News of the Day: Adrian Fung currently sits at an all-time high, weighing 172 pounds. Standing at only 5'9, analysts speculate that Adrian is simply a victim of holiday eating. However, pictures have shown that a recent T-shirt bought by his sister grossly accented bulbous landmarks on his torso, of which, Adrian insists, had previously not been there. Adjectives culled from certain onlookers have ranged from 'chubby', 'happily plump', and 'Rubenesque'. "But, not fat," Adrian quickly pointed out.
In a surprising turn of events, reports have come in that Adrian ate only three helpings of cream caramel at the Mongolian Grill in Markham yesterday. Has his recent weight-gain deterred his powers of eating? "Not a chance," says his sister, Melodie. "He wouldn't think he's fat if NASA had a personal satellite orbitting around him."
More than three people have written in to complain about the faulty coding in Irrepressible, the poetry page. Coincidentally, all those who had problems were using Firefox. All you guys trying to be different. The bug is fixed now, I think. And no, the appearance of "& nbsp" had nothing to do with my poem, it was not onomatopoeia, and I did not slam my keyboard in rage because the poem made me so angry.
Jeannie, my step-sister walked into my room while I was eating Vegetable Thins. She informed me that Vegetable Thins contain hydrogenated vegetable oil, which, prior to this, I had thought was a good thing. Vegetables, after all, are good for you. But, no, the fact that it's hydrogenated means that it can make you fat, give you cancer, and, incidentally, run over your dogs with a car while laughing maniacally.
Coming home, I read through the Toronto Star. We get the New York Times in our apartment; it's supposedly the best newspaper in the world. I don't know why. Frankly, I find it suspect for any newspaper to be calling itself the best in the world if it doesn't have comics.
My sister just arrived home from Kenya tonight and she gave me a necklace made from wood and coffee beans. Wearing the trinket, I feel like those outdoorsy, jock types. I feel like doing things I know I'm unable to do. Like something athletic. My brain's like, "GO FOR IT!" and my body's like, "I can't believe you're even thinking of taking the stairs three at a time."
This is what I've been doing this week: Whenever I feel zits are starting to come, I immediately eat a chocolate ice cream soda with Coke. This, ultimately, does not help the zits. However, whenever I see zits emerging, I hark back to my current diet and ask, "Well, was it worth it?" Then, I beam a smile and contentedly say, "Yes."
I like to have reasons for why things happen to me.
I've been on a serious kick recently. Irrevocable has been updated again, which make this the third time in two months. It seems this is the month that I give attention to the neglected sections of the site, notably being the Classical Media section, and the aforementioned 'serious' page. In other news, I am eating an oatmeal cookie.
Some updates have happened to the site. Okay, just one: A Classical update for the media section, along with its program notes in Irretrievable.
Other than that, I've been spending my week fairly quietly at my Canadian home. The dogs are adorable and so is my step-niece, Madeline, and my step-nephew, Ethan. They have irrepressibly scratchy voices and are angels in their own right. We spent the night searching for Waldo in my old books from childhood. This week is getting framed with the soft glow of holiday light.
Wow, I just read that over and I'm thinking that I should have changed the font colour to pink. You'll be happy to know, however, that my street credibility will not suffer much.
Normally, when the site has two weeks of silence, people start wondering what I have under my sleeves. In the past it's been an entire new website address and layout. Other times, it's been a major update for the media section. At this time, I have nothing of the sort. I do have some insightful things to say about body hair and old men, however. I was on the subway the other day and I saw this old man; he had hair growing all over his ears. I'm not saying this is gross; I'm just saying this doesn't give me an urge to eat alfafa. I read somewhere that after 20, our bodies start deteriorating. From birth, your body is growing and finding for itself new projects: bones to harden, limbs to grow, muscles to develop (my specialty), etc. But after 20, our body not only stops growing, it starts to deteriorate and shrink. I'd like to say that, as far as that old man goes, bodily hair follicles, to compensate for the lack of enthusiasm, decide that 20 years of age to death is time to go completely insane. The News Archive | Email
I'm very happy that, after the trio performance with pipa and piano has passed, everyone's asking when it is so they can come. Well, it was last Saturday, so.. don't be late.
Though this is not really a performance, this Sunday I'll be playing some new works and rapping at Emmanuel Church, at the St. James Chapel, on 120th off Broadway. I'll be rapping for the kids as part of the Angel Tree Project, and playing the cello in the Christmas service. It'll be neat because one of the pieces, a trio, was commissioned by the church; the other will be performed as accompaniment to a dancer. And when I say dancer, I mean female dancer. Not those guys wearing those really tight, super hero costumes, which, incidentally, carry with them neither the super nor the hero -- just the gross.
This is from the concert this past Saturday. Out of the bunch, this is probably the only one where I don't look like I'm about to explode from constipation issues. I find this picture funny. The pipa player, Amanda, is totally obscured by an ill-placed music stand and, emotionally speaking, I'm the one that seems most affected by it.
Man, a lot of new visitors have been coming lately and they have no idea what's going on. First of all, they have little idea what I'm about. About 80% of the site is dedicated to my writing about nothing and the other 20% has nothing to do with the nothing I've been writing about. A quick overview: Irrefragable is the light-hearted fare; Irrevocable is the more serious stuff nobody reads; Irrepressible is my poetry site, suffering the same fate as the serious stuff; Irretrievable is where you find program notes on the music you find in Media.
If that weren't confusing enough, the adjectives describing what you're reading -- Irrefragable, Irrevocable, Irrepressible, and Irretrievable -- are conveniently none of those things.
I have been busy for the past week. I was writing essays. There comes a time when a musician like me needs to actually write something intelligible, too. So I just finished writing these essays of academic nature; Rebecca, who was an editor of House and Home magazine, and for the record, has many A-graded university papers to her credit, proofread one of them and asked me how formal this essay needed to be. I asked her why she was asking. She started, very slowly, as if she was tip-toeing around a sensitive issue, "Well, I wouldn't use contractions, Adrian. And never would I end any of my sentences with man. Speaking of which, I don't find 'That's just the way it is, man' a very persuasive argument."
You know where this is all coming from. Pure, ascertained jealousy.
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This is from the concert this past Saturday. Out of the bunch, this is probably the only one where I don't look like I'm about to explode from constipation issues. I find this picture funny. The pipa player, Amanda, is totally obscured by an ill-placed music stand and, emotionally speaking, I'm the one that seems most affected by it.