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.