Apparently I don’t have anything to say anymore. Except that hours-of-sleep-gotten and weather control more areas of my life than is right OR good for my mental well-being.
I can safely say. Having written (or “writted,” as I just typed) 7 pages about the two. That between Brahms and Schumann. Schumann’s was the superior Mondnacht. Sorry Brahms. You were young and stuff.
I can also safely say: blarn.
Now if I could only cough up one last page, life would be grand. Sleep-deprived, yes, but grand.
Do you want this man as your next Secretary of Agriculture under the Obama administration? I think you do.
There’s a petition going around to get Michael Pollan on board as the next Secretary of Agriculture. You can hear Pollan discussing what the nation needs in terms of agriculture and diet via NYC radio. You can also sign or view the petition here.
I would just like to point out…how weird it is…when I get all obsessive over a band whose music I dig a lot. And kind of idolize a little. And then my sister is in their band. And they apparently would not mind if I went and recorded with them in December.
One day I will overcome hero worship and realize that everybody in the end is just another person. Even if their brain does one or two things particularly well in a way which I might admire a little.
Also: I had this weird elaborate dream a couple of months ago, about driving into Rochester through what I could only describe as a landscape straight out of Yangshuo in China, and it wasn’t until tonight while driving back from Henrietta that I realized that my dream had really just transformed Highland Park into excessively aesthetically pleasing parts of China. I also sort of love how all my dreams are driving-inclusive.
…because it keeps clipping me in the fucking LEFT KNEE, which I busted open back in August (remember that?). While the wound is clearly healed, the skin on knee is still pretty sensitive, and I’ve already re-opened the wound on the knee while it’s been in the process of healing.
So to walk past my bed once this morning and clip my knee. Great. But again, two hours later, to seriously whack the hell out of my knee? Maybe I’m a wuss, and maybe my pain threshold is nonexistent, but this knee-bed-whacking thing hurts. IT HURTS. And it frustrates me. And it makes me sit down and cry, just because it’s so simultaneously shocking and KLUTZY. KLUTZY.
And for some reason it makes me my crankiest and attention-neediest. And is also the annoying-est thing, ever, because it keeps happening. I think this calls for some serious room-rearrangement.
Maybe also Shiba Inu puppies (see below post).
Oh. My. God.
As a serious pessimist, one who admittedly spends too, too much time thinking about the failing infrastructure and environmental demise and unfair and bleak state of affairs in my country, I can sincerely say I am optimistic for the first time in a very very long time.
Also, to that lady with the big hair and the “northern” accent in that diner Sunday morning in Forestport who was talking very loudly about Obama and his “baby-killing” ways: HA HA!
It’s not very considerate of me to whine about something and then not bring it up again. I’m not playing in this cycle of orchestra, because I went and said “hey, you told me I wasn’t playing, and I actually can’t at this point, three days after rehearsals began.” I was all expecting someone to tell me it’s part of my responsibilities as a student and being registered for the class and being committed to music. Instead someone went “oh. okay,” and telling me it was a long-shot anyway. Sigh.
I’m up on Starr Hill currently, as I have been since Friday, and I so do not want to go back to school. DO NOT WANT. I kind of want to just hibernate up here. Forever. I think I’ve honestly gotten the best two nights of sleep in who knows how long, which maybe isn’t even saying much. 8 hour nights are good, but should be standard. I think the miraculous thing was that I only woke up once per night, not like 5 or 6 times. It occasionally takes a good night of sleep to realize what a monster I can be when I don’t get enough. I’m not one of those people who can function on 6 hours or less of sleep a night and be amongst other people. Once the crappy sleep nights ad up over the course of a week or more, I start to hate things and be irrational and not like people. I don’t like being that kind of person.
I saw the Pacifica in Herkimer last night, with my aunt. It was weird but awesome. Or awesome but weird. I may have not warned any of them I was going to be there, so it was fun to freak them out. Watching them play was so great and comforting in ways I have trouble explaining. Having to listen to the group of Chatty Cathies in the back of the auditorium who were probably only there due to some requirement in a music appreciation class was not.
And I guess I will come out and say it. I miss Illinois. But whatever.
New York is nice, too. In places. When the weather isn’t crap. And when I’m with family and friends.
I can rant about location change later, though.
I also have serious music education in the U.S.-related rants, too, but I’ll save that for later as well.