Bibimbap 비빔밥

November ... I'll try to remember. NaBloPoMo#1

November ... I'll try to remember. NaBloPoMo#1

To SandraLynn in "Murder Mysteries Please" : "Thanks for the suggestions. I love mysteries but no longer read anything current. I do love serial mysteries. I loved the Chyna Bayles mysteries written by Susan Wittig Albert (one of the few authors I've actually met in person).

I cringe at horror; but, I can write it. Mysteries? Love them; but, can't write them. The hidden clues. The unexpected but utterly believable outcomes intrigue me. I grew up on Agatha Christie... 'nuff said.



To Write_Mikey_Write! in "Lime for the limey [Journalistic Intentions Rd 14]" : I forgot about Journalistic Intentions until it was too late. I could've done all of them...

I love lime soda, key lime pie...

Not so fond of that earworm song though.

All the colors in the world! And I missed it. Chartreuse was one of the basic colors of my childhood. It's the only color of our kitchen that I can remember. Years and years of peeling... fading like my memories. Maroon and white are still my high-school colors and maroon the color of the Montana Griz. I wrote a poem using mauve "Mauve Mavis" . I guess cerulean is close enough to the deep blue-green of midnight/prussian blue of my childhood. I didn't bring my big box of crayons to Thailand.



To Richard ~ Thankful!! in "Please Don't Feed The Pet Peeves - Music!" : I watched/listened to Carol Burnett's rendition of "Send in the Clowns". Heartbreaking. Is she the best singer ever? No. But, she delivers with that song. She wrung every emotion out of it. She "owned" it.

I've listened to Dimash's version of "SOS d'un terrien en détresse" dozens of times. Yes, he hits high notes; yes, his range is incredible; but, one can feel the emotion without even knowing the words and even his soft ending was perfect (live performance in China).

Emotions matter more than notes. AI can play Bach's "Sheep May Safely Graze" ... but a drunk in a local bar can sing it better.

Just my opinion.

I easily get winded. I can barely hold my breath to swim 10 meters across the pool. Singing would be good for my lungs. My neighbors may not agree... but I live at the end of the hall and if the doors and windows are closed I might not embarrass myself.

Pannya, who lives with me, has a beautiful voice. He practices singing mor lam. ▼

Mor lam (Lao: ໝໍລຳ; Isan: หมอลำ) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mor_lam is a traditional Lao form of song in Laos and Isan. Mor lam means 'expert song', or 'expert singer', referring to the music or artist respectively.

I cringe at every flat or missed note. No... I don't know what he is singing and don't know the melodies, but my ears cringe regardless. I can tell when he gets it right. And he practices to get it right.

Me? I'd settle on just being able to sing it with emotion... preferably on key.



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