The joy of compilation (plus some other stuff)
It's been a long time between updates again. There's a lot of news, but I guess I'll try to cover just the salient points.
Term is progressing as per usual, with plenty of socialising and even a smattering of work once in a while. I've seen several productions at the student theatre (the ADC), including the musical 'Hair' and 'Confusions' by Alan Ayckbourn. I am also auditioning this weekend for shows next term. I've played in another football match for the college 3rd team, in which we were soundly beaten by a team superior in both fitness and finesse. Catz IVth pool team (not actually the fourth best team in college) have gained their first victory of the season, as well as suffering a painful 7-2 defeat early today. Yesterday a close friend turned 23, joining me in being labelled officially old, and everyone celebrated her birthday by ceilidh dancing the night away in aid of Children in Need. Tonight I went off to see a friend in the medic's panto, a show jam-packed with scatological humour and puns involving obscure medical conditions.
I think that brings me pretty much up to date. Close enough, anyway. With the business completed, I can relax back into my neutral position of 'random rambling'. On that note, I saw 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' for the first time on Thursday night, and thoroughly enjoyed it. Many of the Cambridge colleges have their own film societies, and while they mostly show recent blockbusters such as 'Revenge of the Sith' or 'Sin City', careful scouring of the schedules sometimes affords a rare opportunity to see classics on the (reasonably) big screen. After the fearfully dated humour of Holly Golightly's upstairs neighbour (I suspect it was 'ironic', but just made me cringe), I was thoroughly charmed by the film in general, and the leading lady in particular. I find it impossible to imagine anyone watching 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' and not leaving completely in love with Audrey Hepburn. Beautiful and charmingly eccentric. Also 78 and somewhat deceased.
Talking of beautiful and charmingly eccentric leading ladies, I watched 'Garden State' again the other day and was reminded how awesome the soundtrack is. I read on IMDB that Zach Braff won a Grammy for best compilation soundtrack, an honour thoroughly deserved. I'd never heard most of the artists before, so have found a whole new world of music. Frou Frou, Zero 7, The Shins. Great stuff, and now played incessantly on my swanky new MP3 player phone. (My friends will laugh at the mention of my phone, as apparently I talk about it rather a lot. But come on! It's an AWESOME bit of technology, and I can nearly always be found plugged into it.)
Anyway, I've probably strayed too far into rambling country, and will endeavour to battle back to clearer ground in time for the next exciting instalment from the floating face.
Implausibly informative post…
Ok, this is it. Time for a proper post, guaranteed to make you all once again thrillingly well-versed in all things Fyse. I'm now approaching the half-way point of term, which always brings mixed feelings. On the one hand is the proximity of a relaxing break, on the other the horrible realisation that I have achieved nothing to date. This year the positive aspect is almost entirely obliterated by my exams immediately after New Year, and I consequently wont be enjoying myself at all this festive season. Well, not too much.
I mentioned a while back that auditions had gone badly, but I only actually did two and was offered a part in one of them. The production I really wanted to do this term was the Footlights pantomime (which I was in three years ago), but I made a pig's ear of the first round and wasn't suprised to be rejected. The other audition was for a small production of 'Grease', in which I was offered a T-Bird (can't remember the name), but had to turn it down because my voice is still a mess after the summer.
Actually, I don't think that's come up at all so far, and it probably deserves a little elaboration. By the end of the three week run in Edinburgh my voice became painful, which I put down to an infection. It remained bad for the three weeks in Cornwall, and even now is still completely shot. I went to a (very unhelpful) doctor early in September, and keep meaning to go again now I'm in Cambridge. Having resigned myself to no singing this term it hasn't been a high priority, but audition time is coming round again fast and I really ought to determine what's wrong.
In other news, I've been filling the dramatic void in my life with sporting exploits, notably in a football team for the first time in 12 years. Only for the college 3rd team, but it's still great to be playing again, and I'm on a steep learning curve in central defence. There was a modicum of woeful positional play in the first couple of matches, but I generally got away with it and am beginning to get my head round everything. Perhaps it was easier when I was younger, but I'd forgotten how much football can hurt the day after. Hobbling to and from lectures gave me a sharp reminder that I'm getting old. Or perhaps just out of shape. Probably both.
If I still have your attention, I shall continue this rapid tour of my life as it stands now. Academically things are the same as ever, and I was given a sharp shock today registering for my exams next term. They're worth 30% of this year, and take place on the 16th-18th of January. Gulp. Also today I finally received confirmation of the research project I'm to do, and it's a pretty weird one. I'd applied and been turned down for a number of different ones, including epidemiological modelling (which would have been particularly relevant with the current avian flu scare), and finally ended up with a very unlikely project for an undergraduate physicist. 'Inferring the calling mechanism of the bullfrog from its calls'. It is physics really, as I will be examining the form of the sound waves and don't need to go anywhere near an actual frog. Fortunately some nutcase (sorry, committed scientist) has already recorded thousands of bullfrog calls, leaving me to just analyse the data. The project is based in the 'Centre for the Neural Basis of Hearing', and might turn out to be really interesting. The main thing though is that I liked the department and the supervisors seemed competent and pleasant to work with. One of the other projects was being offered by an extremely odd proffessor who appeared worryingly disorganised. With my project I should have every opportunity to get a good mark, though it is of course entirely down to me. Just gotta get myself motivated!
Anyone still reading, congratulations, and I intend to cut you a break by stopping now. I'm planning a very (or reasonably) early night tonight, and a full day in the department library tomorrow. Lots of work to be done by the end of the week, and I'm much more productive when away from my room. Oh, I must update you some time on the progress of my mighty college pool team. Remind me for next time...
Football? 4 hours
Bowling? 3 hours
Work? Er…
I'm back in Cambridge again, and slowly dragging my thoughts towards maybe starting considering preparations for work at some point in the next month. I moved back on Saturday morning, and have another nine days before lectures start. Unfortunately I have a piece of coursework due in on that Thursday (the 28th) so I really must start working immediately. Progress to this goal has been characteristically slight.
I spent most of Saturday just sorting out my room, as it takes quite a while to get everything unpacked and put away. I figure I may as well start the term with a well organised room, even if this semblance of order is short lived. At the moment my notes are well organised and filed, but if previous years are anything to go by exam stress will put pay to this. My system of 'spatial filing' is notorious, and to the uneducated eye may appear nothing but a randomly arranged coating of paper, thickly applied to all horizontal surfaces within range. Actually of course there is careful method to my apparent madness, with different geographic regions for different subjects. A foolhardy few have ventured into this landscape unaccompanied, never to be seen again, and on occasion even I, the creator, get a little lost.
One of my main sources of exercise in Cambridge during the summer term is impromptu games of football with a motley collection of college friends. The games are casual at best (there is a strong tendency for the attacking side to display a great deal more energy), and they mostly remain good natured (with the occasional reckless challenge). On Sunday a great deal of amusement was gleaned from having placed the pitch facing toward the river. A rather shameful degree of peer pressure was brought to bear on one hapless soul, who we bullied into going swimming to retrieve one wayward shot. On Monday we had the presence of mind to position the pitch elsewhere.
Almost everywhere of note in Cambridge is within easy walking distance, but since a friend had the unexpected bonus of an extra day with his rented car, a load of us went bowling on Sunday evening. There was a stage, in my early teens, when every birthday party seemed to involve bowling, but since then I've not been more than two or three times. My top score is 163 about eight years ago, but I didn't even come close to that on this occasion. I guess I'm just very out of practice, but I'd forgotten how much fun it is, so maybe I'll take the trouble to get back in practice. Oh, and you can find a photo I took in my photoblog (link in the sidebar) but the automatically updating thumbnail doesn't seem to be working currently. It still shows that punting photo, and there are two shots newer than that now.
Right, bed time for me. I'm gonna get up reasonably early tomorrow, and I will do some work...
The 6th at Abbey View…
Everyone has things that frighten them. For some it is spiders, while others are terrified by confined spaces. Many people fear the dark, and are unable to walk the streets at night. There are many things that can provoke terror so extreme as to incapacitate. For me, it is standing on the 6th tee at Abbey View golf course.
My relationship with this accursed hole from hell began several years ago, and has intensified with every encounter. The scene for many a round-ruining score, lowlights include a ten-putting incident (involving going off the green again twice) and the six shots spent in a bunker mentioned in my last post. Today I added a new chapter to the saga, ending up in exactly the same bunker straight off the tee. Fighting back the vivid mental replays of my last sojourn in the front-right-green-sand-trap, I broke free in a mere four shots. That hole is the bane of my existence. (And I really must practice bunker shots...)
PS Tinkering with the blog should now be finished, and I'd appreciate any tip-offs about problems in different browsers. This particularly applies to people not using Firefox or Internet Explorer. (How's it looking in Safari, Kerrie?)
PPS In case it wasn't clear already, I ought to clarify that I'm really crap at golf. When I say that the 6th frequently ruins my round, I mean it makes a poor score even worse, and not that I was actually doing well in the first place. I'd like to be good at golf, but there has been scant indication thus far that this will ever happen.
Fourthian to the Bone…
Thursday of last week (the 19th) saw the annual pool team dinner. I've mentioned before that I play for the Catz IVths Pool team, and probably made very clear that we aren't the fourth best team in college. Most likely I made claim to being a narrow second. I'd like to reiterate that we're actually pretty good, and our name harks back to our humble origins as inexperienced freshers, before our towering pool talents were fully realised. Everyone on the team is good friends and along with our army of supporters, including the official 'leaders of cheer', we went out for a posh meal in a local restaurant. Well, when I say we went out for a meal, that's not strictly true. I couldn't actually afford to eat anything, and the little money I could spare went on half a bottle of wine. If the choice is food or drink, I know where my loyalties lie...
Afterwards we all headed back to college and congregated for the awards ceremony. (No, seriously. The certificates were laminated and everything.) Recognition was given in such diverse fields as 'Extreme Spankage' (balls, not other people. No, the pool balls...), 'Most Abusive Chat' (friendly-ish banter aimed at the opposition), and 'Losing to a Girl' (perhaps sexist, but she was really crap). I won for 'Being Our Baby', which is entirely incomprehensible until you hear the story behind it. The evolutionary path followed by my nickname began with 'Fyse', passed briefly through 'Fyse Fyse Baby' (with accompanying theme song), before becoming simply 'Baby'. On the back of this year's team kit my name is 'Don't Call Me Baby'. (We are the only pool team in Cambridge with official team shirts, and yes, we do look like dorks turning up to games dressed identically.)
As well as the awards ceremony, and much alcohol consumption, the results of the captaincy elections were announced. The two candidates were myself and Dan, one of my flatmates last year. The campaign was an ugly affair; mud was slung, intimidation and corruption were rife, and manifestos were released that should never even have been written. I thought long and hard about whether to post a PDF of my campaign poster, but concluded the world had done nothing to deserve such horror. The same goes for the bumper stickers. I shall reveal only that my manifesto was bullet-pointed with little versions of the same photo that currently graces the top of this website. It was not pretty.
To cut an increasingly lengthy story short, the vote was tied at eight each. In a moment of over confidence, Dan had voted for me 'as a joke'. Meanwhile, I was attempting to vote for myself a second time, with plans for a third and possibly even fourth. My concerted efforts at electoral fraud failed, but nonetheless Dan should really have won by two votes. The farcical atmosphere of the contest was heightened when the captain and vice-captain declined to set any sort of tie-breaker (howls of popular support were for something horrifically called 'The Head-Butting Game'), but instead made the decision themselves, awarding me victory. I was irrationally furious about this, rather to their confusion since they expected me to be glad. Perhaps it offended my rather over-inflated sense of fair play. Just not British, dash it!
Anyway, I'm over it now and ready to turn my incomparable tactical genius to the mammoth task ahead. With the help of Dan as vice-captain, foes will cower at the mere mention of our name. Promotion is still a possibility this season, in which case next year will find us winning the top division. Failing this, the task will be to make sure of promotion next year instead. Either way, things will not be easy. Most of our team is graduating this summer, and finding replacements of the same quality will be tough, if not impossible. But the Fourthian spirit is strong, and legions will flock to us once our mighty battle-banner is unfurled.
Note to self: Buy mighty battle-banner.
Sporting glory & a sign…
My greatest sporting moment came back in 1994, when I was the goalkeeper for Fleetville Junior School's football team. (That's soccer to Americans.) We had narrowly lost the league, due in part to some dreadful refereeing decisions, but we reached the final of the cup competition, eventually winning 1-0. I made one particular save that stands out in my memory, and imagine my suprise to discover that this pinnacle of sporting achievement has been recorded for posterity!
My old football coach has written a book called '100 Years: A History of Schools' Football in St Albans', and features a brief account of the victory. It gets the name of a friend of mine incorrect, actually listing his younger brother as scoring the winning goal, but mentions that I "pulled off a string of excellent saves." It's hard for me to explain quite how chuffed I am by this, especially since this book is available to the entire world through Amazon. I find it unbelievable that what I consider to be my best ever performance in a sporting arena is commemorated in a book. I'm running out at the first opportunity to buy myself a copy!
Another weird thing; I got a hit to my website yesterday when somebody from the Bronx googled "blog about physics". If that isn't an indication of a market for my new project, then I don't know what is. Unfortunately I really don't have time for it at the moment, however much fun it would be. My good intentions for work have not yet materialised this holiday, so I've got to get cracking on that
I'm off to Devon for New Year tomorrow, so probably no posts for a while. Happy New Year to all my faithful readership! Both of you!
Another quick-fire update…
First, the rowing. We had the race last Thursday, a 2.8(ish)km time trial called 'Fairburns', and it went pretty well all things considered. We finished 19th from 72 boats, which is hardly bad, and I for one felt satisfied that we'd done ourselves justice. A top 15 spot would have been nice, but we kept our technique together pretty well until the end, despite severe pain. Most of us felt it particularly in the forearms, and by the final stretch we could barely feather the blade at all. (Feathering is the technical term for twisting the paddle part of the blade parallel to the water, and blade is the fancy name for an oar. Rowing is full of obscure technical jargon, and some time I may even tell you about 'catching a crab' and how it can lead to the 'ejector seat'.)
That was Thursday morning, and next on the agenda was a rehearsal for 'The Sorcerer' at 5 o'clock. As was the problem with so many rehearsals for this show, attendance was not good, and this time I was the only person to show up. Far from ideal, and it left us all still very unsure of our dialogue before the day of performance.
Next was a rehearsal at 9.30 Friday morning. Known as a 'sitzprobe', it was meant to be a sing through of the entire show with the orchestra, but by 10 o'clock we had about four musicians and I was one of only two cast. I could continue to tell you about the disastrous dress rehearsal and the immense dread before the first performance, but I doubt you would find this at all edifying. I'll cut to the chase, and tell you that by some incredible luck, possibly even divine intervention, everything came together at the last minute. My mother and sister came to see it on the Friday and both wondered what I'd been complaining about, having enjoyed it immensely. (My brother succumbed to the alternative attraction of a friend's 18th birthday party, and my Dad couldn't make it as he is in Australia at the moment, but that's a story for another post.)
We were only doing two evenings and a matinee, so it was all over by Saturday evening. It was great experience to be singing the lead in an operetta, and I managed to hit my high notes, get (almost) all my lines in the correct place, and thoroughly enjoy myself in the process. The after show party began with vast amounts of wine courtesy of the G&S society in a small room in Clare College, then moved on to the ADC Theatre bar where we joined the revellers from the ADC/Footlights pantomime. I vaguely remember having a very good time, and finally left at around 6am. This got me into bed at about 7 o'clock, leaving me four hours in bed before I had to get up...
Rehearsals for 'Me and My Girl' started at midday on the Sunday, so I dragged my hangover up to Homerton College bright and early. As sobriety pushed inebriation aside, I must confess my condition was somewhat less than optimal. Fortunately I was not the only member of the cast who had been at the party the night before, and we were able to exchange self-pitying groans and grunts of commiseration. Since then, pretty much all my time has been devoted to further rehearsals, along with liberal quantities of sleeping. Work has not had much of a look in.
Today, my schedule had rehearsals from one o'clock through till six, after which we all went for a meal and bowling. Cast bonding is an important process, and is normally aided by alcohol. Tonight we had the added bonus of a little friendly rivalry between the bowling teams. Debating how to divide ourselves up, someone suggested 'oldies' and 'young ones', and it turned out I was the oldest person there. Insult was added to injury when someone put my name into the computer as 'Grumbledore'. Humph. I seem to be developing a reputation. Needless to say we showed those pesky kids a thing or two about bowling.
The Three Rs: Rowing, Rehearsing and… er… Working…
Right, since I haven't posted for a while I shall give you a quick-fire update of what's new...
Rehearsals for 'The Sorcerer' are still going, if not exactly going strong. There's a lot still to do, and we're all getting a little panicked about it. Latest news is that 'the orchestra can't make the dress rehearsal', which is interesting. This means our first performance, to which I have friends and family in attendance, will effectively be our dress rehearsal. My experience of dress rehearsals for under-rehearsed shows is not good, and does not bode well for Friday. Still, we'll have to wait and see.
I'm really enjoying the rowing, and had my first race last weekend. I meant to tell you all about it, but never quite got round to writing the post. Briefly, it was a knockout competition consisting or a series of head-to-head races. We sailed through the first round (not literally!), but then got thoroughly thrashed in the second. We went behind from the start, and our technique disintegrated completely, leaving us to trail home almost two lengths behind. We have another race tomorrow, and hope to do much better this time. I'll tell you about it at a later date. Oh, and the crew we lost to last weekend ended up getting through to the final, so no shame there.
I had my last supervision of the term today, for which I had once again not quite managed to do any work whatsoever. This term has not been good as far as work is concerned, and I am firmly resolved to make up for it over the vacation. I have to work this holiday, otherwise I'm going to get myself yet further behind.
I think that's all the news that's fit to print, so I shall leave it there. I'm going to head to bed in preparation for the big race tomorrow. Not exactly an early night, but I'll get around seven hours. No doubt I'll go straight back to bed after the race tomorrow anyway. (Via the shower, of course.)
Sunrise on the river, stuck in traffic…
One thing I wasn't expecting when I took up novice rowing was the proportion of time spent in what can only be described as traffie jams on the river. To the vast majority of our novice crew, rowing is an entirely new skill, and it's obviously going to take time before we zip along in a Redgrave-Pinsent-esque manner. As a result we do spend a little time thrashing wildly with little progress being made. Today our cox (the one with rudder) was also a novice, and while he seemed to be collecting the requisite skills with commendable speed, there was a little weaving from side to side, as well as undesirable contact with stationary barges.
Compared to some other crews, however, our incompetence is neglible, and we therefore spend a lot of time twiddling our metaphorical thumbs in the middle of a half mile tail-back. This morning was more extreme than ever, and it seemed that no sooner had we found a comfortable rhythm than we were bumper to bumper (again metaphorically) with the next crew. In fact, gridlock was normally attained before any kind of coordination, resulting in much frustration. The outing on Sunday was much better, with open river ahead allowing us to row all eight at a once, and get up a fair head of steam (so to speak). It may sound odd that Sunday is the only time we've tried rowing all at the same time, but until people know what they're doing, half the boat is required to concentrate on maintaining balance. Also, when the river is so crowded, all eight of us rowing would simply be too gosh darn speedy, and would give us even less time before having to halt once again.
I really struggled with the early morning today, and hit 'snooze' enough to be slightly late. Once I get up, though, I really do enjoy that time of day. It was cold and crisp at 6.30 this morning, and the sun rose over the treeline as we carried the boat out to the river. I really wish I'd had my camera with me, as it was truly beautiful. I'm certainly going to persevere with this rowing lark until Christmas, and then I'll decide whether I want to carry on until the big races just before Easter. The cool rowing kit, bearing the college insignia, can't be ordered until the beginning of next term, so perhaps that'll sway my decision on premature retirement...
The Rowers are coming…
College rowing societies share many salient features with a particularly sinister and life consuming cult. At the 'Fresher's Fair', enthusiastic students extol the life affirming and transformative powers of early mornings on the river. In exchange, all they require is your signature saying you can 'swim 100m in clothes'. Hidden in the small print, so legend has it, is ownership of your very soul. The motivation for giving your life to the cause? A year of purgatory ending in 'May Bumps' (Judgement Day), leading to 'Blades' or 'Spoons' (Heaven or Hell).
That's how it starts, all sweetness and light. "Hey, it's just a social thing. I can stop any time I want. It's not like I need it." But before you know, your up at 6.00am, wild-eyed and confused, not knowing where or, more to the point, why you are. Someone shoves a small tree trunk into your hands, and suddenly the safety of dry land drifts away into the morning mist. Arcane and impenetrable language bombards your ears, and the power of 'The Cox' is all.
Run! Run while you still can. It's too late for me, but save yourself. No, leave your clothes and possessions. There's no time to go back for pets or loved ones. Stay in the shadows and plug your ears to ward off their siren calls. I'll hold them back for as long as I can. Make for high ground, dig a shelter, climb a tree.
The Rowers are coming...