT not be enough for our family, but two pieces definitely would be. After lunch I cut a small piece, thinking I'd exercise my generosity and leave some for the others before coming back to claim more. But an hour or so later, I came back and discovered that my dad had finished BOTH PIECES BY HIMSELF without consulting me. I was so devastated that I actually cried. I'm not even kidding--tears welled up in my eyes, and I got that tingly sensation where it feels like a bunch of tiny needles are poking into my nose. Of course, after five seconds or so, I realized how stupid I was being and calmed down...but it was a pretty sad moment for sure.
Later, I was wandering around the house and came across this red pencil sharpener that I love, because it works super well and is really fun to use. This led to a very enthusiastic pencil-sharpening rampage; I started with the pencils in my room, and proceeded to sharpen all the pencils in my house. Then I decided to test all the pens in the house and throw away the ones that ran out of ink. I don't know if other households are like this, but in mine, it seems like every time I really need a functional pencil, all I can find in our pencil boxes are completely random and useless things, like a highlighter or a glow-in-the-dark marker, or an unsharpened colored pencil...this has been a problem for as long as I can remember, so I was very happy to finally solve it. I went on to organize the erasers, markers, colored pencils, scissors, glue sticks, and basically all stationery items. Now, everything is easily accessible, and every pencil can/box in the house is readily equipped with a perfect balance of writing tools (usually three pencils--one with an eraser and two without, two black pens, one colored pen, one marker, and one colored pencil). We also have a communal pencil box where we can store extra pencils etc. Sadly, neither my family nor friends who came over later were especially interested/impressed...I think they were just glad I had something with which to occupy myself so cheerfully, and when I tried to explain to any passersby about the pencil system or communal pencil box, they kind of ignored me and walked a little more quickly away from me. Then my dad came over and was all like, "Jennifer, since you are so good at cleaning, why don't you also work on the kitchen, and these cabinets, and also the floors in your room-" and he went on for a while. That's when I sort of lost my enthusiasm for organizing, and decided it'd be a good idea to leave the house for a while.
But it's mood swings like this that we female musicians can draw on when we have to play stuff like the Ein Heldenleben solos and Tchaikovsky concerto. Hehe.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
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