Deathstalker Coda Out Tomorrow Aiyaa–I Mean, I Like To Whine

listening to: björk – bachelorette (mark bell zip mix)

So. When everybody who heard my Haydn last Wednesday came up to me and told me that it was really rockin’, by “really rockin'” did they just mean “in-total-disregard-to-life-forms-everywhere FAST”?!

Maybe you could guess that I finally listened to my recital recording last night.

I love my accompanist. Ben is awesome. I am willing to forgive him for starting the intro to Haydn a half-step up as a joke before the dress-rehearsal(I totally called him on that one, anyway). I am willing to forgive him for convincing me that he had a fake knee. However, I don’t know if I am willing to forgive him for the tempo of the 3rd movement of the Haydn OH MY GOD. But then again, you know. Meh (And also, I was being…you know. Facetious, about the Haydn tempo…thing. Now SHOO).

There is also the matter of WHY DIDN’T MY DAD CHECK THE RECORDING LEVEL OF THE MD BEFORE RECORDING?! It’s fine, except for the fact that I have to turn the volume up 8-million notches on any given stereo-system in order to hear the stuff at a normal volume. It sounds fuzzy, and you can pretty much hear movement being made by any given person who was sitting within a five foot radius of the mic. It’s not really that big a deal, and I wouldn’t care, except for the fact that I was depending on my recital recording to give me good cuts for my summer application-tapes. Oh well. This will just be a good excuse for me to re-record the Bach when I next have a chance, as I TORE THROUGH the prelude during the recital.


I mean…I’m done whining about things.

I can definitely see what Brandon means when he says I need to adjust my vibrato, now that I’m listening to my vibrato. I know that was something I had in mind to think about, and might have actually been working with. But…arrgh. Playing in front of people, the things I tell myself to keep in mind usually just go to hell in a hand-cart.

Also, I may not have mentioned that after our recital had actually started, I was walking up to my warm-up room and noticed that there were a couple random pages of PHOTOCOPIED programs sitting on a stand outside our room, and…well…there obviously hadn’t been enough for everybody. I didn’t pay it much mind at the time, because I was all like “omg, recital”. But…apparently our actual programs ended up being LOCKED in a ROOM that night, and our stage-hand person actually had to photo-copy two different pages from the two-sided program that was posted on a bulletin-board. God damn!! I HATE-A YOU ALL-A!! So now I have 50 original programs. All to myself. Would anybody like one? I’ll even give you two.

Right. Now I’m actually done whining about recital-related things. Laah.

Alright, I was about to write about what’s coming up in February that rocks but…


Ahem. And, hey look! The cover-art is still really stupid! Why is Owen an excessively muscular woman?

How Steve Madden Came To Own My Soul

listening to: yaida hitomi – mikansei no melody

I have problems shopping for dress-shoes –which I admittedly have a great need for what with the whole “many concerts, just one pair of concert-dress shoes that were my sister’s before mine that I have now been wearing for FOUR YEARS” thing– which I can mostly attribute to the whole size 10.5, narrow feet problem within my family.

So I found this cool pair of black, spiffy, concert-appropriate Steve Madden shoes by mere chance while shopping in NY with my mom over break. They fit. They were on sale by a LOT. Nothing was stopping me from ruling the world in my awesome, awesome shoes.

I wore the shoes for our Mozart concert on Thursday night and…in retrospect, am laughing at myself for the moment that I first put them on and went “hmm! these are spectacularly comfortable!”. That was before walking to Krannert from Allen, and then back again. I had been prepared for a little bit of discomfort, being as they were new shoes that would take some time to break into my feet. I was not prepared for the open cuts and sores on my heels. I mean, I BLED on these shoes! Doesn’t that mean that Steve Madden now owns my soul by now, or something?

Stupid shoes.

So there was a Mozart concert on Thursday. I may have been too crazy about the whole recital (Talia: SOOO CRAZY) to mention that I was sitting second next to Diana. And…so much fun! It was also nice to sit RIGHT IN FRONT of Schleicker. It’s always easier to concentrate when I don’t have confused section-members sitting in front of me, while the conductor is off in the distance, just sort of doing some stuff I might follow sometimes. Although I feel I must mention at this time that while I was playing with the Symphony, I could have been witnessing the godliness that is Edgar Meyer, in the next auditorium over *whacks head on stuff* (“oh no, honey, it’s a head-whacker! take the next exit!”)

I feel like I’m so full of verbal crap at this moment, I might explode and an ocean of grammatical and typing errors would spill everywhere, polluting the rest of the world’s tasteful writing. Somebody ought to distract me good and shut me up.

Will I Just Shut The Bloody Organ Grinder Up Already???

listening to: kimono – japanese policeman


It was good. I stopped being completely uncontrollably nervous (um, yeah. it was ridiculous. note to self: why????) when I was finally out of classes and getting ready for it, which was…you know. An improvement.

I think I played well. I use the word “think” because a) I am my own worst critic and b) even being your own worst critic can be swayed in your own mind just a little when your teacher and your father run up to you and tell you very excitedly what a performer you are and how great it sounded and blah blah blah. But I was definitely nervous. Don’t get me wrong, getting through an entire program, memorized, has to be one of the best things I could have done for myself. I did indeed have memory slips in the Bach, and I’m glad I did. Now I am positive I know what my brain is doing in a situation like that, and can at least maybe anticipate? I don’t know. And anyway, I got back on immediately, which is mainly what I believed I would not be able to do. The Haydn was okay. I think I sounded good for the things I always do well, but for some reason I felt like I was never comfortable enough to get into what I feel should have been the “spirit” for performing. Also, the 3rd movement of the Haydn started SOO fast. It actually put me into a brief mode of “FUN” because…I don’t know. I guess it’s just fortunate that…apparently I can handle fast.

But then the comments I got afterward were…wow. Is it not a weird thing when people comment the exact opposite of the things that you were pretty sure sucked? Uh huh, well it is. But…really nice comments. Really nice. And more genuine remarks about how I move/look like Jacqueline DuPre. Which…I’ve gotten a lot of in the last year or so. A LOT. But people, I think it’s just the hair.

So there was all that. But I was also thinking of something that Sibbi said once, which I believe was went along the lines of “your best performance is one in which you play neither poorly nor perfectly”. I like that analogy. With that in light, it was a really great recital.

Now I am going to embark on a few days of cello-practicing vacation, if you know what I mean.

After the recital Kyra and Ben (our awesome accompanist) and I went to Espresso and just sat there talking about various stupid stuff for some time. It must have been the random stupid stuff combined with the fact that for the first time in possibly a month or two, I was completely mind-numbingly relaxed, but I felt so good at that point of the night. Heh. Now people won’t have to restrain themselves from throwing things at me when I start talking. Or even just moving. I feel great.

Next on my agenda of crap to do, now that I am free of cello-related anxiety:

+ finish layout
+ Smith scholarship-y…thing
+ visit Lucia in Cincinnati
+ read the pile of books leftover from Xmas (I can DO it)

I didn’t mention this, but MICHELLE came last night. In fact, she is here in town at this very moment. Which definitely is going to merit some extreme Michelle/Justin/Talia interaction.


listening to: 椎名林檎 – シドと白昼夢

It occured to me that I could be awesome and exclusive to non-Japanese speakers by typing my “listening to” in characters. Ha ha. Eat that.


Things in my little blogging world:

+ my new favorite blogger, well-known as the author of Movies in 15 Minutes, which is some hilariously awesome crap, if you haven’t already had a gander.
+ Yay, she’s still at it! Though as more of a minimalist this time, admittedly. I’m down with that.

Huttzh!! Recital tonight!! Yay? I’m actually very excited, somewhere beneath all of my outer crazies. I just need to tell myself that I can do it. Which, I can. I mean, everybody goes through various forms of nervousness, especially about memorization. I just need to trust myself and understand that it’s okay even if I completely forget what I’m doing at some point. I think once I’m there in the room, it will be easier. Bah. So impatient. Need tranquelizers.

I believe that starting Friday, I might exercise my “how not to be seen” skills. Oh, locationless-ness.

*edit* It just occured to me that I need to go about this differently. I need to be an entertainer, and one who enjoys the entertaining hand in hand with the actual physical performing. Like Stuart Davis. I’m serious, people. I think of that man and what he does, and it almost makes me want to jump onstage and spit water at people play the cello.

Even though I’m definitely playing in a room. Not on a stage. Oh well. It doesn’t matter. I will channel Stuart Davis.

You Are Reading The Weblog Of One Serious Basketcase

listening to: number girl – brutal man

Conclusion for the day is that I am a surpeme basket-case.

Kyra and I are both kind of crazy right now. We just…won’t shut up. About the recital. About our random performance anxiety. About anything, really. And surprisingly, we are both pretty much only able to tolerate each-other’s company at the moment. True, it’s understandable because we’re both bat-shit insane and seriously doubting some of our playing abilities right now. But we both agreed that we could have seen it going the other way, with us unable to stand eachother’s presence right now. Especially being as we have spent more time in eachother’s company than most people do unless they are already living together. The experience is actually kind of nice in a way, because I feel like for the first time in a very long time, perhaps the first time ever, another person understands exactly what I am feeling in terms of music and the cello, and that we are really able to support and help eachother better than anybody else can. Even our teacher, as we found out.

Something kind of interesting – if not unbelieveably frustrating – I’m discovering is that I don’t trust myself, musically. Even though I’ve been working on this music since September. Even though I’ve performed it numerous times already. Even though I get through one day of certainty that I know what I’m doing. It always comes down to the fact that I won’t let myself just…do what it’s worked to do. I don’t know how I’m going to react when I get in front of people, so I don’t trust myself to do anything. I guess this is what I meant when I noted earlier that I “get nervous about being nervous”.

I think the best thing I can do for myself at this point is not to worry about it. Not to freak out about getting ready. To take it easy tomorrow and practice no more than about an hour in the morning. To play something fun other than Bach or Haydn. To just believe that I can actually do it, because DAMMIT I’ve been working on this stuff since September and I’m GOOD. I’m GOOD!! WHEEE, LOOK AT ME I’M GOOD!!


As you can see, I may be good, but I’m also one serious basket-case.

Talia V5.0

listening to: tori amos – caught a lite sneeze

It’s really hard to concentrate during my classes when I have the Kirin Beer commercial theme-song ENDLESSLY RUNNING THROUGH MY HEAD. Several different versions of it, in fact. Regardless, I <3 Hisaishi Jou. I’m starting to believe that there are many different stages to performance anxiety. I’ve seen different characteristics of it in different family members, for sure, but it didn’t occur to me that I personally might go through a number of different characteristics, in stages. So far I’m aware of the following:

1. Physical tension. According to Brandon, I could barely produce a sound because of this, during my last lesson. I think I’ve figured out how to deal with the sound part but I ache everywhere.
2. Apathy. “Whatever, it’ll be great, I really don’t give a crap”.
3. Random bursting into tears. This was me on Friday. I hope I’m well past this one.
4. Extreme enthusiasm. This was me on Saturday. WHY COULDN’T YOU HAVE STAYED?!
5. Ass-hole-ism. Even just at people, in my head.
6. Avoidance. Running away from people who normally cause me even the slightest amount of anxiety. Even a good, excited sort of anxiety (hmm. can we say high blood-pressure?). To them it probably seems random and confusing and…ass-hole like.

Today I’m suffering from 5 and 6. Bleh. Oh, and there’s also the thing where I don’t believe I have any of my music memorized. Uh huh. That’s a problem. Hopefully I’ll get over that one.

Katherine stopped me while I was on my way to my seat in orchestra and asked me how I was about Tuesday. By that, I thought she meant “are we going to rehearse as a quartet on Tuesday”, and basically responded through a murmur of “uhm, that’s possibly sort of maybe the night before my kind of recital?” She immediately response with “OH! I MEANT WEDNESDAY! and…I MEANT THE RECITAL” and I go “GAH! Never do that again”! And was jumpy in my chair through all of orchestra.

And…yeah. Hey blog, I’m an ass-hole. And a jerk. Have a mentioned that? God. My immediate goal after I get over this random performance anxiety is to beat myself with a little bit of sense so I can people-interact and be more…person-like and less evil monster-like.

Which reminds me…

I was reading through some MIMC entries in my blue-book and…um…I wrote this, word-for-word, about my second and very socially-draining day at camp:

It was as though some evil little gnome were inside my heart, sticking it with poison-tipped pins and turning me into Talia v5.0, the bitter grumbling maid lady with the cats.

So, I wrote that. I wrote a lot of things in that book. And oddly enough, I really enjoy rereading almost all of those things, more than I ever would rereading blog entries.

Which leads me to this. Typing vs. Hand-writing. This somehow manages to compliment my idea that the art of hand-writing is dying out in many ways, and that keeping a freaking book to write in aside from the blog is my way of personally equivocating (is that the right use of the word? Whatever. I don’t care).

Heh. I like how I crossed out “maid”…


listening to: tokyo jihen – sousan

Heh, I’m a little bit screwed for finally obtaining this song, because it is awesome! *sob* I mean, Tokyo Jihen released their first single in September of this year, and then their first album (plus another single) in November, and I held out for this long without my curiosity breaking and forcing me to download at least ONE track?! Screwed. It’s really good. It seems that Shiina Ringo simply kept her entire band from Karuki Zamen: Kuri no Hana and thus is Tokyo Jihen. I love the bassist. I mean, I also love the guitarist (and all the other members), but after listening to the song Ishiki so much and even attempting to teach my stupid fingers how to play it, I really love the bassist. There’s something about bassists. GOOD bassists. But anyway, I think this merrits a trip to Mitsuwa. Seriously. I haven’t been to Mitsuwa since I think some time last March. Tokyo Jihen is calling to me. My obsessive-ways are telling me I MUST obtain at least the stupid album. Aagh. Stupid hott Japanese musicians such as Shiina Ringo.

Uhm, you can just sort of…ignore the above.

Yesterday was an absurd improvement from Friday. ABSURD. Life is good. Anyway, I played in studio. And it was SO MUCH BETTER. Of course I still had problems, but that’s okay. I’m completely okay with the problems I had. They were random, fixable-within-three-days problems. The memory was much better. And guess what, I actually ENJOYED playing for everybody. It was exactly the way I’ve enjoyed playing for everybody in every studio-class I’ve played. And…I think part of the problem was the way I was mentally approaching the idea of performing. Brandon had said that I should make myself nervous by imagining that people are there. So that’s what I did on Friday night when a grand total of three people were listening to our dress rehearsal. I made myself think of how aware I would be when there was a room full of people listening and…bptthhbbt. Why did I do THAT? Because, when I am playing in front of people, I’m not thinking about the fact that they’re all sitting right there, staring at me. I’m in a completely different frame of mind, and it’s the one I always am in when I play the cello. The “here, I am playing this music for you, and also maybe just enjoying myself, because I have come to that point”. I’m now used to being able to pull that frame of mind from somewhere while I’m playing. When I was just thinking of hwo there were people around me listening (when, hah, there WEREN’T), I had memory slips every minute or so, and was probably more tense than I realized I could be.

Also, we recorded ourselves, and upon listening to my Haydn later, I discovered that I SOUND REALLY GOOD. That’s always a funny thing about performing in a good space, is that you can’t always hear the sound the way people several feet away hear it, from behind the cello. Most of what I heard was the scratching of my bow on the string, always feeling like I was straining to produce the kind of sound I want to produce. But NO!! It sounds really GOOD!! Even little stupid details I never thought I did were there! Vibrato on high, short notes, for instance! So I think my main sentiment of the night was: HORAAH I DON’T SUCK!!

After studio I relaxed, felt better about myself, and ate Pizza with Rose, Jenn and Kyra. Then I came back here and watched Mimi o Sumaseba, which never fails to make me about 10x happier and giddier than I was before watching said movie.

I started rethinking a new layout again, yesterday. Probably in the midst of realizing I had practicing and reading to do was where the procrastination kicked in, making me work on something entirely different. Anyway, here is the original masthead for the new layout, and here is the updated one. Thoughts? Suggestions? Rotten fruit being thrown at me?


listening to: maritime – adios

*gnash gnash gnash* Freakin’ A! effing deleted my account!! RAWR! Hmm. But it’s still streaming music to me. Hmm indeed.

I feel much better and far less irrationally anxious than I did last night. I’m still sort of disappointed with myself for not being a little more…ah, something. Prepared, is the word. I mean, I wasn’t prepared the way I needed to be. I think that because I’d been playing all of this crap from memory for so long, I just sort of assumed that I’d be okay. So nevertheless, I think I know what I need to do to give the Haydn a hand. And that’s a pretty good feeling right now.

I just don’t understand why I freaked out that much. It was almost as though I was just looking for something to freak out about. And…there it was, the most conveniently-timed thing of all, right in front of my stupid susceptible face.

I actually talked to my mom this morning, and she said that dress rehearsals are SUPPOSED to go wrong, and make you wonder what the hell you’re doing.

I had dreams about playing Katamari Damacy, last night. Except…you had to roll over different sizes of Tare Panda. I wish this game would leave me alone.

You know what I love? Shiina Ringo. Eventually I’ll get up to Mitsuwa and get ahold of an official copy of Tokyo Jihen’s new album. I’ve heard none of its tracks, but damn if I care. SHIINA RINGO.

I also have no room to freak out because I’m pretty much having another dress-rehearsal tonight. And…if it somehow manages to go worse than last-night’s, then at least I’ll be prepared for my reaction. Hraaar–plzdiekthnx.


listening to: number girl – num-heavymetallic

Yeah. I don’t mean to turn into Angsty McAngst all of the sudden, or anything, but today sucked and has me questioning my abilities as a musician and a human being. So…don’t read this if you don’t like stupid random angst.

I had my recital dress-rehearsal, tonight. And…it’s not that I can’t play the cello. I feel it’s quite the opposite, really. I’d been playing so well in the past year, especially in the last semester. I’ve worked really hard. REALLY hard.

But tonight. Something was off with tonight. I started off the Bach pretty well, with just a little bit of anxiety at the thought of having to simply start something from nothing after walking from backstage, but right in front of people. I must have gotten through the first two pages without a real problem, until I had a memory-slip of large proportions. The worst I’ve ever experienced since memorizing the prelude sometime back in September, in fact. I almost had to stop and start again at the nearest opening, which my brain was moving too fast to locate. I experienced a few other slip-ups throughout the Bach, but nothing too shaking.

Then I start the Haydn. Which…whoa. It was alright until towards the end of the exposition of the first movement, where…weird things started happening. I started questioning what came next and the abilities of my memory. Why did I start doing that?! The very moment I would even start to go “are you SURE you know what’s happening next, self?!”, I confused entrances and even movements and disoriented myself in the most ridiculous manner possible. It was as though I had forced myself back several levels of memorization, just by contemplating it in front of people (or rather, prospective people. There were like four people listening. Even Brandon wasn’t there, as he was called out of town at the last minute). This only contributed to my already-large problem of tension and sound clarity. My stupid memory-crap continued through the rest of the piece.

I finished. Everyone simply started leaving. Ben – my wonderful accompanist – said I sounded great and walked away, and that was the point at which I sunk to the floor in a blank state, not really caring about the remaining two people in the room. Kyra and her whoever-friend left, leaving me in the Memorial Room by myself. It was a weirdly appropriate situation, everybody clearing out at once and leaving me alone in this small paint-peeling room that I could have used better acquainting with sooner, I think. I sat on the floor for a while, wondering about my stupid playing problems. After a while I got up, paced around, made up some crap on the piano or played some Tori. All the while trying to diagnose whatever problem I might be having. So, here’s a hypothesis. I have a great memory. One that is susceptible to how much thinking I do while I play. I realize now that something that has made my last however-many awesome studio-class performances so good was the fact that I was NOT thinking while playing. At all. Not full thoughts, anyway. I was listening. Listening to what I was doing, to what was coming next. I felt in complete sync with the music that way, with what I had just played and what I would be playing. But the idea of having to perform a straight 40 minutes of music memorized in front of people got me questioning my own abilities, and trying to think thoughts of “what comes next?”. Sure enough, every time this happened, I had a slip-up, or confused one entrance for another. But the problem is…how am I supposed to control this in five days? I don’t have the self-discipline to control what’s going on in my head as I play — in front of PEOPLE. I haven’t even had the self-control to practice with full concentration in weeks.

Maybe the realization and absurd over-contemplation of the above hypothesis-thing will help in itself. Maybe I can anticipate the way I respond to my own playing a little bit more, next time. But for some reason I felt so awful about the whole thing. It was just a dress-rehearsal, but I already felt that I wasn’t representing my playing or my teacher or cello well. And not being able to show what I’ve worked for really hits hard. I hate it that I must tie some sort of self-worth to my playing, because when things go wrong, things really go wrong. This is just absurd.

Maybe it was the way everybody fled the room after I played and left me in that big, lonely building to close up theh one room by myself combined with all of my frustration, but I feel like the most isolated person in the world right now. Why is it that there’s nobody there for me when I need more than ever to spill my stupid musician-angst to somebody and just know that I’m not the only person in the world who has problems with memorizatioin in front of people? Why am I always so hard on myself? Why can’t I tell myself to shut up and get on with life? None of my regular tricks for calming myself down seem to be working right now. It’s frustrating. That’s one thing I was proud of myself for at Iowa, being able to calm down during intense freak-outs (stupid-people things, transferring decision things, etc). But I can’t say I’ve really had any huge freak-outs here, yet. I hate that my location-attachment to Iowa was based largely on the fact that the setting itself calmed me down. I can’t just wander around this campus and feel awesomely better. Usually I only feel worse when I try that.

So currently I am a stupid bitter musician who just wants her friends or Japan or MIMC or SOMETHING that is comforting and will remind her that the good and the bad come in cycles and that there will be good again and that this is only a sophomore joint-recital. Nothing life-changing.

All of this combined with some frustrating news from home and my own stupid interpretation of stupid social-interaction crap has me climbing the mountain of freakin’ angst.

I’m done. Thanks blog. I love you.

*edit* Since writing the above, I have realized that – dammit – I love Number Girl. And Neil Gaiman. Especially Neil Gaiman. *snickets at mental-picture of Neil whapping a bat around with a tennis-racket* Aaah, life is worth living.


listening to: buffalo daughter – great five lakes (cornelius remix)

I hate it when I end up reading random archives of mine for no reason and then realize that I am FULL OF CRAP.

Today was craptastic. I alternated every other hour between being able to play the cello and…not. I’m having all sorts of various “why can’t I play” problems. In the end, though, Brandon gave me a very reassuring word that I would be fine. Although, part of that reassuring word didn’t make sense. Like, he told me that my being tense and unable to play was actually GOOD because it meant that I would automatically be better for the actual part of the recital which…um…well, you see what I mean where I say this doesn’t make sense, RIGHT?! But yeah. It basically comes down to the fact that I don’t trust myself to handle anything. ANYTHING. Not recitals. Not homework. Not pets. Nothing. So okay, the moral of the story is: never trust me with ANYTHING.

Argh. I kept walking past a room on my floor that was playing fricking Katamari Damacy. It was driving me insane, and I would always walk bitterly towards wherever I was going thinking “god dammit those kids are going to be playing Katamari Damacy all the day while I’m practicing or in classes and that makes me GREEN WITH ENVY”. I almost wanted to dash in there, grab the controllers, and then run off cackling.

Haha. I’m talking to Rebecca. And some random 13-year-old IMed her.

Dumb Kid: im 13

Dumb Kid: im going to be 14

Rebecca: yes, that generally comes after 13

Rebecca to me in response to above: i’m so mean to children >_>

Tomorrow is going to be fun.

FRIDAY: *dressrehearsal*



listening to: cibo matto – about a girl

RAWR. I hate it Rebecca when she signs up for things. And then I go ahead and sign up for things, too.

So…(dammit!! I just started with “so”. … Oh well) the seating in orchestra was tweaked in a very minor way for our split-orchestra concert coming up, and I have been moved up to second chair sitting next to my favoritest person, ever, Diana. Diana is one of the DMA students in my studio, and she is one of the most insightive-but-humorous people I’ve ever met. Well, if you consider putting the music on our stand upside-down on purpose to be “humorous” (I…um, did).

Apparently Dianna is a good acquaintance of my sister’s boyfriend, Andrew (who got his DMA here), and was at his family’s 3-day long New Years’ Eve party in Philly. As my sister was also at this obscenely large gathering, it was inevitable that they would meet. And talk. Diana informed me of two things regarding this meeting: 1) we sound the same and 2) we both burst out into random crazy laughter for very little reason.

My parents should be proud.

Actually, I tend to do a lot of thinking about my sister and our similarities and…not-similarities. It always strikes me how alike our mannerisms and speaking-tendancies can be. The other day I was taking the elavator up to the 4th floor of the music building, and when the person nearest the buttons asked what floor, I said “3rd floor please” in a way that made me wonder where I’d gone and when my sister had invaded my head. We definitely share some similar tendancies in the department of guilt and anxiety, too. But then I hear my Dad say very often that we’re nothing at all like eachother. And while I don’t necessarily think we are on opposite ends of the personality-spectrum, I definitely agree that we have very different outlooks about the things we do and the people around us. I think that within our family, and our in-groups and the general music-world, we are very different people. But when it comes down to it, we’re only as different as two siblings could be.

*pointless addition*

My dad has this massive video/recording collection when it comes to music, classical and non. I have a massive amount of respect for this collection, and if you saw his studio covered wall-to-wall in video-tapes, CDs and DVDs, so would you. What I don’t respect is when he borrows something cool he’s given to me and the moment it is in his hands, he never recalls that it was ever mine. Such as happened to The Beatles’ Help and Magical Mystery Tour, both Christmas presents to me from years ago. He also has the most recent edition of Yellow Submarine on both VHS and DV-frickin’D, and yet I have the “old” version, from the late 80’s.

I had a message on my phone tonight from him, asking if he I “knew where his DVD of Rostropovich playing the Bach cello suites” might be.

This is the point in the entry where I start yelling at inanimate objects about the fact that he freaking got me that DVD for my birthday this year. BIRTHDAY, people. It was wrapped and EVERYTHING. “HIS” DVD?! I think not. I worship that DVD in much the same way that I worship Miyazaki or Neil Gaiman or whatever GOD I might worship were I of a practicing-religion. It is mine. And nobody will take it from me. Unless of course there is blackmail or bribery involved.


listening to: rem – the wrong child (live)

I figure I should make an attempt at blogging before I go to practice and my brain gives out on me.

Kyra and I had this brilliant idea that we should continue to advertise for our recital, but then come the actual recital, we hire professionals to take our place. But…when asked, they would still be Kyra and Talia, dammit.

I had some good conversation with another of my fellow transfer-friends, Ann, who came from the U of Minnesota. It was nice. We both finally got to talk about how much better things are for us in our current music-situations, and understand where the other is coming from because…well…we’re both transfer students. But also, she agrees with me that C-U isn’t THAT great a place, but that it’s okay because we’re not here for the location. It’s also nice to know that I’m not the only person in the world who is more location-oriented than I feel is healthy. Stupid location-orientation.

You know, maybe I should just stop blogging until I’ve either had a decent-night’s sleep, or this recital is over with. I realized today that the only thing I’m nervous about is actually being nervous. I’m not nervous about playing in front of people. I’m not nervous about having to perform so mucn in one sitting. However, I am freaking out at the idea of my body just…clamming up and refusing to function as it ought to, for no reason other than my brain is stupid and recognizes that this is a situation in which I should be nervous. But I have to say that I’m also looking forward to the feeling of relief and accomplishment afterward, which I will HAVE to experience regardless of how well I think I did (or did not) play. My sense of rest over break was really kind of tweaked because of this whole thing. I feel that I deserve and actual period of rest and recuperation from the cello.

Dear Rachel: I love you and your messages and dammit, I’m going to contact you at the soonest opportunity.


listening to: soul coughing – blue-eyed devil

I love it when Kerry leaves random away messages making fun of the weirdness that is…me…but…

when you get a talia, you get a talia with noise

–talia, after serenading me with a symphony of grunts… and then proceeding to serenade me again

I’m not even very funny. I just make weird noises when I’m trying to open videocassette tapes that DON’T WANT TO BE OPENED.


listening to: kimono – ü, perez

I’m moderately bummed out for a very ridiculous reason, which is thus: one of my favorite bloggers of all time has ceased to blog, and has not even left archives of her past 3 years. I’m bummed out because, yes, a wonderful bit of daily reading has ceased to be, but also because I’m just now realizing how I honestly do live vicariously through other people and their internet-published writing. I somehow feel like a little part of me has been snuffed out and erased, too. That’s stupid. I wish I didn’t do that. But I have no real life, and am just this accustomed to reading other people’s internet-crap to fill in the empty bits where my life ought to be.

Oh well. At least I still have the 8-million other bloggers of the world. Sigh.

This also makes me wonder if I will ever reach the point where I am distracted and annoyed enough by my blog that I decide to call it quits, and not even leave a trace of my obsessive-blogging self. I mean, in my current bummed state of mind, I’m asking myself–who would even care?! Who would it effect besides me, in the first place?! Nobody! What’s the point?!

I think the point is that it’s for me, in the first place. I’m an obsessive-compulsive collector and reviewer. Other people just get the option to read my inane crap, should they choose. I would never delete my blog without good reason (and by good reason I mean SEVERE BLACKMAIL. Or SEVERE BRIBERY. It would depend on the circumstances)


listening to: rem – wrong child (live)

I’m so ridiculously tired and spacey that I almost DID NOT read Dooce’s page today. Good thing I remembered, because AHAHAHAHAHA. *cough* Yes.

Hum. What happened today?

I practiced. A lot. I had a lesson which relieved a good deal my random “WHY CAN’T I PLAY?!” stress. I retrieved my class-registration password and finally looked at the schedule I don’t really remember making up for myself last November (it turns out on Tuesdays/Thursdays I don’t start classes until NOON).

That was pretty much my day. I am ridiculously tired now, which I think is enough of a reason for me to…not blog.

Less blogging. More…shut up and go away. *hiss*


listening to: number girl – inazawa chainsaw

Back to school. Back to Allen. Back to my computer-crevice. Back to hoping nobody catches me when I turn down/change the radio every time I walk into the bathroom. Back to running into distracting-but-awesome people in the hallways of the music-building while I’m making some attempt at practicing.

Hi, Champaign-Urbana. I don’t mind you so much when I’m actually IN you. It’s just the thought of being in you when I’m NOT that kind of bothers me.

I’m good. And stuff. I practiced for a while, tonight, back in the super-comfortable-for-practicing music building. I must say, I’m still pretty sure my Haydn is going to suck come the recital next week, but I’ve definitely realized a couple of things about the way I play and the way I practice, and they are comforting. One of them is: isolating and concentrating on specific parts helps, and will be the best way to practice in the next week. It makes life easier and less stressful when I think “one bit at a time” instead of “OMG ENTIRE MOVEMENT AT A TIME”. The other is: if I just believe that I can play it and give the cello my regular level of chutzpah, I’ll feel better and play better.

I’ll be fine.

Oh god. I’ll blog again some other time when I can think coherent thoughts and not be distracted by the fact that THIS COMPUTER DOES NOT SUCK.

And also that lj is up again.



listening to: shiina ringo – yattsuke shigoto

I’m unbelievably cold.

I had dreams of espionage. It’s hard to remember the start of the dream. It had something to do with secretly training horses during the night, and turned into something where I was wandering around a huge abandoned school by myself. Apparently I had seen something I wasn’t supposed to see, according to the overlord of the dream/land/whatever. So had a bunch of others. The overlord gave us fair warning that we would be killed because of this, and later on sent an assassin into the school who was told to kill us no matter what. The assassin was a familiar-looking young blonde female wearing a suit, with a down-to-business frown on her pale face. I managed to outrun the assassin for a while, but I had to see people all around me being shot, knowing that I would suffer the same fate. And for some reason it never occured to me to rebell/run away and tell authorities (since thing-I-wasn’t-supposed-to-see was really quite horrific and evil). I was basically running around this school seeing how much time I could bide for myself by hiding and outrunning the assassin, with full knowledge and acceptance of the fact that I would die eventually in this game. This was until a realization came to me that I was too young to die, and deserved to live as I had done nothing wrong, only stumbled upon some unbelievably evil and secret thing (I wish I could remember the evil and secret thing was. I have a weird rememberance of something computer-related).

As I was about to make a mad-dash for an exit and hopefully flee, I came across a few specific cohorts who I thought could help me. They were in a weird hidden passage of some sort, but before I could reach them, I overheard them talking to the assassin about specific whereabouts of several young people, and sure enough, the cohorts were in on the ultimate evil, whatever it was. It was back to plan A for me.

I was nearing an exit, ready to make a run for it but still possibly be killed, until I saw a girl I knew go through a cooridor, crying. I followed her into the cooridor, which turned out to be…weird. Like, somehow I managed to end up on the second-floor, looking through an expansive window. There was a door to the right at the end of the cooridor that, when opened, revealed a straight drop into another room on the first floor, and an exit. No stairway. The girl was in the room on the room below the drop, crying and throwing a chair. I immediately knew she was in the same position I was, but obviously had some kind of valid emotion about it instead of just “I’ll HIDE until they KILL ME”. And it wasn’t fear that was effecting her. It was anger. She was very brave, I somehow knew when I spotted her. I called out to her and told her I understood what she was going through, and that she could talk to me. She stopped throwing things and leaned back against the wall. She slid down against the wall until she was crouching, =sobbing what seemed helplessly. After a few moments, she stood up, exited the room, and started coming in the door on the second floor to talk to me face-to-face (I don’t know. Apparently in my dream-verse, no regular stair-case/sensical rules apply).

As she stepped into the second-floor cooridor from the hallway, a pale hand shot out from the hallway and caught her across the neck. An automatic weapon was pointed into her back, and she was sobbing again. The assassin revealed herself in the doorway, looking me straight in the eye. The girl in her arms was writhing somewhat, but seemed to have given up in the leue of being caught. The assassin pulled her into the hallway to shoot her, so I never saw the thing happen.

Then the assassin came back for me. I hadn’t moved an inch since she’d stepped out into the hallway, maybe because I was afraid, maybe because I was giving up. Regardless of the fact that there was an exit right below me. I thought of jumping, then and there, while she was watching, but I knew that it was too high and I would hurt myself. For some reason I thought that giving up and letting myself be taken was more noble and honorable than trying to make a last attempt at running away from a heinous and evil thing, which would be unlike me in a situation like that. I know I have a tendancy to be overwhelmed by things in real life, and would probably freeze like a deer caught in head-lights, but I would never stop struggling and fighting, when all is said and done.

It was weird, the eye-contact I had with the assassin, while I was still considering what I might try to do. It was predatorial, but somehow understanding and matter-of-fact. She was the predator and I was the prey, and this was the way it happened. She would at least give me some sort of honor in being killed, which I appreciated. But I realized at that moment that I was afraid of dying. That I didn’t want to be in an afterworld void lacking consciousness, sound and color. I wanted to live.

I woke up moments before I was going to jump down the opening to the exit, pretty freaked out. My dreams are usually pretty nonsensical and random. And surreal. This wasn’t, so it took me a moment or two to realize that specific things from the dream hadn’t happened. That’s always a weird feeling of disorientation, when you wake up from something like that and have to set the record straight with yourself with what isn’t and is.

I should get ready to go back to school. And be frowly.


listening to: tori amos – sleeps with butterflies (omg Tori Amos is turning into Bonnie Pink)

Aaargh I’m trying to find something to wear for the stupid recital, and so far the most I’ve accomplished in the search is to come to the indefinite conclusion that I hate clothing and fashionable things and crap. Especially when my MOTHER IS INVOLVED AAH. It’s not always bad. But my mom has this specific way of letting me know when I look weird, and I really just wish she’d understand that I’m going to look like a misamatched bum in some way no matter how hard I try. She has a very COLORCOORDINATIONPLEEZE approach to that sort of thing, one which I lack. I told myself I should stop being so concerned about living up to my mom’s color-coordinating standards when Kerry (who is retrofabulous to the extreme) approved things that I KNEW my mother would not. The result was that the next time I wore said-approved coordinated crap at home, my mother commented that I looked like a farmer. I was okay with this, though. Just a little bit like “I KNOW you are but what am I?!”

Uuuh, I should stop talking about this. In fact, I think I will.

I made ice-cream tonight, in my ice-cream maker that I got for Xmas (?). Yeah. Two weeks after Xmas:

Me: *seeing an ice-cream maker on dining-room table* Hey! Since when do we have an ice-cream maker?!

Mom: Since we got it for you for Christmas!

Me: … Oh. I’m down with that.

Anyway. It was SOOO GOOD (look so gooood…). I cna’t remember the last time chocolate ice-cream was that good. Except for when my aunt made some with Anise, over the summer *drools all over keyboard* Anyway, it was really good.

It completely freaks me out how much I sound like my sister, sometimes. I have to stop myself and go “okay, self, what??”. Of course all of the females from my mom’s side of the family sound alike. I realized just how disconcerting that actually is over Christmas when we were all around eachother.


listening to: cornelius – point of view point

I like reading people’s archives. It doesn’t matter whose. Any of my friends, or any of the completely frickin’ awesome blogs I’ve stumbled upon in the last year will do (I’ve gotta say, though, that NC Experiment‘s are my favorite, hands down). I find that there’s a satisfying feeling about reading the collective-writing version of people’s lives from a fast-forward/rewind point of view. As for reading the writing of friends, I find that a lot of people have a very different style of writing than I would expect from them based on real-life personalities. Maybe it’s also that some people blog completely different subject-matter than they speak. The bottom-line is that I like old writing. It gives me warm-fuzzies.

Unlike MY old writing, which I tend to view as a load of CROCK. I don’t know why this is. I was always pretty certain I tended to blab the same things in real life that I do through the blog. But that can’t be true. I mean, at least, it can’t be true from the view-point of other people. I don’t think anybody’s ever around me enough to get my full deal. I mean _I_ don’t even understand the things I do, most of the time. I think I tend to have a very in-the-moment view of my sporatically-changing self, because it freaks me out to go back and read crap that was written by some completely different and forgotten me.

Uhh, so I should probably stop reading my own archives.

Also, speaking of journally things, livejournal seems to be broken into tiny little bits (THE SYSTEM. IS DOWN, people). That sucks because I NEED TO SEE MY FRIENDS PAGE AAAH.

Back to obsessing over other people’s archives, I guess…


listening to: shiina ringo – yattsuke shigoto

Hurrah!! Nobody’s home but MEE!! For the first time in DAAYS!! *rolls around on the floor*

But man, it’s kind of sad bursting down through the stair-well into the dining-room loudly and not having the bird to completely startle *sniff*

Apparently he’s happy as a clam, though, according to our friends/his now-owners. His cage is next to a really big window that looks out into the back woodsy-area of New Trier High School. All he had here was a white wall that he would throw food onto. Aaaw. I guess that makes me happy as a clam, too. Yes. Clam.

I need to like, stop having dreams. Because…mine are really weird. I dreamt that I tried out for the Uhigh production of some REALLY FAMOUS musical that was actually only really famous in my head, and completely made-up/nonexistent. I ended up playing the role of some elderly care-taking woman named Mercer (Yeah, so Mercer’s is totally a dairy company in upstate NY. I like their ice-cream). But then after two days of getting really excited, I informed the director-people that I was way too busy and couldn’t really play the part of Mercer (I can’t talk about this character and not go “wtf, brain?!”). Then I nonchalantly started walking home, and my neighborhood had somehow become a hill-town in Italy, where I wandered around until I woke up at 10:30.

Also, I was looking through old conversations saved from AIM and…ah. There’s this chat where Rebecca, Jamie and I talk of NOTHING but kicking Megan in the ribs. It goes on for some time. It’s…so sad, but it amuses me SO MUCH.

Evidently, I have evaded any possibility of life-blahs. Not with a push-broom, though. They’re cool looking but they’re a lot more awkward than a regular sweeping-broom.


listening to: john stuart mill – a check

There is no more satisfying a feeling than finishing a good book, I’ve decided. Sometimes I get near the end of a book and find myself feeling anxious about the fact that it’s ending and I’m going to have to leave that particular book-verse behind (except for Deathstalker because OMG there are 8 of them and they’re all so random and science-fiction-y that I could read them all over again several times and still go “squee”), but when I read the last sentence and close the book, there’s definitely a feeling of satisfaction.

I feel like such a bum.

Break is so close to being done. What did I do over break? I mean, really do? I’m a bum, so I guess I’ll waste some time and recount. Over break I: went to NY, ate too much ham, obtained an accordion, had random Italian opera sung at me by one of my aunt’s friends, frolicked with JaMeg while they were briefly back from Japan, saw a good number of people from Uhigh/CIYS who I haven’t seen in forever, had my soul consumed by Katamari Damacy, had my soul tromped on when this stupid computer died for a week, went through a few varieties of the cello-crazies, read American Gods, watched way more MST3k than I thought would be possible (or healthy).

Not bad. Did I also mention the part where I was completely effing anti-social and did nothing but change locations in my house from computer-room to practice-room?!

Err, yeah. I’m done. But mostly, good break.

I’m really frustrated and kind of antsy right now, for random and stupid and annoying reasons, and I want everyone to go away. But I’m also lonely and secluded and I want to know that I actually do exist in the world through human interaction.

I’m going to go and be productive and practice (and maybe call Lucia) and TOTALLY ward off this oncoming wave of life-blahs *waves broom at life-blahs*


listening to: the microphones – the moon

*has new goal never to begin entries/paragraphs/whatever with the word “so”*

I eat books–er, meat.

Argh. It’s hard listening to recordings of a piece that I’m going to perform soon only to realize that…hey! My sound belongs to a twelve-year-old! Whoo!


listening to: tori amos – leather

Okay, it might have been mentioned that the house was empty today (OMG YAY), but I definitely failed to mention the particular reason for it.

Today my parents took the bird (his real name is Pete, but I always just refer to him as “the bird”) up to his original owners in Chicago, where we assume he’s going to live from now on (background on Pete: Indian Ringneck Parakeet, about 14 years old. His original owners are good friends of my parents (musicians, as well), and had had him for about three years before having their own kids and…ah. I don’t even want to think about the amount of shreiking in one household with Pete and a small child. So anyway, they knew we liked birds and had met Pete on a number of occasions, and wondered if we’d want to take him for ourselves. My parents said yes. That was over ten years ago). It seemed good timing that the family’s now eleven-year-old would want a pet (a large bird, specifically) close to the same time my parents decided that Pete is just too loud and needs too much attention for them to keep themselves. I respect the decision, and feel good about the fact that this family has already owned the bird, but dammit, this depresses me. Well, with an added sentiments of “huzzah!! No more chewed up shoe-laces or remote-controls, etc!!”. Sigh.

I’m also a little worried about the additional pets that Pete will be living with. Namely a large and supposedly rambunctuous Poodle and a Tonkinese cat (CAT, I say). I told my mother to give them the message that under NO CIRCUMSTANCES will I accept any news of that bird being EATEN.

So needless to say, the house is quiet. Eerily so. It’s a little disconcerting when I make random frustrated noises to myself and then suddenly realize that I really AM making random frustated noises to myself, and not myself PLUS the bird.

I mean…I AM AWESOME. And in NO way schizophrenic.

Aaw. Miss the bird.

Other than that, I went running in the freakishly warm weather, today. It felt GOOD, even though it also felt wrong, because this is January and it was 55 degrees outside. Weather…wtf?

Also, after writing the last entry, I did some good cello-ing that had nothing to do with Haydn C or the 5th Bach Suite. Go me.

Have I mentioned recently that I hate people?! Because I do. Well, not everybody. In fact, I <3 lots of people. But between Rebecca and I, there is an understanding of PEOPLE SUCK. Choose robots.


listening to: brian eno – st. elmo’s fire

This song never fails to make life better, no matter how crazy I am going or frustrated I am.

What was that about frustration? Oh. Well, it seems that suddenly I am completely incapable of freaking PLAYING the CELLO! See, this happens every so often, and I understand and am able to deal with this fact of life, the fact that I will sometimes just not be able to play. But…hey, timing?! Hello?! Timing?! Are you HOOOME?! This is kind of um…crappy, if you know what I mean.

I’ve noticed that I work far more productively when there isn’t a killer dead-line involved, and when I have the resources of my teacher and peers off-hand to help me out with stupid weird crap but…aah! The fact that practicing at home is hard when my parents are listening in (seriously. apparently my dad can hear my practicing very clearly from the basement–where he spends a good deal of his time repairing double-reed stuff. he came upstairs and gave me off-hand advice about fast runs, the other day. and it’s not that it wasn’t appreciated, but I was totally not in the mood) or gauging the amount of time I put in (my mom. which is rather frustrating. because i’m trying to be able to deal with my playing and my problems without barriers of MEASURING STUPID TIME). So naturally, the first day where everybody is out of the house, I Just. Can’t. Play.

I’m currently sitting myself down and trying to figure out what’s going on with my fingers or in my head or whatever. And…it could be a lot of things. Maybe I haven’t been working hard enough in the past three weeks, and have dug my hole that way. Maybe I’ve been in this continuous mind-set of “MUST PRACTICE LIKE HELL” and I need an actual mental break. Maybe it’s the crazy weather effecting my cello, or my bridge which may or may not be tilting a tad. Maybe my brain is trying to tell me to stop with the Bach and Haydn, because that’s all I’ve been playing since–oh, September.

I guess it’s a comforting thought that I reached the point that I could play the entire program memorized, at the beginning of December. This means that rest assured I’ll be able to get through my half of the recital in my current state. I just don’t understand what’s happened to my musicality or my ability to remain familiar with the finger-board.

It’s probably safe to say that I should NOT go to my mother with any of these hypotheses. For the first one she’ll make some remark about how little I practice and say she’ll make sure I do more every day, and for the others, she’ll scoff and…um…pretty much say the same thing. Hell. I’m not about to say what I think I am. I’m not, I’m not. Okay, yes I am: I’m totally ready to go back to school…


listening to: brian eno – juju space jazz

I know I usually post stupid memes on my lj, but this one has to do with my BLOG! Huttzh! I’ve always thought these “collective entry” memes were cool, but haven’t ever done one. So…here!!

Find the first sentence of the first post of each month from last year:

January – Hmm. I am really not in a blogging mood right now.

February – Just thought I’d make up for my recent non-blogging by quickly posting one from the new room.

March – I have a truly bad feeling about the next two weeks.

April – Aaaaaagh. My sleep patterns are completely effed up.

May – No, I’m not dead.

June – Bored, without vehicle, and waiting for Rebecca to post an “amusing-but-at-her-own-cost” story.

July – This. Com. Pu. Ter. Is. So. Slow.

August – Woo freakin’ hoo!! I’m home!! (note: neither of them really counted as a sentence on their own)

September – Omg what the hell?!

October – I tried to blog about the weekend, but blogging is made more difficult when one is fighting not to pass out over the keyboard.

November – Fugue is insane.

December – Oh my god, I am in “the chat” for the first time in what might be WEEKS.

Uhm, o…kay. So basically, my blog-entry beginnings are a concentration of pointless remarks about blogging, sleeping (or fatigue), or really just inane nonsense. Maybe this would have been more successfull for me had the instructions been to copy and paste the first TWO sentences, instead of just the one…

Note to self: it is not necessary to partake in the collective-entry memes.

Returning note from self: understood.