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title: "Put this bugger up"
date: 2021-08-23 15:16:20 -0500
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On this date, I managed to bring this site up, after many (2) attempts.
That's it. Run along now. Shoo!

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layout: post
title: "Those Roman dudes were pretty cool actually"
categories: [Lerler]
date: 2021-08-26 23:45:00 +0200
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![Ruins of Cesearea](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/cesearea.jpg)
<sub>Shot with the incredible Fuji X-T30, 18-55 F2.8 Kit lens @ 55mm, F5.6 </sub>
The ol' family and I traveled to Jerusalem and Cesearea this week, so I can feel like a tourist again.
Harkening back to my tourist days, I recalled the somber words of an Australian father down in Tasmania, after I expressed my wonder at the scope of domestic travel availble to Aussies.
*"We've got things to see, sure, but in Israel, you have such history!"*
And boy howdy, do we now.
We went into the Westren Wall tunnels, a destination that (amazingly!) not one of the dozen or so institutions that dragged me to there bothered letting us into.
That bit outside? it's nice. But there's a *nicer* bit inside!
As it turns out, the actual Jerusalem lies a good few meters under the ground, and the Muslim empires that came after the Romans simply raised the whole gosh darn city to be even with this **massive** temple complex. Has not a single school, course, government or military institution thought to mention this awesome fact?
Deep inside, there's a surreal women's shul (Yes, I know this word now), and below it is the single biggest stone of the wall - which weights (or so the guide claimed) like approximately 60 African Elephants - about 3 meters deep, 14 meters wide and 3 meters tall. And on it, you can still see the chisel marks from Herod's stonemasons. *2000 year old chisel marks!* that's history right there, folks!
There's even a fraction of authentic Jerusalem street buried underneath (yes, the Muslims just... built right on top of it. Mind boggling.).
![Old Temple era Jerusalem street](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/old_temple.jpg)
<sub>It just keeps going on top! How has no one told me this??</sub>
That whole complex was so god darn *massive*, in fact, the Romans themselves (they really did go on for quite a bit, didn't they) failed to destroy it after the Jewish Bar Kochva rebellion - yes, there's also that bit. Slightly less awesome.
That same crazy Herod (why *is* it Herod in English?) went on, or perhaps came from - I didn't do my reasearch - the northen city of Cesearea, named after... the cesear [note: this is intensely ironic in today's political climate). What can I say, it seems like they had a chill hangout spot back then.
![Roman-style pillar in Cesearea](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/roman_pillar.jpg)
<sub>Hardly anything like this lying around Tassie, is there?</sub>
In Cesearea, I discovered several things:
1. Whoever's in charge of Israel's national parks has no aesthetic sensitivity whatsoever (see garbage can in image below)
2. Hadera's famous Wieners, Cesearea and the bunch of those Kibbutzes are within spitting distance, and I should really get around to studying geography
3. Those Romans knew how to have a good time.
![Hadera's Wieners and Herod's Wieners](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/cesearea_old_new.jpg)
<sub>Old & New in Cesearea. Can you see the garbage bin?</sub>
As I stood there gazing at King Herod's mighty vacation palace sinking in the sea, I could not help but wonder - is there any point aside from having a good time?
![Herod's Vacation Palace](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/herod_palace.jpg)
<sub>I'd go for a swim.</sub>
I'd like to imagine Herod as a smug bastard sitting in that pool (yes, it is a pool) enjoying a nice glass of Roman wine, and that really helps.

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layout: post
title: "Origin of the Angry Piano [Beethoven]"
category: [Classical Ramblings]
date: 2021-08-29 21:42:00 +0200
---
My latest classical endeavour is no other than Beethoven, who is unsuprisingly one of the very first composers I listened to (though not the one that brought me over - thanks, Rachmaninoff!).
I've had it in mind Beethoven composed for the piano, but had assumed it was his symphonies alone that made him as famous as he is. *Wrong!*
This time around I barged in from Chopin's nocturnes, which are already quite a long way from the big, sad string symphonies that awed me into Classical music (shortly after Rach's banger of a second piano concerto that is). Coming back to Beethoven's sonatas, which are amongst the first Classical pieces I've heard, now with much more listening under my belt - really feels like a sort of closure. Only this time around, I didn't just enjoy them - they *wowed* me to my core.
The one that prompted me to write this is **Appasioneta**, *number 23, opus 57* (in *F minor*). Having already heard some very powerful, passionate piano pieces (Liszt's brilliant, almost alien piano sonata and Chopin's moving *opus 48/1 nocturne* spring to mind), Beethoven's is **mind blowing**. It starts off strong with an ominous phrase, and quickly explodes in speed and emotion - it is incredibly **raw**. I can't seem to grasp what exactly is it coming through - is it rage? sadness? power? or perhaps just unbridled, undefined raw emotion?
In any case, it is magnificent. The way a single instrument, powered with a skilled, passionate player (the amazingly talented Igor Levit in this instance) can absolutely thunder through a room with a single instrument is almost ungraspable to me. Listening to the tempo pick up, it feels as if my consciousness itself is shaken - and yet, it's not just *loud*. It's not just *fast*. It is *beatiful* - amongst the flurry of notes there's something truly profound.
Others I've listened to and enjoyed (yes, aside from **Moonlight**) are the very first one ( **Opus 2** , also in *F minor* - in just works!), the eighth ( **Opus 13**, **Pathetique'** in *C minor*), and the final, 32nd (**Opus 111!** in *C minor*).
- The first, while clearly under Mozart's shadow, to me already feels very different - it just *works* in a way I can't describe.
- *Pathetique* Feels like a clean glance into Beethoven's character - it is a flurry of emotion, at times anger and at times calm - to me it feels like him venting his frustration with a particularly annoying individual.
- Finally, the last, 32nd sonata feels like Ludvig knows something we don't, and will never grasp - and we are simply spectators watching that... something unfold. Very profound and very mysterious.
In the last month or so I've been straying from my Romantic symphonies heartland deep into Baroque and Classical territory - previously the two genres I liked the least by far. After studying and connecting with Mozart's amazingly flowing piano concerti (namely Opuses *20,21,24 and 27*), and drifting away with Chopin's nocturnes (as brought to life by the passionate Jan Lisiecky), Beethoven's raw, all-minor all-oomph sonatas really are a fresh wet slap in the face.
It's a good thing there's so many of them - I'll be following this thread for a while.

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layout: post
title: "Classical Thunder [Mozart, Liszt]"
category: [Classical Ramblings]
date: 2021-09-04 22:09:00 +0200
---
My favorite streaming service (Primephonic) was bought by Apple, declaring imminent shutdown.
Naturally, I switched to Apple's platform ready to be all condenscending, when it immidiately suggested one of my favorites - Mozart's 20th piano concerto (K466, in D Minor) brilliantly performed by Seong-Jin Cho.
On the 3rd or 4th listen within that week (I *really* like that piece), Mozart's brilliant capacity for *classical thunder* struck me - not dissimilar to a solo on a Rock/Punk/Metal piece. Sure, it takes it much more time to get there, but Mozart gets seriously intense. It's odd to think about it, but I feel like today's musical ' *hooks* ' as they are called have clearly existed that far back - listen to how the opening grips you!
Another thing that listening to Mozart always makes me think is how *alien* his music feels compared to... most everyone else really. Listening to Beethoven, for example (including the sonatas I mention earlier), I feel like I have a pretty good idea of how he felt when writing them - I often stop at a particular phrase thinking *'Who pissed ya off, Ludvig?'*.
Most other Romantic composers I enjoy listening to share this trait - Tchaikovski in particular really bleeds out his soul for you (The fourth symphony's second movements and the piano trio's first are my favorite examples of this), while even in Brahms' more restrained music you can feel the underlying emotional currents (think about the *yearning* in his 4th symphony, and the lonesome sighs of the Clarinet in his Clarinet Quintet).
But Mozart?
You're chilling and your room and... What exactly do you have to **feel** to craft something as elaborate, as specific (though not any less intense or passionate) as the 20th concert, or the 40th symphony?
I've only found this alien aspect in one other composer so far - Franz Liszt.
Another of the pieces suggested was Liszt's amazing Piano Sonata (S178, in B minor) - which is one of the most unique pieces I've ever heard. It's starkly different from other piano sonatas I know - I remember listening to it the first time and feeling profoundly confused. It felt like an erratic, show off piece. But after finally stomaching it after a few listens, it suddenly revealed it self as carefully, elegantly structured - there's definetly *something* organized going on here which I can't grasp.
It is however, quite mad - phrases are intense, sporadic, and very virtousic. At times it feels almost random, but always circles back and finds itself. I can't think of another piece that makes me feel the same way.
This time around, I heard Khatia Buniatshvilli's performance - which I was very glad to find, since her Rachmanninof performances are amongst my favorites.
I've heard quite a few performers tackle this unique piece (first by Benjamin Grosevener, followed by Marhta Argerich and Krystian Zimerman, all stunning reneditions), and Khatia's differs from them greatly. Benjamin's is very technical, and precise, while Khatia flows with strong emotions - Virtuosic phrases are played with an even faster tempo than called for (!), and then rumble and die down amongst themselves, notes intertwining yet never lost, finally faltering almost to a whisper - uttered softly on the piano. It's an unbelieveable performance for an intese piece of music.
And just like with Mozart, I have absolutely no idea what does one have to feel to construct something as crafted, as mysterious, as that sonata. Liszt had also worked on it for a long time (unlike Mozart churned them out pretty quickly), so whatever it is he felt has been laying around there for a good while.
One of the most gratifying experiences I have while listening to classical is experiencing both of these things - an intense, unexpected crescendo in an awe-inspiring piece. For once, I feel like not fully-understanding these pieces help bring out just how brilliant they are, and how enriching.

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title: "It's Pretty, Without The Shouting [Mendelssohn, Schubert]"
category: [Classical Ramblings]
date: 2021-09-05 21:18:00 +0200
---
# What happened in Italy?
Today I succumbed yet again to one of the most steadfast pieces in my arsenal - Mendelssohn's magnificent *Italian Symphony* (Op. 90, in A).
Mendelssohn was a composer I stumbled about quite in random, largely due to me initally dismissing him as an ordinary, classical era composer in the shadow of Beethoven. It was actually his string quartets I first stumbled upon (the greatly atypical sixth, Op 80 in F minor). At the time I was discovering Dvorak's masterful, explosive string quartets, and Mendelssohn blindsided me. I kept listening to the rest of the quartets, followed by the piano concerti - at this point already a keen listener.
Mendelssohn is greatly restrained in comparison to my top picks at the time (and now, I guess) - including Mahler, Tchaikovski, Brahms, and - as mentioned - Dvorak. However, I found great elegance in his work - it is always interesting, balanced, pleasant to listen to and thought-provoking.
Then, I found his symphonies. Monikered simply as 'Italian', Felix's fourth seems, on paper, like a by-the-book classical era symphony - 30 minutes long, major key, with the classical structure:
1. Dramatic, fast-tempo opening
2. Slower, brooding movement
3. Minuet/Trio dance movement
4. REALLY fast, REALLY dramatic finisher
Smitten with big, *LOUD* symphonies, I listened to it out of curiosty.
I don't know *what* happened to Felix in Italy, but *something* was going on in there. Supposedly a simple representaion of Italy and its people, the fourth is incredibly rich - vibrant, fast and colorful. It manages to provoke strong emotion (listen to the coda of the first movement, and the opening of the fourth), and inspire imagination. Just listen to the second movement - you *instantly* feel as in the Italian Alps! how does one convey this *with a set of notes* ***this effectively?***
I've never been to the Italian Alps in person, but I feel like I've been now!
Likewise, if I sit in a quiet room and listen attentively to the sixth quartet, I'll likely choke up with grief - and all done without the excessive *yelling* that often applies Romantic pieces (close to no yelling at all, really). Mendelssohn walks the line between Classic and Romantic perfectly, strongly conveying what he felt with elegant, precise compositions.
I initally scoffed at biographies of Felix comparing him to Mozart as yet another child prodigy classical genius, but I gladly stand corrected- there's undeniable genius in the harmony of Felix's works.
# The Swan Song of Franz Schubert
Another composer that does this wonderfully is the oft-neglected Franz Schubert.
In the resources I used to discover classical music, Schubert was often hailed for his genius, yet did not seem as famous, as talented or as interesting as his peers. I didn't pursue Franz's works for a good while, but find myself coming back to them.
His fifth symphony (D.485, in B flat major) is the very first non-yeller I've really enjoyed listening to. Schubert does to Brahms what Brahms does to Mahler - if you compare Brahms' fourth with Schubert's fifth (or even ninth), there's a lot less going on, and it's going much slower - but manages to say just as much. Schubert's music is understated, and stands solely on the strength of the composition - there's no massive orchestration, no jaw-dropping crescendos - simply good, passionate music.
And while Mendelssohn's compostions are, to me, immediatly *Mendelssohn-i*, I feel a stroke of genuis runs through each Schubert's works, not yet fully discovered and realized - I just can't put my finger on it. I find his String Quintet (D.956, in C major) and his Eighth, unfinished symphony (D.759, in B minor) particularly magical.
Schubert's music is also surprisingly imaginitve - there's a great difference between his ominous unfinished symphony and his playful, colorful Trout quintet and Swan Song in the string quintet.
It's great to have some choices I can listen to at home or at work with people around without fearing heavy judgement - there's nothing not to like about both of these composer's incredible works.

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layout: post
title: "Step Into The Void: Liszt's Piano Sonata [Liszt]"
category: [Classical Ramblings]
date: 2021-09-11 00:26:00 +0200
---
I am a symphonic person. There's no denying it - I'm gobsmacked by sweeping orchestral manuevers. Romantic symphonies, such as Brahms' 4th and Tchaikovski's 4th (both likely mentioned here already) are firmly where my tastes lay. To be a good listener, however (and to actually realise what is your 'home ground'), I've heard the essentials of other types of classical as well. I still feel at home with chamber music, and a passionate string quartet never fails to sucker-punch me in the feels. And of course, I've heard some essentials of the solo piano - Chopin's Nocturnes and Beethoven's sonatas.
Franz Liszt, however, is a composer I've had trouble connecting with - and this enigmatic piano sonata is deep, deep piano territory. It is also one of my absolute favourites.
# Why?
Liszt's piano sonata is completely unlike anything I've ever heard before, certainly not in any string quartet. It is elaborate, mysterious, and - in my eyes - beyond sublime.
The sonata has... moods. Naturally, music has moods, yes. However, being a keen Romantic (in music and not much else), I usually have an inkling of the composer's mood or experience when listening to a piece. This is all ground I've covered in the [Classical Thunder](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/classical%20ramblings/2021/09/04/liszt-mozart-piano-oomph.html) post, earlier in the ramblings. As mentioned in that post, the only two composers I can think of that totally obstruct this to me are Mozart and Liszt. With Franz, however, the obscurity runs even deeper - I not only fail to understand the mood when writing the piece, but the mood stated in it as well.
# Mood.
Liszt's sonata is exquisitley crafted, and can be disassembled in a myraid of ways - below is my humble, uninformed, likely bluntly wrong and stupid take.
Two moods run through the sonata.
## The Oomph
The first - uttered with a single, suspended note, repeated and followed by a short phrase of suspended chords - feels tense, and dark. It's not quite insidious, but it makes you hold your breath knowing something greater is about to be expressed. Sure enough, a few loud chords are uttered, and the mood quickly picks up pace, becoming faster and faster, tension rising and rising, almost disintegrating as it goes. Just when it feels like it all falls apart, the second mood bursts in.
## The Wow
The tone shifts suddenly, and immediatly slaps from being menacing to... overjoyed?
Stated relatively slowly, this rapture grows more intense, with chords hammered on the piano overpowering the notes of the melody, until reaching an overbearing, strained and emphasised joy.
This crescendo descendes to a simple, pleasant, heart-tugging melody - with sweet notes floating over the piano, as if the great tension and its' release are finished and we are basking in the aftermath. The distance between this phrase and the suspended, thundering notes of the opening are unbelieveable.
Also, everything mention thus far happens within the first five minutes. Just so you know.
# The Cycle
Amazingly, these two are the *only moods expressed throughout the piece*. This is a good 30 minutes, and Franz has drawn all his cards within five minutes. What now?
Well, the piece goes on to dance between these moods - the tense buildup to the disintegration, the rapture, the relief, and back into the tension - each revision getting more and more extreme with whatever it's expressing. The buildup grows faster, louder, stronger, notes blurring into each other - and still distinguishable as the very first ones the sonata opens with. Conversly, the rapture grows the other way - slower, and even more refined and distinguished from its earlier revisions - with the height right about the middle of the piece. The aftermath is almost a whisper, as the listener unwinds from the second cycle.
Finally, the final third or so of the piece is approximately the previous two-thirds, *repeated and dramaticized*. The fast bits are breakneck speed, the rapture is fired swiftly after, and this whole cycle repeats a final time, greatly compressed and exagerated. Some alteration and variations are evident late in this final cycle in both moods, and finally - in the sonata's dusk - we fall back to the very opening. A single, suspended note, repeated and followed by a short phrase of suspened chords.
This time, instead of picking up speed again, they dissolve - almost peacefully - and the sonata ends.
# Aftermath
This sonata is amazingly succint. Moods and phrases feel familiar as they swing around, intertwine and interact, but they're never quite clear. With both, I have a vague idea of what they're expressing, but Liszt never quite lets you pin down where they come from, what they mean or where they lead up to. You're confined to this small subset of emotion - and it is wrung to its core.
Liszt's sonata is sublime, and it is fascinating to see how different pianists - one no less talented than the other - interpret this mysterious, emotional piece.
I recommened Christian Zimmerman's recording (considered the 'Gold Standard'), and Jorge Bolets' recording - both are breathtaking and sound incredibly different.

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layout: post
title: "The Path of PC: Adulting is a Quickdraw of Arrogance"
category: [Lerler]
date: 2021-09-16 22:33:00 +0200
---
![The Path of the PC](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/old-computer-pictures/path-of-pc.jpg)
<sub> *Mean, Lean, Linux machine* </sub>
> Under review
I'm currently in a phase of life rife with decision - where would I live? what would I do? what drives me in life?
As I sink (characteristically for me, far far too deep) into these questions, there's a certain inert arrogance to the process I find I can't stand.
What does that mean?
There's a form for everything. Every path you take presents you with a list of demands, definitions and some deep-rooted philosophy aimed at picking the absolute best for you.
I think of these things very seriously, until suddenly reckoning with my own professional path thus far.
At this point, I dare call myself a Linux Sysadmin by trade, albeit a novice. I have a steady, long term job, a unique set of skills, interesting employment prospects and a clear career path, just shy of 24.
Sounds nice, doesn't it? I answered the demands, fit with the definitions, and think in that same deep-rooted philosophy as the path I've chosen.
Only I... don't. In this latest Ler, I'll make a case (for myself mostly) on how all this mumbled flurry means nothing, and people end where they are by chance, by prejudice, or by the mere entropy of the universe. I'll present this using the path I went with to start this career: the path of the PC.
# I Like Video Games.
Always did. Still do.
As a kid (of around 8? can't quite say) I received my grandparents' old hand-me-down hunk of junk excusing a PC, which was the very first machine I personally owned.
I remember absolutely nothing of this system - only the grey, plasticy China made chassis and the loud whir of the HDDs, likely added to this memory much later. I played simple, 2D or web games on it on occasion, and life was good, I guess.
As a fourth grader abroad, our family shared the latest-tech laptop, which I remember more firmly - it was a big, black, shiny plastic HP which that got seriously hot without one of these lap cooler-fan things. It had a fingerprint reader (which we were **demanded* not to use because none of us could understand it) and we played Runescape on it for *way* too many hours. By the time nothing but its' long dead husk was around, I knew enough to retroactively recall it as a Windows Vista machine, and that's about it.
For my Bar Mitzvah, I received the first proper PC I ever had, and was becoming aware of what it is, what's inside and how it works. It was a Core i5 650 - first generation Core! with maybe 4GB of RAM, some cheap Chinese power supply, that default black InWin ATX Chassis, and Nvidia's not-latest-and-really-not-greatest GT610. Even *that* early on, the GT did not make it long - more on that later.
By that point I started picking up some serious 3D gaming - games actually installed on your machine! I remember some Dawn of War RTS, some Age of Empires II and even Minecraft. Within a year or so, I dared my first technical feat with it: overclocking.
# I Like Computer Hardware.
Thinking about it today, it's amazing to realize I attempted overclocking at all, and twice as amazing to realize I did it responsibly, and have never fried, force shutdown'd or (seriously) harmed a computer. I started raising the clockspeed and voltage of that old yeller, which quickly entailed my first hardware upgrade - a new CPU cooler! (the budget CoolerMaster Evo 212).
Me and my already disgruntled dad disassembled the whole thing, put on a backplate and even put it back together, only to put in the motherboard front chassis pings wrong, screw up the booting and ask dad's computer technician friend for help. I wouldn't be too upset to make that mistake today - those are ferocious little buggers!
Later on, father went off to the United States, and with the very first of my summer job savings I asked him for a new GPU - the GTX 650Ti. I already had the i5 650 running a full Ghz ahead of spec, with a higher base clock to boot. As time went by I bought the GTX 760, alongside the oldest part still in my machine today - the Seasonic SSP-RT 550 Gold PSU - to support it. Now I had some ragtag rig and started proper gaming. This was the very first computer I *made* and planned, and upgraded, and much of my hardware knowledge today stems from those days.
# I Like Building Computers.
![First Build](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/old-computer-pictures/first-build.jpg)
<sub> I was *really* excited about all those bits and pieces in a proper motherboard</sub>
Some years later, the 650 was becoming unbearably slow, which is when I went for my first full upgrade - the i5 4670K, with 8GB of budget Corsair XMS3 1600Mhz RAM, a too-expensive Z-series Gaming motherboard, and a grey metal ATX Corsair Chassis. The core of that computer is now my little brother's, alive and kicking!.
I sank into another round of overclocking - receiving a subpar sample just shy of the mythical 4.4Ghz (from 3.8).
This is when things began to get wild.
![First Build Pic](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/old-computer-pictures/first-build-pic.jpg)
<sub>This picture, from late 2015, is about the point I was first *proud* of something I planned and assembled</sub>
# Going Monkey
By this point, I started referring to myself as a *hardware monkey*, already realizing I fail to understand the intricacy of computers, but can sure as hell beat the shit out of them with voltage and cooling. I got a **massive** water cooler (an Arctic double-thick 240mm, which was cheap and quickly disappeared from the market) - so big I had to sandwich two of the fans outside the computer!
![Hardware Monkey](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/old-computer-pictures/hardware-monkey-closeup.jpg)
<sub>Younger me had no shame - only determination. Bigger, Faster, Stronger!</sub>
I got the cooler solely for overclocking, and was disappointing when it:
- Failed to deliver better clocks (hard lesson in the 'Silicon Lottery' there)
- Died within a year (it was the pump, and no other such cooler existed ever again)
Before the water cooler leaked its soul back to its lord, there was - you guessed it - yet another upgrade. This time, it was my wisest purchase as a hardware monkey - the R9 390, bought with the explicit intention to undervolt it.
![Always On Top!](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/old-computer-pictures/always-on-top.jpg)
<sub> Things got pretty messy at times</sub>
# Cooling? I'm a fan!
That's right - I bought a part intending to modify it, and it worked out far, far better than I deserve.
The R9 390, then relatively cheap despite sporting more powerful hardware than the competing GTX 970, was a brilliant purchase - I quickly got it down from 275 Watts to 140, as well as running it about 10% faster. It is now almost six years old and still serving me wonderfully.
![Drunk Undervolt](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/old-computer-pictures/drunk-undervolt.jpg)
<sub>Naturally, I took the GPU apart at some point.</sub>
To this day, I am far to aware of minute details about cooling fans entirely at fault of this episode.
![Ooh, Shiny!](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/old-computer-pictures/gpu-shiny.jpg)
<sub>I came looking for thermals, and I found... Indium?</sub>
Here, drunk with my undervolt's success, my smug character struck me down in perhaps the worst fashion I would ever be struck down in my life. I was being processed for the military, and the the ripe age of 16 and a half I was sat down in Tel Hashomer, where a pretty, bored soldier asked me what I do.
# I Build Computers.
"I build computers", I answered smugly, perhaps aiming to impress her. These memories are heavily repressed.
"So like coding?" was her bored reply.
Back in those days, I was (and still am, to a degree) wary of realist professions, chiefly including maths and coding.
" *Noooooooooo hu hoooo*", I replied. "I do NOT know coding".
Naturally, she sent me off to communications, which drafted me after some testing as a ***Computer Systems Infrastructure Manager***. I am **absolutely certain** I failed those tests spectacularly, despite it being vehemently denied throughout my service.
To this day, I'm not sure how I feel about that. Perhaps I would have been better off. Perhaps it saved me from much worse misery, and maybe I owe much of my good fortune to that misunderstanding.
# Monkey Meets Penguin
I did take my assigned role very seriously, and one of the most important steps was then taken - I bought a Raspberry Pi (2, model B - which only died last year!).
![Raspberry Pi 2 Model B](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/old-computer-pictures/raspi2b.jpg)
<sub>I took this picture to show all my friends how awesome this little 25$ computer is. I'm still blown away!</sub>.
This was my first contact with Linux - a field previously unknown and unrelated.
I can only guess whether I'd have stumbled onto Linux on my own, but I'm grateful for it either way - it's been an unstoppable force in my career and greatly accelerated my hobby.
Similar experiences of my peers suggest I would never have encountered it on my own, but I'm certainly unwilling to give the military credit.
So where was I going with this?
Right, the Linuxing.
# The Linuxing
Right after boot camp, I was enrolled in the Communication Corps' supposedly top-tier computing course. We were often told we were picked out *'from the top 10% of many thousands of applicants'*.
Well, I'll put it bluntly - I failed the course quite miserably. It was deeply centered around programming (in *PowerShell of all things!*) and very specific technologies no junior sysadmin has any business of knowing.
I have yet to use MongoDB in my career. Is it great? probably. Is it absolutely essential for a new army recruit? probably not.
Now, the fact that I failed did not come as a surprise. Within the first week I became acutely aware of this scenario, and within the first month (out of five) I was certain I'd fail quite a few subjects.
My worsening mental health was falsely attributed (by me, as well as my commanders) to these uninspiring results.
> You're giving up on yourself!
I was told constantly, by both commanders and - at times - peers. I never felt this way, and told them as such. My talents lay elsewhere - so I'll focus on those rather than programming, and that's just fine and dandy.
> If you fail any subject, you'll fail the course! you're giving up on yourself!
By this point, I became engrossed in Linux (and, I'll shamefully admit, Windows and VMWare - don't judge!), and accepted failure as the price of fluency. I was down on my luck and I stuck to my strengths, despite greatly increasing threats from command staff to flunk me to a shaming service of (gasp!) IT support personnel. This happened anyway, but never mind.
The big day came around - I was tested in PowerShell, my worst subject and greatest nemesis. After a great deal of effort and much consideration from my commanders, I achieved a brilliant score of 21 points out of 100.
And you know what? they said I passed the course. And I wasn't surprised.
Even as a lean, green army recruit, I called them out on their bluff.
So what was it all for? it was arbitrary. The requirements were arbitrary, the subjects were arbitrary, my talents were arbitrary and I passed... arbitrarily.
Still had a great time with my Raspberry Pi, though.
![It Lives! It Lives!](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/old-computer-pictures/pi-more-boots.jpg)
<sub>It lives! It lives!</sub>
# The Linuxing!
Where were we?
My first post was as a call center operative and had absolutely nothing to do with anything I'd learned or failed to learn. My disappointment quickly led to much hostility, and I was rather quickly reassigned to Air Force HQ as a different type of call center operative and had absolutely nothing to do with anything I'd learned or failed to learn. My disappointment quickly led to much hostility, and I rather quickly found myself unassigned and drowning in free time, because HQ was much slower in kicking me out thanks to its rich bureaucratic ecosystem.
Being unassigned was deeply humiliating - and while I still had some shred of social awareness left, I wanted to do something with my time to avoid the shame.
The tables have turned, and now I wielded the subject that made me take my post seriously as my sword of defiance. I put up a virtual machine (named *Greg and Larry* after the Brooklyn Nine-Nine bit) and studied Linux vigorously.
By now, I quite liked Linux, but it was still an army thing - I wouldn't go as far as to describe myself as a Linux sysadmin, or even claim it as a hobby or an interest. I had a Ubuntu install running at home for the novelty, but didn't really use it.
I'd only chosen to study Linux because it felt slightly less oppressive than the other subjects (it is *free*, open source software, is it not?).
As I sank into the worst period of my life, my memory becomes blurred. I don't quite remember if I had anything to do with Linux over the next year or so. By the time I was reassigned again to a lowly IT support post, I'd already flaunted my Linux experience - so there's that.
# Goin' *lean* and *mean*
I was seriously *tired* as I drew into my final, year long posting. It should have been of great comfort to me that the work was lowly, uninspiring and greatly prone to technical exaggeration - I could claim the simplest 5 minutes job took me hours and no one would bat an eye.
Today, it strikes me as utterly bizarre just how much of that time I continued pouring into the Unix world, under quite dire circumstances.
![Dire Circumstances](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/old-computer-pictures/dragonnight-bsd.jpg)
<sub>For some reason, I was booting DragonFly BSD on a different department on that Sunday morning. What was going on?</sub>
Unix projects at this time were numerous, desperate an mostly explainable even to me:
- I re-purposed an *extremely* old, useless server (dual core, 256MB of RAM) as a FreeBSD machine, aiming to run it as a Chess server
- I gathered dozens of old 1TB drives and tested how violently I could erase them using said server and much worse machines, often on the floor of the storage room
- I put aside a perfectly good computer in a special spot in our 'lab' and dedicated it entirely to testing exotic Linux distros, under various false pretenses
- I booted a specially formatted, carefully considered and fully encrypted Linux install in places I had no business booting Linux in for the sole purpose of gaming at night. The machines assembled for this were irrational, monstrous anomalies of human engineering.
- I carried around a Linux laptop and did a bunch of things with it all while checking just *where* I could get coverage.
- At my commander's request, I created a series of Unix lectures which were quite good, I think. Obviously never got to use them, but kept researching long after things dropped.
- I tried my hand at C and Python. It was bad.
![I am the night](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/old-computer-pictures/sbaseship.jpg)
<sub>Late nights with no commanders around were a frenzy of strange Unix abominations</sub>
# Aftermath
Upon my release, I had quite a bit of functional Linux knowledge in store, and kept tinkering and experimenting at home. Just shy of a year after my release, I landed a job as a Linux sysadmin - full time. The military gave me the stamp of society to knowledge I've learned almost entirely on my own, and can now claim as my profession.
When I just started my service, I proudly claimed I would *never* work in the IT industry - as '*computers are lifeless and working with them is a cold, soulless job*'.
I studied computers just to get past my service and escape shipping to some shithole down south - and ended up a professional **just out of spite**. Life really sneaks up on you.
To summarize:
- I like computer games
- I bought a computer to make games faster
- I bought and installed part to make games faster
- I messed around with the parts to make games faster
- I bought parts that would allow me to buy parts that I could mess around with to make games faster
Everything is nice. I am having fun. Life is great.
**Society barges in**
- I said something stupid because I was 16
- Instantly deemed a coder despite all evidence to the contrary
- Realize I hate IT
- I failed coding and infrastructure training because I am not a coder and hate IT
- I was still assigned to an IT role
- It was bad and I got pissed
- Learned IT out of spite
# Conclusion
Warning: the below is my personal opinion of what I know - I do not claim it to be true for everyone, everywhere.
I ended up where I am despite having no natural talent, no success and no love for the field because I like video games and maybe wanted to impress some girl I didn't know because I was 16 and slightly stupider than today.
I did all bunch of prep stuff to get to pick my army role, which supposedly is the pathway to a career and a degree. I got good grades. I had a favorite subject. I even went to an institution-prep thing. I was drilled, instructed, trained and prepared. It had no effect whatsoever. I succeeded solely out of spite.
I got my career because I studied on my own. And, as the cherry on top, I have no hope of ever getting into the degree that teaches my field, which I already practice, unless I pay a lot of money, which I can earn by practicing the field I cannot study for. Intensely ironic.
The tests don't mean anything. All the talk around those things is useless. Stuff happens for no reason. Most things socially demanded of you are void of substance. Don't take it all so seriously.
Go do what you love.

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# To The Last Breath: Mahler's Symphony #9 Finale
Let's get this out of the way: I don't listen to Mahler very often.
Gustav Mahler was the very first composer I sought out and listened to on my own - not as a recommendation, nor from prior familiarity. As a fledgling classical listener, Mahler's works blew me away by their sheer scale - I could never quite name what I'm hearing. It was pure *sound*, unlike anything I'd ever heard before.
As time went on, I started listening to other composers much more often, and Mahler fell out of my rotation in favor of mostly Romantic composers (namely Brahms, Tchaikovsky and Dvorak.) The sheer scale and length of his works make them difficult, for me, to listen to often.
Recently, I've started listening to some Mahler again, gradually and carefully - and it strikes me completely differently now as a more experienced listener.
What prompted me to write this is a particular movement I held close to my heart ever since I first heard it, at the very start of my journey into classical music - the final movement's of the ninth symphony.
## Some other title
There's no easy way to say it -
> This is a ***devastating*** piece.
As I've come to learn through my listening (and with the help of [this great channel](https://www.insidethescore.com/)), classical music is about the emotional response. A composer has the power to directly influence your feelings through the music to a great extent - and all great composers realize this deeply and act on it.
Gustav Mahler does it like no other, and this piece does so to the greatest extent I've heard.
Right off the bat, the composer demands your full and utmost attention, and does not let it go.
The orchestra itself is massive in size and scale, and is constantly in motion within itself.
It all starts with a simple theme. Reminiscent of perhaps a sorrowed wail, it instantly feels drenched in sorrow. The string call out the theme, and as it fades the orchestra moves into motion in something of a big, heavy sigh.
This *fatal* feeling lasts throughout the orchestra, masterfully weaved with other feelings - some joy, some anger, some yearning - yet from the first note to its last, this movement feels *final*. This is a statement about death, and it does not let you forget this for a mere moment.

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---
layout: post
title: "Going Big with Bruckner [Bruckner]"
category: [Classical Ramblings]
date: 2021-10-07 23:0:00 +0200
---
It's always the same.
A quiet, mysterious opening, slowly picking up intensity and volume.
Growing louder and louder, increasing in complexity - new sounds slowly file in.
And somehow, it snuck up on you - you're bathed in symphonic might, overflowing with emotion.
It's the Bruckner symphony.
I've come to hear the music of Anton Bruckner when following the path of Mahler, and the two do share many similarities - both hail from the proud German-Austrian traditions of Romantic music, and both brought the symphony to previously unforeseen scale. Their music, however, remains quite different.
Anton Bruckner's symphonies are massive in scale, sound and length - Bruckner often repeats himself, and the tempo is quite slow. Somewhat unusually, they all share a very similar structure and even orchestration - Bruckner had a style and he stuck to it.
Earlier in my classical journey, I was drawn to fast, virtuousic music - and so did not dwell long on Bruckner. As I grew into more diverse style, Bruckner crept up on me.
If you can spare the attention span to listen to him, you will be richly rewarded.
I've read online somewhere that '*Bruckner is not to be understood - but to be experienced*'.
His works are extremely rich in texture - the orchestra does not remain idle, and there's always something going on - the whispering of a wind instrument, low hums of strings, ringing brass. There's always an atmosphere to decipher, continuously building up and growing bigger, bolder.
And when you reach the core of each phrase, you are surrounded with pure, clean emotion.
And while it may sound all very conservative, Bruckner has some surprisingly modern tricks up his sleeve. He is not afraid to suddenly ditch pleasant tonality, rise suddenly in volume and force, and change the mood at a whim. The third symphony is a good example of this - even relatively early, it sounds very different from a conservative Classical era symphony.
Bruckner was a devout Catholic and an organist, and even though music historians complain that "Bruckner the man has very little to do with Bruckner the composer", I can hear these influences in his music. There's always a divine aura to the symphonies, and if you close your eyes, at times you can almost imagine sitting afoot a massive organ, awed by its sound. At other times, it sounds like something of a movie soundtrack, whether released today or in the last decade. Finally, if you're not aware, you'll be caught of guard with much more colorful modern maneuvers.
Anton's music contrasts greatly with many of my favorites - Brahms being particularly different. Where Brahms uses the orchestra in moderation, and constructs powerful and sudden phrases with sudden might - Bruckner builds up the entire orchestra. It also greatly differs from the music of Mahler, who saw Bruckner as a contemporary (and said of him he is a "Half simpleton, half God") - Mahler's vast symphonic scale is fickle and intense, while Bruckner's is restrained and carefully presented. The music of both is amongst the mightiest I've ever heard.
Nowadays, I really enjoy listening to Bruckner - it's somewhat of a break from the rest of the music into the familiar structure of his symphonies - which never fail to awe me in their unique voice.
Just listen to the Adagio of the sixth and see if it does not touch something within your soul.
I heartily recommend giving the 3rd, 4th, 6th, and 7th symphonies an attentive listen.

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---
layout: post
title: "Classical: The Next Generation"
category: [Classical Ramblings]
date: 2021-10-18 23:20:00 +0200
---
Classical season has started earlier this month, and I've been having a blast - attending two concerts, as well as a rehearsal - which have all been outstanding. As awesome as those have been, tonight has been particularly spectacular - I had the great priviledge of inviting my parents to listen as well.
I've known for some time experiencing classical live is a big part of it, but it's amazing just how much of an impact it's had on my journey in such a short time - even recordings I already know and love sound totally different!
# Classical's Not Dead - It's Edgier Than Ever!
The programme this year is about *bringing unique, less-often performed pieces to the public* - and while I don't know how objectively true that is, it's certainly been quite spicy.
The opening was a performance of Tchaikovsky's brilliant Violin Concerto (played by Joshua Bell), and no other than the (allegedly) riot-inducing *Rite Of Spring* by Stravinsky.
Now, the violin concerto is a piece I really like (and as I've learned, many people of the public and music students strongly dislike), and it was a heartfelt, lively performance followed by a tasty encore of the first of Chopin's nocturnes (on violin! I didn't know that was a thing!). While savouring the joy of hearing this familiar piece, I inevitably fell to smugness ( *this can't get better* ) and was completely blindsided by *The Rite of Spring*.
> It began while I sat in the hall during the break - I love watching the players warm up and trill - when they rolled in ***the gong***.
That's right - ***The Gong***.
It. Was. Unbelievable.
From the strange, entrancing call of the basoon, the sudden harsh *growling* of the strings laced with tense pizicatto, to one of my new favourite bits of music - the gong.
The gong-man just *smacks it* and the concert hall bows to submit, heraled by the LOUD cry of strings and wind - absolutely mesmerizing!
The room quivered with power and emotion like I've never felt by any work of art.
On my way out, I heard a mother asking her teenage son what he thought of the Rite of Spring.
'The opening was good', he condescendingly ruled.
You don't know where it's at, kid!
# Tchaikovski and Chill
The next endeavour was a public rehearsel of Tchakovski's magnificent Fourth Symphony, which has always been one of my very favourites. All the players, as well as the conductor, just waltzed in with their jeans and flip-flops and played the hell out of that symphony.
Hearing a piece I am deeply familiar with was really exciting, and digging into it with the conductor's corrections was even better.
I learned a lot by how he corrects the orchestra - you're not *rising* smoothly here, going *too fast* there, and suddenly seeing it improve was eye opening.
It was also amusing listening to the complaints of my neighbours (It's too long! why are they rehearsing for so long!, Oh, look, it's going to get loud, he's bringing in the cymbals!).
To top it off, since the concert hall is near my work place, I got some time to go photograph pigeons in that nice fountain and drink green tea. Really helped process things.
# Classical: Next Generation
Finally, tonight me and my folks went to hear another concert.
The day had all the makings of disaster spelled all over it: both my folks were busy beforehand (lil' bro won an award! yay!), I dragged them out too early (no regrets), and the pieces to be played were particularly spicy which my father tends to dislike (describing them as *white-hot combs searing into the flesh*). We hear Ligetti's Atmospheres, Bartok's Viola Concerto and of course, Tchaikovski's magnifienct fourth. I didn't spoil anything!
Things went... far better than expected.
The conductor (charismatic Lahav Shani) promptly explained the concept behind Ligetti's piece - playing all of the sounds at once and using them to manipulate mood - which helped it 'click' both for me and my folks. It was a slower piece, and I expected them to be disappointed - only to be suprised to find them pleased.
> It wasn't *comby* at all! it makes sense! it's really cool!
- Dad
Bartok's Viola concerto was a stellar performance by Pinchas Zuckerman, and it was amazing to see both my folks suddenly intrigued at the edge of their seats
> *It's so beautiful!*
- Mum, silently to herself.
But much like Stravinsky did to Tchakovski, Tchaikovski did tonight to Bartok - The fourth symphony ticked all my boxes. It was rich, passionate, exciting - it was the sypmhony at it's best. I listened to it with my eyes watering, and my parents were sucked right in. Their eyes lit up like I haven't seen in a good while.
They each told me they've never been to a concert before, and if it weren't for me they likely would not have gone. Tonight, I was able to give them something back, and share a great passion of mine with them - and see it really connect. I'll never forget this feeling.
Both have eagerly expressed will to go again, but even if this was a one time thing - I'm overjoyed I was able to give a little something back.

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---
layout: post
title: "The String Quartet"
category: [Classical Ramblings]
date: 2021-10-26 23:15:00 +0200
---
Following the great sweep of symphonic pieces I have heard thanks to the Philharmonic's season opening, I find myself straying back to one of my favourites subgenres of classical music - the string quartet. A successful spin of the great classic tradition, I feel the string quartet embodies the best classical has to offer in a unique, heartfelt form.
I find string quartets fascinating because, to me, they represent about as close as you can get to mainstream music from the classical realm. I like to think of quartets (and their cousins, the quintets and sextets) not unlike a conventional band - namely a few players with their instruments playing a smaller scale of music.
Coming from mainstream music, you can easily dismiss the difference to classical sound by pointing out something like the orchestra ('Well, we're not gonna sound like *that* - there's a whole bunch of players!') or the unique instruments ('no one *here* rocks a tuba!') and of course the age and origin of the pieces.
However, if you're *really* stretching, you might argue that if you think of a contra bass or a cello as a big, twiddly bass guitar, you're *almost* there - and **now** the difference in what you're hearing is much more likely to stem from the music itself.
But what *are* you hearing?
The string formations restrict themselves to a single subset of classical sound - the strings - and that is it. This stands in stark contrast to both the back-and-forth of strings, wind and brass often heard in symphonic works, and to the virtuousic, often brooding nature of solo piano works. There's a certain balance that must be kept, and there's only one type of sound to keep it with.
As a result, the quartets are considered by many to be a prestigious, high form of art - and composers tended to view them as a great challenge and test of skill. These pieces thus tend to be deeply passionate and expressive.
A side effect of the 'single sound' effect is that string quartets/quintets/sextets are often *very* harsh on the ear for those who are not familiar with them (and sometimes, to those who ***are*** familiar with them - Shostakovitch's and Bartok's quartets are prime example) - they screech, squeal and creak, unable to be disguised in the large formation of full-blown orchestras nor in the elegance of the grand acoustic piano - the sound is very raw and physical.
Once you surmount that initial repulsion, however, there's something really special to be heard.
# The Strings Compared to the Orchestra
Dvorak's most-famous quartet is the *very* well known (for good reason!) quartet #12 - monikered as the American quartet. He composed it while in the United States, and I would wager even the unsuspecting listener could clearly conjure out the States of that time while listening to it - think rustic, wide open spaces, a new and optimistic world, with smidgens of brilliant Native American melodies.
The case of the 12th quartet and the 9th symphony is a great example of how this form differs from the orchestral genre.
Dvorak's Ninth symphony - 'From The New World' - was written around a similar time and around a similar theme as the 'American' quartet. Both pieces attempt to convey a similar feeling, albeit from different directions - the quartet looks inward to the new world from an European point of view, while the symphony looks back home to Europe (' *from the new world* '). The symphony is certainly far richer - rife with deep nostalgia, great triumph and a fragile, perhaps menacing hope of new start. It is a grand story of the whole process of going away and looking back, told with intense emotion - strings and brass convey the horns of trains, menacing looming bass and great heights of joy and victory.
The quartet is much more intimate - it feels much as though you're overlooking great plains and rolling hills in the rising sun. Rather than exploding with sudden intensity as the symphony does, the mood in the quartet rises and falls much more gradually. The focus shifts from the great complex of the story to something much closer - as if the symphony speaks for the crowd, but the quartet speaks just to you. The second movement in particular conveys this wonderfully - the playing is soft and gentle, plucking and the heartstrings, while also being very brittle - to me, it feels as if a swift gust of wind could blow the tender moment away, gone in the breeze. The orchestra's sudden crescendos have no such fears, and no such softness.
Despite being penned by the same composer in the same mindset, these pieces are incredibly different.
# The Strings Between Composers
Another feature of the quartet I really enjoy is how it highlights the differences between composers, periods and themes in classical music.
Symphonies greatly vary in instrumentation and orchestration, chamber music can mix and match between a pool of instruments, and even pianos differ between the eras - but the string quartet is almost always the same, as is tradition - two violins, a viola and a cello.
You would be excused for thinking this would make for a much less vibrant type of music - but that notion will quickly be dispelled. Under the guidance of different composers, quartets vary wildly in thought, mood and sound.
A cornerstone of the string quartet repertoire are no other than Beethoven's, who brought them (then a relatively new form) to new heights. One of the quartets I've been listening to lately is his 14th, considered by many the very best he composed. It begins with a profound, melancholy fugue which stirs the very soul - the strings in perfect balance, never overpowering, overreaching or exaggerating - the music truly does stand on its' own. The mood gently flows and varies between a soft dance, a harsher, determined march and a great many lyrical phrases. This quartet is a beautiful, haunting piece.
A great admirer of Beethoven was Johannes Brahms, who had also ventured out to write a string quartet. Brahms' string quartet was the very first piece by him I'd heard, and it was the catalyst for me to dive deeper into his works - now one of my favorite composers. Brahms' string quartet is utterly different from Beethoven's - while the 14th's mood is melancholy, brooding and thoughtful, listening to Brahms' quartet feels to me as if you're sitting and considering your feelings carefully, with great restraint. The classical minimalism is still there - the strings are used carefully and sparingly - but there is also a strong vein of romanticism. Brahms' quartet meanders between the mellow play of the instruments to sudden bursts of deep emotion - the strings suddenly play all together, rise and fall dramatically, *just* touching on dissonance but never quite there. It is an amazing piece - managing both the strictness and precision of the classical aesthetic and the deep romanticism apparent in Brahms' works. It is a permanent favourite in my playlist.
And Much like Brahms admired Beethoven, a great admirer of Brahms was Schoenberg, who stood in great contrast of Brahms and his style. With this admiration in mind (Schoenberg also orchestrated some of Brahms' works himself), he had also set out to write string quartets. Admittedly, I have yet to hear all of them, and only really sank into the first - Schoenberg is an acquired taste. That quartet however, despite being one of his earlier pieces, could not be more different than Brahms' or Beethoven's entries - is it dissonant, ominous and much more frantic. Phrases within it are much more chaotic, and much more potent - Schoenberg is willing to go farther and abandon constrains to say what he has to say. I've had trouble with this piece until it suddenly *clicked* - and now I really enjoy listening to it.
Three composers, all within the same tradition, produced radically different works with the very same instruments and under the very same principals - a brilliant example of the variety in classical music.
# Further Listening
My 'crazes' of specific genres, eras, or composers usually last about a week, but this time around the quartets held out much longer - it really is an incredibly rich genre. I've listened to many pieces aside those mentioned above, and have targeted others for listening in the future.
## Great Quartets and Quartetiers
- **Mozart** wrote many string quartets, likely the first to do so after Haydn, the father of the genre. His 15th quartet (in D minor, K.421) is a mysterious, elegant piece I love listening to, as well as his 19th ("Dissonant" in C, K.465) which I feel really does not justify its' namesake. From what I can tell regarding Mozart, it's either due to perfectionism or deep cynicism.
- **Prokofiev** wrote two string quartets (as far as I'm aware of), the first of which (Op.50 in B minor) is a frenzied dance piece which is very bold yet upbeat. It is a breath of fresh air from the usual heaviness of many quartets.
- Speaking of heaviness, **Sibelius** wrote one string quartet and nailed it right off the bat. 'Voces Intimae' (Op.56 in D minor) is a hauntingly sad piece and lives up to its' namesake - a very touching work.
- **Smetana** was not really on my radar prior to this session, yet his first quartet , "From My Life" (Op.116 in E minor) caught my ear instantly - it feels as if you're sitting with him and listening to his life through his music. It is an amazingly personal work, beautifully expressed - the string absolutely sing!
- **Schubert** is also a very accomplished quartetier, having composed well over a dozen - the most famous of which is 'Death and the Maiden' (D.810 in D minor), which is a colourful, somber narrative piece which packs quite a punch. Schubert, however, is primarily the 'King of Song', and other quartets I listened to (the 10th, D.87 in E flat major and the 8th, D.112 in B-flat major) uphold this reputation - they are very lyrical and soft, and overall really pleasant to listen to.
- **Mendelssohn** is one of my favourite quartetiers as well - he gets it *just* right. There's enough going on to make is interesting, but not too much as to become overwhelming - it all has a nice balance to it. If anyone had managed to hide the screeching and squeaking of the strings - that is Mendelssohn.
Do not let my mellow description fool you, however - his quartets are powerful, emotional works. The 4th (Op.44 No.2 in E minor) portraits a deep, subdued sadness on the first movement and a cheery atmosphere with ominous undertones in the second, and the 6th (Op. 80 in F minor) portraits the grief of losing his sister, Fanny, in a very immediate, raw way.
- **Tchaikovsky** wrote a string quartet (Op.11 in D major) in peak Romantic fashion, and it is absolutely great. The second movement is my favorite. It is mellow and sweet, but has some yearning, divine undertone - it is a very potent piece.
- **Borodin** wrote a Romantic (and also literally 'romantic') string quartet in D major, and it has got to be the sweetest, most tender piece of music I'd ever heard. He wrote it as his 20th anniversary gift to his wife, and it depicts the story of them falling in love - he is the cello and she is the viola!.
I am a great skepticist in the power of love and such, but if anything could convince me - this quartet would be it.
- **Debussy** and **Ravel** both wrote string quartets (Debussy's is Op.10 in G minor, Ravel's is M.35 in F major) in the height of French impressionism - it feels as if you're listening to a painting (in a good way). Ravel's was one of the first pieces I'd ever heard and it absolutely shattered my perception of classical music - I could barely understand what I was listening to! both are a really fun listen.
## To Be Heard
There is a great deal of string quartets which are quite famous that I have yet to hear:
- Beethoven's works are said to be the most important body of works in the quartet realm - the middle and late quartets in particular.
- Haydn, the father of the string quartets, has written. Lots. of them.
- Mozart was the first to pick it up after Haydn, and dedicated some to Haydn because they were bros. How nice!
- I was really surprised to hear Shostakovitch has written 15(!) string quartets. I have heard the 8th some time ago - it is a seriously tense, expressive work.
- Bela Bartok has brought his unique soundscape to no less than six quartets as well - some of which I have heard but have yet to digest.
- Schoenberg's quartets are said to grow increasingly bold - since the first is pretty bold already by my book I'll have to look into it...
- Dvorak, the king of strings, has no less than 16 quartets - at a time they were very out of fashion. The 12th was not a one hit wonder! I love the 13th as well.

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---
layout: post
title: "Aotearoa"
category: [Travel]
date: 2021-10-28 23:06:00 +0200
---
Exactly two years ago, at this very time, I was racing against the night in a long, long journey that would change my life forever.
Two years ago, I embarked on a journey I had painstakingly planned, dreamt and hoped for - I began my four month, 55,000 kilometer journey almost as far as I could go from home.
![Maunga Taranaki](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/long_white_cloud.jpg)
<sub>Sunset at Maunga Taranaki, North Island, Aotearoa New Zealand</sub>
To this day, I cannot recall how I got the idea of travelling to New Zealand. I was quite adamant againt the *'big trip'* mentality of soldiers in Israel, decreeing it wasteful and unneccesary.
After drafting, my mental health began to sharply deteriorate, and I sank into a pit I could not see myself climb out of.
Many months of my life began blurring away, people and places disappearing into a deep, repressed void. And for some reason, in my darkest of times, I had decided to travel to New Zealand as soon as I am released.
I cannot recall what prompted me to change my mind so swiftly, nor what made me decide on New Zealand - a decision I remember was quick and sure. Yet within days, I had bought a pair of travel books - one for New Zealand and one for Australia - and from there onwards I had spent every free evening, every holiday, every dark day planning, documenting and dreaming of my trip.
The plan was ambitious to a fault - I would travel alone, and across the entire country - relying on no one and hoping for nothing. As a depressed, socially anxious soldier, this state of mind was almost unthinkable - yet it was the hope towards it which gave me strength to push through my service.
I remember booking my flight shortly after my release, and drinking my very first shot of whiskey to celebrate. I remember pouring over my notes and maps and marking destinations. I remember buying the gear - the clothes, the boots - and finally, I remember packing and rushing to the airport to catch my flight as it was pushed early.
On October 28th, 2019, around 17:00, I embarked on a 36 hour journey towards my triumph over apathy - Aotearoa New Zealand.
The journey was a success beyond my wildest dreams. Of course, it had changes in the plan, the destinations, and expectations - but it could not have gone any better than it did.
So powerful was the experience that to this day I cannot recall it without tears of joy rising in my throat. So powerful was the experience that I remember each and every day I spent overseas, down to the smallest, most minute details - all after close to three years erased from my life almost completely. It has taken me two years to fully process, recall and work through my experience as I begin to do today.
I hope to work through my journey today, as it transpired two years ago - how I felt, what I saw, and how I have evolved since. Thankfully, I have left countless memories, photos and journal entries, which I will bring to light in the order they were written.
The most important lesson I have learned in my travels is that what really matters is not where you are, nor what you see - but how what you've seen makes you feel.
If I close my eyes, I feel as I've felt then - in the rainy slopes of the Taranaki, in the tarns of Maunga Aoraki, in the forests of Rakiura, under the stars of Abel Tasman and in the clouds of the Tongariro. And thus, I never really left.
Here's to many more wonderful journeys, which all began here - in Aotearoa.

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layout: post
title: "Auckland & Hauraki Gulf"
category: [Travel]
date: 2021-11-01 23:06:00 +0200
---
The city of sails ashore the torquise waters of the Hauraki gulf was my gateway into Aotearoa.
![Mount Eden](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/auckland/mount-eden.jpg)
<sub>view from Mount Eden, a large dormant volcano at the heart of Auckland.</sub>
Auckland, New Zealand's largest city, sits atop no less than 50(!) dormant volcanoes, and to its feet lay the Hauraki golf - smattered with hundreds of islands.
It is a cosmopolitan city - filled with parks, museums, restaurants and shopping centers. Yet if you take the short walk ashore (it is a remarkably compact city) you will find the ferry terminal - a gateway to many small adventures over the great bay. Ferrys go out by the hour for luxury resorts, livestock islands, camping grounds and pest-free bird shelters.
Auckland was a great micro-cosmos of New Zealand as a whole - half culture, half nature - and I split my time there exactly 50/50 between the two. It was a relatively short stay, but incredibly packed and diverse.
# War Memorial Museum & Winter Gardens
![War Memorial Museum](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/auckland/war-memorial-museum.jpg)
My first stop was the War Memorial Museum, which sits at the heart of the Auckland Domain - the largest park in the city.
This was my very first contact with Maori culture - which I had no background about prior to visiting.
The museum is filled with grand Tikis, unearthed weapons, and Maori *taonga* - treasures - and tells the story of the Maori as they arrived from afar in their Wakas (grand canoes) and settled the city. It does not shy away from the arrival of the Pakeha - the white man - and how it exploited and stole from the Maori. Not that they were a peaceful bunch - the Maori often warred among themselves.
One thing you cannot deny, however - Maori aesthetic is stunning, and the craftsmen were incredibly skilled!
![Maori Waka](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/auckland/auckland-waka.jpg)
<sub>a Waka - grand Maori canoe. Wakas range in size from local expeditions, war parties, and ocean faring Great Wakas.</sub>
![Maori Tiki](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/auckland/auckland-tiki.jpg)
<sub>the Maori often constructed great tikis portraying stories from their mythology over dwellings of chiefs and respected folk. The tikis also have penises sometimes.</sub>
Family members and friends were very surprised when I sent back those pictures - it's not quite what they had in mind when thinking of New Zealand.
Continuing my cultured cruise of the city, I went onward to the Auckland Winter Gardens - a peak New Zealand fashion. It was splendid slowing down in the tranquil gardens - and the Fernery (also peak New Zealand fashion) was a great intro to the kind of flora I would see later on.
After an amazing night's sleep, I even managed to sormount the jet-lag completely - I could sit down and get right back up without the world spinning!
![Winter Gardens](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/auckland/winter-gardens.jpg)
<sub>The gardens are very rich, and no one distrubs you while you stop and smell the flowers - talk about a culture shock.</sub>
![Fernery](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/auckland/auckland-fernery.jpg)
<sub>A garden just for ferns - very classy stuff</sub>.
# Waiheke
![Waiheke](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/waiheke.jpg)
<sub>Start of the Waiheke trails - off to a great start!</sub>
Having recovered from my flight and successfully passing a short primer on culture and flora, I was ready for my first natural adventure - the island resort of Waiheke, home of the ultra-rich Kiwis and very expensive vineyards. Waiheke, much like anywhere in New Zealand, has extensive hiking tracks. Rolling hills and billowing grasses, black sand beaches and the sweet smell of the sea - Waiheke is an incredible place.
*Waiheke* (trickling waters in Te Reo - the Maori language) was my proving ground for further expeditions and longer treks, as well as testing the waters for camping in the Great Barrier Island. And a proving ground that was - my smugness was shattered on Waiheke. I had planned to trek for a day (10 hours?), but Waiheke needed only 4 to defeat me - climbing massive sand hills, crossing beaches and right down to other hills, all with a pack that's far, far too heavy. It was a good wakeup call, and disapointed me greatly at first, but sitting on the hills in the billowing winds quickly dissipated my disappointment back to endless bliss.
Following Waiheke, I trotted off to Devonport - a quite, scenic suburb of Auckland. I visited a massive gun built for World War II (never used, of course), went to check out the setting sun on the bay and for a plate of Fish&Chips. Great stuff.
![Devonport](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/auckland/devonport-watchpoint.jpg)
<sub>It really is nice almost anywhere in New Zealand.</sub>
![City Of Sails](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/auckland/city-of-sails.jpg)
<sub>It's always busy on land and in water in the largest (and still very small) of Kiwi cities.</sub>
# Rangitoto
The next day was a seriously cool destination - the Island of *Rangitoto* (Bloody Sky), the youngest volcano in New Zealand.
Adjacent to Rangitoto lay the old, tranquil island of *Motutapu* (Sacred Island) - a flat, tranquil island of soft rolling hills and rich soil.
A Maori group lived there peacefully for many years - until one day, disaster struck.
The skies turned red as blood, the ground shook violently, and fire spewed out of the oceans - ash and darkness enveloping everything for a few days.
When the dust settled, a new island was born. The Maoris, who survived unharmed, named it Rangitoto - and described its' birth in their histories.
![Rangitoto Shore](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/auckland/rangitoto-shore.jpg)
<sub>That's volcanic, all right.</sub>
Rangitoto is a mere 600 years old - and scientists study it extensively as life colonizes the raw, volcanic rock.
First, some birds lay organic matter on the rocks (food scraps, leavings, etc). Then, small trees and ferns manage to take root (the island has mostly one type of tree - the hardy Pohutukawa). And out of nothing, life takes root.
![Rangitoto Foliage](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/auckland/rangitoto-foliage.jpg)
<sub>Life, uh, finds a way...</sub>
The very ground on Rangitoto is harsh, and the forest is young - the trees are thin and relatively far apart. The island rises throughout the young forest up to the crater of the volcano that created it - thankfully dormant today.
![Rangitoto Trail](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/auckland/rangitoto-trail.jpg)
<sub>The soil is the absolute minimum level of 'not rocks' throughout the island.</sub>
Rangitoto's rim is very deep - over 50 meters - and all covered in the young forest. Sassy birds fly from one crater wall to the other, and their song echoes in the hollow.
Watching them was like a strange game of whack-a-mole - there's a constant commotion and suddenly one pops out of nowhere and goes somewhere - up, down, sideways, whatever. Surprisingly entertaining!
![Rangitoto Crater](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/auckland/rangitoto-crater.jpg)
<sub>It's very hard to capture the depth of the crater - the picture is very misleading. Look closely!</sub>
![Rangitoto Crater Wall](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/auckland/rangitoto-crater-wall.jpg)
![Pohutukawa Rim](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/auckland/pohutukawa-rim.jpg)
<sub>Pohutukawas, like the one pictured here, were first to colonize the island and are still the main plant there, aside from small tree ferns.</sub>
Once you brave the climb, you are rewarded with amazing views of the surrounding gulf - you can easily spot Auckland over the water. Amazing what a short distance seperates these two utterly different places!
![Pohutukawa](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/auckland/rangitoto-hauraki.jpg)
<sub> I was not being lyrical when describing the waters as torquise - they really are!</sub>
The very next day, I set off north for Whangarei - one of New Zealand's oldest forests.
Auckland kept me busy a full 13 hours each day there - unfortunately, I did not return there as I had planned. While Kiwis are partial to it (I met an Aucklander further away in a hostel who was there just because *'There's too much going on in Auckland, man'*), I greatly enjoyed my time there.

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layout: post
title: "Aotearoa - Day 1"
category: [Travel]
date: 2021-10-31 00:59:00 +0200
---
I still vividly remember my first day in New Zealand.
I'd swapped seats with a Kiwi family on the flight from Bangkok to Auckland and thus had the priviledge of spying the Northern Island from afar.
I remember my heart soaring with disbelief when finally seeing the green grass of the landing strip with my own eyes. That's when it kicked in - this is *real*. I have made it to Aotearoa, the land of the long white cloud.
After landing, I bought a SIM card and awkwardly exchanged the 100$ my grandfather gave me with broken English, and managed to work out the EtfPos into buying myself a (very expensive!) bus ticket to my hostel.
I hiked with all my heavy packs way uphill to my hostel - I made it around 12:00 - and instantly went for a shower and off to town I went.
![First Image from New Zealand](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/auckland-first-image.jpg)
<sub>My first image from New Zealand! I got better over time</sub>
Under the pretense of going shopping for groceries and an A/C, I decided to wander randomly towards the sea to get a feel of the city.
That's when I discovered my first surprise of the trip - cities in New Zealand are, more often than not, amazingly ugly. I ended up stumbling in random ugly allies, unsure of where to go nor what to do, simply remembering to head back to the shopping center near my hostel when I finished with... whatever that was.
I felt... dissapointed. I felt homesick. Did I really go this far out?
![Auckland Railways](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/auckland-rail.jpg)
<sub>It's not that bad, is it?</sub>
I somehow wound up in the tranquil Albert park, and that's where my mood picked up and it really sank in. I sat down and wrote my first journal entry of the journey - I was *really* focused on having food and water and not dying. It took a while for the survivalism to go away...
Jetlag *really* kicks in after 34 hours and a 12 hour time difference - getting back up from that bench was seriously difficult!
That day, I figured out the rhythm that would follow for the rest of my journey - I went to my first Kiwi supermarket (self checkout and fabric bags, baby!), made my first hostel dinner (nondescript rice with vegtables!), and had the second best sleep of my life.
I honestly think that was the most difficult day of the entire trip - it is incredibly scary realizing how alone and how far away you are until it happens.
> No doubt there shall be a process
Was the concluding remark in my journal. A process there was!
![Kiwi Humor](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/kiwi-humor.jpg)
<sub> I knew I picked the right destination encountering *this* almost immediatly after leaving the hostel. </sub>

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layout: post
title: "Whangarei & Tutukaka"
category: [Travel]
date: 2021-11-03 21:25:00 +0200
---
>In Progress
![Tutukaka Seabird](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/whangarei/tutukaka_seabird.jpg)
<sub>White-naped Petrel in flight in Tutukaka bay, near Poor Knight's Islands
A short several hour bus drive north of Auckland lay the medium township of Whangarei - one of the last bastions of the mighty Kaori, and the only one near civilization.
Whangarei (pronounced Fangarei - Wh is F in Te Reo - as I learned from the amused bus driver when boarding for 'Pangarei'. Yikes.). Wait. Anyway.
Whangarei is not a typical stop on the route of most backpackers (defenitley not the 'Hummus Trail' of Israeli backpackers), who head straight up north to the Bay of Islands. Myself, however, keen to visit every nook and cranny in Aotearoa I could easily reach, opted for a few daysen-route north - and I'm very glad I did.
All around the township lay a special type of forest - a Kaori forest. The Kaori is a *dinosaur tree* - an old, now rare organism of great beauty. Kaoris are mildly basic - and as they shed bark and leaves the ground becomes basic as well, denying other trees and enriching new Kaoris. The forests they inhabit are interspread with grouping of young Kaori around an elder tree amongst clumps of hardy ferns, trees, and tree ferns.
Being rare and relatively slow growing, Kaori forest are surrounded by lush Kiwi bush, at the heart of which lay the Kaori heartlands - traversing these phases is quite the experience.
![Whangerei Streams](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/whangarei/whangarei_stream.jpg)
![Whangerei Bush](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/whangarei/whangarei_bush.jpg)
<sub>In most of Whangarei, you're no further than a five minute walk from sights such as these.</sub>
After the rough, unformed terrain of Rangitoto just a day prior, the rich forest of Whangarei presents a whole different light. The sun slits softly through rich canopy, the leaves of low ferns are damp and a soft breeze whistles through the trees. The tranquility in these woods is captivating.
![Whangerei Ferns](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/whangarei/whangarei_ferns.jpg)
My hostel was a mere five minutes from Whangarei Falls - a magnificent gateway to the Kaori heartlands. At the end of each day, you can simply opt for a short walk through nature and circle back to the falls - a priviledge I remember fondly to this day. What a life!
![Whangerei Falls](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/whangarei/whangarei_falls.jpg)
<sub>I really enjoyed slipping into my sneakers and coming here to read a good book as the sun set. When I could no longer read clearly in the fading light - I would back.</sub>
Once you wander deep enough into the forest, you'll encounter a fence, alongside a carpet and a spray bottle to disinfect your shoes - the Kaori are suspectpable to a fungus which grows outside, and so you sanitize before entering. This was a local act of pride - under the slogan 'Save our Kaori!'. How kind!
And finally, you are under the canopy of the elders. You are in a Kaori forest.
![Whangerei Kaoris](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/whangarei/whangarei_kaoris.jpg)
<sub>Pictured here are a pair of young Kaoris. Old Kaoris grow over 50 meters tall and live for hundreds of years!</sub>
The Kaoris have a special, flaky tri-colored bark and small, matted round-ish leaves. The bark looks a bit porous and the proportions just seem 'off' - these trees are further down the evolutionary path than most you might encounter.
![Whangerei Kaori](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/whangarei/whangarei_kaori.jpg)
<sub>Close-up of a bark of an older Kaori tree. Moss grows sporadically on the bark giving them a spotted appearance.</sub>
The Kaori were once spread accross most of Aotearoa, throughout the North Island and the northern regions of the South Island as well. They were prized by the Maori as wood for their Wakas - the shipwrights would often hollow a pair of trunks, tie them elaborately toghether with rope made from native flax ( *Harakeke* in Te Reo) and treated with salt water. The results were long, water-tight great Wakas used for travel, hunting and war parties.
The colonizers from England ( *Pakeha* ) valued the Kaori for its' beautiful, hard sap, as well as wood for luxury furniture - the forest were logged extensively and the prized wood and sapped exported throughout Europe. The results of both uses were devastating; less than 1% of the original Kaori forest remains, all in the northen reaches of the North island.
Standing under something so old, so rare and endangered really helps things sink in perspective.
Also abundant in the forest is the Silver Fern, New Zealand's national emblem. These ferns look like any other - until you flip the underside to see it completely silver!
The Maori hunters considered the ferns a gift - under the light of the moon, they would flip some of the leaves and find their way home after a long voyage of foraging.
![Whangerei Silver Fern](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/whangarei/whangarei_silver_fern.jpg)
<sub>The name suits them better than you might think - they are quite silver.</sub>
I stayed for a relatively long time in Whangarei - about as much as I have in Auckland - and much of that time was spent in the forests and gorgeous meadows around it.
![Stairway to Whangerei](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/whangarei/stairway_to_whangarei.jpg)
<sub>The climb to Mount Parihaka ( *War Dance* ), where the Kaoris hold the higher ranges and relegate the rest to the bush.</sub>
![Mount Parihaka](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/whangarei/mount_parihaka.jpg)
<sub>Once the site of a large Maori settlement ( *pa* ), today a WWII memorial sits atop the mountain and glows red at night - visible in Whangarei itself.</sub>
![Whangarei Meadows](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/whangarei/whangarei_meadow.jpg)
![Whangarei Manuka](https://ler.pukeko.xyz/assets/aotearoa/whangarei/whangarei_manuka.jpg)
<sub>A *Manuka* bush, common throughout New Zealand. The honey made from the Manuka is a prized delicacy.</sub>