Dear Talia…

There is NO reason to be so CRAAAAAAANKY OMGEEEEE!

Or suspicious.

OR pessimistic.

But that last one can never be helped.

Love, uh, Talia.

Whine whine whine.

Maybe it’s because we watched Soylent Green in our last Death Class today. That movie upsets me for way more reasons than what the Soylent Green actually is (starts with “p”, rhythms with “eople”!!).

Maybe it’s because school is ending and a big part of me is kind of sad.

Maybe it’s because I always go crazy-nuts this time of year. Or maybe it’s because finishing up high-stress things like recitals and auditions make me go crazy-nuts in the first place.

Maybe it’s because I’m selfish and I want attention but at the same time just want to be left alone.

Maybe it’s all that.

Yay, PMS! It’s also that. And stuff. I know I keep saying it, but it’s true, and I have to remind myself that has something to do with it, or else I forget and yell. I mean, I yell more-so than usual.

Things Are Stupid

listening to: cornelius – star fruits surf rider

Oh, Lord. I am so hormonal and mood-swingy. I wish that somebody could knock me unconscious continually and make sure I don’t wake up until maybe…mmm, four days from now. Because I am acting like such a catatonic, bi-polar SPAZ, and it’s getting to the point where nobody should have to deal with me. At all. Ever. Until next week.

I just…wow. I read somewhere that they make PMS shakes, that have are supposed to have ingredients containing all sorts of helpful nutrients and natural anti-depressants.

Or I could just overdose on B Vitamins. That sounds like a good idea, too.

As it turns out, there’s this situation in which I don’t know if I’m actually supposed to take a proficiency for group piano or not. An this is a little frustrating. And I wish I didn’t know that they don’t exactly keep great record of proficiency stuff, so then I wouldn’t be tempted to ignore the whole thing.

I also started working on Dvorak, today. Vaguely. In passing.

Also, the creepy alien cricket-things are back. I am so not cool with this.

Yeah. I’m way too cranky for blogging. I’ll come back when this whole PMS this blows over. Blaaaaaarn.

The System Is Down

listening to: glass’ einstein on the beach – knee 4

I’ve been too involved in classical, dance-like works in major keys in the last……few months. I mean, because that’s all I’ve been working on. Haydn and Bach and stuff. So I’m kind of enjoying being obsessive with stuff like…Einstein on the Beach.

I’m not a huge fan of Philip Glass. I enjoy his stuff, but I don’t go out of my way to obsess and analyze the way I have been known to with other contemporary composers. But Einstein on the Beach? Man.

I love this. And I guess my sister was going to play this for graduate school auditions involving contemporary programs. Yeah, man.

In other things, I think frowl.org may be down. I guess I’ll find out when I try to publish. Hell yes.

*click*

Grumble Headache Grumble

I’ve had to start warding off the temptation to tell people they can “eat my poo.” Thanks, 30 Rock.

But really. Honestly. Seriously.

I hate the favorites game. With faculty, especially. I hate that I have no choice about participation in that game, it happens without my permission. I hate that I can be taken off and removed from that list. It would have been a lot easier to have been left alone in the first place.

But only four more days of classes. And thus four more days of undergraduate study. And I’m probably PMSing. And the weather is less than ideal. And when all these things are out of the way, I’ll be able to kick back and and revel in done-ness.

Until then, you all can eat my……..poo.

Recital ’08

listening to: travis morrison hellfighters

Yes. I successfully made it through my fourth and final recital at the U of I. It went fine. Even well. Mostly, I’m glad it’s over.

The Bach went well. Very well, all things considered. I made some big dumb memory mistakes, but I handled them and I didn’t let them rattle me, which was the exact thing I needed — the reassurance that even when I do screw up, I can carry on like nothing happened. And I even relaxed a little bit and had some fun and made spontaneous musical decisions. Hooray.

Ginastera, cool piece. To be sure.

Haydn, well, once I’d played Bach everything seemed care-free and happy, to me. So Haydn was just that, especially the first movement. And by the time I got to the 3rd movement, I might have lost my ability to care. In my last lesson, Brandon told me I should be more care-free and “fun” in the way I approached the movement. I guess I took that to mean “forgetting to come in once” and “contemplating unrelated stuff.”

Some people said they could tell when I was nearing the end of a piece, because I would look relieved. Awesome.

And as usual and is typical of every recital I’ve ever played, half the people who said they were going to come didn’t (and someone who was technically supposed to because of the obligation to be at studio-mate’s recitals, dammit). Which, you know. Is fine. That shit happens. But it just makes a person love the people who DID come about 800x more. People who came, you guys rock.

I get some really nice comments, too. Not just “oh, you’re awesome!” comments. I was informed by one person who last heard my junior recital (two years ago) that my sound has improved a lot since then. And later, while talking to Brandon, he said he’s really proud of the way that I can not learn music on my own. Not technically, but mentally. As in, the ability to take a new piece of music and really understand musically what is going on with it and also make my own decisions regarding what to do and not to do.

And I have to say. Where did this come from? I think I’ve started thinking about musical lines a LOT more in the last year. And I know that sounds like a ridiculous connection, but that’s totally part of it. I could always do the left-hand stuff, and the bow-stroke stuff. But not the “knowing the shape and architecture of a piece” stuff. I mean, given, I still have to work on that. But it’s a lot better.

So anyway. Now I’m done, and I highly suspect I’m going to actually go crazy in and end-of-the-year manner from here on out, as opposed to just practicing a lot and wondering why I’m not losing my mind yet. I guess I do have some things to do, but I am basically done with classes and degree requirements and future school possibility-related things that have been driving me crazy from day one of last semester. I can breathe for a couple days. Hooray.

In the meantime, Thursday’s episode of the Office was really freaking weird.

Makes Me Wanna Throw Up

Well, this feels appropriate…

You know why? Because the idea of playing solo Bach makes me wanna throw up!

I know. Shut up, already. And after my stellar lesson that made me feel all kinds of better, too. This is so pointless for me to get nervous over. What’s going to happen is going to happen. Why can’t I save the nerves for some other time.

Because as I said to Brandon in my lesson yesterday, “Oh, I’m going to play really well. I’m just going to want to vomit the entire time.”

Anyway. Here’s hoping I spontaneously overcome my nerves before 7:30pm. And also that people actually come. Or maybe I would prefer they didn’t. Hmm.

To That Driver On Race St. Who Gave Me Right Of Way During My Run This Morning…

I may have looked pissed off at you, maybe just maybe, because you got to the opposite stop before I was even 10 feet from the intersection and you had already begun to move into the middle of the intersection, when you saw me approaching the intersection, stopped directly in front of me and in the process blocked the entire intersection while you waited for me to cross when I had only just GOTTEN to the intersection and it was YOUR right of way. You gave me ARBITRARY and MEANINGLESS right of way, just to be nice. And you pissed off two other intersection-goers in the process. As well as me. Because it was weird and confusing I was NOT EVEN NEAR THE INTERSECTION WHEN YOU STARTED YOUR TURN THROUGH IT.

What’s up, you guys. I’m a ass-narch. What of it?

I know this is one of the silliest things to complain about in the universe, but I wish that when it came to driving, people would just be legal and not nice. I stop running at 4-way intersection when there are cars coming specifically BECAUSE it makes sense that I wait my turn as well, and also not run headlong into a busy intersection expecting every one of those cars to not kill me. So when people stop and wait for me, like REALLY wait for me, like see me and go “good god, a runner! We must stop, even though we got here first and other cars want to go their turn and not be confused! Just to be nice!”, it kind of hacks me off. A little. Just a bit.

Keep in mind that I run 4.5-5 miles 6-7 days a week, so I have to deal with this whole intersection musical-chairs thing kind of more than I would like. And also, I’m cranky.

Man. Next year is going to suck in regards to running amidst traffic. Stupid city. I’ll find away.

A discover I made on this same run this morning: those really beautiful and fragrant magnolia-tree petals that prove the existence of Spring? Are slippery as hell. I think I almost killed myself.

“She wiped out under a magnolia tree!” What a crappy eulogy.

I had a really good lesson today. My teacher knows exactly what to say. Or I’m awesome. Or both. Regardless, I feel a lot better about everything regarding my recital. I mean, I still kind of feel the urge to vomit every time I think of solo unaccompanied Bach from memory, but you know something, I really shouldn’t worry about that.

And speaking of Bach and things…

Josephine: Good God. I really shouldn’t complain about what I have to do in terms of memory for solo Bach because HA HA keyboardists have so much more of it. And TWO HANDS. But yeah, a lot of what you mentioned is stuff I’ve actually been trying to do! Especially being able to start from absolutely anywhere. I think for cellists, it’s really important to know the bass-lines. As in, to be able to play a bass-line suitable to any given movement from any given suite. Sadly, I’m not sure if everyone is as bass-obsessed as I would like them to be. That’s kind of a lot to ask. For me, though, the bass is just in my head.

Yeah. But anyway. Not so worried about the recital. Even if I play wrong notes and get nervous. Really not going to matter.

My philosphy about how to practice right before a recital has also changed, after all these auditions. I am convinced that I shouldn’t run through anything up to speed. Slow work helped me maintain performance-quality Bach and Haydn for 2 months. It’s going to be pretty damn helpful to me right now, too.

Bach And Memory And Brain-Clutter

listening to: ween – voodoo lady

Man. Solo recitals are stupid. Unaccompanied Bach is really hard to perform, memorized especially.

The problem isn’t that I don’t know the music. Definitely not an issue. The problem is that when I play it in the practice-room, and to a lesser extent in my lessons, I go to this relaxed mental place (which I do believe I referred to in conversation with somebody else as “happy cello land”), in which the music is all there and my fingers know exactly what they’re doing and thus I don’t really have to think about my fingers at all. But when people are added to the equation, things change. Suddenly I don’t trust my relaxed mental state, OR my fingers. And I start to ask myself “do I know what’s coming next?” And THEN I have memory slips. And I am terrified of those big stupid memory slips. I get jittery and nervous of the idea that I’m going to lose my cool in front of people, and do something stupid to the point where I can’t fix it.

But that’s just so idiotic to get worked up over. It’s like worrying about falling off a horse. It’s inevitable, and just accept it.

And you know, usually it all turns out fine. I’ll make some mistakes, but it won’t hurt the overall character. Despite my not always enjoying doing so solo, I feel like I can hold my own on a stage. And that my worries are pointless, because I’ll play the way I’ll play.

But aside from that, my worries are a hindrance at best. I played in studio yesterday, and got about as nervous and terrified of my “audience” as I expect to during my recital. It still went pretty well. One of the comments I received, though, was that sometimes it seemed like my fingers dominated the tempo direction of some of my solo Bach. That it seemed like I was too preoccupied with proving I knew all the notes to let my musical instincts come out. AND THAT’S MY PROBLEM!!! I’m too busy being preoccupied with mentally freaking out about what notes come next, and because of this I quash a lot of musical things that might otherwise be going on.

So that’s the next step. To recognize that I don’t need to worry about knowing notes and really concentrate on what it is I want to do musically. Again, I think I do alright in performance. But I could always do MORE. Because I’m good, dammit!

Well, sometimes I’m good. And sometimes I get jittery and miss shifts. But whatever.

Anyway. That was my obligatory “freaking-out-about-recital” rant.

And Still Another Dugan Poem

Major points for use of the word “usefuller.”

TRANSCRIBED CONVERSATION IN PRAISE OF COWS

While it is so that you
can eat a pig from nose
to asshole and beyond,
the cow is usefuller:
the beef, beefsteak, broth,
are healthy, and the milk,
the fine glue from the hooves,
the leather and the horns,
Oh you can take one horn
and blow it and call up
whole armies of believers!

Another Dugan Poem

There’s not much going on. I mean…no, that’s a lie. There’s everything going on, plus me trying to ward off the afore-mentioned Spring Crazy. But it’s all same-old and not worth commenting on.

Although what is worth commenting on is the fact that I’ve been reading more of Alan Dugan’s Poems Seven and am always finding poems for just about every occasion. Here’s a good one. For me and the universe.

UNTITLED POEM

I’m waiting for you, but not purely.
I’m not all waiting the way a dog
outside a supermarket is all waiting
for his mistress, doing nothing else
but waiting, having nothing else to do.
Oh I have something else I have to do,
I think, and I can make up things to do,
so that I am not all waiting like a dog,
but I am waiting for you, though nor purely.
So come on, come out, wherever you are
or else my impure waiting might change
to pure waiting, or into mad waiting.
I might stop waiting entirely just
when you, as you say, say “I’m coming.”

Good Morning, Earthquake!

Okay, either I just had the weirdest paranormal experience possible that resulted in my entire room shaking for 2 straight minutes, or we just had an earthquake.

Aaaand, I’ve officially been watching too much Ghost Hunters.

A Story I Will Tell My Grandkids

listening to: cranes – beautiful friend

I saw Ben Folds play at Foellinger, tonight. It was pretty great, though I honestly haven’t listened to Ben Folds much since possibly right around the time I started college, and beforehand. I’ll just mention that he told us about how the Perkins restaurant in our er “town” had a malfunction in the lights on the sign that made the sign look like it said “Jerkins.”

But I have this problem where I think celebrities and musicians I adore and sometimes really cool professors I work with don’t really exist, or are beyond human.

So when after the show, we were just finishing grabbing some food at “Jerkins” (because everywhere else was closed or broken) and Ben Folds and his wife walk in? I had a small existential crisis, as well as said “um” about 10 times in unison with Laurel before being randomly hit in the arm by Laurel several times. They sat in a more abandoned part of the restaurant, and it was clear they kind of wanted to maybe be alone.

So we debated for about ten minutes what to do. If we should go up and ask if we could have a picture with him. Or get his autograph. And I kind of went “you guys, he’s not real.” And everyone went “Talia, stop it.” But eventually we decided he clearly wanted to be left alone, but PAID HIS CHECK. WHAT THE HELL.

In the end, we left without bothering him, but he waved at us.

The End.

Cuh-Razy!

listening to: r.e.m. – saturn return

Things that make me crazy:

1. Spring. Every Spring, something big and stupid and stressful occurs simultaneously with plants and trees and flowers coming alive and more sunlight and all this stuff that generally tends to stimulate a person. As for that stressful even, that can be anything from me deciding to transfer or making decisions about grad school, to recitals, to simply being frustrated with my social awkardness. I don’t know what it is about me, but I just can’t handle all of this at the same time. So I lose it. Maybe not certifiably, but to some degree I do go crazy-nuts. I’m definitely not crazy-nuts right now, but wait a week. Maybe two. Then I’ll be some kind of manic– but still extremely pessimistic and stupid — ball of energy. On top of all of it, though, I’ll make myself feel alienated and dejected and not worth anybody’s time, because that’s what the social failure tendencies of my personality tend to manifest into when the Spring Crazy gets going. For my own safety and others’, I should stay away from everyone, and especially not get caught in a situation where I don’t feel comfortable interacting with others and yet have to watch others interact. That’s the worst.

If you have no idea what the hell Talia is talking about and would like to see her safely shut away until sometime in June, press 1 now.

2. Financial Aid Offices that will not answer phone-calls or accept faxes.

3. Lemon-juice in papercuts. This happened to me today. Owwwww.

Thank You, Robots.txt

listening to: brian eno – baby’s on fire

random amusing quotes: “I’m British but I wear fucking American army pants! It doesn’t make sense!”

“What? Who? I’m Ian Hobson.”

Ugh. I hate creating Facebook Events and inviting people to my recital that way. I hate recitals. Not playing them, necessarily. I like playing things that I’ve prepared. But I don’t like being a center of attention, or inviting people to come watch me be the center of attention when I mostly just like to be not noticed. It’s a pain to try and MAKE myself be an extrovert.

Anyway. Existential recital rant now finished.

Yesterday was awesome. I was successfully not a social bum. I happily practiced for three hours. I got an email from Mr. Doane. I was quite thoroughly entertained by the universe. The End.

Liquid Nitrogen In A Blender

Hey, I have a question for you. Why the hell is there a 20% chance of snow for tomorrow?

No, seriously. I’m pretty curious, seeing as it’s like…the middle of April and we’re in freaking Central Illinois. Where it tends to not do that. And I will refrain from ranting about how it pisses me off that people sputter at the idea of Global Warming when the weather gets cold, when in all honesty it’s Global Warming that’s causing the freaking weather to be so erratic and severe and bizarre all the time. RUUFFFF.

Okay, I guess I won’t refrain.

Man. Back in January when I auditioned at Northwestern and hung out with Erica in Chicago during one of their absurd blizzards, we were driving out on Clark St. and there were these idiots hanging out in the median waving signs that said “Global Warming is as fake as your girlfriend’s orgasm.” And…oh man. I wish I’d had something to throw at them. I think Erica almost made a U-Turn in order to attempt to run them down.

God. Stupid Green Party ass-holes (we’re pretty sure that’s who they were).

Also, in case you do not stalk my IM away messages, you should check out this video of two guys making liquid nitrogen ice-cream. It’s pretty good.

Sporadic Fangasm

listening to: stereolab – les yper sound

Oh God. So I was just watching this video of Stereolab playing live, which happens to be an extra on one of their albums…and…I just noticed that the gangly-looking guy on keyboard who we only see once or twice is SEAN O’HAGAN. Like, of the High Llamas. And formerly of Stereolab. And I died. Because I love that man and his sound engineering and his string arrangements.

Man, I’m an idiot.

A Pretty Major Problem

listening to: cranes – vanishing point

Hooray. On the Leibowitz Social Anxiety Disorder scale, I rank a 55! Meaning that I have a score typical of a person entering treatment for a non-generalized Social Anxiety Disorder! Hooray!

Somebody tell that to my mother, please. Maybe she’ll stop writing up that anxiety attack thing I had onstage in Orchestra Hall in Chicago as a random food allergy.

Oh man. Forrest and I are starting a secret society. And we need a name. And maybe it should have something to do with the fact that everyone mistakes me for her.

Two years ago…
Random person walking by me while I’m waiting for my lesson outside Brandon’s office: Hey, what time are we rehearsing on Saturday?
Me: Uhm…I’m sorry?
Random person: This Saturday, I know we’re having a rehearsal and — oh my gosh! Sorry! I thought you were Forrest!
Me: Uh, no problem.

Two days ago…
Random person passing me by the elevators in front of my locker: Hey, do you know where the comprehensive exams are?
Me: Uh….I have absolutely no idea.
Random person: Aren’t you taking the comprehensive exam for Masters students, though?
Me: No, I’m still an undergrad…
Random person: Oh! Sorry! I thought you were Forrest!
Me: Ha, no problem!

Last year during conducting seminar…
Schleicher, to Forrest and I who were standpartners: You two need to stop looking alike.

Seriously, you guys. What the hell? Sure, Forrest and I have similar hair color. Sure, sometimes we’re both wearing glasses. Sure, we both play the cello. But other than that, we really don’t look that much alike.

Look, I even have a photo to demonstrate.

God-damn Cutest Studio Ever
(photo taken at Ting-Chi’s recital in April of 2007, I think?)

See me? Yeah, I’m the one in the middle with blonde hair and glasses. Forrest is two people over to the right who does not look like me. Also, Dan is really tall.

We need to do a side-by-side comparison photo or something, with arrows and annotations that point out distinct differences. And put it up around the school, so maybe we can educate people about this problem.

*edit* Sigh at blog layout.

So Tired

listening to: microdisney – half a day

I will begin with an extreme WTF: this morning I a fairly bizarre dream. It was like the Heifetz Institute, but not. I don’t remember most of it, but I do remember sitting in the upstairs lounge of the dining hall at Brewster Academy, where I think I only went once for a studio class thing in real life. And a bunch of us were watching some kind of skit-comedy thing that everyone thought was hilarious, but I stood up and loudly proclaimed that I knew of a funnier skit, the Fire Lederhosen skit. “Haven’t any of you ever heard of Fire Lederhosen?”

Yeah, what the hell, subconscious??

Anyway. My alarm went off right after this, and I was incredibly hazy for a minute or so. Hazy enough the first thing I did was google “fire lederhosen,” because I couldn’t figure out if it was real or not at the time. A few hours later I remembered all of this and realized that I am full of crap.

So anyway. I did a Google Search for Fire Lederhosen this morning. How was your day?

Ugh. I feel like I’ve regressed to high school, or hell, two years ago. I hate it when I start to care what other people think. I hate it that out of nowhere, people stress me out. I feel like I’ve been pretty socially chill the last year or so. Anything goes, not worrying how I affect other people or what they think about me. An occasional moment of anxiety, sure, but I feel like I’ve been living my days fairly socially care-free, for a change.

So maybe this is just one of those bad moments, where I’m caught worrying and feeling anxious and like I’m not good enough for certain social groups. But it’s like…these social groups aren’t even around me on a daily basis! I only care what they think because I’m idealizing their coolness factor. I hate idealizing! It just makes me feel isolated and lonely and like I’m a failure! RAAAAAAHR.

And this is the point where, during high school, I would start listening to The Smashing Pumpkins and being really emo. Except times about 100 of what I’m experiencing right now.

At least these days I can identify what the problem is, even if it continues to make me feel crappy.

This convoluted rant brought to you by a definite lack of sleep.

This just in! A terrible horrible accident involving my kitchen and an onion occurred earlier tonight. I may have cried (like, onion-chopping tears, which I normally don’t do), and my kitchen might currently smell very strongly of onion. Bring on the Febreeze, I say.

Oh, my god, I am so freaking tired.

Trauma

listening to: tokyo jihen – ringo no uta

I should definitely not study for our Death Class exam. Because I’ve honestly been too traumatized by most of the things we’ve watched to forget about them. Like…

Holy God. We watched most of The Loved One the past two class-periods and that was by far the most traumatizing thing, ever. And not because it’s gruesome, or dark. I mean, it’s VERY dark. But it’s a comedy! The the blackest of any comedy I’ve ever seen. I mean…I don’t want to like, spoil anything for readers when the inevitably never watch the stupid film, but here is part of the film summary from its Wikipedia Entry. Just, FYI, Aimee is the First Lady Embalmer at this fancy-pants funeral/cemetery establishment in L.A., meant to mirror the fame and ridiculosity of the actual Forest Lawn cemetery in L.A. And Dennis, whose uncle died and was buried at this Whispering Glades place, is courting Aimee (who worked on her uncle). And this other crazy funeral-working guy, Mr. Joyboy, is also courting Amy. And Amy is really unstable. For the record. Just so you know:

Dennis persists in courting Aimee with plagiarized poetry. With the help of Joyboy, she discovers Dennis’ ingenuous nature and discredits him as a dishonest man. Joyboy has also tried in vain to win her confidence after inviting her to join him and his mother for a home cooked dinner. Aimee is immediately put off at the prospect of any type of relationship with Joyboy as soon as she witnesses the couple’s bizarre and unhealthy relationship with each other. Also, Aimee realizes that the mother, homebound due to her morbid obesity, has an obsessive-compulsive attraction to food. Aimee seeks spiritual solace with her correspondent counselor, the Guru Brahmin (who turns out to be a fraud), and the Reverend Wilbur Glenworthy (Winters), who makes overt sexual advances on her. After-hours, the woman becomes so distraught that she too commits suicide; using Joyboy’s equipment, she simultaneously bloodlets herself from one arm and injects embalming fluid into the other. Later, Joyboy discovers her dead body, and Dennis shows up shortly thereafter to blackmail him into switching Aimee’s body with that of a dead astronaut who’s closed casket is scheduled to be placed into a rocket and given a dignified burial in space. After the televised funeral ceremony, Dennis then returns to the airport to catch a return flight to England.

Just…TRAUMA for life. She EMBALMS HERSELF. EMBALMS. HERSELF.

But the thing is that it’s all in a very “funny ha ha” manner that this film goes about everything. It’s kind of like Heathers, in that way, except about 8-gazillion times more morbid, in a lot of ways (I mean, major morbidity points from the get-go because of the main focus being on a cemetery). So I don’t know. I’m so simultaneously entertained, intrigued, and disturbed by this movie that my real desire is to own it. So it goes.

In other things, I may have found a place to live in Rochester??!? I don’t know. Probably not, but it’s worth a shot. It seems weird trying to arrange all of this at this point, when what I really need to be thinking about is my recital in 2.5 weeks, or that necessary stuff I need to do before graduating.

In amazing things I never thought would happen: I found my phone-charger. In the stupidest place ever. And today was the longest Sunday. Ever.

The End.

The Truth, I Guess

I can’t lie, there have been a few little things about school that have been getting to me for the last semester or so. It’s been easy enough to ignore a lot of this, though,and get on with my stupid and busy life. But now? It’s like the barn door’s been opened and I’m bolting towards it! Except I can’t yet, because I’m not done. Dammit.

Sigh.

Sometimes I also wonder if I’m going to die (not really). Because…I am going to be finishing my fifth consecutive year of school at a university this year, only to dive straight into a sixth year, followed by a seventh. I actually really like school, and am fortunate to be a somewhat largely observant geek about most things having to do with music, and especially about how to play the cello. But…seven years.

I know it’s stupid to say I’ve made any kind of official decision about this, or about anything really (ex: that one time I decided I’d never go to the University of Illinois and just over a year later went there anyway), but if I can avoid doing a DMA, I think I would. But again, who knows. Maybe the idea of not being in school in two years will leave me feeling naked and alone. Who the hell knows. I guess there’s also the matter of getting into a DMA program. Yikes.

In good news, though, I now possess a real bass amp, after about 8 years of stealing other people’s. I am quite possibly set for life.

…For Things.

listening to: shiina ringo – georgy porgy

Anne is occasionally full of zingers. Last night, after our stupid Vaughan Williams concert…

Me: Anne (who was sitting principal viola), your solos sounded great!
Anne: Thanks, so did yours!

HAH!!! It’s funny because I…didn’t have any solos! Get it? Like…I came in wrong…and played…”solos”…get it??!

You people are impossible.

I have new glasses. They’re pretty rocking, and will better enable me to read music without weird issues, thanks to them being half-frames.

Hooray for things.

Obsessiveness — An Anniversary Or Something

listening to: shiina ringo – karuki zamen kuri no hana

Preface: This is a little bit sad and pathetic. If you don’t like sad and pathetic and me talking about music, you should leave now.

Five years ago yesterday, I was in New York City with U-High’s choir and orchestra. Before we even got to NY, I had looked to see where the Kinokuniya near Rockerfeller Center was located, so when we were actually in Rockerfeller center with hours of nothing to do, I made my way to that Kinokuniya, within five minutes found Shiina Ringo’s latest album, and did not hesitate to pay the ridiculous price for said Japanese album (the equivalent of about $30).

And you know how when you are listening to a new album for the first time, you already know it’s going to be good? That’s how this was, and for some reason every time I started listening to it over again, it only got better.

This album is almost entirely about juxtaposition. It took me kind of a while to notice all of it. It occurs musically, lyrically, in the art of the accompanying booklet, even in how the tracks are named (character length, kana to kanji). Tracks 1 and 11 are paralleled, 2 and 10, 3 and 9, and so on. Each song also tends to make some sort of reference to its juxtaposing song. Track 5, Kuki, is the central track. Some of the ways in which the album and music are calculated in this manner seem almost Brahmsian, to a point.

The actual album itself has a bizarre, quirky, pastiche-y 1930’s Yakuza-ish feel to it. It felt appropriate for being in New York.

Also, Inazawa (of Number Girl fame) does the drums on this album. That can’t be a bad thing.

Anyway. Here’s the PV for Meisai which I only just found on Youtube last night in a fit of obsessiveness.

If only there were a video for the juxtaposing song, Ishiki.

Morbid Much?

listening to: battles – rainbow

Sigh. I’m done being loudly excited and boisterous. And I wish I didn’t feel guilty for talking and breathing air. Didn’t I write this exact same entry like a week ago??! Man. The crazy does not end.

But…if you’re interested in getting into my head, you should probably know that last night I dreamed that I very seriously informed someone (don’t know who) that I do not want to be embalmed after I die.

Yeah. Thanks go to Anth 180 for getting me all thinking about that. Thanks, Anth 180! You’ve contributed to my morbid and pessimistic thinking like nothing else in existence! Yay!

Really, though, I don’t want to be. Embalmed. What’s the point? I’ll be dead. And I don’t want my death to just contribute more chemicals to the earth. Sigh. Should I really discuss this here? Maybe I’ll hold off until I’ve watched that much more of Six Feet Under and read just that much more about the funeral industry for Anth 180. And after I’ve stumbled on yet another artistic work centered on death. Oh, boy.