Some things never change.

I am still bad at updating blogs. Hence, the title.

Home again. I don't quite detest Georgia yet, but I know it's coming. Right now, I'm going to ride the wave of awesome that is being able to sleep until noon, not having ANYTHING to do (except practice), and being able to see my friends at odd hours.

My parents bought a Wii. Since my gym will be closed off and on until the new year, I am going to spend the rest of the three weeks on my membership during the three weeks I am here in January. Until then, I am having my ass kicked by the aforementioned video game console. Conclusions from my first night of using it: I cannot hula hoop, and sometimes I punch too fast for the controller to register that I am beating the crap out of this guy in Wii Boxing. I am also terrible at Wii Tennis. And waking up the first day after using your new video game console? IT HURTS.


In other exciting news, it's time for a new game of "you know you're a nerd WHEN..." I just ordered a medium Landwell as my last Hanukkah present, and I'm super-excited. As in, I really shouldn't be this excited over a knife. But for some reason I think it's really going to help my reedmaking abilities. At least...I hope so. I'm more excited for that than I am for using my Barnes and Noble gift card...and I almost pulled an excited puppy and peed on the carpet for that one.

Okay. Yeah. I just out-nerded myself. I suppose I could talk about my knitting too, just to round this post out with nerdiness.

Or not. For those of you who did not know, I went pescetarian about three months ago. To clarify, this means I eat fish, eggs, dairy, and veggies/grains. A lot of people ask me why I did it, and honestly I don't know. I've always wanted to become a vegetarian (especially after that one talk we had in Sunday School about butchering...Kosher vs. non-Kosher...ew). But honestly, I feel so much healthier now. I eat a lot of beans, a lot of soy (SO MUCH SOY) and a lot of tofu (counts as both of the above, I know). I tried Tofurkey, and it's actually pretty good. I looked at a lot of the benefits of being a vegetarian, and it's MUCH better for the environment (reduces the grain needed to feed livestock...and some of the methane gas from the cow farts). And it's actually not been terribly difficult.

Okay, that's enough rambling about my life.

Home!

After the past week, I really needed a break. Lucky for me, Thanksgiving break was conveniently timed.

I'm starting to have friends outside of the music school. Shocking, I know. But it seems that with every time a friend wants to hang out, the homework or performance or work has reached an unbearable level. It's not like I'd willingly give up ANY of my outside activities; Mu Phi Epsilon has been fantastic for me, computer science is the most fun version of frustration I can think of, and I love my job. I just keep offering to do things that will further my actual career...like play for the Opera Workshop or design websites. And then that whole "class" thing gets in the way. I'm starting to realise that if I didn't have class, maybe I'd be able to get all of my classwork done.

But anyway. In happier news, now I'm home! Home means family, dogs, PRACTICE TIME!, knitting, and just all-out chill time. I'm so much less stressed about juries and the third movement of the Vaughan Williams now. I feel like I'm connecting with music more. It's amazing what time off will do.

Time off also gives you time to pursue other things, like my all-time favourite I'm-frustrated-with-debugging-this-program-to-the-point-of-wanting-to-punch-babies hobby: knitting. This past day I have knit a row or two every time I couldn't figure out what was wrong with my computer science program. And surprisingly, the practiced hand movements and brain time-off really, really helps.

Because I live where it is cold, I am knitting warm things, like this hat:



And, because I have the problem of cold hands but also happen to need my fingertips to play the oboe...fingerless gloves. Fingers just get in the way...(what, nobody else has this problem?)





And I'm starting on another hat in the same pattern, but using the variegated yarn all the way up.



It's in progress.

You can tell how frustrated I've gotten with my computer by how much knitting I've done. Something to know: computer science frustration generates knitted items. Oboe frustration generates baked goods.

I really am turning into a matronly old lady.

Report for the past week:

Smallest number of hours slept: 5.5
Greatest number of hours slept: 9
Number of reeds made: 5
Number of reeds cracked: 3
Number of hours practiced: not nearly as many as I would have liked.
Number of breakdowns had: 0
Number of bitches cut: 0
Number of programs owned: 1
Number of careless mistakes with programming: 349587
Number of parents seen: 3000
Number of parents that were my own: 2
Amount of satisfaction gained from that: infinite.
Number of hours spent in rehearsal: 6
Number of other jobs taken on: 2
Number of hours spent at work: 5
Number of hours spent doing homework: too many.

Overall, successful. I was going to write a post earlier this week about how I drink coffee socially. You know, some people go for alcohol, some for cigarettes, I go for coffee. It's a very tasty vehicle for caffeine. Unfortunately, this is a double-edged sword; it also contains caffeine when you don't need it. Most people would tell me "just drink decaf." I don't know why, but this seems blasphemous to me. It just isn't right. It's not like I can taste caffeine or anything (at this point, I wouldn't be surprised if I could, though), but still. Coffee should be an untainted steaming liquid (unless iced, in which soy milk and sugar are acceptable).

I just capitalised Coffee, as if it were a deity. There you have it, I guess.

So. This week I actually went to bed before midnight for the first time since July. Even then, that was a special situation (no sleep the night before, flying home from Philadelphia from SIMF. I slept for 17 consecutive hours, going to bed at 6pm). I'm a bit proud of myself. I think it's what helped me not become sick with the Whalen Plague.

I am finally listening to my body. I am finally discovering that I have limits and that there is only so much I, as one person, can do within a day. I am also realising that I have enough major for two people.

I won a major victory this week as well. My college has decided to stop paying for outside hosting for organisations, favouring something called Web Profile Manager instead. As a computer science minor and a web programmer...this is frustrating. But I decided to give it a shot. The verdict: wow, that's ugly. I'd like to be able to add more than one picture on the home page...and any picture at all on subpages. Also...what is with this horribly ugly background? Yeah, I could change it with CSS, but then I'd want to change the layout. Oh come on, I can't even change the text size?!? And I can't change the XHTML...so WHERE am I supposed to put my < div > tags? You mean I can't lay this out in a logical format? And you mean I'm supposed to put up photo galleries one picture at a time? And that putting up six photos takes an hour? And that--and here's the kicker--we get 15MB of space?

You've got to be kidding me, right?

Nah, they were serious. I mean, WPM is great for people who want to do a simple layout and don't know web design. But if you know more than two things about computers OR good design, it's infuriating. So the webmasters of the other two music fraternities and I took matters into our own hands.

Soon, I will have hosting for my first REAL web design job. *squee!*

More awesomeness: I got chosen to play for the spring musical next semester! As much work as it will be, with 7-midnight dress rehearsals, it's going to be a BLAST. I love playing in pit orchestras. I love musical theatre. And that I get to play it? HOW COOL IS THAT?!?!

Next semester, I am going to be whelmed. Very, very whelmed.

Happy, but whelmed.

This is why coffee exists.

Baking, Blogging, and BPracticing (okay, that didn't work)

Funny thing is, we call our conductor BP. So...kind of worked as a pun?

I've been doing these things a lot. You know, the things I do when I'm stressed. It's gotten to the point where every Friday night, Erin and I get together and bake something. It's our way of releasing the stress of the week. And it's tasty. We are actually considering starting a YouTube cooking show about how hilariously terrible we are about following the actual instructions, mostly because we're in college, have one measuring cup, one mixing bowl, a spoon, and two cookie sheets.

For example: "cream the butter and sugar with an electric mixer" means me making buzzing noises and poking Erin while she mixes the ingredients with a spoon very energetically. Yeah.

I've been so scattered lately. I'm realising that I spend 12+ hours in the music building per day, and that's a conservative estimate. I am realising that every time I am in my room, I am either doing work or sleeping. I don't take breaks because there simply isn't time. I need at least eight more hours in the day to get everything I have to do within a day done and sleep.

Oh, if only we didn't have to sleep.

This week has been insane; one thing after another. Playing Tombeau in rep class, lesson, theory homework, sight-singing transcription, giant computer science program due Friday...

Funny thing is, I haven't been procrastinating. I feel like I'm so scattered because I've been working on all of these things since the weekend. I try to pick them back up and end up having no idea where I left off. I need another hard drive for my brain. And another cup of coffee.

Let's just not talk about the caffeine intake this week.

On the bright side, my parents are coming from Georgia to visit me on Saturday! They're coming to my concert! Yay! I'm actually really, really excited.

I need another avocado to eat with a spoon.

Goal for this week: wake up, survive, go back to bed. Repeat. Practice, preferably.

The Funk

And now for something completely different:

The past two weeks have been incredibly trying for me as a music major. I have had a very severe case of "the funk."

You know those days when nothing is going right? The solos you've practiced just don't sound quite right and your sound is entirely mediocre and all the brilliance of the weeks past dissipates into this average, ho-hum playing that ends up in a spiral of self-defeat?

It was one of those days. Except for two weeks.

Maybe I'm just a perfectionist, but it's almost impossible for me to practice when I feel like I sound like shit. There's really no such thing as a "practice reed" for me. It might be a reed that used to be a performance reed and is slightly dead. But usually I don't keep reeds I'm uncomfortable playing in front of people around long enough to have anything that qualifies as a "practice reed."

Over the summer, I'd gained consistency in my reedmaking. I was consistently making reeds that I felt comfortable playing on in public. A few of them were good enough to solo on. This trend kept until two weeks ago, when all hell broke loose.

So the past several weeks have been a long series of me exclaiming "I HATE THE OBOE."

And that's what scares me. What scares me the most is growing to hate the thing I love more than anything. It's like when you've practiced something to the point where it starts getting worse and worse with each repetition. It's like the point where you're practicing a piece for an audition or competition. A piece that you love. And you've done so much of it and don't know what more you can do with it that you start hating it. It ended up that I was judging my own playing so much that I couldn't accept the sound that was coming out, so even the Vaughan Williams, one of my favourite pieces of music ever written, was something I hated to practice.


There isn't a point to music if you don't love it. If you've become that jaded and cynical toward music, then it ceases to be music; it becomes a robotic, machine-like practice. And you get bored. And you start to hate it.


This week was the first time since the funk started that I felt comfortable with my playing. I can never get rid of the perfectionistic mentality to want to correct every slight mistake or waver in my tone. But at a certain point, the perfectionist has to give way to the music. The perfectionist has to just SHUT UP long enough for you to just play.

I ended up not practicing for three days one week. That's the longest I've gone without practicing since...I can't even remember. And it took some getting back into. But what made the difference was to step back from my weaknesses and just let it rest. Let my frustration out without worrying that I'd get behind and I'd never get a job and all sorts of horrible things. You can deal three days without practicing. Just don't make it a habit. Sheesh, performance major.

When I came back to the oboe, I took out the Vaughan Williams and just played. I didn't really listen to how I sounded--I didn't really care. I felt the music. And that's what made it worth working for.

Things I should have said.

As you probably know, I'm angry. I'm more pissed off about gay rights than usual. Maybe it's just because it's been in the news. Maybe it's because I've been dealing with a lot of stress in my life and this just compounds it with empathy for those teens like Tyler Clementi. Maybe it's because I experienced the same shit they did in high school.

There was an incident in high school where I was forced up against a wall in the photography darkroom after giving a very impassioned pro-gay marriage speech. It was one of two times in my high school career when I had to use physical violence. It's something that's been brought to the forefront of my mind because of the recent suicides due to anti-gay bullying and bullying in general (the latter of which I received a lot more of, but that's another story and it's not something I remain bitter about). It's hard for me to tell people about what happened. But it's something that needs to be said.

It's something that needs to be screamed. It's something that needs to be yelled, shouted, written about, publicised, and most of all, talked about.

I never said anything about what happened to me to anyone in my school's administration. But I should have. I was too afraid for my safety to be out in high school, but I should have made this experience into something that is bigger than me. But what's done is done, and all I can do about it now is talk about it.

So that's what happened to me. It's one incident, but I don't doubt that if I had been out in high school there would have been more. Luckily, I'm a trained martial artist and am confident about my ability to get out of bad situations. I also go to college in a very liberal place with a wonderful LGBT support program. Not everyone has these luxuries. But the one thing that I wish every gay teen could know is that it does get better.

(Don't believe me? Ask the It Gets Better Project .)

I heard about yet another hate crime against the LGBT community today. I doubt these things are happening with greater frequency than before. Now they're simply being paid attention to. As my roommate pointed out, maybe this is a good thing. What we need is awareness. What we need is a voice. What we need is the courage to speak out.

I found out tonight at the IC Wind Ensemble Benefit Concert that October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. October is also Breast Cancer Awareness Month. October is also LGBT History Month. October appears to be a month full of awareness. It's a month full of awareness for things that are close to me, being LGBT and the daughter of a breast cancer survivor. So to honour this month of being aware, let's be aware of the abuses that happen every day to LGBT citizens. If you aren't outraged, you're not paying attention.

But more than anger, more than publicity, the things that we can immediately change are our voices. Instead of accepting abuse for who we are, we can speak out. Before anyone can change a social stigma, awareness has to be raised. So use your voice. Speak out. Have no fear.

It gets better.

I am angry. And for no trivial reason: Part 2

The more I think about this, the angrier I get. And it's not just at the asshole kids who decided to post the video. It's not just at all the extremist groups who think the entire LGBT community is full of pedophiles and people who want to corrupt the entire youth of our country. It's at the entirety of our society, this homophobic mess that we perpetuate.

"That's so gay" isn't helping. It's not the worst thing in the world, and at this point, it doesn't offend me. But it's the little things that we let slide. It's the comments that teachers and peers choose to ignore. It's the stereotypes we don't correct. What is it about our society that causes the entire media to explode if anything remotely racist is said, but homophobic comments are ignored by most except a few watchgroups specifically for that purpose?

I'm not saying that racism isn't as big of a problem. I'm simply saying that homophobia is just as important. People are people. Black, white, or any colour. Gay, straight, or any colour.

The point I want to make is that if we sit silently, we're letting those who seek to bring us down win. We're allowing them to say their peace without us fighting back. And who is going to stand up for us? No one but ourselves.

This is not a question of whether you are a lover or a fighter. It's a question as to whether your love is worth fighting for. The louder they yell against me, the louder I will yell back. I think of it like the new Civil Rights Era. Racism is still a problem, but we have come a long way since the 60s. It's time we stood up for ourselves.

This is a love worth fighting for.

I am angry. And for no trivial reason.

Today, I heard about a boy who committed suicide because his roommates took a video of him having sex and posted it on the internet. In that sentence alone, there are enough reasons to be angry. Asshole people who defy someone’s right to privacy and cause them to do permanent self-harm. There’s no way the intent of releasing that video could not have been malicious. But what pisses me off more?

He was gay.

How many people are going to have to be put through hell before we, as a society, realise that demonising someone for being who they are is wrong? How many people will have to kill themselves before we wake up and see that the environment we’re creating for people not so different than “the rest of us” is toxic and wrong?

How many people are going to have to go through what I went through in high school-- being called a “dyke” under their breath or worse, that look. How many people are going to go through hell? How many people are going to be physically abused and be too afraid to say something because their school bureaucracy is unkind to their sexual orientation? How many people are going to be too scared to speak up when they know something is wrong? How many people are going to have to quietly suffer?

How many people are going to be defined by simply a small part of who they are? How many people are never going to get the chance to be a person because they’re always going to be “the lesbian?”

How many more people, how many more stories, how many more fears, how many more suicides before our culture realises that this is wrong?

Damn Fortune Cookie: My Autobiography

It all started with a G-ddamned cookie.

I was in the eighth grade. I was in love with this girl; she was mystifying. She intrigued me. And by the way her hand brushed past me when we saw each other and all the late-night soul-bearing emails, things were looking good. So finally, the day came when I was going to make my move. A few hours before, I went out for Chinese food, and upon opening my fortune cookie, received the message "all of your love endeavours will be successful." This was a Good Omen, I thought. Things cannot possibly go better tonight, right?

Wrong. Things went horribly awry. Turns out I'd been led on.

Fast forward five years. Here I am, finally in a real and functional relationship, finally back at college after a long summer. I order Chinese food, and crack into my fortune cookie. "Tonight will be a lucky night," it says. This could only mean good things.

That night, we almost broke up. It was a long, tearful night that came to conclusions at 4am--we would stick it out for another month. Feel it out. Gage feelings.

So that's what we did. The past four months have been amazing. I couldn't have been happier, thought things were far from perfect. But I had a relationship built on mutual respect and friendship. And I still have a friendship built on that. But after tonight, I no longer have that relationship.

I am not going to deny that it hurts. It does. It hurts a lot. But it hurts considerably less than not knowing what would have happened. It hurts less than having to wonder every day if this could have worked between us. We did our best. And still things end.

...just after I repented for my sins and started anew with Yom Kippur. Thanks, Irony.

I am coming to terms with the knowledge that things end. I am coming to understand the sentiment that "'tis better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all." (Alfred Lord Tennyson) It's true. I'm glad it happened. It was a good experience for us both. And I still have an amazing best friend.

I could do without the severe, hilarious irony. I'm also starting a personal vendetta against fortune cookies. Death to fortune cookies!

Dear World: On Pants

Dear World,

It is mid-September. The weather is getting to the point where sweatshirts are VERY comfortable and the wind just starts to hurt your ears as you walk int the door. It's great weather for corduroy pants. On the subject of pants, when the weather gets this nippy, why would you want to wear skintight, breathable "pants?"

I am all for girls wearing what they like regardless of body shape. You can find something to flatter any shape. And I am not one of the girls that can wear leggings as pants and get away with it. I simply do not have the shapely rear and things required.

I think maybe four people in the world have that kind of butt.

But (no pun intended), regardless of whether or not you can pull off something flat and skintight emphasising that you're either a) not wearing underwear, or b) have a very intense thong, I do not want to see that much of your rear end. I don't want to have any idea what kind of underwear you're wearing. If you're wearing something that covers your butt and wearing leggings under it, go for it. But leggings as pants?

I'd rather not see your ass.

Love,
Rachel

The Mysterious Rachel Disappearing Act

I suppose I've learned a magic trick: disappearing from Blogger when I have things to blog about whilst still sufficiently lurking around the internet.

For most of you, school has started. This means that I'm back in Ithaca, attempting to major in music, minor in computer science, be in a functional relationship, work as an usher, be a member of a professional music fraternity, finish Portal, practice enough, and sleep. Simultaneously. Notice that "have a life" doesn't factor into this equation.

I worked really hard all summer on my audition excerpts. I counted, thought about, listened to, and explored Stravinsky and Brahms in an entirely new way. And still I fell short of my goal by one chair. It turns out that auditions are picky--and those split-second unconscious decisions on vibrato or expression can cost you. I'm not blaming anyone but myself for this--I made the mistake and I'm going to learn from it. And plus, being a principle player in a lower ensemble is a good experience for me, miss "I want to do a sophomore recital but ZOMG SOLO I CAN'T PLAY THIS IN FRONT OF PEOPLE!?!?!"

My trick to practicing is to make other people listen to you. Let them judge your performance. If you feel comfortable with the people whose opinions matter to you judging your music-making, the audition's going to go better.

Another important thing I learned (from SIMF): let go of your ego. Focus on the music. This makes things a lot easier. It's surprising, how much better we play when we don't think "shit, I might mess up this next run and then the people outside in the hall will think I'm horrible and don't deserve where I'm placed." It's amazing to me that when we go into a practice room thinking that we're the greatest gift to music that any deity has ever created, we falter. The point of music, to me, is that it's not about you. It's about the composer's intent mixed with your emotions. You're not playing music to show how good you are. You're playing music because you feel it. It's inside of you. You want to read the composer's words in a different way.

As musicians, we're all guilty of being full of ourselves. But we're not what matters. The music is what matters.

I think I'm finally at peace with myself.

The Summer Book List

Just so I don't forget what I've read over the summer. If anyone wants to discuss any of these books, let me know! I'd love to hear what you thought of them.

Completed:

1. Waiting for Godot- Beckett
2. Good Omens- Pratchett/Gaiman
3. Candide- Voltaire
4. Anansi Boys- Gaiman
5. Thief of Time- Pratchett
6. The Road- McCarthy

Currently Reading:

1. The Fifth Elephant- Pratchett
2. The Man Who Tasted Shapes- Cytowick

Up Next:

1. The Historian- Kostova
2. Revolutionary Road- Yates
3. The Sound and the Fury- Faulkner

Currently Re-Reading:

1. American Gods- Gaiman

To Read?

1. rest of the Ender's Game series- Card
2. Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil- Berendt
3. Soul Music- Pratchett

Based on this list of books, let me know if you have any suggestions!

New Favourite Thing Ever:

And today in the news of What Was The Web Designer THINKING?!?!,the Democratic People's Republic of Korea's webpage.

Looks pretty okay, by web design standards. A lot of colours, a few that don't match, but whatever. Overall, the website is pretty passable. But take a look at the source code:

Not so bad? Take a closer look:



Okay, as a web design student, I was guilty of doing that a couple of times. Spacing was sent from hell to make web designers miserable. But take one more look...



North Korea wants you to know this: they're strong, especially in web design.

Compensating?

Things That Piss Me Off: Attack Ads

I'll be the first to tell you that I'm a political junkie.

I love presidential elections. I love gubernatorial elections. I care about pretty much every office...except the Water Authority. I'm still not entirely sure what they do. But with politics comes a considerable amount of lashing out. Politicians have claws, on both sides. But this time, the Republican party's candidate for Georgia Governor John Oxendine has gone too far. Here's a Macon.com article that details Oxendine's attack on Handel: Macon.com-- Oxendine's Attack Ad

In a recent ad, Oxendine attacks Republican Karen Handel, accusing her of being a "liberal democrat." Where I live, that's considered an insult, and at this point, I'm no longer offended by it. What I am offended by, however, is how Oxendine demonises Handel for supporting equal benefits for domestic partnerships.

I don't care if you're liberal or conservative, pro gay marriage or against it. It doesn't matter. Homosexuals are people, and they deserve--no, they are required to have--equal rights. As most of you know, gay marriage is illegal in Georgia. Fine, conservatives, you can keep your terms. But don't you DARE tell me that gay people don't have the same rights as straight people.

Just like during the civil rights era, separate is not equal. And right now, Georgia is not only dealing with an issue of separate laws and separate rights; we're dealing with unequal and unconstitutional circumstances.

Okay. I'm stepping down from my soapbox now.

1776: Twelve Angry Men, Colonial Edition

So I'm officially a freelance musician.

I am playing in Theatre Macon's production of 1776 as Reed III: Oboe, English Horn (transposed to oboe), and Clarinet. I'm also getting paid for it. If you do the math, it's actually a little under minimum wage...but I'm getting paid. To do something I love. This is excellent!

The first night went off with only two minor disasters on my end. First, the cork on the top joint of my clarinet came off, and unsurprisingly, this makes the clarinet STOP WORKING. In the least legitimate fix of all time, it is currently attached with Elmer's Glue until I can take it into the shop to get it fixed. Second, my shoe and the side of the stage got into a fight. Guess who won? Hint: not me. I hit the side of my knee--the muscle that holds on the kneecap--on the corner of the stage. After limping to the kitchen, I iced my knee for Act Two. Luckily, today I can walk on it with little pain. Stairs, however, are another story.

Well, it wouldn't be theatre if something disastrous didn't happen.

The music for the show is FANTASTIC. The more I hear it, the more I love it. There are many parts in the show that, on first read, come off as "wait, does he really want that?" But the way the pit supports the vocalists and some of these chord progressions...so beautiful, despite horrendous amounts of flats. I wish I could describe the incredible rush I get from performance in general, but there's something about pit...it's thrilling, being a part of a show...having such an important role as both an accompanist and a soloist. It's such a great high.

In other news, I am making a new blog, Birthmother in the Back Room. Those of you who know me know that I'm adopted. For nineteen years of my life, I had no contact with the woman who carried me...until today. I'm meeting her in early August, and today I got the chance to talk to her on the phone. It's strange and wonderful and overwhelming and definitely one of those things that people like to call "a journey" or some other cheesy thing like that. This blog is for the benefit of me making sense of my brain.

Things I Learned from SIMF:

So I spent three weeks in Bryn Mawr, PA at the Strings International Music Festival. Yes, I know I'm an oboist, but they needed me for chamber music. It was lots of fun. I ended up befriending a lot of string players and participating in an excellent trio (of woodwinds! Go figure!).

There was also a great amount of ridiculosity that ensued from this festival, such as taking a friend to the emergency room and then going clubbing, hanging out on rooftops, a Gay Council meeting that lasted until 4am, and salsa dancers invading my room. And hanging a pirate flag from the great hall.

Without further ado, Things I Learned from SIMF:
1. An accompanist can make or break a performance.
2. Think less. Feel more.
3. Lose your ego and you'll lose the nerves.
4. Being on top of someone's shoulders who is standing on top of a bass stool while trying to dodge campus security is TERRIFYING.
5. It is possible to throw pants onto one's body.
6. If you're up at 5:30 and have to wake up at 7 to catch your plane, it's best just to not sleep.
7. Three weeks of rehearsals and seminars and practice without weekends will make one a) insane, and b) coffee dependent.
8. Trains are a MUCH better way of transportation than buses.
9. Check to see if the club you're going to is 18+ or 21+ BEFORE you go there.
10. Sometimes, you just need a new shoulder rest for your flute.
11. Sometimes, friends are more important than practicing.
12. It is possible for a dining hall to screw up peanut butter.
13. Sometimes, it's not your reedmaking ability.
14. Most of the time, it is.
15. People *will* listen to you practice. Practice as if someone's listening.
16. 13 blocks in Philadelphia heat is a LONG WAY.
17. If you want something to happen...you have to make it happen.
18. Madness? This is CHAMBER MUSIC!
19. Singing RENT loudly in public places will make people stare at you, as if this wasn't obvious.
20. 90s music is good for singing on buses.
21. BRING SUNGLASSES TO OUTDOOR CONCERTS.
22. Madness happens, and it's awesome.

Here's to all of my crazy-awesome friends from SIMF: Ello, Addie, Patrick, Ilya, Chris, Alex, Nina, Paula...heck, everyone!

Revelation

Yeah, it's my second post within an hour. But.

I realised today that I am both a music major and a person. I realised today that I'd forgotten about that whole "person" thing during the school year. I also realised that I'm totally okay with that. This makes me:
a) totally insane, and
b) entirely a music major.

I also realised today that I (hopefully) get to play music. For a living. HOW COOL IS THAT?!?!

Nerdfest 2010: The battle of Rachel vs. Wireless Internet Charges

Earlier this week, I attended the AccessData Techno Security conference in Myrtle Beach, SC. I'd like to take this moment to subtitle this event "Nerds on the Beach."

Unfortunately, my father was attending the conference and I was not, and therefore I did not get to hear the one speaker who analysed all 2500 computers from this little trial you may know of called the Bernie Maydoff trial. In fourteen days. And within two days, he had enough evidence to convict. I did, however, get to see R2D2, my personal counterpart.



On this trip, I also discovered that, despite staying at a resort, wireless internet is not free. My first thought was "well, I'll use another network that isn't the hotel's." Brilliant idea? Nope. My second thought was "GOGO GADGET: iPHONE!" I was going to tether. I was going to iPwn the shit out of paying for internet (pardon the pun).

The Challenge: Tether iPhone to MacBook WITHOUT jailbreaking.

It took two days and almost three hours of trial and error, and I ended up with...error. My first method of action was to update the carrier settings on my phone from my laptop, which would allow tethering. I went around the beach with a flash drive in my pocket, aiming to gather the carrier files at the business centre. In a brilliant fail of thriftiness, the hotel charged for business centre access as well as wireless. After eventually commandeering the files from a Starbucks, I tried to update my phone.

Thanks, Apple, for updating iTunes and OS 3.0.1 so that I can't get those files onto my phone.

So then I tried installing two profiles that would supposedly allow internet tethering. I'll spare you the details, but after about three hours I went to bed with a low battery and a high level of frustration.

The next day, my father came back to the room from his lectures. The last one had been Computer Forensics On A Mac. In the Q&A session at the end, one patron asked about internet tethering.

Turns out it's AT&T's fault. No tethering of the iPhone currently works.

So OTHER than checking to see if something will work BEFORE delving into problem-solving, I maintain one statement as an absolute moral opinion:

I refuse to pay for wireless internet at a place where I am paying for a good or service. I will use my phone. I will proxy around it (also unsuccessful, by the way). I will tether (if that ever gets back to working). Who's with me?

Stand strong for what you believe, folks.

Things I Learned This Week

So I've decided to do a semi-weekly recap of what I've learned, since I'm stubborn and have to learn everything the hard way. Also, I'm a compulsive list-maker. This seems to be the perfect match.

1. In Java, it takes one hell of a lot of code just for the compiler to output "Hello, World!"
2. If a recipe ever says "fill the muffin cups all the way up," IT IS LYING. Your muffins will look like Vesuvius. This isn't a problem, but it makes your baking experiment that much more combustible.
3. There is a BIG difference between "target heart rate" and "maximum heart rate." Don't mistake these, or the crossramp trainer will try to kill you.
4. Plastic bag anywhere near frying pan = very, very bad idea.
5. I cannot leave Barnes and Noble with only one book, no matter how hard I try.

Alright. That's it. For more life lessons...tune in? Eh. This will not be a list blog. Real post shall be coming soon.

Things I Learned Freshman Year of College

Freshman year of college is over, and I honestly think I've learned more in these nine months than I have in the entire 19 years I've spent on this (at the moment, freakishly hot) planet. Here are the lessons I've learned about love, life, and music:

1. I didn't know how to play the oboe
2. There is a difference between 17 degrees and -2. It does not all fall under one category of "really effing cold." -2 requires more modifiers.
3. After a while, your friend group starts to act like a family.
4. You can't be everyone's mother.
5. Converse are not suitable winter attire.
6. There is a such thing as a "fall jacket," and it's heavier than you'd think.
7. Case humidifiers are not just a good thing; they're a way of life.
8. When you find true friends, you know it automatically.
9. Listen to all nine of Beethoven's symphonies all the way through at least once before you die.
10. Breathe.
11. Practicing to the exclusion of bodily needs (going to the bathroom, eating, etc.) is not a good thing, though is sometimes unintentional.
12. Go outside. Take a break. Do something else. Clear your head.
13. The people who piss you off gain power over you only if you let them.
14. Being obscenely nice to these people is almost the only way to deal with them.
15. That being said, don't take shit if you're being given it.
16. Sometimes your oboe teacher will mother you. She usually has good advice.
17. Sleep is a luxury. Get it when you can.
18. All-nighters writing code are a really, really bad idea.
19. More than three consecutive hours of writing code at a time will make you batshit insane.
20. Same goes for practicing.
21. If it's getting worse and you're getting frustrated, leave the practice room.
22. There are non music majors at college, but you never see them.
23. This might be because you never leave the music school.
24. Take an outside course every semester. This will make you leave the music school at least once a day, which is good for your sanity.
25. It's okay to take a day off.
26. How you're feeling affects the people around you. Be kind to them.
27. Eventually, you will expect your roommate to show up in your baby pictures.
28. Anything that involves drinking an entire pot of coffee is a bad idea.
29. Joining a professional fraternity will teach you how to professionally stalk people.
30. There's no shortage of two things: bad music jokes and ways the internet can further corrupt your mind.
31. There is a world outside of the music school. It does not understand the extent of a music major. This does not mean they are lesser humans.
32. Not everyone understands concert etiquette.
33. The freshman fifteen is real, unless of course you live half a mile uphill from the music building.
34. People change. They're not going to stay the same as they were in high school.
35. You'll change too.
36. Don't be too proud to ask for help, from students, professors, even a counselor if you need one.
37. There are a hundred people like you at college. Befriend them. But keep your individual identity.
38. Cake batter does, in fact, burn if you spill large amounts of it in the bottom of an oven. This could lead to your dorm catching on fire. Panicking does not help this at all.
39. Exercise, while taking time out of your day, will make you feel better and less stressed.
40. Dorms are loud, no matter what.
41. The nightly running of the sluts happens, even on weeknights.
42. Make as many Hitchhiker's Guide references as you can.
43. Relationships are good, but don't stress out over making one happen. It'll come.
44. That being said, you do, in fact, have to say something if you want it to happen.
45. Three words: challah french toast.
46. After spending all day analysing music, it's okay to listen to mindless pop. In fact, you'll probably appreciate it more.
47. Being pretentious doesn't make you seem smart; it makes you seem like an asshole.
48. Give friends the help you can, but you can't make them accept it.
49. Go on walks.
50. When debugging code, a) Firefox has a debug console, and b) it's usually something obvious.
51. Snow fights will hurt the next day, but are violently fun. They often conclude in sodden pants.
52. Apparently, 18 inches of snow is not grounds for not having class the next day :P
53. Ice is slippery, and it is not to be messed with.
54. Insomnia Cookies takes FOREVER.
55. It takes an hour by bus to go where you could get in 20 minutes by car.
56. You often have the most fun when wandering around without a plan.
57. Remember your ID.
58. Just because you have a reed today doesn't mean it'll work tomorrow.
59. Even if you're just over five feet tall, you can still hit your head on the beam of your lofted bed.
60. Seriously, take out the trash. And vacuum.
61. Live. Make mistakes. It's only these four years when you can use the excuse "I was dumb. I was in college." That being said, don't drive drunk or have unprotected sex.
62. If you don't like what you're doing, you're in the wrong field. Remember every day why you love music.

Alright. That's about it for tonight. I think I'm going to make a weekly list of my mishaps and lessons learned the hard way. Any thoughts?

Family Trees

Sometimes I wonder about my lineage. Not really where I came from as far as parents and relatives go, since I'm adopted and that's kind of difficult to figure out, but my oboe family tree. Both of my teachers are really, really fantastic--and they've been taught by some pretty phenomenal teachers to make them the players and teachers that they are today.

I was talking about this with my friends Stephen (who writes a really excellent woodwind blog), and we realised that though we've never studied under the same teacher, parts of our oboe family trees overlap. We thought this was pretty cool. Below, I have mapped out my family trees and connections. Enjoy!

My Family Tree--the oboe version

Me > Adrian Gnam > Marcel Tabuteau (the year before he died) and John Mack
Me > Paige Morgan > Richard Killmer

Oddly enough, when I visited Eastman and met Killmer, he told me to "tell Adrian I said hi!"

Funny, how the music world is large and small simultaneously.

For musicians: that brief moment when you think "why the HELL do I do this?!?"

My roommate and I were having a conversation a few days before the end of exams. We were both stressed out, worn down, exhausted, overworked, and any other adjective that goes along with being a music major during finals. Such times of stress get you to thinking: Why do I do this to myself? Is all of this work even worth it? And if I succeed, what am I getting myself into?

I sat there for a few seconds, curled in a fleece blanket in my desk chair, just thinking. Why DO I do this? Wouldn't a career in something else be more stable? Wouldn't I go to bed knowing all that work would be worth something?

These thoughts lasted less than three seconds.

I believe that any good musician plays music because they have to, because it's in them and it's so ingrained that they can't do anything else. A real musician strives to put himself/herself into the music in every breath they take. A real musician does this because it's who they are. They are, to use a slight cliche', one with the music.

We all got into music for some reason or another, and those of us who stayed probably didn't get into it for the sole reason of "my mother forced me to take piano" or "it was something to do in high school, so I joined band." Those of use who have chosen to do this with our lives do it because music is our way of communicating, of expressing what we feel without words. We take the music someone else has written, use their intent as a guideline, and make the music our own. My hope is that the listener hears both my intent and the composer's and makes the music personal. That's why I do what I do. That's what makes all of these hours that I could have been spending socialising or...whatever non-music majors do with their time (seriously, I honestly don't know right now) worth it. It makes my complete lack of job security okay, because the music is in me and I have to do it.

Now...there are certain personality types that are drawn into being musicians. I'd say that generally we are the misunderstood, artsy, half-crazy ones that are drawn in to spending hours of our lives in a five by five room trying to nail down that passage in La Scala di Seta. I think most of us probably turned to music because it was our way of being understood. The world around us was unrelenting and we found solace, found happiness in music. I think a lot of us who love to perform do it because it's the only way we knew that we could stand out and become known.

I speak for myself mostly, but I'm taking a stab at the general music community. We, as musicians, are needy people. We're artists. We need people to appreciate the beauty in life and the beauty we create. To a degree, we need their approval. We feed off of it. We feed off of pressure and unhappiness and bring it into our music, the rawest illustration of ourselves, and we look to our audience for approval. As performers, that's who we are. Part of the reason we play music is so we can gain that approval we need.

I think that when you grow as a person, you grow equally as a musician. Over the past year, my music-making has become less about "don't you like me" and more about putting myself into what's written on this page in front of me. I hope that in my life as a performing musician I can touch someone with music the way that countless oboists have touched my ears and heart and mind. I won't lie--I still secretly like the attention I get from a solo well-played, even though praise embarrasses the hell out of me.

We play music because we have to. Because we need to communicate--and we need people to hear it.

Debugging my JavaScript at 3am...

Here's why I'm a computer science minor and not a computer science major (you know, aside from being unable to live without music): Debugging my JavaScript at 3am.

It took me three hours, staring at that one document, wondering what the hell I did wrong, going back through the book and trying to troubleshoot my own problem. Turns out...I forgot a space. I guess that's what happens when you spend nine hours coding your fraternity's webpage...in one day. Because you made it your final.

Hi, I'd like to place an order for eight extra hours in the day...

Oh, it's that time of the year, meaning that I just realised that I have my sophomore proficiency jury, the Lambda chapter of Mu Phi Epsilon's website to write for computer science, a busywork final (meaning Intro to Music Technology) and quiz, a theory composition (finally done), a theory final, a piano exam, and a music history final. Oh, and a sight-singing dictation exam and a sight-singing hearing. And practicing.

I don't see how sleep is supposed to fit in here.

Plus, the weather keeps changing. One day it's 80 and beautiful; the next day it rains and is in the mid 40s. My reeds hate me. It's so mind-boggling how a simple change in humidity can make a reed flatten into a pancake or widen enough to let an elephant through (well, a very small elephant). And don't get me started on oboes and temperature...

I play a finicky instrument.

In other news, I have discovered that it is possible to make a decent oboe recording using GarageBand...if you have a very large room that is very quiet and turn the recording volume down almost all the way and use a trumpet filter. After about six hours of recording, I have a pretty decent track of Ferling 8 and the first movement of Vaughan Williams...all for a summer music festival that is desperate for oboists. They accepted me via resume', and this summer I will be studying with the assistant principle oboist of the Philadelphia Orchestra. How's that for nifty? And odd! On the bright side, it gets me out of Georgia for a portion of the summer.

And in the rush to catch up on sleep now, before the finals madness begins, I leave you with one new ushering quote:

(man tries to walk into the concert hall while Wind Ensemble is playing the Mozart Serenede)
Me: I'm sorry, you can't go in right now.
Him: Why?
Me: They're playing.
Him: I know. That's why I want to go in.

I then politely explained concert rules and resisted the urge to facepalm.

I know you have the munchies, but this is just too far...

Okay. I know I live in Ithaca, home of various illegal substances and subsequent munchie syndrome, but this is just too weird.

In the past week I have found a piece of Chex Mix, a red M&M, and a Dorito on the floor of the handicapped bathroom. All on separate days. Either somebody's trying to make that room their home...or the munchies have really, really gotten bad.

And thus concludes another random life tidbit.

Why is my job funny? Because people are dumb.

Ushering never ceases to amaze me with its hilarity.

People don't understand a) concert etiquette, and b) that the ushers did not make up these rules. Funnier still, sometimes the general misunderstanding of the usher's job; we are not here to make your life miserable, gather sick pleasure from denying you entry, hold your children while you go to the bathroom (yes, this did actually happen), or know where your children performing in the concert are supposed to be warming up ten minutes after the concert has already started.

It gets funnier, though.

Today, I was working the back door of Ford Hall. It is set up so that there is an aisle that is not inside the theatre, a row of columns, and the seating area. Thus, I was stationed in the aisle, listening to the concert. The Chorus and a small volunteer orchestra performed a phenomenal rendition of Haydn's Creation. Thus, three acts, no pauses between movements, one big pause, one intermission. Of course, everyone thinks it's okay to come ten minutes late to the performance...and still expects to be admitted. So, there were people waiting in the aisle as not to miss the first act. This is moderately annoying, but does not commit any egregious sin against concert etiquette.

The infamous "woman in the pink shirt," however, just simply doesn't get it.

She stalks up, somewhat noisily, to me about halfway through the third part. I nicely explain that she cannot enter the hall, but can stand in the aisle and listen.

Lady: But I just left for a second to get my coat!
Me: I'm sorry. I can't let you into the hall, but I can let you listen from here.
Lady: Why can't I go in?
Me: They're performing. This isn't my rule
Lady: Can't you make an exception? I just want to see the end of the show!
Me: I can't make an exception.
Lady: *bursts into tears* I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU PEOPLE.

She had apparently pushed past one of the upper door ushers, yelled at her when she couldn't go back in, and then stalked out and didn't even watch from the aisle when I told her she couldn't go back to her seat.

People are silly.

Apparently I was later called some rather choice words by her.

Unfortunately, cursing at the etude book doesn't help.

I constantly forget that sometimes, professors come back to Whalen after they're done with the day for important job-related things, like oh, you know, RECITALS.

I'm sight-reading the third movement of the Ferling double concerto with a soprano sax player (who is ridiculous and sight-reading and transposing simultaneously. Props to you, Andrew), and at the very end, I leap up something like an octave and a half to play a Bb major arpeggio...from high F. Not so hard if you practice it, but when you're sight reading, it's a little bit of a shock.

We finish the duet and Andrew, whose part does not have this leap from hell (not to diminish how hard the part is), sight-read half the damn concerto perfectly. I'm gigglingly frustrated at Ferling, so I half-shout "FUCK YOU FOR THAT HIGH F!"

Of course, that's the exact moment when Paige, my oboe professor, decides to walk into the room.

Of course, I react in the typical awkward Rachel way of laughing hysterically and then trying to explain the situation. Paige, luckily is cool about EVERYTHING, and once she figured I was cursing at Ferling and not Andrew, laughed with us.

I am lucky. Lucky to have teachers who understand my awkwardness.

Unfortunately, yelling at Ferling did not make that section any easier.

Just Another Day in the Life of an Usher

For those of you who don't know, I work on campus ushering for concerts. As far as jobs go, my job is pretty excellent: essentially I get paid to stand there and look pretty after I've counted how many people have gone through my door and have given them programs. Occasionally I have to prevent people from going in at the wrong time. It's not a hard job and it's pretty awesome that I get paid to do it.

However, there are some people who either a) lack common decency, b) want me to earn my pay, or c) both. I go to Ithaca College and work in the Whalen Center for Music. It's a pretty well-known music school with phenomenal teachers and students and in a community of people who have grown up with classical music peppering their lives. Despite these facts, I get some pretty ridiculous questions, or, rather, demands, from concertgoers.

Ithaca College is also home to the Park School of Communications, which is also very well-known. As a part of their tenure in the communication school, the "Parkies" cover some of the bigger concerts in the music school. During the US Brass Band concert I was ushering, I was verbally accosted by an upperclassman journalism major who stomped up to me and the other usher working the front door.

Parkie: Who is the highest person in charge here?
Me: That'd be our boss, Deb. She's not here right now. What do you need?
Parkie: I need to take pictures during this concert.
Other Usher: Well, you'd have to ask the band, as far as copyright information goes. Also, we don't allow any flash photography in Ford Hall.
Parkie: I need to take pictures of this event. Why can't I take flash photos?
Me: Because it's distracting to the performers.
Parkie: *points to what is very obviously a camcorder* I don't know if this has a flash or not.
Other Usher: Well, you can't use a flash. That's the final answer.

The Parkie then stormed off.

I stood there just shaking my head. First of all, I'm a music performance major, and other than the four years of high school journalism I did, I know very little about communications. But honestly, I can tell a camcorder from a camera.

Thankfully, many of the other Parkies are much smarter than this.

Later, the same Parkie exited through the right-hand door of Ford Hall and approached me at the left-hand door.

Parkie: Can I go in now?
Me: No, it's during a piece.
Parkie: I need to get in.
Me: You can't. It's distracting to the performer.
Parkie: I was ducking through the aisles. I thought this would be less distracting...

No, Parkie. SIT STILL AND TAKE YOUR NON-FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY. Thankfully, most Parkies are smarter than he was.

He's not the worst of the people I've seen. I had one lady who arrived two minutes after the first piece had started.

Lady: Can I go in now?
Me: No, you have to wait until the piece is over.
Lady: How will you know?
Me: ...well, generally there's clapping...
Lady: *angry look* Well, I have to get in there.
Me: Wait until after the first piece.
Lady: FINE. I'm just going to the bathroom.

The lady then proceeds to walk toward the other door of Ford, which is close to the bathroom. She pulls on the handle of the door to go in.

Me: MA'AM.
Lady: CHILL OUT. YOU DON'T HAVE TO YELL AT ME.

Err, well, this is my job. And that is not the bathroom. And PS, I can see you.

Thank you, moronic people. You make me love my job.

Copious Oboes...

This past week, I was in possession of the most beautiful instrument I have ever seen in my life. Had I an extra $8,400, I would have bought it. It was a Loree, Royal model oboe...made of violetwood, which comes from the same family as rosewood, but is a tad denser and, well, harder to crack.

But perhaps I should back up.

The saga of the oboes. It began on a cold, snowy day in February. Just dry and cold enough to cause a crack in the top joint of my oboe. There was great stress and a little playing of the "fauxboe" in rehearsal, but in the end, superglue saved the day.

Yes, superglue can fix an oboe that hasn't cracked all the way through the bore. Most ghetto fix of all time, but works in a pinch. At least it wasn't like that one time in marching band when we fixed a tuba with duct tape.

Thus began the search for a new oboe. My professor hounded me every week in my lesson about how much better I would sound on a new oboe, between pitch and tone and resistance...so finally I caved. It was time anyway, and my 1989 Covey, I'll admit, was beginning to blow out.

The Search commenced over spring break, when I drove up to Pat McFarland's shop in midtown Atlanta. There I got to try two grenadilla AK bore Lorees, a violetwood AK Loree, and a violetwood Loree Royal.

Oh, the violetwood Royal. I can't describe to you how beautiful that instrument was. So I won't.





That is all.

All in all, I ended up buying one of the AK-model grenadilla oboes. That instrument, that...beautiful thing...such a sweet tone. But no projection whatsoever. My new oboe is beautiful. Dark, rich tone. Full range of volume.

I am in love with my instrument, my major, and my life :)

PS: the new oboe hasn't been named. Any suggestions?

Spring Break To-Do List:

Now that midterm hell is over, I need something to do. Thus, I have compiled a list of the things I want to do over spring break:

-hang out with Shannon and Maxine (x)
-sleep fourteen hours straight (x)
-become further obsessed with Neil Gaiman (x)
-read Good Omens (in progress)
-play oboe (x)
-make reeds on my own time (x)
-TEST OUT NEW OBOES! ( )
-movie night with MK ( )
-see Greg! ( )

For once in my life, I think I'm ahead on all the things I have to do.

Well, except that whole term paper thing.

Still Making Stupid Mistakes

Also, before the music fiasco, I could not figure out why my ENTIRE web page wasn't showing up.

I misspelled "style" in the ending < /style > tag.

Fail.

Under Pressure, part two.

There are some things that make me irrationally angry. Some people yell. Some people hit things. I blog.

Computer Science class is normally what keeps me sane. It is not in the music building, it doesn't have to do with oboe reeds, and no one in that class knows me. Today, I went entirely insane.

Sometimes we play music during class. Normally, this means ONE music source and the rest of the class LISTENS or asks questions about the assignment. This does not mean that you should do any of the following:

-play YOUR music out of YOUR dinky computer speakers*
-hum along to YOUR music
-SING YOUR music OFF KEY
-play a song where the melody is an m2 lower than the song over the big speakers
-tap your foot loudly or beat on the table
-REFUSE TO TAKE HINTS THAT YOU SHOULD TURN YOUR MUSIC OFF.

I wanted to poke him with a fire poker for the following reasons:

1) for singing out of tune
2) for listening to music with TWO CHORDS
3) for playing your music while there is other music on*
4) for making percussive sounds while listening to music,
5) a bonus, for having bad taste in music, which normally I would never tell someone since music is such a personal thing, but at this point...anger.

*indicates that this one is a biggie, and, well, should be obvious.

I don't know why, but this type of sensory overload makes me irrationally angry. Like, violent angry. Now I am sitting in my dorm room, which is dark and quiet. Violent blogging. Internet, hear me roar.

(also, for all you web design people out there, I almost coded this with [sans spaces] < ul > and then the < li > < / li > and < / ul > and < ol > < li > < / li > < / ol >, respectively. Yes, I am a nerd.)

This is ourselves...under pressure.

I hate midterm week.

That could be a more eloquent sentence.

I loathe, detest, abhor, and all synonyms thereof midterm week.

I'm only getting two hours of practice and one hour of reedmaking per day in. It's this week that my work schedule is deciding to eat my life. It's this week that my fraternity actually meets. It's this week that I really, really need a nap. I haven't left the music building before 11 in days. Tonight it'll probably be later than that.

I'm tired to the point of making stupid mistakes. I went to the reed room, set down my oboe, and got my paycheck to go to the bank. I closed the door...and left my keys and ID in there. I couldn't go to the bank. I couldn't practice. So tired. Screwed. By the time someone came and rescued me, it wasn't worth going to practice. Too tired to practice. Must practice. Guhhh.

In other news, I am declaring a minor in computer science, so I just might escape college with marketable skills.

Anyway, time for web development and more caffeine.

Woo, Ithaca.

Be it known that I fail at updating blogs.

I'm finally back in Ithaca, despite all of my complaining. To be honest, I can't remember the first half of this semester. It's a blur of rehearsals and practicing and making reeds and the fact that on a normal day I do five hours of practicing/reed making and then do homework. Oh right, and that whole "Class Piano" thing. My major is for masochists. Between practicing piano, three hours with my face to an oboe, two hours of making something for my face to connect with, sight-singing, music theory and music history homework, and...oh yeah, rehearsal...majoring in music is not for the feint of heart.

Or those who like sleeping.

In other news, Ithaca, NY is cold...and warm...and redefining my definitions of both. Since I have been here, I have woken up, seen the temperature read -5 degrees (yes, Fahrenheit), and gone straight back to bed. There's seriously no reason to be awake when it's that cold. By that point, waking up to 17 degree weather was "ehh, it's kinda chilly out" and the mid twenties began to feel like "hey, it's actually kind of warm." There is definitely something inherently wrong with that statement. I've come to the conclusion that given a good enough jacket, you will survive!

I had my first snow fight last weekend. We got dumped with nineteen inches of snow and school didn't even close. I was so confused. But that night we attacked each other with snowballs and tackled each other into the snow and ended up entirely soaked, bruised, and happy. Then there was hot chocolate and massive cuddling orgies. It was a good time.

This weekend it was 42 degrees. I went outside in a blue jean jacket. What the crap, Ithaca?

I also went to see the ICSO play the Firebird Suite today. I've had that stuck in my head since 6pm. It makes me feel like everything is triumphant. Triumphant cane gouging. Triumphant stair-climbing. Triumphant printing. Triumphant laundry. Triumphant theory homework.

Eventually, triumphant sleep!

iPod Armbands: Only for People with Limbs Like Tree Trunks

Everyone who knows her admits it: my mother is an exercise fiend.

She loves it. She gets to the gym at 8am and works out for two hours, comes home, and continues her day. On the days when she can't make it to the gym, she works out on the two pieces of exercise machinery she bought before her days of gym membership. She can't rope me or my father into sweating it out with a bunch of other middle-aged women in a group cycling class or "relaxing" in a posh yoga class, so she uses the word "exercise" at least seventeen times in each conversation until we finally go treadmill or use the elliptical. She has great intentions. I kind of wish I could get as jazzed about cardio workouts as I do about Beethoven. Her enthusiasm makes my love of Beethoven look like a kindergarten valentine.

Anyway. My mother is always trying to find something that will encourage a lazy-ass like me to exercise. If I'm home, usually I just watch an episode of Law and Order SVU and I'm fine. It's when I'm at the gym at 8am and there's an exceedingly peppy instructor yelling at me and a pumped-up exercise rendition of Linkin Park's In The End playing (I kid you not) and I know I'm stuck there sans-coffee for two hours...then we have a problem.

Luckily, iPods were invented. Probably for this purpose.

If you haven't already, download the Decemberist's newest album, The Hazards of Love. I know I'm, what, nine months late on this album, but OH MY G-D. It's seriously the best album I own. It tells the story of William (Colin Meloy) and his love for Margaret (Becky Stark) and various abductions and mishaps happening to Margaret by The Queen of the forest (also William's mother, sung by Shara Worden) and...argh, I can't possibly describe the storyline or the musical amazingness that accompanies it. Regardless, this made me want to extend my stay on the crossramp trainer to 58.6 minutes. I felt cheated when I had to hit pause on my iPod and get off after half an hour.

If Ithaca ever buys a crossramp trainer and I can figure out how to prevent my iPod from tumbling across the gym floor, I am going to have the best ass ever. Thank you, Decemberists. But within my 30 minute, 275-calorie-burning stay, I saw at least three iPods tumble from the unstable ledges of various treadmills and elliptical trainers and...whatever the hell those other things are. Luckily, numerous brand names have attempted to fix this malady with the iPod arm band. Great idea? Yes. In practice?

Not so much.



I'm a relatively normally-sized female, height notwithstanding. I'm not small. I took Tae Kwon Do for nine years, and thus my upper arms are relatively strong. Why then, can I not tighten the armband of this wonderous device so that it will stay on my arm?



The reason is this: here's the length of the arm band and the tiny splotch of velcro at the very, very end:



And here's the smallest the armband can be tightened:



Really. I'm all for New Years Resolutions (if anyone still remembers theirs) and trying to get down to a healthy weight and yadda yadda yadda, but really?

Thank you, Belkin, for catering to New Years Weight Loss Resolutions. Now pardon me while I go eat more, so my limbs can become tree trunks...and then I can listen to the Decemberists while working out.

And thank you, Decemberists...now I want to go work out. I guess it's not so bad after all.

Update: it won't stop!

Also, I continue to be unable to go anywhere in middle Georgia without seeing someone I know, except tonight it was in astonishing quantities. At Ingleside Village Pizza alone, I managed to see:

-someone from my high school academic bowl team
-one of Maxine's childhood friends
-the above's very tiny compatriot
-the woman who cuts my hair*
-Katy Newcomer's mother

*She's about 65 and always seemed too proper for pizza. I'll bet she dabs it with her napkin. And eats it with a fork. Classy.

Friends, coffee, and all the single ladies...

I keep expecting my life to either turn into Sex and the City or some really terrible romantic comedy.

First of all, I am in this group of three friends that I hang out with in Macon--Shannon, Maxine, and myself. We frequently meet in coffee shops, go bargain shopping (or just trying on ridiculous outfits) together, and basically gallivant around middle Georgia. Shannon, I suppose you could say, is like Charlotte. Eventually she is going to meet a nice Jewish boy and get married. Maxine is a writer, so now I suppose she has to be Carrie. I'm an irascible person terrible at functional relationships who's a lesbian in real life. I suppose this makes me Miranda. Okay, so we don't fit the character stereotypes, but the idea is still there: we're a group of single ladies drinking coffee, eating classy salads, and basically just tearing apart the streets of middle Georgia looking for something to do. And despite what relationship situations may or may not befall us, we've got each other.

...yeah, cue the cheesy friendship music.

I have to admit, though--it's nice to have a group of currently-single friends that you can go around town with and complain about how complicated (or non-existent) your love life is with. It's kind of nice to know that I can still have fun with friends now that everyone is pairing off. Which brings me to my next point:

Single people seem to be a dying breed.

Seriously. Nearly everyone in my life has had a relationship in the past three months or is currently in one. Or is about to be in one. Regardless, there are options there and experiences to be had. I hate to complain, but why am I not a part of this statistic?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, eventually it'll happen. But in the meantime, where'd the single ladies go? I'm not just trying to find ones to date (though that'd be nice), but ones to be friends with on group date nights. I'm not saying my friends are going to abandon me--they're excellent and already plan not to do so--but sitting at that coffee table with two other members of that dying population, the three of us joked about our lives turning at that moment into a cheesy romantic comedy. You know, Shannon, who is tied with me in clumsiness, would spill coffee on someone and end up dating him after she nursed his second degree burns. Hipster boy would notice Maxine's Swedish-winter-prostitute boots and it'd be love at first sight. The other middle Georgia lesbian would walk into Barnes and Noble--

Oh wait, that happened. She was with her girlfriend.

Regardless, here's the point: it'll happen when it happens, but in the meantime, it's nice to have your single friends to make it easier. As Sex and the City dictated, your friends are the ones that'll get you through the both being single and the soap opera that is being in a relationship. End cheesy post here.

That being said, I'm calling for an endangered species list for single people.