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.
11.07.2010
10.28.2010
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.
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.
10.13.2010
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.
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.
10.10.2010
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.
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.
10.02.2010
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.
"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.
9.30.2010
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?
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?
9.20.2010
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!
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!
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