hey all...
I will be back soon... on the conference trail... love to you all...
Stevie
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Friday, March 07, 2008
Scott at Not Quite Carnegie Hall.
So I wanted to vlog a sample of Scott on the piano for ages... and wanted to record him playing Fur Elise... but sadly our 108 year old Nordheimer Cabinet Grand blew the middle C key recently, and it is fairly important to the piece! Here he is playing Melody by Viktor Kossenko... um... and round about the middle, my computer, Alex, announced the time... hee hee!
So there are a few missing Cs in this piece, but far fewer than in the Fur Elise. I am very proud of his rendition though so I will record him on a piano NOT missing middle C.
So without further ado.... I give you, Scott Stevens, performing live at the Moorish Mansion.
Val, I added this next vlog because I took it (using my computer, so neither are the best of recordings... will have to get a proper vid cam soon) at Scott's lesson today. He is playing a piece by Bach, and while the piece is fairly short, the vid is long because you will finally get a taste of The Russian Piano Teacher, Inga. She absolutely ADORES Scott but she is so strict! Her vision is all but gone now, and she will be risking cataract surgery soon. For her is is a risk because she has had retinal detachment in both eyes, and one is totally blind, so losing the other will mean never reading music again. I am hoping she might consider brail... but...
About three quarters of the way through, if you listen, she says to Scott "ah! told you million times..." when he does not continue with a crescendo long enough. I am glad to have caught it because she is so funny when she says it, it is her favourite frustrated expression, and one day Scott will look back at this video and laugh at the memory!
anyhow, it about 11 minutes and I don't expect you to watch it all, but by the end you can hear the improvement her method makes already!
xo
Stevie
(ok, still trying to get the vid on... having technical difficulties)
So there are a few missing Cs in this piece, but far fewer than in the Fur Elise. I am very proud of his rendition though so I will record him on a piano NOT missing middle C.
So without further ado.... I give you, Scott Stevens, performing live at the Moorish Mansion.
Val, I added this next vlog because I took it (using my computer, so neither are the best of recordings... will have to get a proper vid cam soon) at Scott's lesson today. He is playing a piece by Bach, and while the piece is fairly short, the vid is long because you will finally get a taste of The Russian Piano Teacher, Inga. She absolutely ADORES Scott but she is so strict! Her vision is all but gone now, and she will be risking cataract surgery soon. For her is is a risk because she has had retinal detachment in both eyes, and one is totally blind, so losing the other will mean never reading music again. I am hoping she might consider brail... but...
About three quarters of the way through, if you listen, she says to Scott "ah! told you million times..." when he does not continue with a crescendo long enough. I am glad to have caught it because she is so funny when she says it, it is her favourite frustrated expression, and one day Scott will look back at this video and laugh at the memory!
anyhow, it about 11 minutes and I don't expect you to watch it all, but by the end you can hear the improvement her method makes already!
xo
Stevie
(ok, still trying to get the vid on... having technical difficulties)
Monday, March 03, 2008
As per the Dragon's order.
Ok, someone told me recently that I need to laugh more to relieve stress… so I am going to tell you a story that is long overdue in the telling and hope it makes you all laugh… it always cracks me up.
This story is called Rachel and the chickens.
Rachel, my Dearest Dru, is a dear young friend of mine who grew up in Invermere. She is tall, very slim, and very gorgeously goth. Rachel is also vegan.
This is a photo of Rachel that I lifted from her facebook... sadly it is quite small, so I will ask her to shoot me over a larger one. (I really love this one by the way Dearest Dru. You are gorgeous.)
While her parents were away and she was taking care of the house, her mother asked her to be sure to go and pick up the Hutterite chickens she had ordered.
Now, a lot of people in the valley order Hutterite chickens. They are generally much larger than your regular grocery store offerings, and much less prone to have chemicals in them.
You pre-order, and when the chicken man arrives with his big freezer equipped truck you collect your order and pay up.
So Rachel, being a good daughter, agrees to pick up her mother’s chickens for her despite the fact she abhors meat. The appointed day arrives, and she drives to the specified pick up zone, but as it was a busy summer Saturday with the farmer’s market in full swing, Rachel had to park a couple of blocks away, walk down to the crowded market area and attempt to find the Chicken Man.
Weaving her way through market shoppers and vendor’s stalls, Rachel searched in vain for the Chicken Man.
Round and round the market… peering around corners and asking people she knew as they passed, “have you seen the Chicken Man?”
Finally she found a large truck tucked in behind Gerry’s Gelati, a café that opens up and faces the busy marketplace.
Rachel, by this time more than a little harried, went to the back of the truck to find the Chicken Man… but there was no one there…
A tad on the frustrated side, Rachel waits a few minutes, then climbs up into the back of the truck (clarify for me Dearest Dru, were you in a skirt? I seem to recall you saying you were in a skirt with fishnets… but I could be wrong) and peeks into the deep freeze. Sure enough, there were chickens in there, frozen ones, and one of the bags had her mother’s name on it.
Then, without warning or preamble, she hears a voice demand what she is doing in the truck.
Turning, she finally laid eyes on him: it was the Chicken Man.
“I am picking up chickens for my mother,” Rachel explained.
The Chicken Man hoisted himself in to the truck and popped open the freezer again, taking the cheque from Rachel and handing a large bag of dead, frozen, very not vegan approved chickens.
Clutching them to her chest to keep from the chickens from dropping, the horrified Rachel began her trek back to the car, bobbing and weaving through the market again and making her way back up to the parking lot, all the while her arms wrapped around the icy cold bag pressed against her.
By the time I saw her several hours later at the video store she worked at, she had a slightly manic look in her eyes. Up until that point, she had not had anyone to relate her tale to.
She saw me… and blurted out “Chickens!” or something to that effect and proceeded to tell me about her experience.
I should point out that up until this very moment in time, Rachel and I were really just acquaintances, and this was the moment we broke the barrier fully into friendship.
Every time I imagine her clutching that bag of frozen chickens to her chest I smile… and more often than not, crack up.
So there you have it. Rachel and the Frozen Chickens. Kind of has a vegan children’s horror novel ring to it, don’t you think?
Disclaimer: To protect innocent chickens the names of none were changed.
This story is called Rachel and the chickens.
Rachel, my Dearest Dru, is a dear young friend of mine who grew up in Invermere. She is tall, very slim, and very gorgeously goth. Rachel is also vegan.
This is a photo of Rachel that I lifted from her facebook... sadly it is quite small, so I will ask her to shoot me over a larger one. (I really love this one by the way Dearest Dru. You are gorgeous.)
While her parents were away and she was taking care of the house, her mother asked her to be sure to go and pick up the Hutterite chickens she had ordered.
Now, a lot of people in the valley order Hutterite chickens. They are generally much larger than your regular grocery store offerings, and much less prone to have chemicals in them.
You pre-order, and when the chicken man arrives with his big freezer equipped truck you collect your order and pay up.
So Rachel, being a good daughter, agrees to pick up her mother’s chickens for her despite the fact she abhors meat. The appointed day arrives, and she drives to the specified pick up zone, but as it was a busy summer Saturday with the farmer’s market in full swing, Rachel had to park a couple of blocks away, walk down to the crowded market area and attempt to find the Chicken Man.
Weaving her way through market shoppers and vendor’s stalls, Rachel searched in vain for the Chicken Man.
Round and round the market… peering around corners and asking people she knew as they passed, “have you seen the Chicken Man?”
Finally she found a large truck tucked in behind Gerry’s Gelati, a café that opens up and faces the busy marketplace.
Rachel, by this time more than a little harried, went to the back of the truck to find the Chicken Man… but there was no one there…
A tad on the frustrated side, Rachel waits a few minutes, then climbs up into the back of the truck (clarify for me Dearest Dru, were you in a skirt? I seem to recall you saying you were in a skirt with fishnets… but I could be wrong) and peeks into the deep freeze. Sure enough, there were chickens in there, frozen ones, and one of the bags had her mother’s name on it.
Then, without warning or preamble, she hears a voice demand what she is doing in the truck.
Turning, she finally laid eyes on him: it was the Chicken Man.
“I am picking up chickens for my mother,” Rachel explained.
The Chicken Man hoisted himself in to the truck and popped open the freezer again, taking the cheque from Rachel and handing a large bag of dead, frozen, very not vegan approved chickens.
Clutching them to her chest to keep from the chickens from dropping, the horrified Rachel began her trek back to the car, bobbing and weaving through the market again and making her way back up to the parking lot, all the while her arms wrapped around the icy cold bag pressed against her.
By the time I saw her several hours later at the video store she worked at, she had a slightly manic look in her eyes. Up until that point, she had not had anyone to relate her tale to.
She saw me… and blurted out “Chickens!” or something to that effect and proceeded to tell me about her experience.
I should point out that up until this very moment in time, Rachel and I were really just acquaintances, and this was the moment we broke the barrier fully into friendship.
Every time I imagine her clutching that bag of frozen chickens to her chest I smile… and more often than not, crack up.
So there you have it. Rachel and the Frozen Chickens. Kind of has a vegan children’s horror novel ring to it, don’t you think?
Disclaimer: To protect innocent chickens the names of none were changed.
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