Tuesday, July 20, 2004

Back from the OLWS

Ahoy, readers! Lectori salutem!
It's time I checked back -- yes, it's been a long time since I last committed a single entry to this one-man show platform. Things in Valhalla haven't been quiet, but me being my usual busy and ignorant self, I rather tended to the affairs that needed action, not words.
Well, that's not entirely true. Most actions needed words, and not a little at that, but I'm happy to announce that my entry exam is now complete with the orals left behind, and I managed to achieve a striking 120 points, which is the standard maximum score. Actually, usually this would mean a huge celebration of wine and boef, optionally some quaffing and carousing, however this result struck me as quite unexpected, and now I really don't know what the hell am I going to with my recently-gained entry to the university.
And may I add, at this age...
Anyway, of course I read the Austen novel long ago now, that is, Northanger Abbey, and indeed, there were some spoofs of gothick novels, and the point is driven straight at home with them. All in all, I've had a blast reading it, therefore I wholeheartedly recommend reading this novel to every one of you. (That is, every one of you who don't have an overwhelming aversion to anything even remotely romantic.)
In the meantime, I've had my fair share of partying here in Valhalla, a lot of work (and I do mean a lot), but things are slowly getting done. I still have a hell of a lot of organizing to do, but I will try to keep this blog alive, however, day-to-day chronicling of my life here in aeternum is going to cease. This thing is going to change if that's the last thing I do. I'm thinking along the lines of starting my first attempts at writing a serial novel here.
We'll see each other soon, then... I just have to come up with a feasible idea for a serial.
That's just like child's play, ain't it?

Friday, June 25, 2004

a bit hazy

Sheesh. I feel just like living in London. Why? Well, I'm listening to Virgin Radio UK (thank God for internet streaming) -- if only nationwide radio stations here in Valhalla would play music that is only half this great, I'd be in tears... And... It's raining. Raaaa-eeee-neeeeng. All the fucking time today. Okay, that's a slight exaggeration, as morning and noon were busy amassing huge and nasty-looking gray clouds all over the horizon, and about 3pm payback time arrived.

And I feel slightly stupid wearing only jeans and a chinese long-sleeved black light peasant coat.

To make matters worse, I also have my Matrix-like sunglasses with me.

And we're supposed to go out tonight.

Hard to make matters any worse, right?

BTW, last night's football match in the European Championships was rather special. I'm rooting for Porto most of the time, and last night they really had me on the edges of my seat. The last 30 minutes were more thrilling than the average late-night horror movie... And yesss, Porto won, knocking England out of the tournament. Too bad that cheater badass superstar fucking missed his cue (you know who I'm talking about, and I have a rather strong (and not a bit positive) opinion about a guy who nails Posh Spice (which is acceptable still) but then screws up and marries her (which is not acceptable, really) and then he pulls a Bobby Brown on her not long after their second offspring has been born -- the guy most definitely doesn't have a fucking clue what he's doing).

OK, enough ranting for a day. Still got a pending newsletter registration software authoring to do, so back to some bit-juggling.

template change

Hey, I was bored with the first template. How about this new one? It's very chic, ain't it?

Hell yeah, probably ain't. But for the time being, I like it, and I'm gonna stick with it.

Like it or not.

Jane Austen, contd.

Hmm. Just last night my SO called my attention to the fact that I'm a straight guy, wearing black but stylish clothes, looking all straight and all, and the J.A. book's cover is pink. Erm. Maybe people will get the wrong idea. Yea, I'm in a good relationship with my feminine side, but puh-lease...

Anyway, the book is still a joy to read, the story is unfolding in a steady pace, still a good laugh, but I have yet to have the first truly LOL reference (i.e. parody) of the gothick that was promised in the liner notes, and I'm already about halfway through. Nevertheless, if there's not a single reference to gothica, I'll still be OK with the book, because the wit and sarcasm is still going very strong.

However, if I look at the situation from the outside, I'm still reading a fucking romantic girlie novel! What the heck. Done weirder things in my time.

And yes, I'm straight. Not even a closet bisexual.

Those days are long gone now.


Thursday, June 24, 2004

Jane Austen

Oh dear gracious God. Get a load of this: I'm actually reading a Jane Austen novel. And what's even more frightening, despite being a healthy boy with good-old testosterone laden (and sometimes driven) mind, I actually like it. The book in question is 'Northanger Abbey', and, as I've learned from the liner notes, is quite a bit special in Austen's line of work, being the only novel which pokes a lot of well-deserved fun at the then-chic gothic novels while being a witty, even sarcastical reflection on romantic novels -- and that is quite a feat, considering it was born in the age of romantic novels, and penned by none other than a lady.

You know what, I usually tend to hate anything that is officially declared 'romantic'. Oh, no, not the natural phenomena, like a beautiful rainbow, or an especially dramatic sunset, because only fledling fools attribute them any relation to lace, long deep looks, heaving and generally things that make schoolgirls with too much free time damp and moist at various places. No, I'm more of a 'natural' romantic in the way a well-pointed sad songs gets me, and sometimes I tend to slip into daydreaming about escaping this place and... Well, anyways, Jane Austen is declaredly one of the more famous romantic writers, therefore I should have quite a lot of aversion towards her creations. Still, as she has a profound in-depth knowledge of the femine soul, she is logically the best suited person to make gentle, loving fun of it. And if there's something I most definitely like -- come on, having Vonnegut, Palahniuk and Pratchett as my favourite English-language penners is a dead giveaway -- is irony. If in large quantities, all the better.

So far, I'm one-tenth into the book, but it's getting better and better, and I wouldn't be lying if I said that I was immediately hooked by the opening chapter which attacks then-vogue romantic clichés with such tongue-in-a-cheek vim & vigor, I couldn't help but laugh out loud. Attagirl! What heights of satirical venom this book might reach in both gothic & romantic nuances, I still have to see.

Speaking of romanticism, you know, like romantic poetry, it's been quite a while since I last had any writing done, besides this blog, of course. Probably sinking into such a philistine lifestyle with only a few jarring endeavours to prove my foolhardy independece left its rusty mark on my creativity, too. But, alas, what is there to write about when one is modestly happy with his life? Know what, I was always on the point to stress that happiness is for living it through, it's mostly only the negative feelings & thoughts that are worthy of committing to paper (or disk, this being the modern age). But what the hell, I've got shitloads of work to do, gotta earn hard cash, as renovating a flat in Valhalla ain't that cheap, either. Being a demigod helps you not -- can't really get mortgages on semidivine powers alone.

Ah, on renovation... Last weekend I had the occasion to burn through a lot of cash, which I suitably rose to. Now I'm poorer with about $300 and richer with none less than three bookcases, two working desks, two rugs (with stoppers) and a roll of cane blinds. Splendid!

On the past weekend... Hmmm, lots of fun... was promised, what forgathered was slightly less, but rich in tones of hangover and a slight feeling of guilt and stupidity, shaken and stirred with physical joy. Well, don't wanna say too much about it, but one of the high points of Saturday was the moment when I got stuck at the base of a massive fireworks... Never have I stood so close to the launching points, and guys, it was quite a thrill. It was nice, too.

But not romantic. Not one smithereen.

Thursday, June 17, 2004

one note affairs

Greetings, citizens! We are from the planet Jazz and we're invading this place.

Noooo mercy.

Rejoice, rejoice! Sound the fanfares and open the gates of heaven! Or do something comparably majestic and cheerful according to your tradition! Behold: the third chapter of this Tuesday's recording sessions is now online. Spent nearly an hour (while the Valhalla TV was broadcasting an old episode of Martial Law) mixing it, and now here's the result. Fire at will! (Poor, poor William. Everybody's shooting at him all of a sudden.)

On a side note, I just learned the results of my written entry exams:

(actually, I need some space to make my blastingly cheerful voice come out right and in proportion on this page)

40 out of 40 points!

Hot damn, it feels good just shouting this out loud.

music... cornered; yes, a special edition

Greetings, my friends! I have came in peace.

Ah yes, as if. I came in pieces after last night, dropping by a gig in one of my favourite chillout open-air places, where, notwithstanding my eldritch age, I had quite a lot of fun. In the company of both spiritual and biological... teenagers. Ouch. I guess I kinda looked a bit out of place with me being old enough to be a daddy to most of the chicks there. (Some girls though made me wish I was their sick, incestive sugar daddy...) Well, ahem, anyway, it was lucky that I actually paid my visit after I finished up my vocal recording sessions with Odin.

Hah, I think by now you can guess that this entry's really about these vocal sessions. Rrrroight.

So, after a horribly disfigured attempt at burning my vocal bits into CD format last christmas (nevertheless, people seem to dig it -- never mind pitch precision and all, music for the masses doesn't necessarily have to have a blue ribbon written all over its sleeve), I took my chance to set my voice in stone (or, to be precise, some sort of silver-nitrate-cyanide or whatever what makes up a CD), and I hereby present you, true believers, the results of the recording sessions. Two tracks are still in the phase of mixing (one is being mixed by yours truly, the other one -- also by truly -- is being reassembled and made into a heavily danceable bigbeat act), but here are two brand-new (just finished downmixing them) and one old (yes, the disfigured attempt itself) songs.

Grab them here (hot latin jazz action), here (Ol' Blue Eyes spinning steadfast in his grave) and here (going to your head, the disfigured attempt itself). Listen to them at classy, snobbish parties in top-of-a-skyscraper luxury apartment, preferrably at night and in open air, at medium volume. If you score with someone to this music, all the better. Just be reminded: there is such a thing as a copyright on these recordings, they're strictly promotional (either to inform the world on my greatness and make everyone bow down before me, or to let the cognoscenti know that I suck donkey ass as a singer), so have fun, but make sure I'm the first to know if any of these tracks are supposed to surface on any sold albums.

Friday night is karaoke night, again!

Tuesday, June 08, 2004

awww shite

Well hot damn, in the course of just one week I managed to tear down a few of my precious ideals. Guess that happens when your postmortem soul begins waltzing around, bringing out old and dusty skeletons of oft-ignored personality traits out of the closet of the subconscious. High fidelity my ass. Worse things happen, and I'm counting 1, 2, 3... OK, gotta focus a little bit.

What's happening? This happening: as y'all are sure not to know, but as far as astrology goes, I am one hell of a happy dead camper, finger on the trigger in the Demolish-Me game fire button arsenal. I am a rare bird, in which I am an aquarius with a taurus ascendant. Go on, kids, go to any good astrology site (my suggestion would be www.cainer.com, the guy has an uncannily nasty tendency to hit the proverbial nail on its proverbial head), and check under "love or personality matches according to astrological sign", and try to match up an aquarius and a taurus. Then sit back, relax, mix up a big fat serving of tequila sunrise, and enjoy the unfolding nuclear meltdown. Yip. There are signs that are just purely unmatchable. Totally different worlds. I mean totally. Not an inch of swerving room. Nope. Nada. And here I am, Mr. Happy Dead Camper Valhalla Guy, having both sets of personality in me.

Oh, wait, don't call 911 just yet. I don't need no wacko suit.

See, as far as sanity is concerned, I'm usually regarded to be as sane as a brick (and may I add, I have yet to see a loony brick). Steadfast. Headstrong. Still cradling at least 3 basic personalities in my head. How's that possible? Easy. Try to answer something... what is a personality? A voice? Might go mute, but still the writing carries the personality on. A face? Might get mutilated, disfigured, still, we recognize the people speaking (or writing). Things that he/she owns? Oh please. No, a personality is a very simple thing: it's an action/reaction matrix. Depending on the personality, this matrix has few or more, or even not a single one random variant functions, and stuff like that. Also, a personality is made up mostly of memories. We are not who we are. We are who we remember being. Actually, these two things are interconnected: memories build up the action/reaction matrix, and this matrix defines what kind of decisions are made and thus what kinds of memories are going to be produced on the way. Beautiful, ain't it?

Also, there is a third element to all this, but mainly it's a mixture of memories and matrices: reference points. Homo sapiens, be whatever substrain of it, is a relative creature, that is: cannot think in terms of absolute things. Ideas, measurements, standpoints, morals are all relative. Related to whom or what, you may ask: well, homo sapiens is also a social creature, therefore the source of "inspiration" to build these matrices, memories and referential points come headfirst from family, then communities, then cultures. Our parents teach us that it's not nice to shit the carpet, or burp up carrot mash right onto daddy's new Lacoste shoes, and through pavlovian measures, we adopt (or we don't, we little devils, but that's also a standing point, even if different). So we start collecting points of reference. Later on, in Sunday school, we are being taught the nature of sin and suffering and redemption and all that shit, so we begin formulating opinions about good and evil. (Mind you, this is also up the twisted little crazy thought processes, AFAIK Hitler also went to Sunday school, even though he wasn't even Hitler at that time... and look what happened.) And this process goes on for the entirety of our lives (or deaths, as some would undubitely call our attention to), always getting new points of reference, or having previous points moved around, sometimes even completely rewriting entire blocks of referential points.

Well, try imagining all these points of reference, emotional memories and a lot of a/r matrices being swept clean because of a nervous breakdown. Ain't no sunshine, baby. And I'm one of the lucky chaps being able to say "been there, done that." Well, anyways, that's not the point, might come back to it one day... but not today.

Oh, got a bit detracted there... So, a personality is mainly: sum of memories, sum of a/r matrices, and a set of referential points. Let's go on. Suppose, that a person has a lot of experience and a very strong inclination towards private-level diplomacy, therefore builds up a set of adaptive matrices and referential points -- adaptive in the sense that the a/r matrices work depending on the situation, surroundings, climate, colour of the sky, whatever -- call these external variants -- and mood, playfulness, provocation, whatever -- call these then internal variants --, so a person develops an adaptive personality. Some people tend to call this ability -- I'd go as far as to call it a gift -- roleplaying, and they usually mean it in no nice context. Well, of course, such roleplaying can turn to the sour really much, if the adaptation works only for the good of the "variant" person. If such ability is used to sort of "lighten the mood", or create an impression of brotherhood or sisterhood or any other bigbum like that, I'd like to call that smart.

You see, it's not hard to develop multiple personalities, going even as far as one personality having a favourite colour of blue, then the other one of red. And that's only the small stuff. The possibilities, combinations, and thus, the outcomes are endless. Nice stuff, ain't it? And just think of the really great actors who wear their roles as a second skin -- you can hardly call them split personalities. And just think of the spies, phone sex service personnel, all those people who was "multiple personalities" written in their job description.

The problem arises when these sub-personalities, whether artificially-induced or not, lose contact with each other, and start fighting for domination. That is a major fuckup, accompanied by general confusion and private despair (geez, these military jokes are getting thin).

So where was I... yes. So I have an aquarius personality and a taurus personality living in the same body, arguing and fighting, or sometimes working in harmony (actually, truth to be told, harmony is much more the pleasant present state than disarray, but both have seasons). Check back: totally different referential points, behaviours, thinking processes, everything. Actually, if one spends a year in limbo trying to figure out who the hell he is supposed to be, after all, learns to have a pretty good understanding of self, and ends up with very few choices as to what should happen personality-wise...

For issues of stability and growth, in the past few years I let my taurus take the reins, and aquarius sat back to enjoy the ride (baaaawwwring, he said more than often), and to blurp up random acts of wisdom or total goofballness (er, is there such a word, actually?). And by now, step by step, Mr. Aquarian is demanding the controls back.

If you know any aquariuses, you already know by now that the safest point to observe such a changeover, prolonged as it may be, is from a few cities away, clad in a radiation suit, sitting in a lead-walled fallout shelter. Being a few kilometres underground doesn't hurt, either.

We-ell, ladies and gentlemen, the change has started.

I am actually quite curious where all this will lead me. Make no mistake: I am embarking on yet another strange journey. In a way, I am leaving Valhalla, and come back as a mad prophet or a bum or a gentleman of class slurping whisky every evening. Dunno. The possibilities are -- need I remind you at all? -- endless.

And as this new turning personality, I already made a few huge mistakes. I am actively breaking down the walls of my so well established morals, I am engaging in adventures I once did -- which led me straight to my nervous breakdown -- and I can only hope that this time out it's gonna be a power trip, not a long walk down the slopes of Hell... again...

God, whatever you are, have mery on my soul.

And most of all, have mercy on the poor souls who are going to be crushed in my wake.

Thursday, May 13, 2004

an appendix for MC #1

...Er, the website, of course, is in Hungarian, so here's the tip: click on "HANG" and there you go, the track links will appear in the top right frame. Sorry, bit of a mindjob going on in here, focus wandering on and off... Andy out.

Music Corner #1

Gotta do it sometimes, feeling this urge to spread news of good music. Yeah, I'm deranged (or so Mr. Bowie says), so therefore I decided I'd post some obscure music recommendations (being as I'm involved with the music industry some way or another -- namely, I'm becoming a qualified jazz singer). So here it is, let's call it Music Corner #1.

Let me call your attention to a Hungarian band first. They're called Kutya Vacsorája, that's "Dog's Supper" for you who don't speak Hungarian. The whole thing was founded by a member of one of my favourite band, Quimby -- who are taking a sort of extended hiatus at the moment, namely their lead singer and songwriter, Tibor Kiss almost got himself erased from the ranks of the living through excessive lifestyle --, and it's a sort of a freewheeling musical idea workhouse led by this guy called Liviusz Varga (who is a sort of everyman in Quimby, but mainly percussions and rapping). Most recorded tracks revolve around this guy's deranged, provocative, decadent and wildly witty rants finely crafted into rhythmical and musical structures. Resembling an aggressive, corny, funny Tom Waits at its best moments, the tracks race along with grand vitesse in the first few tracks, then the mood sort of settles down to cool storytelling and witty antics, which are all right by me.

Alas, most of the fun is with the lyrics, which I understand will be quite out of reach for most of my readers (due to all of them being in Hungarian), but one cannot help smiling wildly and feeling a sudden urge to smash in some windows at the local mall listening to the premiere track "Mindenkinek Saját Plázát" (that's "A Mall For Everyone" in English), the music has such high energy on its own. Another highlights would be "Csöbörből Vödörbe" (translates loosely to "We're Stuck at the Same Point") and "Egymásnak Vetett Vállal" (which would be "Back Against Each Other's Backs"), one being a downtempo track, a humorous outlook at life itself, the other being a sort of "near-love-song", a laid-back ballad that's still full of vibrating energy (as in "something should happen but we're fucked up so we cop out, we losers").

All tracks can be downloaded legally from their website, which is just one click away. Have fun!

Now, that's it for today. I'll be back sometime soon with some real thoughts about this world. Or whatever my lazy intellect comes up with. :)

Wednesday, May 05, 2004


Of course, when scanning is done, I'll post a few pictures from my trip.

In the meantime...

...Do something else elsewhere.

Har har har.

...airline companies


You go to the terminal, all in good time for checking in -- and since it's your girlfriend's first flight, and named girlfriend has a nasty habit of fretting about being late, you arrive a good hour before checkin starts --, have only hand luggage (one very important rule of thumb is that, if you can, should never ever post luggage, because even if it doesn't get lost, it will get battered, trodden on and smashed up; not to mention that if you're a bit late at a foreign airport, and miss your checkin window, having luggage to post makes late-time boarding an impossibility, or living, breathing nervous hell at least), passport control goes without a glitch, plane's scheduled to take off in an hour...

Yeah, right. As if.

THEN you spend an extra two hours waiting at the gates, strictly cool air conditioning, not even getting a bloody view of planes taking off, you can't go out, and they slap you with meal coupons that can only be used at the airport's buffet where pricing had a go and said jolly goodbye to any sanity or fairness, so your ticket's worth a slice of re-heated pizza (a slice! the bastards...) and a soft drink. Stuff them where the sun doesn't shine...

AND on the trip back to Valhalla you hear that your airline's workers went on a strike and your flight might or might not take off at all.

Yeah, it took off. No time off for silly behaviour.

Of course, with a 40 minute delay.

Sitting in an air-conditioned CDG gate room where officials probably thought that only Eskimos ever take a flight so served up a cool 10 degrees.

And this wasn't a low-cost airline.

If only I had a gun...