Bitchypoo

listening to: brian eno – by this river

Dear older sister,

In using this computer, I realize that nobody else in the house-hold ever exits from applications, and due to the stupid and inept nature of OS 9, this turns the thing into Satan. However, for the love of whatever it is we worship, FRIGGIN CLOSE YOUR BROWSER WINDOWS WHEN YOU GET UP AND WALK AWAY FROM THE THING. PLEEEEASE.

Sincerely anal-retentive younger sister

This is one reason why I should never share a computer with anybody. Ever.

I’ve Quit My Job At Cafe Crepe And Now Stalk Young Boxers

listening to: royksopp – remind me

So um…I watched Onmyouji II last night and, well, I think I’m a sick freak, but this is what ended up happening simultaneously in my blue book while I was watching, starting with the first scene before the opening credits and carrying on throughout the movie. Keep in mind that I really don’t like Fukada Kyouko, and that I had no idea she was in this when I rented it:

12:06am Wait. Wait. Wait. Is that Fukada Kyouko I see? In Onmyouji II? No. Please. Stop

12:09am No! The opening credits do not lie. Imai Eriko? Well, still.

12:11am NO! IT FUCKING –IS– FUKADA KYOUKO! God! Both of them? In a movie? In THIS movie? Oh man, this is gonna be fun. I hope that my sister can’t hear me shamelessly giggling from the next room over.

12:20am So wait, is Imai Eriko the annoying butterfly-girl who loiters around Seimei? Because if so I want to swat her to death.

12:22am Why is Fukada Kyouko in a movie?

12:23am Oh. But she’s posessed by a demon. Well, that’s better.

12:24am I really need to stop privately commentating and just watch the thing.

12:29am No, seriously. Why is Fukada Kyouko in a movie?!

12:38am Seimei’s creepy, demon-like rival whose name is Genkaku looks like MASUMI! Hee hee.

12:42am You know, this is the kind of movie that is just begging to be MSTed. Alright. I’m seriously shutting up this time.

1:08am Dear Hiromasa, you are kind of hot. And you totally resemble Inohara.

1:36am That is one pretty fucked up family, right there.

1:39am Oops, well now Fukada Kyouko is being eaten alive by her estranged younger brother.

1:43am You know something? Japan never fails to make me love it. This only makes Japan more loveable. Japan? I love you.

1:56am Shit! Now Fukada Kyouko is a fucking goddess! Where does that leave people like me in the world? Huh??

2:00am Shit! NO! Seimei can’t be dead! He was just alive! NUUUUUU!

2:02am It depresses me that I can tell this guy is faking playing the Biwa.

2:03am What? NO! Seimei can’t be alive! He was just dead! WTF?

2:05am You know, it’s just occurred to me how obvious it is that Hiromasa and Seimei are gay lovers.

2:07am Okay, well, there had better not be an Onmyouji III for cast-related purposes.

2:09am That was interesting. I’m going to bed.

So anyway, the bottom line is that Fukada Kyouko should NEVER be in a movie. Like, all that she is good at doing is a) looking concerned b) crying or c) shouting out “TOKIEDA YUUJI” and stalking young boxers. And she doesn’t even do that in this movie, so there you go.

But anyway, this movie was exactly what I needed. Something to stay up until 2am to, watching and simply enjoying myself over. Whether the enjoyment came from my stupid commentating, the somewhat cheesy effects (they felt purposefully bad, actually), or the actual story. It was totally worth the $2. By no means was it “good” in the sense of “amazing, collasal, moving.” But…aaah. I love Japan.

So Jamie, yes, I enjoyed it. And I also really liked Seimei. And I will totally try to find that other movie you recommended!

Ahahahaha, Onmyouji II!!

Dennis Quaid has crazy eyes.

My dad just made me drink a glass of port. It’s funny, because I truly do not care for alcohol, but dammit, if my family will ever accept that now that I’m over 18. Anyway, connoisseurs everywhere will be pleased to know that I do appreciate the taste of sitting-in-a-bottle-since-1997 goodness.

Oh God. Went to the Movie Fan with my parents and my eyes did see ahaha, Onmyouji II. I giggled myself stupid and then rented it. I am actually going to go upstairs and watch it in like two minutes. Or in however long it takes me to finish this entry.

I have the best family ever. True, we may get stressed out and hate eachother, and we may make faces at eachother when we think nobody else is watching (well…I may make faces at others when I think nobody is watching…), but dammit, people, I love my family.

Erica:Yeah! You can get free accupuncture if you sign a form stating it’s okay to have it done by a student. It’s amazing! They can do anything! Allergies! Whatever!
Mom: What did you have them take care of?
Erica: ANXIETY*! HAHAHA
Dad: HAHAHA
Mom: HAHAHA
Me: HAHAHA
All: HA HA HA HA HA HA!

And….

Mom: Oh! Oh! Erica! I forgot to mention! There’s actually a shop in Chicago that sells you the used air-line dishes and silver-ware!
Erica: Oh?
Dad: Oh, come on, but that takes the fun out of stealing it from foreign air-lines!**

Plus more things I’d love to share but can’t for internet-searching reasons. Oh, small, incestuous music world. You make me laugh.

*It’s funny because 3/4 of us (me included, dear mom, you suck) are known for high blood pressure.
**It’s funny because my Dad has provided my family with the finest in stolen cutlery and glass-ware from just about every major airline in Western Europe alone. Shh. Don’t tell.

No, YOU Live In A Vortex!

listening to: tokyo jihen – omatsuri sawagi

I had the craziest dream involving my dream-land interstate. You know. The one that shows up all the time in my dreams, surrounding my always-consistent dream-land version of Bloomington-Normal. It’s not abnormal that I dream about driving, but this dream was specifically about the interstate. Perhaps this is a sign that I need to start driving the back-roads.

Oh man. Now that I think about it, I also had a dream I transferred to Wesleyan. And all I could think in the dream was “this place is SO much more aesthetically pleasing than U of I”. Shut up, sub-conscious.

Hee hee hee hee!! I cleaned my room yesterday. And like…the two days prior to yesterday (three day job, kid you not). And I LOVE having a tidy room. I don’t want to leave it. Ever. I just sat there last night, listening to music and reading and I cannot remember the last time I was quite that happy.

I also managed to get all of my audio files from this piece-of-crap computer onto my machine upstairs. Stupidly, annoyingly enough, the CD burner for this computer decided nothing would provide it with the necessary drivers to function, so I thought I might never get to any of my crap off of it (aside from using the tedious and idiot tactic of sending all my files to my gmail account and then waiting until I got to hook my computer up to some sort of working connection to download the crap). But amazingly, my Dad (who is fond of collecting random electronic gadgets regardless of whether he needs them or knows how to use them) has this USB stick…thing that holds 256MB. Which was just enough space for however many audio files were on this computer. So YES! I had Tokyo Jihen! And Manu Chao! In my tidy room!!

Also, um, remember when I said I could find not many Tokyo Jihen files? Ha ha ha ha hahaha I lied.

I somehow managed to obtain the entire album Kyouiku, though how I found it, I’m not entirely sure. And…ah, self. I am all for file-sharing. I am not for swiping entire albums. But…can I just clarify what it is I swipe, if ever? Well, you know my thing with Japan. Right? And you know how…I can’t always find the Japanese music I want because AHAHA I live in stupid central Illinois and not Japan? Well, there you go. I still don’t feel that simply having an unsatisfied need for obscure Japanese crap justifies downloading full albums. But…the thing is that I really like supporting my favorite artists, as Shiina Ringo and her crew have always been a part. And after Karuki Zamen especially, I really want the whole stupid album-package, art and sleeve included. So if I am ever to come across the thing (which I very well may at Mitsuwa), I am buying it SO FAST.

Man. Rachel and I keep having the best conversations, ever. This is right after I explained to her how Justin I. theorized I didn’t really exist, but disappeared into a vortex in my house every night:

Rachel: Dude, I don’t think you live in a vortex. I mean, how would you keep the bird if you lived in a vortex?
Me: Um…we don’t have the bird anymore.
Rachel: Oh. My. God. Talia, you live in a vortex!

Ooh, going running.

Hataraku Watashi Ni Nazukete Kudasai

listening to: shiina ringo tokyo jihen – ringo no uta

I have to die. I have to die. I have to die. There is a Tokyo Jihen version of this song?! And it’s awesome?! Instant Death.

Dude, all this week I’ve been totally hoarding and obsessing over the very few Tokyo Jihen files I can find. Aaaagh I need to get to Mitsuwa.

Aaaagh, Shiina Ringo. Aaaagh.

Me Gusta La Mar, Me Gustas Tu

listening to: manu chao – me gustas tu

Who’s my new favorite Spanish/French musician? Who is? YOU are, Manu Chao. YOU are. I always knew I liked this guy, but it’s only recently that I’ve gotten really into his stuff. WOO.

I got to view my final grades for this semester, and once again, I KICKED SCHOOL’S ASS. Well, okay. I got a B in music theory. But that’s okay. The beginning of the semester with theory was HELLISH. And considering the fact that Catherine and I were practically bursting into tears before the final, crying at eachother that at least we’d have eachother when we retook 20th century theory, a B is totally okay with me.

You know how you read a book, and then you get into the book, and you desperately want for the book never to end because you love it so much? That is very much me right now. But when I’m done with Lamb, I can rush straight into HP before the sixth book is released in AAAH JUNE!!

Man, this summer kicks ass for cool crap being released. AAAAH HOWL ON THE 11TH!!

Who’s back to blogging obsessively? Who is? Who is?

Bitching Has Not Commenced

listening to: brian eno – by this river

I lied. Bitching has not commenced. In fact, if I know me, getting this out will help.

Right. So, any reader of my blog has pretty much got to be aware that I’m crazy. In many ways. In zany, spontaneous and fun ways. In music/geekish obsessing ways. In weird, self-questioning, what-is-my-problem ways. Maybe I haven’t mentioned much here about how I am kind of over-sensitive to location. Obsessive, in ways, perhaps. Not in a day-to-day, life-affecting manner. I think I’m just a little bit more oriented on where I am and what kind of setting I am in, than other people.

With that said, maybe I haven’t mentioned how I HATE Champaign-Urbana. Over the course of the year, and last year before I had moved there, I think I tried to spend a majority of my time convincing myself that it wouldn’t be as bad as I thought. I tried to find things about the place I could like. I tried to tell myself that there was a lot to do and see. I tried to tell myself that I had just been associating a place with old, stupid memories of deathly boring dinners with parent’s friends and gravely sick horses, and that was what made me cringe at the thought of a place. And hey, over the course of the year, I even found other ways of telling myself that the next 3-4 years would not only be bearable, some of those ways being directly related to a social life.

But in the last few weeks of school, somehow all of these things I’d told myself, and everything I’d done to try to convince myself I liked it came crashing down on me, and I think I became sort of bitter. I realize now that it was probably not healthy for me to just…tell myself I like something when I don’t. Especially because…well, I took a lot of walks. And while I was taking them, I would tell myself things like “see? see?! you can enjoy the aesthetically pleasing parts of the campus through walks! and that will make you like the place more!” but I think I might have just been alienating myself even more, now that I think about it.

And, who am I kidding. Me depending on a social life for happiness? I have good friends there who I really appreciate, but I think it’s actually a problem for me to be more person-oriented. Because people change. People move. I also have problems with trust, and really fully committing myself to be friends with just anybody. I feel like depending on other people to be my primary source of happiness is a dangerous, unstable thing that I really just can’t do because of my natural anti-social tendencies. And for a while, I thought it might work.

If you ask me, I’m not even sure I can tell you. I know it’s probably still a matter of association, but it just won’t leave me alone. Champaign-Urbana is a scope-lacking, soul-sucking grid. I’m not sure if it’s how aesthetically displeasing it is, or how having traveled a good deal has left impressions on me of every place in the world I would rather be. But it made me angry (still makes me angry) that I left a place it turned out I actually liked (a LOT) and felt comfortable in because I was unsatisfied with what I was doing musically, and that now I’m much happier with the things I’m learning and accomplishing, but severely frustrated with the other stuff.

And so these angsty and stupid thoughts (along with some others I will skip over for time and sanity) had me crazy for a good few weeks. But in the last couple weeks, I’ve been reviewing my priorities. And I realize that distracting myself with other prospects and lying to myself to try and be mindlessly happy have skewed those priorities. I am in Champaign-Urbana FOR MY TEACHER. My family did not lie when they told me that was what it was. I am so happy when I get to have lessons. I am so happy to have something difficult to work through. He is not only there as a cello and musical mentor, but just a supportive person. What a teacher should be. He even agrees with me that C-U is not the greatest of places, and can identify with a lot of my traveling/location frustration.

I love the Pacifica. They are my idols. Idols that I get to follow and watch and have teach me. They are that young, fabulous string quartet I listened to when I was younger…IN PERSON. Every time I work with them, I remember why I’m there, and it doesn’t matter that I may not like the place.

Because, I would rather be honest and accepting while unhappy than lying to myself and unsure while unhappy.

Another habit of mine which was sort of skewed was my pessimism. I am a pessimist by nature. And not exactly in a negative “life sucks!” sort of way. I just have this habit of toning down my expectations in order to avoid high amounts of disappointment and frustration. And it’s something that I find has made me more laid-back and less high-maintenance over the years. Something I’ve really come to appreciate in ways, and actually help me get over weird social anxiety and even cello things. But I geared myself to hope that I would come to love my surroundings the same way I came to love Iowa City. It’s understandable. I wanted to avoid putting myself through direct disappointment and frustration, and like every other person in the world, I just want to be happy. But in being that hopeful, I couldn’t be my normal pessimist, either.

But when I minimize my way of thinking back to my purpose of being there (teacher, quartet), things make more sense, and three more years seems fine with me. In fact, with my way of thinking, I have that primary purpose, but additionally some really supportive friends (really. I didn’t meant to imply that my friends there weren’t awesome), the best string quartet ever, a pretty darn good orchestra, life should be okay to me. Hear that, squirrels and bunnies? LIFE IS OKAY!!

So there you have it. Location-angst in a nut-shell. And…I think I’m really going to be okay. Really.

Teacher Zen

listening to: shiina ringo – georgy porgy (originally by Toto)

Jamie: I am dumb. But you sort of knew that already, right? =)

Rachel: Right back at you!! Also, I highly enjoyed your phone message. Expect revenge. Wait, did I say revenge? Because I totally meant “reciprocal voice-mail love” in place “revenge.”

Love love love! I finally found this song! I would say that the only reason I am so enamored with it is because Shiina Ringo is singing. Except that would be kind of a lie. But…why 70’s pop, Talia? Why?? From where??

I was not planning on returning to this piece-of-crap computer today, but I had to blog this. It is TOO GOOD.

So, I’m looking for a new cello, officially. And my Dad thought it would be a good idea to call Brandon for a little more advice on cello-searching. My Dad gave Brandon a call on Sunday afternoon, and as I might have guessed would happen, he wasn’t reachable. I had warned my Dad that the Pacifica was planning to leave for Iceland very soon (I am a jealous-pants), so he might be a little hard to get ahold of. My Dad left a message and that was that.

Finally, this afternoon, Brandon called my Dad back. They talked about cellos for a little bit, and Brandon pretty much just exchanged similar words with my Dad that he had been doing with me about searching about Chicago.

But this is my favorite part: after the conversation about cellos ended, Brandon apparently said “I just passed the Ford dealer off of Veterans in Bloomington. Can you tell me how to get to the airport from here?” HA HA HA.

Maybe you have to know my teacher, but that is just…so him. Kind of like when he came up to me after my recital and asked if I was playing the Shostakovich concerto next, even though we’d discussed how I’d already played it. Or how my quartet was having their final rehearsal on the day of our 5pm recital with Brandon there to coach us, and at the end of our session he says “you guys will be fine tomorrow night.”

Aaah. And that my Dad got to experience it, too!

Ahahaha, best teacher ever. Have I even talked about the fact that he is totally kicking my cello-playing ass? I think I have. Dear self. Steady reminder, that is why you are in fricking Urbana, Illinois. So stop bitching. Okay? Good. Bitching has commenced.

Returning To Normal On The Plane Of Whatever

listening to: brian eno and idiot – jj42

Jamie: If I come visit you and Meg, it would have to be this winter. I don’t think I’ll be free to fly out this summer while you guys aren’t already here. So I don’t know. I need to talk to my parents. While they’re in a good mood. But…oh my god. You guys. And Japan. At the same time. *head explodes*

Things that have been going on/have happened in the last…however long. I…:

+Dreamt I was being chased through this elaborate mansion/dormitory by people I know IRL who had become zombified. It was a fairly disturbing dream, but understandable in that I have been reading a book containing numerous human-resurrections and crap.

+Played a masterclass for Emilio Colon. That man kills me in so many ways. Awesome masterclass.

+Hooked up my computer to my stereo-system (so easy. why hadn’t I ever done that before?). So not only can I blast several days’ worth of music through really good speakers, but I can play Chrono Trigger in stereo. God. Need a good ass-kicking.

+Practiced my hiney off. I’m totally okay with this when I don’t have school-work to top it all off. I’m supposed to be finishing Lalo and starting Rococo simultaneously. And this seemed okay until the words “lesson on both” were uttered, and then I kind of saw the predicament of “that’s a fricking lot of music.”

+Actually had a lesson, but only on Rococo (it was actually decided to leave Lalo altogether at that point) . That piece is a bitch, but it is MY bitch. The hour-long lesson turned out to be nearly two hours, and included excited rambling talk of a new cello and my actually getting to play Brandon’s 400 year old cello. AAAAAAAH. Also me figuring out that I have EXCELLENT rhythm but that I am a terrible reader-of-music and frequently short-change notes. Dear self, stop doing that please.

+Hung out with MED for the first time in FOR-E-VER. We were rowdy and left noisy audio-blogger posts on my blog. She also introduced me to the genius of Eddie Izzard and FUCK it, people. … Cake or death?

+Played bass for U-High’s senior choir concert, my sixth year in a row of doing so. It was kind of campy (as always) but FUN as hell. I mean, I got to play the bass-line for not only You Can Call Me Al, but You Can’t Touch This. Plus like 30 songs more. Dear. God. Also, I don’t play the bass enough any more. I really need to fix this. But how?

+Ended up sitting in my room playing the Sailor Moon RPG for SNES on a Friday night. How sad is that, honestly?

+Was at home on I think a Wednesday night. When suddenly the phone rang.

Caller-who-sounded-familiar: Is Emmy there?
Me, perplexed: …I’m sorry, you must have the wrong number.
Caller-who-sounded-familiar: Wait…um…uh…is this…
Me, even more perplexed: …
Caller-who-thought-she-was-calling-my-friend-Emmy: TALIA?!
Me: Aha! Ahahaha! RACHEL!

It was the best accidental phone-conversation ever. It must have lasted like an hour. Hey guys guess what? I’m an indie-kid. But not the a-typical stupid, poser indie-kid. I’m the indie-kid who actually is interested in the stuff she likes. Go me. Also, apparently I am going to end up at Peabody, and Rachel and I are going to live together. That’s just what she told me, but I’m down with that. Now I just have to get through my undergrad AHAHAHAHAHA-*pound*

*edit* Additionally, Rachel called me again on Sunday. She told me about going to prom, and somehow managed to come out and say “Excuse me, ma’am, have you any hustle?” which I am going to quote again and again and again. Maybe it was more funny in context. Anyway, I realize that as of this summer, it will be three years since I last saw Rachel. And that is just wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.

+Finally got to see and frolic with Michelle, which has been needed quite some time. A romping good time was had by all.

+Have generally stopped going various stages of crazy. Which is nice and means my blood-pressure is probably returning to normal.

Still not sure what my blogging/AIM deal is. But I think I’m settling back into more of an “aaaah, random internet crap” attitude as opposed to an “aaaagh bored and socially inept and crazy” one, which is a sign that all is returning to normal on the plane of…whatever.

Didn’t Say Much Of Anything At All

listening to: modest mouse – wild pack of family dogs

Check me out. I’m updating.

I’ve been sort of avoiding computer-use in the last week or so, which explains the lack of updates and the not being signed onto AIM ever thing. It’s actually really nice, not having to choose between a) being at the music building b) sitting at the computer in a prison-cell of a room or c) trying to sleep in a prison-cell of a room (which I had serious problems doing anyway).

I think a lot of the time if I wasn’t practicing, I was so bored I didn’t know what to do with myself. Although this admittedly resulted in quite a few compulsive campus-wanders in the last month of the semester, mostly it just involved me feeling like a miserable bum at my computer. I recall actually sitting at the computer going “CHRIST I’m bored. Really frickin’ bored,” and yet would continue to sit and obsessively check people’s blogs and wonder why nobody was updating every five minutes like me. More on why I’m not signing onto AIM at another point in time, as there is too much for me to explain having to do with how I hate instant messenging. Er, ah, meep.

So I’m just sort of taking it easy. Disassociating hell and boredom from computer-use (admittedly I am still playing around a lot on my internet-disconnected machine upstairs, tee hee). Things will definitely be better next year. I will have a place to sit. And windows. You hear me, windows! I might get back to obsessive-updating again, soon. I might not. We’ll see. Who cares? Who? That’s what I thought.

“You know what? You know what? You know what?” I was waving my finger under her nose. “You scratched the Son of God. That’s your ass is what.”

Best book ever.

Life On Other Planets Is Difficult

listening to: einstürzende neubauten – selbsportrait mit kater

One more night in my prison cell.

Yesterday was such a fucked up day. I think I’ve gotten a total of like six hours sleep in the past two nights. Which um. Doesn’t help. I’m really…I don’t know.

Theory exam today. I saw my grade for the listening half, which was a 95. Yay. This was followed by my quartet’s recital. And it ROCKED so hard. I am so lucky to be able to play chamber music like that. But now I’m suffering from the post-concert blues. Because if I don’t have Prokofiev to look forward to playing, what else is there to look forward to in life? Fuck fuck fuck. Pardon my language. But fuck.

Afterwards we went to Biaggi’s, which was um…it was good. I mean, the food was awesome. That’s what I mean. Yes. While we were sitting waiting for our food to arrive, we noticed that outside from behind the rail-road tracks was this HUGE mass of flames, going wild. We were all moderately concerned and wondered how long it would take for someone to come put it out, but then it went out on its own. This happened two more times during the course of the evening. Later, it was discovered that on the other side of the rail-road tracks there is a firefighting training station. Har.

I really should pack, but probably won’t. Might go out and consider obsessive-compulsive campus wander. Though it might actually aid in depressing the living hell out of me. I need to get out of here. Like, say, yesterday.

[Muttering Sounds Here]

listening to: jill sobule – trains

Woke up at 4am. Lay awake for another two hours. Then wrote this in book by very dim light:

It is 6am. I am awake. I am hot and sticky. My body hates me. I may or may not have just written on my face in ink. I think in my hurry to mention that I’d possibly written on my face in ink, I skipped the part where I mention that I’ve been awake for two hours. Am hoping that Kerry will not randomly wake up and think I am a freak for booking at 6am, so am trying to be…discreet. Hmm. That’s a petty thing to worry about at 6am.

And then I lay there for another hour before deciding that, screw it, I’m up. I might as well be active and stuff.

Am now unbelievably tired, and also possibly very screwed, as have rehearsals and immense amounts of 20th century theory to cram into the crevices of my brain in the next 24 hours.

Must stop trying to be like Bridget Jones. Not v. convincing for non-British, twit-girl like self.

There was something else I wanted to mention. Oh yeah. Mrs. Corpus sent me the CD for the senior choir concert (for which I am playing bass for the SIXTH year in a row). It’ll be um…cute.

Grumpy Clod Who Reads And Gnaws People’s Legs Off

This is what the last two weeks have reduced me to:
100_2435_1
Yes, that’s right. I am now a grumpy clod who reads books by Christopher Moore.

Finished Bridget Jones’s Diary earlier today. And I peeked into Lamb (dear Lucia, you win). And…all I want to do now is read it. Here is part of the reason why:

Joshua (read: Jesus) always told me not to be afraid, for he would always be with me. Where are you, my friend? Why have you forsaken me? You wouldn’t be afraid here. The towers and machines and the shine and stink of this world would not daunt you. Come now, I’ll order a pizza from room service. You would like pizza. The servant who brings it is named Jesus. And he’s not even a Jew. You always liked irony. Come, Joshua, the angel says you are yet with us, you can hold him down while I pound him, then we will rejoice in pizza.

The other part of the reason why is that, as is afore-mentioned, I am now a grumpy clod.

See, the reason this sucks is that I have exams and a recital but I just can’t get myself to genuinely care. I’ve been studying, yes. And I’ve been practicing, yes. I just don’t feel as though I’ve been productive at all with the sudden bursts of free-time I have combined with this…well…apathy.

But…hey! On the other hand, I could totally have one of those READ posters of my own. Except it’d turn out something like “READ. Or this crazy girl will gnaw your legs off. And you wouldn’t really like that, now would you?” Oh my god that makes me think of Sin City (which I finally saw) and how Elijah Wood now officially freaks me the fuck out. Oh god.

Jamie: I always did envy you and Megan for that. Although admittedly going crazy was always easier for me when I could just be like “Hmm. I’m going crazy. I think I’ll walk the 200 yards to JaMeg’s house.” But you know. A few more months and I’ll have that chance again, I suppose.

Japan final tonight. “Oh, the inanity!” “Oh the Japanity!

When Spaz Attacks Go Bad

listening to: cibo matto – backseat

Oh my god. I wish the world could be here right now. Room 308 has lost it. We’re gone. Long gone. Mexico gone.

It started with us half-singing half “dah-dah”ing about half of the songs from Fiddler, then going straight into duo-roommate hyperventilation. Kerry just finished singing the “suffocation” song. Now she’s brushing her teeth. I think I might hyperventilate some more when she gets back because I can’t help it AAAAAAAH.

It’s actually kind of nice having someone to go crazy WITH. Oh my god. Both so crazy.

It’s Nine O’Clock Don’t Try To Turn It Off

listening to: rem – catapult (live)

So this song is apparently about TV? Doi. I’m smert.

Haaaah I’m making frightening noises at Kerry and she is appropriately scared.

I’m bummed out. I don’t even know why. I need to get out of here so I stop blogging entries like this: “I am sad. Today I said this funny thing at Kerry. And she laughed at me. I am sad.”

Now Kerry’s making up a song about how we’re going crazy. It involves numbers being counted forwards and backwards, in sing-speaking form. Now I’m the frightened one.

AAAH WHY WHY WHY WHY–Aaah there I go again.

Okay. I’m fine. KURIKAESARERU SHOUBYOUMUJOOOUUUUUUU i am obviously not fine.

Hehe. Remember that one time when I was going absolutely batshit crazy and I stayed up until 4 in the morning having existential crises at Rebecca and Amy? I do. It was funny. Fun. Ny.

*sob*

Eyes Swollen Shut And Buried To My Waist

listening to: dismemberment plan – that’s when the party started

I could be on the border.

Dude. Kerry made me watch this two-hour documentary on child beauty pagaents, yesterday, Living Dolls. In part, in depressed the hell out of me. The parents. And 5-year-old girls who looked 30. And the money invested. And crazy, militaristic moms who look like Uma Thurman. On the other hand, it was interesting to see the aspects of that particular performance-oriented…er…thing.

Hell, I love Dismemberment Plan. This album is absurd in so many ways, and I love it. Maybe it’s the shreiking. Maybe it’s the dissonant chordal CRAP. Maybe it’s the synthesized stuff. Maybe it’s the moderately effed up lyrics.

Fourteen feet tall, and glassy and pale, and covered in soot
I don’t know who he was or what he was, the question was moot
I laid in bed, too scared to speak, and watched him watch me
There was no sound but the crickets outside and the leaves in the breeze, oh
He lit a cigarette and said, “Your chimney’s a bitch.”
I said, “Are you old Santa Claus?”
And he said, “You wish,” yeah yeah yeah yeah

That’s when the party started as far as I know
I grabbed a hold of it and never let go
And if I saw it well then maybe it’s so
Oh, whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa

I think the full auditory experience is probably necessary for people reading this to not be like “…is she weird.” But truly. Absurd. And the absurdity makes everything more than okay to me. Now all I feel like doing is going into public and staring at people creepily to make them uncomfortable. Tee hee.

But alas. All I will be doing tonight is practicing (note: have I mentioned that now I kind of…um…like Lalo). And studying for my Japan final. I can’t remember when anything important happened. All I know is that Hello Kitty’s mouthless face looks angry, and that I need to study.

It Hurts, History…

listening to: ampop – precious

Carpal tunnel in right hand affirmative. Ow.

My essay was once again awesome. Program music in the 20th century. I discussed the CRAP out of Steve Reich’s Different Trains (admittedly, I discussed the crap out of all three pieces I chose, but moreso with that one).

Everything else was good. The only term I couldn’t write 8-million items of information about was mutual implication, which was my own damn fault. I knew what it was, but not as well as I did everything else, aside from the fact that I just couldn’t word information about it.

Something in my brain is telling me to STOP BLOGGING, you blog TOO MUCH. I realized just now that I’m being hyper-conscious of audience again. I hate that so much. Why do I care?! I shouldn’t. Why is the way I come off via garbage-filled internet monologues so important? It’s not. So STOP IT. STOP STOP STOP IT AAAAH.

To Hell With All Your Mercy

listening to: britten – peter grimes (excerpt)

Peter Griiimes…peter grimes — PETER GRIMES PETER GRIIIIMES!!

It shouldn’t be too hard an excerpt to identify, should it appear on the test. Being as all they’re doing is wailing “Peter Grimes.” I love Britten. I am all over his first cello suite should I ever need a cello-related dissertation subject later in schooling/life.

It’s feasible to think I might have carpal tunnel after 4pm today.

SHIT I HATE YOU AND YOUR DISTRACTING WAYS, BLOGGER.

Sorry, God.

listening to: i dream of jeannie with the light brown hair (in my head)

random amusing quotes: “Oops. I didn’t mean to say “ass” in a house of God.”
“Oh, I said “ass,” too. Sorry, God.”
–Phil K., Me, at St. Luke’s Union

This song is really stupid and I’m not sure how it even got into my head. WHY ARE YOU IN MY HEAD?!

Tonight was the benefit dinner/concert for one of my old chamber-music teachers, who recently had a stroke. It started off with me sitting around with my parents, other ISU faculty and other random people I know from music things, eating Hungarian Goulash followed by chocolate mousse. Oh my god, so good.

It was a variety-recital of sorts, with lots of friends, students and colleagues of Mr. Borg playing (that was his name. He had a Borg action-figure in his office-window). So mine was one of about 12 short performances. I played the shortest movement from the 5th Bach Suite. It’s like…3 minutes long, so really short. I was stupid and got randomly nervous about forgetting how to play Bach in front of people. But I realized when I was up there that my problem was actually my stupid sweaty hands, not my memory. And by the time I was starting to counter and get over this problem, I was done. So I kind of walked off-stage feeling “WTF just happened?!” Whatev. St. Luke’s is one of the nicest churches to play in, I’m convinced. Somebody told me later that the best part of my performance was my last note. My parents also played, at the very end of the program. The Poulenc oboe/bassoon/piano trio. It was awesome, and I love my family.

After the concert, I was standing around with my parents and the Hungarian pianist who organized this concert, and my Dad was commenting that now was the time for a chocolate mousse, as opposed to before the concert. I went “hahaha, I’ll say. Since I have a FINAL I NEED TO STUDY LIKE HELL FOR. hahaha.” And then Maria (above-said Hungarian pianist) led me to the kitchen and gave me like TWO HELPINGS of leftover mousse, all the while me being like “I’m kidding I’ll never complain again I can’t eat all this aaah.” She was like “NO. you MUST EAT THE MOUSSE.” I was scared, so I ate the mousse (and in fact shared it with my Dad).

Now I have no excuse to not STUDY LIKE HELL for most of tonight. Seriously. Here on out, all I am doing is alternating studying like hell and rehearsing quartet like hell. I think that’s actually kind of a nice balance.

Why am I blogging? What is my problem?! GO STUDY.

Chickens Are Fuzzy Bitches

listening to: tisq – senor mouse (in my head)

My Dad just informed me that it looks like I’ve lost weight. Thanks I think? That would rock other people’s worlds, maybe, but when people tell me it looks like I’ve lost weight, I just wonder if I’m going to die of several major deficiencies, because I’m a hypochondriach.

I talked to Rachel today, for the first time in a long time. It made me several varieties of happy. We talked about crazy moms and asian children and chickens. It makes me want to get out my red notebook filled with tales of misadventures in Ithaca. I actually wrote down “chickens are fuzzy bitches” on a slip of paper, during the phone-conversation, so I could quote it here in my blog. I’ve lost track of the slip of paper, though. Somebody in my house is going to find a surprise (I’m home to play a benefit-concert tomorrow evening).

Symphony Orchestra concert last night. It was good. I love Bartok. And Brahms (dear god, why didn’t Brahms write a cello concerto?!). I hate whoever it was that wrote “attacca” after movement 3 of the Bartok, though I totally should have clued in after however-many rehearsals that we weren’t going straight into the fourth movement, so I didn’t have to sit there wondering what the hell was going on when nobody else was looking active. My parents were there. Recently somebody told me that my mother is scary in a solemn sort of way. I was looking out for them before we started the Bartok, and realized that whoever said that was right.

My mom’s look: I am not amused.
My dad’s look: MY OLDEST DAUGHTER IS GOING TO GERMANY.

Wow. That amazingly sums up a lot about my family right there.

I am not pleased with things, at the current time. I’m looking forward to finishing exams. And permanently retiring from C-U…for a few months. And a good run. Or maybe just a good night of sleep.

Somebody asked me the other day if I was coming back next year. It amused me. So in case anybody was wondering, I am indeed coming back to U of I next fall. My current “I need to get the hell out of here” sentiments aren’t related to my overall musical experience here, so far.