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.
3.23.2010
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?
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?
3.15.2010
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.
-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.
3.10.2010
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.
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.)
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.
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.
3.08.2010
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!
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!
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