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I have unofficially decided that the best way to describe myself would be a collection of paradoxes stacked absurdly on top of each other.

Worked on my arrangement on the piano for "The Windmills of Your Mind" (happily enough #59 on the AFI 100 Top Songs in Film, yay!) and have finished up that tricky section, the ending of the third verse ("Keys that jingle in your pockets..."). And also practiced my arrangement for Charade (still haven't gotten the left hand yet, but I haven't gotten the left hand yet for any of them. Argh) and finished up "We have all the time in the world." Yes, I've got musical pretentions. I'd love to have a second soprano try out my arrangement for "Windmills" but it's not written down. I never write these things down because I've got a pretty good musical memory...and because my sight reading skills aren't that sharp. Tried doing a-ha's "Living Daylights" and managed to get most of it, but only tried it half-heartedly. It's pretty simple. Started "From Russia with Love" but had about 1 minute to work on it (haven't figured out the beginning key, argh) because mum scolded me into doing my essay, which I still haven't started. I'm almost done with my précis of the short story recommendation essay. But I have until 9 PM tomorrow, so I should be OK. It's for my online writing course.

Am trying to figure out what the Kenny Loggins fan demographic is. At the moment I have a vague idea forming: middle-aged, quietly obsessive, middle class, adoring female with hippie ambitions. And if anyone wants to buy tickets (pretty please? I sold a daily record for this week: 7 tickets, and usually it's more like 15. Please? I've got some free tickets, too, so if you could at least just come that would be lovely. And I might be able to get you to a special more private performance, too. Pretty please? I'm really desperate here) please call. I'm tackling the Pleasantview high street tomorrow.

And if you're curious, I walked straight into a window several days ago when I was visiting mum in the hospital right after she had had her surgery and have been feeling a little odd since. Within the past three months I've hit my head fairly hard (accidentally, of course) against some unyielding surface at least five times, and I honestly think it's starting to mess up my mental processes.

And on an entirely different note, Alias is a worthy successor of The Avengers, if I may say so myself. Being a sucker for spy shows with strong female leads, I love it. But the bit about Dixon's wife murdered eerily reminds me of Cathy, and I'm feeling kind of odd. I don't know what to think about her anymore really.

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theladyrose

June 2010

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