I’ve not been able to write the stuff I’ve been planning, and I think in the next few weeks, that’s only going to get worse. There is now a small box for review material recently received on my book table.
Why oh why must this happen now? Yesterday I was contacted about the possibility of playing with an amateur group I used to play with a few years back. Part of me was leaping for joy – until the person in question told me that apparently my playing is ‘coarse’. I took great offence to that – not even the gamba Nazi thinks I’m that bad! In fact, I do believe she once told me that my tone was beautiful and my gamba is starting to ’sing’. Oh, and never mind the fact that I can go from tenor (the one I play best) to treble (the one I started on despite not having played treble for about 3 or so years.
They are so dead in a month. I’d say she dislikes me on the basis of my being coloured, but this amateur lady is legally blind. Or perhaps she’s annoyed that I don’t know whether I identify as being gay or not (after I’d lent her my favourite novel which happens to revolve around a lesbian love affair – if I liked it then surely I must be gay! oh shock horror!).
Now, look here, I’d be the first to admit it if I did stink – truly. For sure, it has been known to happen. But in the time I’d not been going to this lady’s house, I’d been having lessons and also attending workshops. I don’t remember the attractive young male tutor from Sydney having a problem with my playing last year… So yes, it was a bit of a shock to be told not to come along because I’d just make them sound awful.
In my defence, I’d also like to add that I’m often the only person there who can tune without a tuner – I just need a starting note, and I can do the rest myself. Hmph. I could go on and on but that would just make my bitterness public. Kidding…
Let me part by sharing a tidbit from my documentary watching: a couple of weeks ago, I caught the tail end of a documentary about women who are sold into the sex trafficking industry – often by someone they know. The documentary focussed around a man who was basically looking to buy his wife back after she was sold by a male friend (who later on receives a slap on the wrist thanks to the Moldovan justice system, misogynistic corrupt bastards). This involved him having to pose as a pimp himself and hassling the people who had his wife.
Needless to say, there were several times when the man was extremely upset. He was frustrated by being dependent on these people calling him back, meeting him at designated public areas. In near-tears, he looks at the camera filming him and says “I’d sell my fucking organs for her.”
Who says I don’t know anything about true romance or love? He didn’t just say it – you could tell he meant it. Definitely the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard come out of a male’s mouth. Visceral but…effective.
I’m off to start my word-work, seeing as it’s late at night and the house has gone quiet.
