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.
4.28.2010
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.
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.
4.26.2010
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.
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.
4.21.2010
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.
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.
4.18.2010
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.
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.
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